CHAPTER XV
The Coming of the Burong Mas
Kampong days melt into one another with such indolent smoothness that the weeks slide into months without tally. Were it not for the calendar that hangs on the wall of the tent our count of them would be entirely lost. The simple routine life of the natives of the kampong, except for the diversions we have seen, becomes monotonous and boredom grips us.
It is a week since our yellow brethren left us with much ado and genial wishes for our welfare. They are well on their way by this time. Some of our own boys from the Nautilus accompanied them, for they had through some misdeeds become persona non grata with our hosts. On the beach there is a heavy surf rolling, for some distant storm at sea has raised a great swell, and dozens of Medusæ and other ocean polyps have been thrown up by the waves, to die in the fierce rays of the sun.
While we are walking along beside the thundering surf inspecting these,—a sort of natural-history lesson for want of more engrossing occupation,—a glance seaward gives us a thrill. Far out upon the horizon, almost hull down, is a schooner. It seems to be headed in our direction. She is the first sign of life we have seen at sea since our arrival here, and our minds are instantly filled with conjecture as to her destination. “Will she touch here?” we ask each other.
We hasten back to the kampong to tell the natives of the schooner and also to see if they know anything about her. She may be, we think, a boat that customarily touches at this place to trade. Upon seeing the schooner, which is momentarily drawing nearer, the natives chatter excitedly, finally making us understand that she will not come here, but will undoubtedly touch at a kampong farther up the coast where much copra or dried cocoanut meat, purchased from the natives with trade tobacco, will be taken on. The schooner is tacking and, even as we watch, takes a slant across the wind. The other kampong is fifteen miles to the westward. If we can get there in time to intercept the schooner before she has taken on her cargo and left, there is a good chance that we can get back to Merauke on her and catch the steamer to Java.
A steamer is due to leave Merauke for civilization in four days, according to our calendar. There is no time to lose. Instantly we make up our minds to take that schooner back. This will necessitate our packing up our equipment immediately and transporting it fifteen miles in the broiling heat of midday, plowing through the soft beach sand. It is a large order to undertake in the tropics. When we tell the natives of our decision they shake their heads gravely and say it cannot be done.
However, we strike camp in a jiffy and soon have our equipment snugly done up in thirty- and forty-pound bundles. The next problem is to secure the assistance of the natives, for without their aid the trip will be impossible. At first they are most unwilling to accompany us, but when we tell them that they are going whether they like it or not, and make a show of becoming nasty, they decide not to arouse our anger and gather round to load the bundles on their backs. Each tries to select the lightest of the bundles, and there ensues a great squabble among them. There are nearly sixty pieces of barang to be carried, and of course this requires a like number of men. We settle the squabble by telling all the men to take their bundles to a clear place on the sand and lay them down. When they have done this, we line them up and pick out the strongest-looking of them to carry the heavier pieces, so that the weaker and the very old ones will not be overburdened. It is not alone a sense of justice that prompts us in this, though, for were we to overload the weaker ones they would lag behind the rest and thus delay our march.
The skipper is a jolly fellow with a countenance that beams good nature, mixed with a shrewdness that speaks of business ability
