shilling and a stick of tobacco into each outstretched hand.
By accepted New Guinea standards this was substantial overpayment for half a day’s
work, but it was important for them to be satisfied and in good temper. On their
homeward journey down the Erap, it was quite possible that they would meet a party
of Japanese and if they felt I had cheated them they might revenge themselves by
setting the enemy on our trail. As soon as the last man had been paid, the six of
them disappeared silently through the trees, stowing their shillings safely in their
ears as they went.
‘How are you off for tobacco?’ I asked the luluai as I squatted on the ground beside
him, waiting for the men to return with the cargo. (I spoke in pidgin, of course.)
‘Not very well,’ he replied. ‘We do not grow very good brus at Bivoro. It is a long
while since I had a piece of newspaper to roll my smoke in, too,’ he added hopefully.
I gave him a stick of trade tobacco and several sheets of newspaper.
‘Divide the paper up for the men, and I will give them a little tobacco when they
bring the cargo up,’ I told him.
He spread the paper on the ground before us and carefully tore it into strips.
‘Look,’ he said finally, ‘there is one piece bigger than the others. I had better
keep it myself, so as to avoid any dispute.’ And the old rogue tucked into his string
bag almost a whole sheet of paper.
In less than five minutes the women had packed all their belongings into the bilums,
as the string bags were called, and the men had returned with my cargo. We were on
our way once more.
The luluai walked beside me, carrying my haversack, and I asked him about the route
we were to follow. He said that it would be necessary to cross and recross the Erap
at least half a dozen times before we got to Bivoro.
‘The river turns about and about so much,’ he explained, ‘that if we were to follow
the one bank it would take us till tomorrow to get there. The water gets very swift
as we go up, too, but we will help you to cross.’
We emerged from the patch of jungle and regained the kunai. It was terribly hot,
and the sun was reflected straight back into our faces from the stony ground. I kept
hoping that no enemy reconnaissance planes would fly over, because there was not
a scrap of cover for several miles ahead. When we next came to the bank of the Erap
I realized that even if there had been a Jap plane about we would not have heard
it for the roar of the water and a dull rumbling sound which, Kari explained, was
caused by rocks and boulders that were being swept along the bed of the stream.
‘This stream is not deep,’ he told me. ‘The danger lies in those rocks, which could
easily break a man’s leg, and in the force of the water. I hope you are strong in
the water, because if you fall over in crossing you will be lucky to get out much
this side of the Markham, though the water is seldom deeper than your waist.’
The truth of this was demonstrated at our first crossing. The luluai had wished
to hold my hand and assist me over, but foolishly I would not hear of it. ‘If an
old man like that can do it, so can I,’ was my thought, and I plunged into the stream
ahead of the carriers. The water caught me, and immediately I was struggling to keep
my balance on the uneven stony bottom, though I was not even in the fastest part
of the stream. The luluai, seeing I had learnt my lesson, thrust out his stick and
hauled me to the bank.
He looked at me reproachfully, and explained that it was impossible to stand still
and keep one’s balance, because the stones rolled away from underfoot. It was necessary
to keep running as fast as one could, never leaving the feet on the bottom more than
an instant. In this way it was possible to cross the stream without falling. Having
delivered his little lecture he grasped me firmly by the hand and led the way.
As soon as we entered the water we broke into a run, bobbing up and down in the current,
with
By accepted New Guinea standards this was substantial overpayment for half a day’s
work, but it was important for them to be satisfied and in good temper. On their
homeward journey down the Erap, it was quite possible that they would meet a party
of Japanese and if they felt I had cheated them they might revenge themselves by
setting the enemy on our trail. As soon as the last man had been paid, the six of
them disappeared silently through the trees, stowing their shillings safely in their
ears as they went.
‘How are you off for tobacco?’ I asked the luluai as I squatted on the ground beside
him, waiting for the men to return with the cargo. (I spoke in pidgin, of course.)
‘Not very well,’ he replied. ‘We do not grow very good brus at Bivoro. It is a long
while since I had a piece of newspaper to roll my smoke in, too,’ he added hopefully.
I gave him a stick of trade tobacco and several sheets of newspaper.
‘Divide the paper up for the men, and I will give them a little tobacco when they
bring the cargo up,’ I told him.
He spread the paper on the ground before us and carefully tore it into strips.
‘Look,’ he said finally, ‘there is one piece bigger than the others. I had better
keep it myself, so as to avoid any dispute.’ And the old rogue tucked into his string
bag almost a whole sheet of paper.
In less than five minutes the women had packed all their belongings into the bilums,
as the string bags were called, and the men had returned with my cargo. We were on
our way once more.
The luluai walked beside me, carrying my haversack, and I asked him about the route
we were to follow. He said that it would be necessary to cross and recross the Erap
at least half a dozen times before we got to Bivoro.
‘The river turns about and about so much,’ he explained, ‘that if we were to follow
the one bank it would take us till tomorrow to get there. The water gets very swift
as we go up, too, but we will help you to cross.’
We emerged from the patch of jungle and regained the kunai. It was terribly hot,
and the sun was reflected straight back into our faces from the stony ground. I kept
hoping that no enemy reconnaissance planes would fly over, because there was not
a scrap of cover for several miles ahead. When we next came to the bank of the Erap
I realized that even if there had been a Jap plane about we would not have heard
it for the roar of the water and a dull rumbling sound which, Kari explained, was
caused by rocks and boulders that were being swept along the bed of the stream.
‘This stream is not deep,’ he told me. ‘The danger lies in those rocks, which could
easily break a man’s leg, and in the force of the water. I hope you are strong in
the water, because if you fall over in crossing you will be lucky to get out much
this side of the Markham, though the water is seldom deeper than your waist.’
The truth of this was demonstrated at our first crossing. The luluai had wished
to hold my hand and assist me over, but foolishly I would not hear of it. ‘If an
old man like that can do it, so can I,’ was my thought, and I plunged into the stream
ahead of the carriers. The water caught me, and immediately I was struggling to keep
my balance on the uneven stony bottom, though I was not even in the fastest part
of the stream. The luluai, seeing I had learnt my lesson, thrust out his stick and
hauled me to the bank.
He looked at me reproachfully, and explained that it was impossible to stand still
and keep one’s balance, because the stones rolled away from underfoot. It was necessary
to keep running as fast as one could, never leaving the feet on the bottom more than
an instant. In this way it was possible to cross the stream without falling. Having
delivered his little lecture he grasped me firmly by the hand and led the way.
As soon as we entered the water we broke into a run, bobbing up and down in the current,
with
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