CHAPTER XIVA FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE
CHAPTER XIVA FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE
CHAPTER XIVA FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE
CHAPTER XIV
A FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE
At Pokama we got on board a vessel very heavily laden with sandalwood. I did not notice how perilously deep she was in the water until after we had put to sea. This promised a voyage of great discomfort, and Harry shortly became very sick. Partly on this account, and partly because we wanted to see a certain part of the coast more minutely, we went ashore in a small boat, and slept that night at the house of a coloured teacher in the service of the London Missionary Society. Next morning we set out on foot for Manu-Manu, forty miles distant, a long and very toilsome tramp, often rendered doubly difficult by the uncertain sands of the beach. Where the tide had left it wet we found it as firm to walk upon as a bicycle track, but in the dry sand we often sunk to our knees. Harry, especially, suffered severely, and his ankles were sore for a long time after. The heat also was terrific, and added greatly to our discomfort; but the walk was not without its interest and its diversion, although in point of scenery it was rather monotonous. Very conspicuous on the fringe of the coast vegetation was the true species of the shore Pandanus. Inland was dense forest, diversified with patches of grass and marshland. Our itinerary was as follows: Ourfirst stage was twenty-two miles from Giabada to Issu, the way being greatly lengthened by the need to follow the bend of ever-recurring bays, where the treacherous sand and the lack of shelter from the sun proved particularly trying. But at this part of the march we saw one of the most extraordinary sights of all our travels—many thousands of soldier-crabs traversing the sandy beach in detached, regularly ordered bodies that moved evidently by the signal of some common commander. These “armed battalions” stretched for miles, and no matter what figure they assumed—whether wedge, triangle, or rhombus—the dressing, so to speak, of the outer ranks was perfect, and would have put many a Volunteer corps to shame. Not a crab was out of line. The advance was fairly rapid, and was always towards the sea, for a distance of, say, two hundred yards. When the crabs come out of their holes in the sand they throw themselves into this compact formation probably for safety. There was no walking along the beach for them—scarcely a clear hundred yards for miles. When approached, they quickened their pace perceptibly.
The individual crab is small and has no shell. The spread of the legs would probably be 1½ inches, and the body is of a dark fawn colour, exactly resembling the wet sand of the beach, so that the creature’s hue is without doubt yet another of Nature’s adaptations for protection. It is remarkable also that it imitates only the wet sand, for the dry sand is of a dazzling silky whiteness.
A SEA-COAST SCENE IN NEW GUINEA.Some of the houses of Elevada, one of the pottery towns, may be seen by the sea.
A SEA-COAST SCENE IN NEW GUINEA.Some of the houses of Elevada, one of the pottery towns, may be seen by the sea.
A SEA-COAST SCENE IN NEW GUINEA.Some of the houses of Elevada, one of the pottery towns, may be seen by the sea.
At Issu we stayed for the night, and did our best to sleep, although the sand-flies were a great torment. From Issu we went on to Manu-Manu, a stretch of eighteen miles, and as we went we saw many sharks, who followed us close inshore and kept pace with us for a considerable distance, hoping in vain that we would be unwise enough to bathe. Some natives, who had followed us from Giabada, tried to kill them by throwing sticks.
Manu-Manu was our last halt before taking a canoe for Port Moresby. At the former place we found some men to assist us, and after spending the night there, and the best part of the following day in preparation, we embarked. At the mouth of the Manu-Manu River the crocodiles swarmed in the brackish water. This is the point where there occurred the fight between the natives and the crocodiles which I described in one of my earlier chapters. The canoe voyage that we made at this time was one that was only possible in fine weather, for there were many nasty headlands to round. The bays were very deep, and at the middle of the crossing from point to point we would often be ten miles off the land. Often, too, there were treacherous reefs to avoid, but fortunately we had moonlight after 2A.M.; and so, sometimes sailing and sometimes paddling, we passed the villages of Boira and Borepada and reached Port Moresby at five on the evening of the day after we had left Manu-Manu. We arrived at the Government station just about the same time as the ketch which was bearing the bulk of our baggage.
We entered Port Moresby by the western entrance, which is not deep enough for large ships, and canonly be made by canoes. At Port Moresby we had intended to put up as formerly at Sam’s house, but we found news of deep affliction awaiting our faithful head-man. His wife Heli was in terrible distress, for she had lost two children while her husband was with us in the interior. Both were boys, one of seventeen known as George, and the other a bright little fellow of ten called Foralis, who had been a great favourite of ours on our former visit, and who used to make himself very useful to us.
Poor George’s death was a merciful release, for although he was so well on in his teens, he was a mere dwarf, and had been ill since his birth—a sufferer from the so-called New Guinea disease, that incurable and mysterious disorder which eats away the legs. It is believed to be a form of leprosy. He was a fleshless, melancholy little being, who lay in bed all day, hardly ever moving. He had, however, all his senses, and it was pathetic to see him pursuing his only amusement, playing with the petals of flowers and with different coloured papers, of which he sometimes made strings. Sam must have missed Foralis very keenly, for the youngster was at a most attractive age, and was beginning to be very useful in various ways. He had become quite a bold little horseman, and would often ride on errands for his father.
We spent five days at Port Moresby in the usual routine of packing for the homeward voyage, the first stage of which we performed on the small steamerParua, which took us to Cooktown, where we were interested to note the relics of former mining activity,for the place enjoyed a brief spell of prosperity, during which pretentious banks and public buildings sprang up, and still stand there as if in mockery of its absolute deadness. The time was when they took fifty tons of gold from the Palmer River, but those days had long gone by, although there is certainly plenty of mineral wealth in the hinterland that is entirely unworked, and excellent for tin miners especially. No effort has been made to work this, and it is difficult to get money for even a gold mine at the back of Cooktown, so much British capital has been lost there in wild-cat schemes. A once busy railway still runs fitfully to the Palmer River.
We stayed three weeks at Cooktown, and during the second week we witnessed a thunderstorm that transcended in violence the worst I had ever seen in South America, and that is saying a good deal. After an intensely oppressive morning, a black cloud came up from the westward, and the storm burst with startling suddenness. In less than half-an-hour every street was a veritable river, and the lightning, continuous and seemingly ubiquitous, was accompanied by cracking and rending thunder that could only be described as appalling. Fortunately, no one was killed, and the only damage was to the roof of Burns’s store, which was struck by lightning.
Save for the thunderstorm, our stay at Cooktown was utterly uneventful, and at the end of the third week we went down to Sydney and came home by the White Star line.