CHAPTER VI
Shipwrecked among Cannibals
The days have flown almost uncounted. Our native passengers left us several days ago, after we had passed a large river which it was impossible for them to cross on account of its width and depth. They had refused to go home on foot, for this would have necessitated their traversing unfriendly territory they knew to be dangerous in the extreme.
Landing on the other side of the river, they were among tribes more or less friendly to their own and stood an excellent chance of reaching home in safety.
Their absence was welcome, for they had reduced the tiny forward deck to the condition of a pigsty. Once dining their stay on board two of them tried to get friendly with us and came aft like children encroaching on forbidden ground, but Ula made their stay one of exceedingly short duration. In fact, they didn’t stay at all. They didn’t even pause, for as they stepped around the saloon-deck combing Ula spied them and with a well-directed heave of a large wooden thole-pin snatched from its socket on the rail sent them scurrying back to their end of the ship.
Five minutes after we had landed them they disappeared in the mystic silence of the jungle, anxious to gain the safety of their familiar haunts.
We remained on shore for an hour to stretch our legs, for the close quarters on the Nautilus make some sort of exercise necessary. We wandered up-river for a little distance and saw, floating in the shallows near the shore, seven or eight basking crocodiles which slowly sank from view as we approached. Many funny little fish, with heads like frogs and fins in front like short fore legs, flopped and jumped about on the muddy flats the receding tide had left. We watched them for some minutes and laughed hugely at the antics of the fiddler-crabs fighting and trying to drag one another into their respective holes, where the victor could eat his unfortunate neighbor in peace, secure from interruption.
Upon our return to the schooner we found Ula holding aloft an almost empty cognac bottle. Upon his face there was a look of sorrow, for this, it seemed, was the very last of his once plentiful stock. After carefully measuring the contents with a speculative eye, he came to the conclusion that the remaining fluid was sufficient for only one more drink and raised the bottle to his lips. The cognac disappeared in one long swallow, and Ula dropped the empty bottle over the rail as though he were parting from his last friend. This was as it should be, for of late he had begun to show the effects of quarts previously imbibed. He seemed able to stand one or two, but many bottles drunk in rather quick succession were making themselves felt.
Though he was fairly steady on his feet, his eyes told the tale and his tongue had become noticeably thick. That evening he came to us and requested that we let him start on the stock we carry in our medicine kit. Of course we refused, and he sulkily returned to the stern sheets in disconsolate dejection. Later Ula was seized with a brilliant idea. His system craved alcohol. He must have it, he told himself. The compass of the Nautilus held nearly a pint of grain alcohol. His face lighted with anticipation and before we realized the meaning of his fumbling with the instrument he had unscrewed the top and had drained the raw spirits to the last drop. It was a draft to kill a mule and probably would have ended him, but his tortured stomach refused to retain it. Enough of it stayed down, however, to reduce Ula to the most satisfying state of inebriation he had ever experienced. He became very friendly and most anxious to please, while we just looked at each other. There was nothing to be done. We thanked Providence that there was no more of the stuff within his reach and turned away from him in disgust.
That was just an hour or so ago, and we have been sitting reading while the Nautilus slipped through the water smoothly, as though she were commanded by a skipper who was the soul of sobriety. There is land to starboard, a mile or two away, one would judge, and over there a little distance ahead we see smoke coming from the jungle. It is the first sign of native life we have seen since leaving Merauke. After a hurried discussion we ask Ula what the place is, but he is foolishly drunk and we cannot make out what he says, so we decide for ourselves and tell him to head for the shore as we wish to visit the place. Ula swings over the tiller obligingly, and we move at a lively clip across the wind toward the place.
We shall go ashore and investigate the kampong and, if it interests us, move our camping-outfit there and settle down for a few days. Moh brings up our cameras and guns while the crew unfasten the dinghy from its place beside the rail. We go below, to load some fresh rolls into the kodaks, where the light is not so strong. Five minutes pass while we are engaged in this undertaking and speculation as to what kind of kampong we shall find, when suddenly there is a terrific shock, a rending, crunching sound, and we pick ourselves up from the saloon floor and gaze blankly at each other, for the fraction of a moment speechless with consternation. The cause of the crash is self-evident. We are on a reef.