“The Chinamen were the guests of honor. They had been roasted to a turn. Next day I visited the place and when I saw the kampong clearing I knew what had happened. This piece of jade was the only thing left of the Chinamen that I could see. The rest was eaten. I took this from one of the children, who was playing with it. My gang were pretty sore about it. I don’t think it was on account of the Chinese, particularly, but because they had missed a good scrap, and they began to grouch. The next day one of the natives came to the launch with a couple of skins. Ula was working on the engine. The rest of my gang were all away in the jungle, shooting. The skins were a little ruffled up, but I think what made Ula angry was the fact that the native had on a pair of Chinese trousers.
He never collected for the skins, for Ula picked up a spanner that he’d been working on the engine with and tapped him with it. Then he tossed him into the kalee alongside to drift down the stream for the crocodiles to dine on.
“The other natives all cleared out and that night we heard them singing and beating drums in the jungle near their kampong. There was trouble in the air. My boys began to rifle the barang for some heavier shells and a couple of them built a big fire in the center of our clearing. About ten in the evening one of them had walked out across the circle of the firelight to throw on some more wood, when he stopped, straightened up, and then collapsed in a heap.
“I jumped for my gun. A Kia Kia ten-foot spear had finished him. A minute later hell broke loose. The natives did a queer thing for them. They rushed us. Man, it was a beautiful fight! There was a sick sort of a moon trying to see what was going on and the fire gave us a little light, so we just lined up along the bank of the kalee and let them come. Ula was a bird of a fighter. I’ve never seen more methodical slaughter. He and I were lying a little apart from the rest and as each bunch of howling painted devils came for us across the clearing we would let them have it.
“They shot clouds of arrows at us, but as we were lying down in the tall grass they all went high, though some of them whizzed by uncomfortably close. When they ran out of arrows they came at us with stone-headed clubs and we’d let them have what was in our twelve-gauges at thirty feet. It was bang! bang! bang! along the bank of that kalee, like a clay-pigeon trap match.
The prison-yard in Merauke, New Guinea
“Before long I noticed that things were pretty quiet over to my left where the rest of my boys were, and I rose up to look. As I did so I heard Ula grunt, “Look out!” and I swung around just in time to stop a burly Kia Kia who was planning to do me with a stone club that would have killed an elephant. Then Ula went down. They were coming at me from both sides, for I could see the grass moving slowly where they were sneaking up on me. I reached into my pocket to get some more shells and got the shock of my life. I had shot my last one. My gun was empty. There was nothing to do but get away, and I turned toward the spot on the bank where the launch was tied. I had taken maybe a dozen steps toward it when I heard a couple of plumps from the engine and then she caught on and got to hitting regular.
“I rose up from the shelter of the tapa grass and made time toward the sound. Ammed, the only one of the boys left, had started the kicker and was pulling out. He saved my bacon that night. We didn’t waste any time in getting down the river,—just kept going.”
Reache turns and shakes his head. While his hand gropes for the bottle of square-face he sighs and concludes, “I lost some fine guns that night.” We look at each other in speculation. The story sounds all right, but— “Ah, here he comes!” exclaims Reache. “Here comes the Controlleur.” Reache rises and goes to the railing of the veranda and calls to a brown-skinned, black mustached, military-looking fellow. After a moment’s conversation the Controlleur comes in with Reache, greets us cordially, and tells us that he has the passangrahan ready for us.