AUSTRALIAN HOSPITALITY
Darkness was falling when the airmen came in sight of the chain of
small islands running from Java eastward almost to the Australian
coast. Knowing that these islands were very hilly, Smith rose to a
great height, using his flashlight every now and then to guard against
mishap. If he had not known the nature of the islands he could almost
have guessed it from the behaviour of the aeroplane, which now tended
to shoot upwards, now to sink downwards, irrespective of any volition
of his own. This proved to Smith that he had come into a region of
variable currents of wind, such as might be set up by the hollows and
ridges of mountain tops. The forcing of the machine upwards implied
that the pressure of the air ahead was increased, owing to a lull in
the wind behind; the sinking implied that the force of a contrary wind
was diminished, and that the inertia of the machine prevented it from
readily accommodating itself to the new conditions. During this part
of the voyage Smith had to be constantly alert to warp the planes
instantaneously when he detected the least sign of instability, and he
was very glad when he saw once more the reflection of the stars in the
sea beneath him, and knew that he would encounter no more obstacles
between Timor, which he had just passed, and Port Darwin.
His concern now was to pick up the light which, according to the
Admiralty's sailing directions, shone from an iron structure a hundred
and twenty feet high, about a mile south of Point Charles, the western
extremity of Port Darwin. Approaching the port from the west, as he
was, he should have no difficulty in seeing the light at a distance of
eighteen or twenty miles, the sky being clear. But as time went on
neither he nor Rodier caught sight of the red speck for which they
were looking. Half-past eight came, local time, as nearly as Smith
could calculate it by his watch, which still registered London time;
and even allowing for the hours lost he should by now have touched
land. He was beginning to feel anxious when he suddenly found land
below him--a land of dense forests, apparently low and flat. The
question was, whether this was the mainland of Australia or an island,
possibly Bathurst Island, north of Port Darwin. It was impossible to
tell. There was no time to ponder or weigh possibilities; yet if he
took the wrong course he might be hours in discovering his mistake,
and this part of Australia being almost wholly uninhabited he might
fail to find any guidance even if he descended. By a rapid guess--it
could not be called reasoning--he concluded that he had probably
steered a too southerly course, and that he would do right if he now
steered to the north-east. His indecision had lasted only a few
seconds; he brought the aeroplane round until she flew over the line
of breakers washing the shore, and followed the coast at full speed.
Within a quarter of an hour both the men caught sight at the same
moment of the red glow of the light, which grew in brilliance as they
approached it, and then diminished as the lamp revolved. Steering now
to the east, in ten minutes they were sailing over the town of
Palmerston, the capital of the Northern Territory. The lighted
streets, crossing at right angles, formed a pattern below them like
the diagram for the game of noughts and crosses. They found a landing
place a little to the north-east of the town, beyond the railway, and
having safely come to earth, Smith left Rodier to attend to the engine
and hastened towards the nearest house, a sort of bungalow of wood and
iron. Sounds of singing came from within.
A Chinaman opened the door to his knock. Smith asked if the master was
at home.
"Massa inside allo lightee," answered the man. "Me go fetchee,
chop-chop."
He soon returned, followed by a stalwart bearded Australian of about
fifty years, smoking a big pipe.
"Well, mate," he said, eyeing Smith curiously by the light of the door
lamp; "what can I do for you?"
"I must apologize for troubling you on Sunday night," began Smith.
"No trouble, I assure you. Come in." He led Smith into a little room
near the door. "We've a few friends in the parlour," he added, "and I
guess you can tell me here what you want."
"Well, to put it shortly, I should be very much obliged to you if
you'd direct me to Mr. Mackinnon. He's got some petrol waiting for me,
at least I hope he has, and I'm in great need of it."
"Well, that's real unlucky now. He went to Pine Creek down the line
only yesterday, and won't be back till to-morrow. Are you Lieutenant
Smith, may I ask?"
"Yes, that's my name."
"Mackinnon got a cable from Java on Friday about the petrol. He told
me about it, and mighty astonished he was. Motor-cars are pretty
scarce about here, and he hasn't got a great quantity of petrol. I
suppose it's for a motor-boat you want it? When did you leave
Java?--before the cable, I guess."
"I haven't come from Java at all. The cable was sent through there
from London. The fact is, I've come in an aeroplane."
"What! Over the sea?"
"Yes, over sea and land. I left Penang early this morning, and must go
on at once."
"Well, if I ain't just about flummuxed! D'you mean to say you've come
pretty near two thousand five hundred miles to-day?"
"Yes; I'll tell you in a word all about it."
His host, whose name was Martin, listened in mute amazement as Smith
briefly related the occasion of his long journey.
"Why, man," exclaimed Mr. Martin, when he had concluded his story;
"wonders'll never cease. You must be dead beat. I never heard the like
of it. Come into the other room. The boys'll be mad to hear this."
"Really, I'd rather not. I haven't any time to lose, and Mr. Mackinnon
being away--"
"Oh, that don't matter. He didn't expect you so soon, but we'll get
what you want, though it is Sunday. But a bite and a sup will do you
all the good in the world, and won't take you long, and the boys will
just go crazy if they don't see you. Why, it's round the world you're
going. My sakes! Come along."
He almost dragged Smith into a large, low room, where several men and
women, boys and girls, were seated round the wall. They were singing
hymns to the accompaniment of a harmonium. A table loaded with
eatables was pushed into a corner. The entrance of Mr. Martin,
followed by a dirty, unkempt, and oddly dressed stranger, caused an
abrupt cessation of the singing. The girl at the harmonium sprang up
with a startled look.
"What is it, Father?" she asked anxiously.
"Nothing to be scart about, my girl. Neighbours, this gentleman has
come all the way from London in an aeroplane."
The announcement was received in dead silence. Smith stood like a
statue as he listened to Mr. Martin's hurried explanation, resigning
himself to be the target of all eyes. Everybody crowded about him,
silent no longer, but all asking questions at once. Mrs. Martin went
to the table and brought from it a dish of chicken patties, which she
pressed upon him.
"Do'ee eat now," she said, in the broad accent of Devonshire. "I made
'em myself, and you must be downright famished."
"Not quite so bad as that," said Smith, with a smile, "I had a good
breakfast at Penang, and have nibbled some biscuits and things on the
way."
"Biscuits are poor food for a hungry man. Eat away now, do."
Other members of the family brought ale, cider, fruit, cakes, enough
for a dozen men, and for some minutes Smith's attention was divided
between eating and drinking and answering the questions which poured
upon him in a never-ending flood. Conscious of the lapse of time, he
at last said that he must go and obtain the fuel for his engine. The
men rose in a body, prepared to accompany him.
"I don't think we had better all go, neighbours," said Mr. Martin.
"I'll take Mr. Smith to the Resident; we shall have to see him about
the petrol, you know."
"There's one thing your friends can do for me," said Smith. "I want
ten or a dozen rifles, and a lot of ammunition. Can you provide them
at such short notice?"
"I should just think we can," said Mr. Martin. "Neighbours, get
together what Mr. Smith wants, and take 'em out along to the
aeroplane. It's just a step or two beyond the railway, from what he
says. Mother, send out some eatables, too, something better than
biscuits, to Mr. Smith's man, who's looking after it. Now, Mr. Smith,
come along. The Residency isn't far off: we're only a small town."
The two set off, and in a few minutes arrived at the Residency, a
stone building of more pretensions than the wood and iron erections of
which the town mostly consisted. The Resident was at home. Once more
Smith had to tell his story, once more to listen to exclamations and
reply to questions, grudging every moment that kept him. The Resident
had heard of the wreck of the _Albatross_, in which he had been
particularly interested, because he had some slight acquaintance with
its commander.
"I heard by wire only yesterday, Mr. Smith, that a gunboat had been
sent from Brisbane to the relief of your friends. She started three
days ago, and can't possibly reach the wreck until to-morrow at
earliest. But surely she will be there before you?"
"Not if I can get off soon, and don't meet with an accident on the
way. It's nearly two thousand miles from here to Ysabel Island, I
think?"
"I can't tell you within a hundred or two, but it's about that. When
do you think you will get there?"
"About midday to-morrow, with luck. I shall take on here enough petrol
to last the whole way, if I'm not thrown out of my course or meet with
mishap; but I suppose I can get a fresh supply at Port Moresby, if
necessary?"
"I very much doubt it. And what about getting back?"
"I'm going on as soon as I've seen that my people are safe--if I'm not
too late. I've got to rejoin my ship at 9 a.m. on Friday morning, or I
run the risk of being hauled over the coals."
"Surely not. They will make allowances, seeing what your errand has
been."
"They don't make allowances easily in the Navy, sir. Besides, I've set
my heart on being back in time."
"You will return this way, then. Ysabel Island is this side of the 180
degree line."
"Well, no, sir. Having started, I mean to get round the world if I
can."
"You're a sportsman, I see. Well, now, what will your best course be?"
He opened a map.
"I've planned it all, sir," said Smith hurriedly. "I go on to Samoa:
I'm sure to find petrol there; then Honolulu, San Francisco, St. Paul,
and St. John's, all big places, where I shall be able to get all I
want. Now, sir, I know Sunday night must be an awkward time, but, with
your assistance, I daresay I can get the petrol from Mr. Mackinnon's
store."
"There is a little difficulty which we shall have to get over. We've a
very strict regulation against entering at night any godown
containing explosives, owing to the risk of fire. Mr. Mackinnon's
godown will be locked up; his Chinaman will have the key; and as
Resident I can't openly countenance a breach of the rules. We have had
a great deal of trouble to enforce them, and any relaxation would have
a very bad effect on the Chinamen: they wouldn't understand it."
"Don't you worry about that, sir," said Mr. Martin. "Leave it to me.
There'll be a fine to pay to-morrow," he added, with a chuckle; "and
you can make it pretty stiff as a warning to the Chinese; it'll be
paid on the nail, I assure you."
"Very well, Mr. Martin. I shall know nothing about it officially until
you come before me to-morrow, and I'll read you a severe lecture in
addition to fining you. You can come to me for a subscription
afterwards. Good-bye, Mr. Smith: good luck. I sincerely hope you'll
find your friends safe and sound. Give my kind regards to Lieutenant
Underhill."
Smith left the Residency with Mr. Martin, who led him to the Chinese
quarter of the town, a dark assemblage of small huts, pig-sties, and
poultry runs.
"I don't know where Mackinnon's boy lives," said Mr. Martin. "We shall
have to hunt him up."
All the huts were apparently in darkness, and Smith, as he walked
rapidly beside his guide, thought that he preferred the smell of
petrol smoke to the mingled odours that assailed his nose. At length
they discovered a light amid the gloom, and hastening towards it,
discovered that it proceeded from an oil-lamp within one of the huts,
the door of which was open. Here they saw a group of Chinamen
squatting on the floor, engaged in playing a game with small figures
carved in bone.
"Hi, boys," called Mr. Martin; "can tell where Ching-Fu keeps?"
"My tellee massa," cried one of the younger men, rising. "My go long
that side, show wai-lo."
"Come on, then: chop-chop."
"Allo lightee, massa: my savvy."
He led them through what appeared to Smith an intricate maze of narrow
alleys, and presently pushed open the door of a hut, and called the
name of Ching-Fu, entering without ceremony. The Englishmen heard
voices raised as in altercation, and after some minutes the guide
reappeared, followed by a burly compatriot, rubbing his eyes.
"He catchee sleep, say what for come fetchee this time."
"Now, Ching-Fu," said Mr. Martin, "this gentleman wants seventy
gallons of petrol, at once. Mr. Mackinnon got a cable about it
yesterday. Come and get the cans, and have them taken up to my house
at once."
"No can do, massa," replied the man in a shrill tone of voice, that
seemed singularly unbefitting to his massive frame. "Topside man
catchee my inside godown this time, ch'hoy! he makee big bobbely."
"Never mind about that. I'll pay the fine."
"No can do, no can do so-fashion. Massa pay squeeze; all-same, my
catchee plenty bobbely, makee my too muchee sick."
"I'll take care you don't suffer. Come along: there's no time to
lose."
"This time Sunday, look-see, massa. No workee Sunday, no fear; that
joss-pidgin day."
"I can't waste time talking." Smith whispered in his ear. "Yes; Mr.
Smith will give you ten shillings for yourself if you hurry up."
"Ch'hoy!" cried the other man. "Massa numpa one genelum; my go long
too, Ching-Fu. No can catchee ten bob evely day."
Ching-Fu suffered himself to be persuaded. He beat up three or four of
his neighbours, and proceeded with them to the godown, the Englishmen
following to ensure that no time was lost. In half-an-hour the
necessary supplies of petrol and lubricating oil were being wheeled up
on trucks towards Mr. Martin's house. On the way Smith noticed a
number of reddish lights at irregular intervals, moving in the same
direction, and there were more people in the streets than when he had
come down, all hurrying one way.
"By Jingo!" said Mr. Martin, "the news has spread, and it looks
uncommonly like a torchlight procession. Hullo, Jenkins, what's the
matter?"
"That you, Martin?" replied the man addressed. "Everybody's talking
about an aeroplane that's come down somewhere near Mackenzie's shed,
and I'm off to see if it's true. Haven't you heard about it?"
"I did hear something of the sort. I'll be up there, too, by-and-by."
Smith was a little annoyed at the possibility of being delayed by a
crowd of spectators, but there was evidently no help for it. He
returned to Mr. Martin's house, being assured by his host that he need
have no anxiety about the safe delivery of the petrol.
Meanwhile Rodier, on Smith's departure, had, as usual, set to work to
clean the engine. He was tired and sleepy, and he would have been more
than human if he had not thought that his employer had rather the best
of the arrangement. But any private soreness he might have felt did
not affect the speed or the thoroughness of his work. He first of all
examined the wires: there was nothing wrong with them. Then he
unscrewed the plugs and laid them on top of the engine, pulled the
engine over, and finding that there was a poor spark, concluded that
it was rather sooty. After cleaning the parts thoroughly with petrol,
he again started the engine. The sparking being still weak, he
examined the magneto: it was choked with grease. The next thing was to
clean the brush with petrol and try the plugs again. The spark was now
strong, and after giving everything a final polish, he replaced the
plugs, satisfied that the engine was in good working order.
Switching off the searchlight for economy's sake, and leaving only the
small light that illuminated the compass, he sat down, opened a tin of
sardines, and began to eat them with biscuits. A fastidious person
might have objected to the mingling of flavours, olive oil and petrol
not combining at all well; but Rodier was too old a hand to be dainty.
He was in the act of munching a mouthful when his head dropped forward
on his breast, and he fell into a sound sleep.
He was wakened by a voice in his ear. Jumping up with a start, he
beheld a crowd of people watching him, men in Sunday coats, men in
shirt sleeves, ladies in light dresses, boys in knickerbockers and
Norfolks, girls in pinafores, Chinamen in coats of many colours, many
of the throng holding torches and lanterns.
"Ah! mille diables!" he cried. "Keep back! This is not a penny
theatre."
"Nor yet a cook-shop," said one of the visitors, with a laugh; "though
you might think so."
And then Rodier saw that the men and boys foremost in the group
carried plates, dishes, bowls, bottles, jugs. One had a dish of
chicken patties, another a plate of bananas, a third a bowl of
Devonshire junket, a fourth a loaf of bread; others had cheese,
apples, bottled beer, Australian wine, doughnuts, pork sausages,
sponge cake, ham sandwiches; in short, all the constituents of a high
tea except tea itself.
"Thought you might be hungry after your ride," said one. "Have a
sandwich?"
"Have a banana?" said another. "You won't get 'em like this in
London."
"Dry work, ain't it?" said a third, pulling a cork. "That'll buck you
up."
"Please take one of my doughnuts," piped a small boy, creeping around
the right leg of a sturdy planter.
"Ma foi! This take the cake," cried Rodier, laughing heartily. "Thank
you, thank you, thank you! But truly I shall be very--very
discomfortable if I eat all this riches. Ah; this is good, this is
hospitality. My friends, I thank you, I love you; vive l'Australie!"
Bubbling with excitement, he shook hands with this one and that; and
both hands being engaged at once in this hearty mode of salutation, he
would have been able to enjoy little of the good fare provided had
not one of the group begun to fend off the enthusiastic visitors.
"That's enough," he said; "give him breathing space. Eat away, man;
the junket won't keep; everything else will, and you can take with you
what is left."
Thus, when Smith arrived on the scene, he found his man surrounded by
an alfresco confectioner's shop, eating, laughing, talking, and
breaking forth into eloquent praise of Australian hospitality.
"Ah, mister," he cried, as Smith joined him; "this is a country! We
are pigs in clover. There is here enough for a regiment of Zouaves."
Here a diversion was caused by the arrival of Mr. Martin's friends
with rifles and ammunition enough to equip a company of grenadiers.
Smith accepted a dozen rifles and two or three hundred rounds of
ammunition; and these had just been placed in the car when the
Chinamen arrived with the petrol. He implored the torchbearers to
stand back while the inflammable fluid was put on board. This was done
amid a buzz of excitement, everybody talking at once.
"Speech! speech!" cried some one in the crowd, and Smith, thinking the
shortest way out of his embarrassment was to comply, stood up in the
car and thanked his good friends in Palmerston for the warmth of
their reception, and their kindness in supplying his wants.
"You will excuse me from saying more, I know," he added. "I have
nearly two thousand miles still to go; my father is in great danger;
and we are already several hours behind time. I can't shake hands with
you all, but I shall never forget your kindness. Now, if you will
clear the course so that I can get a run-off, I will say 'good-bye,'
and hope that some day I may come back and not be in such a hurry."
His simple words were cheered to the echo. Then Mr. Martin and three
or four more pressed the throng back. The good people cheered again as
the machine ran forward and sailed above them, and Smith, as he looked
down upon the sea of faces lit up by the flaring torches until it
became a blurred spot of light, felt cheered and encouraged, and set
his face hopefully towards the starlit east.