The crew look at us with great pride in their gods, and an expression of, “Your gods cannot do that.” It is a coincidence, we tell ourselves, but underlying our skepticism is a lurking wonder if after all there is not something in their faith. Only once on the voyage to Merauke does the breeze lessen. As the sails flap in the falling breeze, the gong and the chant are again brought to the fore, with instant results. The thing is a little uncanny and the skipper assures us that when they are beset with danger, in a storm, they call to the spirits in the same way and always with the desired results.
At noon of the second day out we espy ahead the great red buoy that marks the channel within the river of Merauke. As we turn the point to enter the broad river a welcome sight greets us. Our steamer is just coming abreast of the town, having arrived a few hours ahead of time. To-night we shall sleep in a snow-white stateroom,—between clean sheets.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Silently corrected typographical errors.
- Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.