I SET OUT UPON MY VOYAGE.
The night dragged on wearily and miserably. Inside the house a chill
discomfort reigned, for I had lit no fire this evening, and every
article that I possessed, even to the sleeping mats, had been stowed
in the canoe. The rain thundered upon the flimsy roof and oozed
through in places with unpleasant tricklings, while from outside came
the continuous hissing roar of the deluge as though some giant
locomotive were blowing off steam. At long intervals there was a lull,
and then I ran out to see that the canoe was not washed away, and that
no enemies were approaching my stronghold.
So the night wore on, full of unrest, anxiety and bodily discomfort.
Each time that I visited the canoe I found the water farther up the
slipway, and each time that I went to the bank to look out across the
river, the murmur of the rushing water seemed louder.
About an hour before dawn (as I judged by observing a group of stars
through a rift in the clouds) there came a more decided lull in the
downpour, and a few patches of starlit sky appeared overhead. I had
been sitting on my bedstead dozing, but the sudden quiet aroused me,
and I went forth once more to see that all was secure. The air was
brilliantly clear, and although there was no moon, I could distinctly
see the dark shapes of the trees on the opposite bank. And as I
looked, I could see something else; in the dark space under the bank
was a spot of blacker darkness which began to slowly move out into the
stream, growing smaller as it did so. It was soon followed by another,
and yet another, until there was a line of black spots on the dim
surface of the river, like a row of corks above a drift-net.
A night attack was being made, then, despite the unfavourable weather.
I waited until the leader had reached mid-stream, when I could make
out his head and shoulders just emerging from the water, and his arms
held up, grasping either a musket or a spear; then I turned and softly
ran to the canoe.
As I passed along the rear of the island, I was startled at observing
a party of men approaching from that side of the river also. The
water, I knew, was now too deep there for them to get across, but this
second party suggested yet others and made me anxious to be gone.
Excepting my spear, which was in my hand, all my goods were on board,
so when I reached the canoe, I silently pushed back the cover, climbed
into the well, and unfastened the mooring line from the cleat.
I stood for a moment with the taut line in my hand, looking out across
the little bay to see that no one was approaching from that direction;
then I let go, casting the end clear of the stage, and immediately the
canoe began to move. There was a soft rumble as her greased keels slid
over the slippery bars, and as she gathered momentum, her stern dived
into the still water, deeper and deeper, until for one horrid moment I
thought she was overweighted and was going right under; then her bow
dropped with a gentle splash and she rode on an even keel, gliding
away into the quiet backwater at the end of the island.
I drew a deep breath as the rapidly widening space of water appeared
between me and the land, and, putting the helm over, guided my craft
towards the swift stream that swept between the island and the shore.
In a few seconds the canoe emerged from the backwater into the flood
stream, and on this began to drift rapidly down the river.
At this moment the rain came on again and poured down in such torrents
that I was glad to take shelter under the waterproof apron or
well-cover. I had rigged two curved sticks on cord pivots so that they
could be drawn over the well, thus supporting the cover and forming a
hood like the tilt of a waggon. This tilt I now fixed in position, and
found it a perfect protection from the rain; and as the opening was at
the after end, I could look out over the stern, although, of course,
in the direction of the bows the view was obstructed. When the tilt
was up I let go a fathom or so of the line attached to the sinker, and
found that I was able to feel, by the vibration of the cord, to what
extent the weight was dragging on the bottom, while the noise of the
water rushing past the canoe enabled me to judge roughly how much her
drift was retarded by it.
I was just belaying the cord of the sinker when a tremendous shouting
arose from the direction of the island, and was answered from the
banks. My good friends had apparently realised their loss, but by what
means I could not judge. Perhaps the empty house had told the tale, or
possibly they had found the slipway and guessed at its purpose. If the
latter were the case I might expect a hot pursuit, especially if they
should come across the empty hole, for of the significance of this
they could have no doubt whatever.
As the shouts re-echoed from the banks I was tempted to take to the
paddle and forge ahead at full speed, regardless of the rain and the
darkness; but my judgment told me that it was better to go cautiously
at reduced speed than to risk dashing on to some obstacle and either
wrecking the canoe or becoming so involved that I must wait for
daylight to extricate myself. Indeed, had there been any choice at
all, I should certainly have anchored until the darkness was past, for
I might even now, for all I could tell, be drifting straight on to an
impassable rapid or even a waterfall. But there was no choice. If I
anchored, I should be overtaken and totally lost, whereas if I were
wrecked on a rapid or fall, I might save myself and even ultimately
recover the treasure. So there was nothing to be done but crouch in
the shelter of the tilt and hope that the river hereabouts was free
from falls and rapids, and that my good genius would carry the canoe
clear of sunken rocks and snags.
Let me, once for all, make clear to the non-nautical reader my mode of
progression. The canoe was being carried along by the swift current of
the flooded river, but over her bow hung the line with the weighted
log attached, which by trailing along the bottom created a resistance
to her progress, which was great or little according to the length of
line paid out, and kept her head pointing up-stream. She thus drifted
down the river stern foremost, but as she moved more slowly than the
water, the current acted on her rudder as though she were moving
against it; so that if the tiller were put over to the right her head
would turn to the left and she would be carried by the current
obliquely across the river to the left bank, and _vice versâ_.
Consequently, the vessel was far from being out of control--in fact,
this is the safest method of descending a rapid river; but, of course,
the canoe’s obedience to her helm was of little avail at the moment,
for the darkness was profound, and I was being carried on into unknown
regions. Yet even so, the trailing sinker was of service, for it
naturally rolled down into the deepest parts of the river-bed and thus
guided the canoe clear of the banks and shallows.
And all this time the deluge descended with a roar like that of some
great cataract. My frail shelter trembled with the impact of the
falling torrents, and the water around was lashed into seething foam.
It cannot have been much above an hour (although it seemed a very
eternity) that I had sat crouching in my shelter, peering out into the
grey void, my ears stunned by the uproar and my heart in my mouth with
the momentary expectation of being flung into some fall or rapid or
being dashed against a rock, when the dimness around began to lighten
and I knew that the dawn had come. A cheerless dawn it was, with the
sombre grey pall overhead, a sheet of dirty yellow foam around, and on
either side a dim and shapeless shadow that I knew to be the wall of
forest on the banks. Yet it was better than darkness, for I could see
far enough to steer clear of visible rocks and snags; and now and
again, when the canoe swung in towards one bank, some tall shape would
start out of the void and encourage me by the speed with which it
passed. There might be dangers ahead, but there also lay safety, and
my pursuers must needs be fleet of foot to overtake me at this rate.
Not long after daybreak, as the canoe was slipping along pretty close
inshore, the wall of forest suddenly came to an end, and for a little
space neither bank was visible; then the tall grey shadow reappeared,
first on one side and then on the other. By this I judged that the
river had joined some larger stream--probably the main stream of the
Tano--and this surmise was confirmed by the fact that the current was
now noticeably stronger, although the river seemed no wider than
before.
The cravings of hunger had been making themselves felt for some time
past, and as my anxieties were now somewhat allayed, I thought it time
to pipe all hands to breakfast; so I looked up the hind legs of a
ground squirrel, which, being the latest addition to my store and
therefore the least perfectly cured, required to be consumed without
delay, and made a barbaric but refreshing meal.
There was one feature of my voyage that had all along caused me some
uneasiness, and had recurred to my mind more than once since I had
left the island.
This was the Tánosu bridge.
I remembered that it hung very low--so low, in fact, that at the
middle, where it sagged a good deal, its lower surface was immersed
even when I crossed it in the dry season, while the ends were hardly
high enough then for the canoe to pass under. The river had risen
considerably since the rains began, and it was certain that the bridge
would be partly submerged. If it should be deeply submerged all would
be well, but if it were only awash I should have to unload the canoe
before I could drag it over. But Tánosu was a mighty unpleasant place
at any time at which to execute a manœuvre of this kind, and now,
with the possibility that the hue and cry had already been raised
there, it would be a veritable hornets’ nest. True, I might not be on
the Tano after all, but this was highly improbable, as that river
drained practically the whole of north-western Ashanti, and the island
was but a mile or two from its source.
I was still cogitating upon the matter, when the rain, which had been
decreasing in violence for some minutes, ceased altogether, and as the
banks came clearly into view, I swept round a curve into a long
straight reach of the river, and there, hardly a quarter of a mile
away, was the bridge itself.
It presented a most formidable obstruction.
The ends, on a level with the tops of the banks, were just clear of
the water, while the central part was quite submerged; but I could see
by the way the water foamed over it that its surface was not many
inches under.
Directly I saw the bridge, my decision was made. I would try to jump
the obstacle without unloading.
To this end I began to rapidly unfasten the bunches of manillas from
their lashings and push them down towards the bows, keeping an eye
upon the trim of the canoe, that I did not either swamp her or strain
her timbers in the process. Less than half the metal had to be moved,
for when this change had been made in the stowage, her bows were
nearly under, while her stern was almost out of the water.
By the time these hasty preparations had been made the bridge was less
than two hundred yards ahead, so having steered the canoe into
mid-stream, I pulled up the drop rudder by its cord and hauled in the
sinker, letting the craft go at the full speed of the current.
Straight, stern on, she charged at the middle of the bridge, over
which the water was roaring and foaming as if on a weir; her stern
passed on to the bridge and over it and for a moment I hoped that we
should float clear, when, with a shock that flung me on to the floor
of the well, her keels ground against the massive timber and she stuck
hard and fast, turning nearly broadside on to the current as she
brought up.
This last circumstance alarmed me terribly, for the water poured over
the bridge with such force that I feared every moment that the canoe
would be capsized and sunk; besides which the water was now washing
right over the forward half of the vessel and threatening to come into
the well. However, I was relieved to find that the rudder was well
clear of the bridge, so that as soon as I could get the weight back
into the stern I could bring her head to stream again.
I was about to dive into the bows to bring back the cargo, when a
shout from the bank attracted my attention, and I saw a man running
away from the river towards the village, apparently giving the alarm.
There was no time to be lost.
Letting the rudder drop down, I crawled into the bows and hauled for
dear life at the manillas, dragging bunch after bunch aft of the well,
yet stowing the weight carefully so as not to break the back of the
canoe. I had got all the cargo back into its place and was beginning
to trim it further aft, when I saw a party of men running furiously
from the village towards the river; and, before I could move more than
a single bunch, they had reached the end of the bridge.
In sheer desperation I put the helm hard over, and getting out of the
well, crawled right out on to the stern, sinking it nearly flush with
the water. This caused the current to lay hold of it so that the canoe
swung round head to stream; and just as the foremost of the men was
ankle deep in the rushing water that poured over the bridge, the keel
slowly grated down the edge of the great timber, the bow slipped down
with a splash, and she floated away on the current.
The men who were on the bridge instantly turned about and began to run
along the bank, but finding that they could barely keep up with the
canoe (for the current was sweeping along at fully five miles an
hour), they struck off into the bush, evidently taking a short cut for
some bend in the river.
This was highly unpleasant, for I had noticed that some of the men
carried muskets, while others wore the familiar garb of the
fetish-priest; probably they intended to wait for me at some
promontory further down, and as they were on the right bank, I at once
took my paddle and steered well under the left, urging the craft
forward with all my strength. The combined effect of the current and
the paddle drove the canoe along at fully seven miles an hour, and I
had some hopes of outstripping my pursuers, which I was most anxious
to do, for their behaviour clearly showed that they had received news
from Aboási and intended to stop me at all costs.
The river now made several abrupt turns, which compelled me to keep
nearly in mid-stream; then it entered a long straight reach like that
at Tánosu, and I was beginning to congratulate myself on the chance
this afforded me of drawing ahead, when I caught the white glint of
broken water at the far end.
I was approaching a rapid.
That this was the trysting-place selected by my friends was now made
clear, for I could hear the shouts of the advancing party and even the
cracking of the branches as they pushed through the forest.
It was a terrible dilemma.
If, as I strongly suspected, the rapids were impassable it was useless
to rush blindly at them, and yet it would be impossible to unload the
cargo and ease the canoe down, with a squad of ruffians peppering me
from the bank.
As I neared the critical spot and the roar of broken water was borne
to my ear, I stood up and hastily surveyed the rapids. A broad band of
yellowish-white foam stretched across the river almost from bank to
bank, broken here and there by projecting masses of rock. In one place
only was the water unbroken--a narrow space quite near to the right
bank.
There was little time to consider, for the voices of my pursuers grew
rapidly nearer, and I was being swept down towards the rapids with
increasing velocity; so, as the passage seemed clear at the one place,
I decided to take the risk of what lay beyond. I therefore pointed the
head of the canoe at the smooth space, paddling in towards the right
shore, and at that moment a chorus of yells from the bank almost
abreast of me announced the arrival of the enemy. As I charged at the
narrow passage a loud explosion rang out, and the air was filled with
the screams of flying slugs; but to these I paid no attention, for I
had enough to do to keep my bark in the little alley of smooth water.
The next few bewildering moments were passed in a whirl of noise and
confusion. The water roared on both sides, great hummocks of rock
whizzed past, muskets boomed from behind, slugs howled through the
air, and the canoe flew forward with a velocity that left me
breathless.
Suddenly a great rock loomed up right ahead, half way down the rapid.
I flung down the paddle, and snatching up the pole, lunged wildly at a
passing ledge. The canoe swerved imperceptibly and swept on, as it
seemed to inevitable destruction; but her bow missed the rugged
monolith by a hair’s breadth, and her side flashed past its rough
face, but so close that the paddle, which projected a couple of
inches, was caught by the rock and flung into the water. Once past
this obstacle, the dangers of the rapid were over, although the
heavily-weighted craft almost buried her bows as she plunged into the
smooth water below; and a sharp turn of the river carried me out of
the range of the muskets.
As the firing ceased I looked round to see if the men were following
or taking measures to cut off my retreat, when I observed that a
stream of some size, and very full and swift, joined the river just
below the rapid. By this my pursuers were most effectually stopped, at
any rate for the present, and almost certainly for good; for when I
remembered the network of rivers by which the forest is
intersected--rivers which just now would all be flooded--I felt that I
had nothing to fear from a pursuit overland.
It would not do, however, to lose my paddle, for as the water was too
deep for poling, I was rather helpless without it; but it could not be
far away, and must certainly come along presently on the current. So I
let go two or three fathoms of the drag line, and as the canoe slowed
down, I presently saw the paddle come round a bend in the river,
floating nearly in mid-stream, and slowly overtaking me. When I had
recovered it I hauled up the sinker, and paddled ahead in a leisurely
fashion. There was no need to exert myself, for the current was
already taking me along as fast as was safe in so tortuous a river;
but I had to use either the paddle or drag to keep the canoe under
control, and I grudged the trifling delay that the latter caused. The
river hereabouts seemed pretty free from obstructions, although the
overfalls or eddies upon the surface told of jagged rocks at the
bottom; indeed, it is probable that in the dry season, this part of
the river was an almost continuous series of rapids. But now a good
depth of water covered the rocks, and snags, and the whirlpools
plainly pointed out those that approached the surface, so, by keeping
a bright look-out, I was able to keep on my course.
And now that there was a lull in the excitements of the voyage, I had
time to examine the bark that was carrying me so bravely on my way. A
very staunch and sturdy little craft she was, and fully up to my
expectations, and I was gratified to notice how accurately my
calculations had worked out. She showed a good seven inches of
free-board amidships, and a foot at either end; was quite dry inside,
and so stiff and steady by reason of her breadth and the weight of
ballast, that I could stand up without in the least affecting her
stability. She was certainly very heavy to paddle, but as the whole
voyage was down stream this mattered little, and I had no doubt that
she would sail moderately well.
For several hours I pursued a very uneventful journey, steering with
the paddle rather than propelling the canoe. Once I encountered a
fallen tree which stretched almost across the river and was rather
difficult to pass without damaging my vessel; I also met with two or
three small rapids, but as I was now unembarrassed I had no difficulty
in steering clear of the rocks.
As I went on, the river widened out very perceptibly, the tributaries
being very numerous, and many of them of large size, so that by the
afternoon I found myself upon a really fine and noble-looking stream;
and as I looked upon its yellow, unruffled waters, rolling on
majestically between the lofty, forest-clad banks, it seemed strange
that it should be so desolate and silent. Yet for hours I had passed
no village, nor seen any sign of human occupation, and only the
familiar forest sounds--voices of bird or beast--disturbed the
death-like stillness.
The afternoon passed away, not tediously, though with little incident,
for the leafy banks that slipped by so quietly, but swiftly, were so
many milestones on the road to freedom; coming from ahead with
friendly greeting, and passing astern with a silent God speed! And
when the dull grey of the western sky turned to a duller crimson, I
began to look about for an anchorage with a cheerful and thankful
heart.
For some reasons I would rather have drawn my canoe up on the shore
for the night, but the overhanging banks were crumbling and unsafe,
and the beasts of prey might prove dangerous. So I decided to anchor
in the slackest water I could find, sufficiently far from the bank to
be secure from nocturnal visitors.
With this object I dropped the sinker and drifted down until, just
round a sharp bend, I found a sheltered spot out of the main current.
Here I was about to let go my anchor when I noticed a tall Odúm tree
on the very edge of the bank--a highly undesirable neighbour at this
season of the year--and remembering the tree I had passed earlier in
the day, I let the canoe drift another fifty yards down; when, as the
current was comparatively slight, I dropped anchor, and paid out a
good length of the stout liana cable. It was with some trepidation
that I checked the outrun of the cable, fearing that the prongs or
flukes of the hard-wood grapnel might snap off; but they held quite
securely, so I belayed the cable to its cleat, and hoisted the sinker,
and, for the first time, my little ship rode to her anchor.
There were but a few minutes of daylight left, and these I employed in
critically watching the bank to see if the anchor dragged at all; but
there was no sign of movement, and when I pulled on the cable, it
seemed as firm as though there had been a fifty-pound Trotman at the
end of it. So I set up the tilt, in case it should rain in the night,
made a frugal supper of smoked meat, and, having spread the mats, lay
down between the two rows of manillas.
It was an odd sensation, but very pleasant and peaceful, to lie in
that tiny cabin and listen to the water gurgling past outside the thin
bark skin. But I did not listen long, for I had had no sleep on the
previous night, and was tired out with the day’s exertions; and my
head had rested but a few minutes on the pillow that I had hastily
extemporised by wrapping an antelope’s ham in my _riga_, when I fell
asleep.
I cannot tell how long I had slept, when I woke with a violent start
and the feeling that something had happened. The canoe was rocking
slightly, and the rain was pounding upon the deck and tilt. At first I
thought my bark had broken adrift, but the trickle of the water past
her run was still audible, and on giving a pull at the cable, I could
feel that the anchor was fast. I put my head out of the opening of the
tilt, but, of course, nothing was to be seen in the black obscurity,
so, as the canoe was now motionless again, I concluded that some
floating object must have struck her and aroused me; and with this I
lay down again, and was asleep directly.
The dull light of a wet morning was streaming in through the companion
hatch (as I may magniloquently call the tilt opening) when I next
opened my eyes, and as I was ravenously hungry, I commenced the day by
breakfasting off a portion of my pillow--it is needless to say which
portion--after which I piped all hands to heave up the anchor. But
before beginning to haul on the cable, I put my head outside the tilt
to see that all was clear; and immediately the cause of last night’s
disturbance was apparent. The lofty tree that had aroused my
misgivings on the previous evening lay sprawling across the river, its
flat base of roots at the top of the bank, and its crown of branches
in mid-stream. It had fallen just over the place where I had first
intended to anchor, and even now, some of the topmost branches were
barely ten yards from the canoe. My caution had not been superfluous,
and as I hauled in the cable--very gently, so as not to strain the
anchor--I congratulated myself on my escape.
I examined the anchor anxiously as it came up out of the water, and
was much relieved to find it none the worse for the night’s work. Two
out of the four flukes had been deep in the sandy bottom, and had
manifestly held fast, for the canoe had not dragged an inch in the
whole night.
As the rain still fell slightly, I kept the tilt up, and drifted down,
trailing the drag. My spirits were very buoyant, for I had succeeded
beyond my expectations in this enterprise; one day of my voyage was
gone, and I must have travelled well over sixty miles in the thirteen
or fourteen hours that I had been under way. And not only had I left
far behind the most imminent and alarming dangers, but I had met with
far fewer obstacles and difficulties than I had anticipated. None of
the rapids had been impassable, even to the loaded canoe, and the
river had been most unexpectedly open and free from snags.
But it was not all to be such plain sailing, for even as I was thus
complacently reviewing the previous day’s exploits, my ear caught a
new sound--an even, continuous murmur, faint and distant, but
unmistakable--the sound of falling water.
As I drifted on, the murmur grew louder, but with a slowness that was
ominously suggestive of a great volume of sound travelling a long
distance, and several reaches were passed before it seemed much
nearer. Gradually, however, it waxed in intensity, until it rose clear
above the hiss of the rain, and I began to look ahead with keen
anxiety at each turn of the river’s tortuous course.
At length, creeping along inshore on the shallow side, I rounded a
rocky promontory, and met the full roar of the cataract, which
appeared to be half way down the next reach. Yet there was little to
see. The river seemed to break off abruptly, and its continuation at a
lower level was visible through a steamy haze.
I ran the canoe inshore where a small, stout tree grew close to the
water’s edge, and to this I prepared to make fast. The canoe was
fitted with a painter (or mooring rope) of plaited bark, the strongest
piece of cordage I possessed, twenty feet long, and fixed to the
stem-post with an eye-splice; so there was no fear of her breaking
away from her moorings. Having hitched the painter securely to the
tree, I tied on my wig, and taking my spear and catapult, stepped
ashore. There was no one in sight on either bank, so with a cautious
look round, I made my way along the shore towards the rapids.
When I reached them their aspect filled me with despair. They
commenced with a sheer drop of seven or eight feet; but this was only
the beginning, for the water poured down into a chaos of rocks, amidst
which it boiled and spouted, only to dash onward into a new labyrinth.
I wandered dejectedly down stream, eagerly looking for the end of the
rapids, but at each few paces a fresh stretch of foaming water came
into view, tumbling boisterously among great blocks of stone, and
filling the air with noise and spray.
I walked on for about half a mile without seeing any sign of the river
resuming its ordinary course, and then, growing uneasy about the
canoe, turned back, terribly disheartened, and at my wits’ end how to
proceed.
It looked as if my voyage must end here, for it seemed as impossible
to carry the canoe this distance on land, as it was to navigate her
through the cataract. And how much farther did the rapids extend? That
was a question I could not answer, and yet until it was settled I
could form no plan.
As I turned my face upstream, I noticed with no little surprise that
the fall was out of sight, for my attention had been so fixed upon the
water that I had not observed the way in which the river curved, and I
now found that I had traversed nearly a quarter of a circle, and that
the curve below continued to turn in the same direction.
I found the canoe just as I had left it, and stepping on board, cast
off the painter, and paddled a little way up in the slack water; then
turning her head off shore, I drove her at full speed obliquely across
the river, and secured the painter to a tree on the opposite bank.
Once more taking my weapons, I climbed up on to the level and entered
the forest, and had gone but a short distance when I struck a path of
the usual narrow and tortuous type. Proceeding briskly along this, I
had walked two or three hundred yards when, quite suddenly, I came in
sight of a party of six men sitting round a small fire. They looked
like Ashantis, and were evidently travellers, for their narrow,
canework trays piled with produce lay hard by; and I observed with
envy a goodly bunch of plantains lashed to each tray.
As I was standing taking in these details, one of the men turned his
head and observed me, and for a moment seemed paralysed with
astonishment; but he presently rose slowly, still staring at me, and
reaching out for his tray, snatched it up, clapped it on his head, and
bolted precipitately down the path. His companions looking round for
the cause of his alarm, also perceived me, and with one accord grabbed
up their loads and fled.
The fact that they had taken their goods made it clear that they had
no intention of returning, so I sauntered up to the fire and examined
it. More than a dozen peeled plantains lay on the embers roasting, and
two or three with the skins partially removed had been dropped close
by. Evidently I had frightened the poor fellows away from their
breakfast, and if my conscience reproached me a little, I allowed the
recollection of the bunches on their trays to allay my qualms, and
licked my lips at the prospect of a meal of cooked food. Pursuing my
way along the track I soon distinguished the murmur of water ahead,
and presently came to a place where the path divided into two.
Following the left-hand branch, a few paces brought me to a shelving
hard or landing-place--possibly a ford in the dry season--apparently
at the foot of the rapids, for above this spot the water came foaming
down among scattered rocks, while below the channel was almost clear.
I walked some distance along the bank to make sure that there were no
more rapids below, and having ascertained that the river seemed to
have resumed its normal course, I made my way back towards the canoe,
gathering up the roasted plantains as I went. But the existence of the
ford below suggested the probability of another farther up, so before
returning to the canoe, I explored the road in that direction; and to
my unbounded satisfaction came presently to a side path leading down a
gentle incline to the water.
The problem of the portage was now considerably simplified. The river,
it was clear, made a wide, horseshoe sweep, the whole of the curve
being occupied by impracticable rapids, enclosing a peninsula across
the isthmus of which the canoe would have to be dragged, that it might
be again launched in the smooth water below. The difficulties of the
task were enormously reduced by the existence of the road, and
especially of the landing-places; for, of course, the portage was a
contingency not unforeseen nor unprovided for, and it was only the
steepness of the banks and the denseness of the forest that had made
it seem so impossible. The distance across the isthmus was about a
quarter of a mile--a long way to haul so heavy a weight; but with
sufficient time and labour the thing could be done, and I could start
once more on my voyage.
The first thing to do was to unload the canoe, and on reflection, I
decided to carry the gold at once to the lower landing-place, where it
would be ready to put on board without delay as soon as the canoe was
launched.
But this required circumspection, for the track was evidently used by
travellers, and might possibly lead to some neighbouring village, and
it would certainly be unwise to carry the gold uncovered, in case I
should meet any strangers.
The plan I adopted was to wrap three bunches of manillas in my old
_riga_, and two more in my _wondo_, and passing the connecting cords
over my shoulders (which I protected with pads of grass) I was able to
stagger along pretty well, the weight being only about a hundred
pounds.
I had made eight journeys (depositing the manillas among some bushes
at the water’s edge, where they were hidden from view, and yet were
easy to get at for restowing), and was returning for a ninth load when
I heard someone talking at no great distance. Hastily stepping off the
path, I retired a little way into the bush, and took up my position
behind a large tree; and I had but just hidden myself when I heard the
strangers coming down the path. They were a small party of Wongáras
(as I ascertained by peeping at them when they had passed), heavily
laden, and apparently in a great hurry, for they strode along at a
swinging pace, all talking together, without even stopping to look at
the fire by the roadside.
I followed them to make sure that they were not going down to the
river, and when I had seen them take the right-hand turning, I went
for a fresh load.
The transport of the gold was completed in three more journeys, but on
the last two, to save an extra journey, I had to carry six bunches,
which I found very heavy; and when I had deposited the last of the
manillas by the launching place, I fetched the uncooked plantains from
the canoe, and rested by the fire while they roasted. The hot, cooked
fruit seemed very delicious after my monotonous animal diet, and I was
soon sufficiently revived to attack the main difficulty--the portage
of the canoe.
The arrangements I had made for this purpose were not very
satisfactory, but were the best that I could manage with my limited
appliances. I had brought with me four rollers about three feet long,
and four poles each eight feet, which I carried lashed on the deck.
The latter were to serve as rails for the rollers to run on if the
ground should be rough or soft. I also had a hard-wood eye, through
which I could reeve a rope, and so make a primitive purchase tackle
(or “handy Billy,” as sailors would call it), but I was badly in want
of an efficient tackle or a small windlass.
Poling the canoe with some difficulty against the swift current that
ran past this shore, I brought her to the upper landing place, and
made fast; then having hoisted the drop-rudder, I went ashore and laid
down the lines on the easiest part of the slope. Setting one of the
rollers on the lines, I lifted the stern of the canoe on to it, and
made fast with a spare rope to a neighbouring tree while I cast off
the painter, which latter I brought aft and lightly lashed to the
stern-post, so that in hauling on it, the weight would be principally
borne by the strong bow timbers. I next fixed the tackle on to the
painter, and, having rubbed the eye with a piece of fat to make it run
easily, secured one end of the tackle to a tree some distance up the
slope, and hauled steadily on the other. The canoe ran on to the
roller more lightly than I had expected, and I soon had her out of the
water and the other rollers in position, with small pegs stuck in the
ground to prevent them from running back down the slope when they were
released. The slope was but a short one, as the river was nearly full,
and with a few hearty pulls at the fall of the tackle, the canoe came
up on to the level. Here there was no difficulty at all, for when the
lines were laid and the rollers placed, she ran along quite easily.
All the time she was on the road I was in mortal dread of meeting some
of the natives; for one cannot hide a canoe at a moment’s notice, and
my “make up” might have failed to produce its customary effect. But
nobody appeared along the path, and I worked with such a will, that in
less than half an hour her stern was overhanging the slope of the
lower landing-place, and the tackle fixed ready for letting her down.
Here the rollers were not really necessary, but were used to save her
keels from chafing; with their aid she ran down the incline in fine
style, and I had the satisfaction of seeing her once more afloat and
sitting on the water, without her cargo, as light as a bubble.
It took but a short time to put the gold on board again, and when this
was done I pushed off without stopping to distribute the weight. As
the rain was still falling, I let go a length of drag rope and put up
the tilt; and as the canoe drifted down stream, I gradually trimmed
the cargo into its proper place.
For some miles the river continued to be slightly obstructed by
jutting masses of rock, and here and there small rapids occurred; but
towards afternoon the stream grew wider, and its channel quite clear
and open.
The loss of speed entailed by the use of the drag was a constant
source of regret to me, and as the river was for the present easily
navigable, I grudged it the more, and began to consider if it could
not be avoided. It occurred to me that, as the water at the bottom of
a river flows more slowly than at the surface, perhaps it would be
sufficient if I let the sinker hang just clear of the bottom; and on
making the experiment I found it to answer perfectly, the slower
bottom current checking the canoe just enough to enable her to be
steered.
I drifted on for several hours without any incident, making very good
progress as I took my ease inside my shelter, and rested after the
morning’s exertions. I passed two villages, but saw none of the
inhabitants, who were probably sheltering indoors from the rain; on
the bank, however, by the second village, I noticed a long,
flat-bottomed dug-out canoe, probably a ferry-boat (for the river was
already too wide to be spanned by the ordinary single-log bridge), and
I noted the fact with interest, as showing that I was entering a more
populated region.
About the middle of the afternoon the rain cleared off, and as the
river was wide and open, I lowered the tilt and took to the paddle, so
making up somewhat in the latter part of the day for the delays of the
morning; and I continued my voyage thus until the sun began to dip
behind the trees. Then, having found a secure anchorage on the slack
side of the river, I made all snug for the night, and turned in soon
after the darkness had set in.