A Chapter of Accidents
For the most part a missionary leads a hum-drum life, but at times
excitements come in, and are as welcome as the plums in a sailor’s
“plum-duff” if not too exciting. Most of these incidents occur in
connexion with travelling. In the chapter dealing with visiting our
district I shall tell you how we travel, but the experiences described in
this chapter are chosen from different journeys, some of them in distant
parts of the country.
After four years at Port Moresby I was ordered away so that I might
try and get free from the fever. Communication with Australia was not
frequent, and the first stage, as far as Thursday Island, was made with
Tamate in the _Mary_, the little boat built by the Mission on Murray
Island. Our captain was a character. Formerly a pearl diver, he had been
compelled to give up his occupation owing to diver’s paralysis. His
qualification for the post was his experience of small boats, and never
was a man more sure of himself. Few sailors take ships through the
Torres Straits without having an anxious time, and as we sat on the deck
in the moonlight Tamate remarked, “Well, cap’n, I hope you are not going
to put us on the Portlocks or Eastern Fields”—both dangerous reefs. “No,
Mr. Chalmers,” replied the captain, “I know just where we are. We shall
see the opening in the Barrier Reef at about nine to-morrow morning, if
this wind holds.” With that we went below. It was a tight pack the three
of us in the little cabin, but two out of the three were soon sleeping
soundly. Later on the third, who is now writing this, heard one of
the boys on deck shout “’bout ship,” an unexpected order when we were
supposed to be many miles from any land and on a sea rarely visited by
vessels. That the reason for the order was a solid one there was no room
for doubt, for the next minute crash, and the little _Mary_ trembled all
through, and Number Three was shaken from his shelf-like berth right on
the top of the little captain. Bump, bump, bump, went the _Mary_, and
as soon as the little hatchway would allow we got on deck, there in the
glorious moonlight to have a view of the reef much before the time the
captain had promised. We were right on top of it. In a few minutes both
rudder and false keel had been wrenched off, and left behind, and after
each wave had lifted the little vessel she came down with a crash that
threatened to jump the masts out of her. That she did not go to pieces
was owing to the good sound work that had been put into her on Murray
Island.
[Illustration: RETURNING FROM FISHING.]
Well, what were we to do? We were miles from any land. There were nine
all told on board, and the dinghy would carry three in a calm sea. I
admit I had a look at the hatch covers and wondered what sort of a raft
they would make, and what travelling upon it would be like when it was
made. There was nothing we could do that night, and fortunately the tide
was falling, and soon the _Mary_ was resting on her side without that
sickening bumping. Adjusting ourselves to the changed angle of everything
in the cabin, we went to bed, but not before the captain had told us that
we were not far from the spot on the reef where some natives, when out
diving, had found heaps of Spanish coins all of old date, and believed
to have come from a Spanish ship wrecked in trying to get through the
Straits, but so long ago that not a trace of her remained.
Next morning the tide was not high enough to float the _Mary_, so I waded
about the reef with the crew. My eyes were on my feet all the time, not
because I was looking for more Spanish treasure, but because I had been
warned not to tread in one of the giant clams which lay around. I soon
forgot the _Mary_ and her plight, in the delight at what I saw spread
out at my feet. Water as clear as crystal allowed everything to be seen
distinctly. All the colours of the rainbow were represented by both
vegetable and animal kingdoms, but most beautiful of all was the sight
of the open giant clams. The shell could hardly be seen, so completely
was it draped by the waving fringes of the fish. A great bowl of flashing
gems could not have produced a more sparkling effect; but behind all this
beauty lay a cruel strength, for the shell could close with a grip that
nothing could unloose, and the natives told of unfortunate men who had,
while fishing on the reef, put their foot into an open shell, which had
closed upon them and held them till the rising tide ended their agony.
The crew, however, wanted some of the fish to eat and managed to get
them without danger to themselves. Taking a large piece of firewood they
quietly approached the fish. A sudden movement would have caused it to
close, and then nothing could have forced it open. Silently and adroitly
the wood was placed between the two halves of the shell, which instantly
gripped it, but could not close owing to the size of the wood. With
another piece of wood shaped for the purpose the men then cut the live
fish away from its shell, and did their cooking on the _Mary_.
The reef was interesting and the talk of the native crew instructing, but
the question was how were we to get the _Mary_ off and afloat in deep
water again. The morning tide only rose enough to bump her, but in the
afternoon when there was a higher tide, with each wave she lifted and we
managed to punt her right over the reef, and at last she was afloat. Very
few vessels have made the journey over the Great Barrier Reef, though
many have struck it and gone to pieces.
It was a case of Reef to the right of us; Reef to the left of us; while
behind us the Reef we had just left volleyed and thundered. The sun was
down and we had to anchor, or run the risk of again getting on a reef.
All night long the buckets had to be kept going, and the next morning
with part of the crew still at the buckets, the other half managing the
sails and keeping a look-out, and the two missionaries using big oars in
place of the lost rudder, we made for Murray Island. There the _Mary_
was hauled up on the beach, and on the spot where she was built and by
the man who had superintended her building made ready for sea again.
The work took a month to complete. That month on Murray Island cleared
all the fever out of me, and did away with the necessity of the trip to
Australia. Instead I accompanied Chalmers to the Fly river. Three not
easily forgotten months resulted, and the poor _Mary_ came in for more
knocks, and once again lost her rudder, this time by striking a sunken
log in the bed of the river.
One night, under stress of tide and wind she broke her cable and drifted
ashore near Saguane on Kiwai Island, where Chalmers was then forming
his head station for the district. We thought we had taken our last
journey in the _Mary_. She settled down in the mud and sand and no amount
of running out anchors and heaving on the windlass would move her,
though everything possible had been taken out to lighten her. Amongst
other things eighty bags of rice had to be got ashore. It required some
manœuvring to get the Saguane people to carry that rice over the soft
sand and mud. Each bag was supposed to weigh 50 lbs. It may have done,
as it was taken over the side of the vessel, but every hundred yards
through that mud and sand increased the weight, till it was more like 100
lbs. by the time the boat-house was reached. I know one of the carriers
who, after his second journey, considered it his duty to remain in the
boat-house and superintend the stacking of the bags as they were brought
in.
On we worked till the east began to glow, and then feeling it was
hopeless I made my way back to the teacher’s house and lay down for a
sleep, as dead tired as ever in my life. There seemed no time to get
comfortably settled when Chalmers rushed into the house, snatched up as
many of my belongings as he could manage, and calling, “Come along; she
is afloat,” made his way down to the shore. I followed, picking out of
the mud such of my things as Chalmers had dropped. Just at the darkest
moment, when there seemed little hope of the _Mary_ ever floating again,
the wind had come from the land, and supplying that little help which the
anchors required, had given us again the use of our little Mission vessel.
That was my last voyage in the _Mary_. A few years later she went ashore
at the mouth of the Kerema river, and there went to pieces. Years
afterwards when walking along the coast we saw some of her ribs sticking
up through the sand.
On the coast most of our travelling is done in a whale boat, and at
night, to save the glare of the sun. Few experiences could be more
enjoyable than such a journey when the night is fine and the sea calm,
and there are willing boys at the oars or a gentle breeze filling the
sail. No need to think of accidents then. The nights are not all fine,
however, and the sea is not always calm. It can be very angry and rough
and make those anxious who have to land on a surf-beaten coast. Most
people who have lived for any time in Papua have had nasty experiences of
this kind. I will tell you of one at Maiva.
Donisi Hahine and I had started for a journey, and as we expected to be
away nearly a month, we had a boatload of baggage. We left Delena at
night so as to reach Maiva in the early morning when the sea is usually
at its calmest, but rain drove us back, and it was morning before we
again got under way. That made it early afternoon when we were off the
village where we wished to land. The sea looked angry, but not so angry
as on many another time when we had got through safely. There was no
chance of turning back. We had to land, so the rudder was unshipped and
the big steer-oar put in its place, and the boat headed for the shore.
Each roller took us nearer to that first line of white. At last we were
in it and through it, and all seemed going well when old Kone shouted
out, “Help me!” I threw all my weight on the oar, but it was too late to
keep her straight, and the wall of foam on top of which we were riding
gradually swung the boat broadside on and the next moment over she
turned. The last thing I saw before the boiling sea went over us was my
wife vanishing under the boat, and the first when I came to the surface
again was some of the boys pulling her out from under the overturned
boat. Fortunately we were able to get hold of the keel, and so kept
afloat.
At such times strange thoughts pass through one’s mind, but I doubt if
any of you would ever guess my wife’s first remark, when she got the
water out of her mouth and eyes. It was so unexpected, but as the waves
were jostling us together like so many corks, it was very much to the
point when she called out, “Mind my hatpins.” Before we could mind them
or anything else, another wave was over us; but no sooner had it passed
than away went those hatpins.
Judging from the time my watch stopped we were hanging on to the boat
for nearly two hours. Repeatedly the natives tried to get to us from
the shore, but the sea would not let them. Close in shore was a deep
passage with the water rushing along it like a mill stream, and those who
tried to help us, not making sufficient allowance for the current, were
carried beyond us. The boat would soon have drifted in with us clinging
to the keel, had not the anchor fallen out when she turned over. That
unfortunately kept us where the seas were breaking worst.
At last we lost our hold, and what happened next I hardly know. I can
remember wishing that we had been Papuans with no clothes and no boots to
hold the water and weigh us down, and that after that something struck
me. I gripped it, and found it was an oar, and soon after that touched
bottom. Thanks to the devotion of the boys my wife was ashore before
me, and we were both practically unhurt, but had lost all we had with
us in the boat. Food for a month, clothing, camp gear, camera, magic
lantern—all had gone. While the clothes in which we scrambled ashore
were being washed and dried it was a mercy there were no “snapshotters”
about. Had there been the resulting pictures might have given amusement
to others, but not to ourselves. We had to borrow from the South Sea
teacher and his wife. Apart from their taste in dress not being ours, he
happened to be a very short and a very stout man. I am not. My wife was
a little, but not much, better off. Imagine, if you can, what we looked
like, but do not expect me to give you details.
It was Friday when the accident happened. The journey could not be
continued, as we had lost everything, and it was not till the Monday that
the sea would allow of our damaged boat being launched for the return to
Delena. During those four days we lived the “Simple Life.” Sweet potatoes
and bananas are all very well as a change, but they pall when served
regularly three times a day, and our teacher Paiti from Kivori was a
welcome visitor when he brought us a loaf of bread of his own making and
a little butter. Paiti was from Aitutaki in the South Seas, and few men
can handle a boat like the natives of that Island. We were relieved when
he undertook to see us safely started on the return journey. There was
no luggage to pack, so all ready, and perhaps a bit anxious, we sat in
the boat waiting. Watching each wave as it came in, at last Paiti gave
the word to start. Those at the oars pulled; those in the water pushed;
and with many a shout, and many a splash, and with the boat half swamped,
we found ourselves outside the breakers, with Paiti perched up behind
us handling the steer oar. Would he come on to Delena with us and there
wait an opportunity to return to his village? No sooner was the question
asked than he promptly answered, “Good-bye, my father. I go now”; and
with a header he vanished over the stern. Straight for the breakers he
went with a long steady stroke. Time after time he vanished, but at last
we saw him wade ashore, and signal that all was right, and then we shaped
our course for Delena.
We returned much poorer than we started, but matters would have gone
worse with us than they did but for Kone, Avi, and Aisi. They stuck to my
wife and landed her safely. They perhaps will hardly understand such an
expression of gratitude, but in that spirit I give you their photos. Of
course we showed our gratitude in another way. They were told they could
ask for what they liked. Their request was modest and utilitarian. Each
wanted a bag of rice. He got it and more too.
The third accident took place on shore. All the world over feasting
seems to accompany any special event, whether of rejoicing or regret.
It was near the time of our English furlough, and a farewell gathering
was arranged with the teachers. Their part was well managed and passed
off without any accident. In solemn, slow procession they had marched
round the house, telling us many nice things about ourselves, in a chant
composed in English by one of the Samoan teachers, the chorus of which
ran: “Good-bye, Misi Donisi. Do not forget us when you are far away on
the _Ioane Uiliamu_ (_John Williams_).”
Donisi Hahine had spent much time in making preparations for the farewell
feast, so that the spread might include more than the everlasting boroma
(pig). Stores of tinned provisions that could neither be taken to
England, nor used up before we sailed, were added to the menu. The long
verandah of the teacher’s old house was the dining-room, banana leaves
the cloth, not spread on a table, but down the centre of the verandah.
The food that could not be accommodated on the dishes was piled all down
the middle of the banana leaves, and then the teachers, their wives,
and their children, all as smart as their best clothes and well oiled
hair could make them, sat in two long rows, and at the one end stood
the missionary to offer grace and then make a farewell speech. It was
an important moment, and the children were eyeing the good things in a
way that suggested the question, “How long before we can begin?” Alas!
the house was an old one. The white ants had been busy. The food was
plentiful, and many of the teachers and their wives were decidedly heavy
weights. There was a crack, a crash, and what a transformation scene. In
place of two rows of expectant guests, and a loaded table (or what took
the place of a table) there was a great hole in the verandah floor, and
at the bottom a mass of men, women and children mixed up with broken
crockery and many kinds of food. Fortunately some of the joists held
firm, and one by one those of the party who had not “gone below” withdrew
to a place of safety, while others went to help the fallen and ascertain
the extent of the damage. How so many fell nine feet without there being
broken bones we cannot tell. Only a few scratches had resulted, but what
a mess, and what a disappointment. Best dresses smeared all over food.
Tinned meat and bits of roast pork to be picked from well-combed hair.
A little extra grease did not matter there, for it was soon rubbed in,
but one poor child had received the whole contents of a dish of tinned
salmon outside, when he had intended having some of it inside. While the
people were looking after themselves it was a grand opportunity for the
dogs who had been waiting below for the scraps. Instead of scraps they
helped themselves to the untouched feast, and various joints of pork
and goat vanished into the long grass, where growls of envy as well as
satisfaction told of desires unexpectedly gratified.
We bemoaned the accident, the damage to the house, and the loss of
the provisions, but the dogs, and some of the outsiders who profited
by our misfortune, would not have minded a frequent repetition of the
performance.