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 174dozens of medus? 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 175from 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 176their 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
he beats a gong briskly and chants a prayer in malay, while the rest of the crew add their prayers to his petitions
177before going we distribute part of our remaining tobacco among the women, who have come to like us and appear sad over our sudden leave-taking. the rest we will give to our carriers when they leave us at the other kampong. with one of us white men in the lead to set the pace and the other bringing up the rear to spur on the laggards, we hasten away at a pace that soon starts the perspiration in streams. moh walks along in the middle of the procession, happier than he has been since leaving java. he has visions of his lady-love in soerabaya greeting him with outstretched arms. he feels sure of her fidelity; for does she not know that he is well paid by the tuans, and that his pockets will be well lined with guilders?
the remaining crew of the nautilus also come with us, and are rather useful, for they proudly tote our guns. they, too, are happy, as they are anxious to return to their homes. abreast of us is the schooner, still tacking up the coast. it seems at first as though she were slowly crawling ahead of us, but as the hours drag on we see that we are holding our own, and we even stop once for refreshment and to rest the weary 178natives, who are beginning to show signs of playing out. some of them stagger a little as they come to a halt where we are piling the barang.
after the period of rest is over they shoulder their burdens and the long file is again under way. the sky becomes overcast when we are on the last four-mile stretch and still an hour from our destination. we welcome the cloudiness, for the heat has been terrific. with the clouds comes a rain-storm which soaks us to the skin, but which washes off the perspiration and is gratefully cooling. once our spirits fall as we near the kampong. the schooner tacks again, which seems to indicate that she is going out to sea and does not intend touching at the place at all. there is excited comment from the natives at this and we indulge in a little soul-satisfying invective, until we see that the man?uver is simply to enable the boat to pass a mud-bar over which the tide is breaking. as the schooner swerves and heads directly for the village, we cheer loudly and urge the lagging kia kias to 179greater speed, that we may arrive at the place ahead of her dinghy.
we just make it, for the men drop their burdens as the crew of the schooner land through the surf. we go forward to meet the skipper of the craft and find him to be a chinese who greets us affably. to our inquiry if he intends returning to merauke he replies that he will after loading on five piculs of copra. we tell him that we wish to return with him and he looks at our pile of barang and shakes his head. after a little mental calculation he says that he cannot accommodate us unless we wish to leave some of our belongings for a later trip. at this we firmly shake our heads, and we finally strike a bargain by chartering his whole schooner for ourselves. the copra he leaves for a later trip.
we tell him that we must be in merauke in time to catch the steamer for java. again he shakes his head and with a glance at the sky says, “angin tida baik [the wind is not good.]” while this conversation has been under way, our 180bearers have cast themselves wearily down upon the sand, and as the natives of the kampong drift down to the beach they rise and try to slink away to the village, where they can hide from further work. moh calls our attention to this just in time, and we order them back to their burdens. the schooner is lying about three hundred yards from the high-tide mark and with the receding tide is canting slowly on her side. she is aground in the mud of the river mouth.
the best way to load her with our barang is to have the men wade out and put the stuff directly on her. this they do after some remonstrance, and then our work is over. tired out from the long hike in the heat, we go aboard immediately and change to dry, clean clothes while moh prepares our dinner. the kia kias receive the remaining tobacco, five packages each, with cries of glad surprise, and it touches us to hear them singing to us while, tired as they are, they dance farewell to us up and down the beach. with all their faults, they have hearts and can 181come truly to like one who treats them with consideration and kindliness.
high tide is at eleven, the skipper tells us, and we must of necessity wait for it. the crew are all on shore, visiting in the kampong, from which there drifts to us the sound of merrymaking. a thump now and then warns us of the incoming tide, and soon the schooner’s decks begin to level up as she straightens to an even keel. at half-past ten o’clock the skipper comes aboard with the crew and preparations are made for getting under way. the skipper is a jolly fellow with a rotund countenance beaming with good nature mixed with shrewdness that speaks of his business ability. he has driven a hard bargain with us for the charter, he thinks, but could he but know it, we would have paid him double without rancor. in fact, we offer a prize or bonus for himself and the crew if they land us in merauke in time to catch our steamer.
the kampong is in utter darkness when we finally weigh anchor and glide out from the 182shadow of the point beneath which it nestles. only the mournful howling of a dog bids us farewell, for the natives have all turned in. there is a fair breeze, and with low contented murmurings the wavelets lap the cutwater of the schooner.
morning dawns on a glassy sea. there is not a breath of air stirring. the sails hang motionless. the hours speed by with no change in the motion of the schooner. as the situation begins to get on our nerves and we contemplate a two-months’ stretch in merauke, we anxiously question the skipper as to the probability of the calm enduring. he gives us little hope and we descend to the depths of gloom. the crew are gathered up forward around the typical sheet-iron fireplace, cooking rice and fish. when they have finished their meal one of them worms his way below and emerges later with a large gong. he is about to call the attention of the wind spirits to our plight and beseech them to favor us so that the bonus can be collected. he beats the gong briskly and chants 183an invocation in malay, while the rest of the crew add their prayers to his. we look upon the proceeding with cynical indifference, but, much to our surprise, even while the men are still chanting and the gong booming, a cool breath fans our faces and the sail above us bellies out tentatively. at this the crew redouble their efforts and soon a spanking breeze is sending us slithering through the surges in fine style.
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 184the 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.