It was on a clear day a little more than a week later that the lookout
announced land dead ahead. All on board knew that it must be New Guinea,
the wild and little known country where Mr. Jukes had confident hopes of
finding his lost brother. Captain Sparhawk made an excellent
“land-fall,” as sailors call it, and by night they came to anchor off
Bomobori.
It was a beautiful scene. The waves dashed against a golden strand.
Behind lay vast and mysterious forests, looking dark and uninviting in
the evening light. Beyond the forests rose great mountains veiled in the
bluish mist of the far distances. As darkness fell, the lights of
Bomobori began to twinkle, casting reflections in the still waters of
the harbor and river, the mouth of which latter could be seen to the
north of the town.
“Well, I’m ready to go ashore,” remarked Raynor, as he joined Jack on
deck at the conclusion of his duties in the engine-room. “It will
certainly feel good to put foot on shore once more.”
“Indeed it will,” agreed Jack, warmly. “I’m anxious to get a look at New
Guinea too. It’s a country about which very little is known—I mean so
far as the interior is concerned.”
“Well, we are likely to have plenty of opportunity for exploration,”
said Raynor. “I heard Mr. Jukes telling the captain that he believed,
from what he had heard about ‘Bully’ Broom at Tahiti where he is well
known, that the rascal has a secret hiding place in the interior
somewhere.”
“Then it’s likely to take a long time to locate him,” said Jack. “This
is a pretty big country and very densely wooded, with big mountains and
rivers galore. I’m afraid it’s a needle and hay-stack job.”
“I expect Mr. Jukes means to get a clue in Bomobori, where Broom is
probably well known,” hazarded Raynor.
“That is probably his idea,” said Jack. “Anyhow, he is not a man who
would give up his purpose for any ordinary difficulties.”
It was decided not to leave the yacht till the morning. It can well be
imagined then that the sleep of the boys that night was not as sound as
usual. Both lay awake wondering what lay before them, and whether they
would succeed or fail in the mission, for that evening Mr. Jukes had
appointed them members of the expedition, and declared that he would
rely upon them to the uttermost to aid him.
It was then that Jack had made a suggestion. The yacht was to be left in
the harbor with a crew to guard her, but communication with her might be
important, even necessary, if they were driven to some other part of the
coast and were unable to return to Bomobori.
Jack’s suggestion was that, with the spare parts of the ship’s wireless,
of which a big stock was carried, he should construct a portable radio
apparatus by means of which they could at all times be in touch with the
yacht. He had an idea that he could do this easily. Thurman, who had
been conducting himself in an irreproachable manner, could be left in
charge of the _Sea Gypsy’s_ plant with perfect safety, the boy felt
confident. And so, subject to his success with a portable set, it was
arranged.
“This doesn’t appear to be much of a town,” observed Raynor, as they
landed the next day, a little before noon, in a warm, gentle shower of
rain such as frequently swept across the island at that time of the
year.
“Well, you could hardly expect to find it a New York or London, you
know,” rejoined Jack.
In truth Bomobori was a very fair specimen of a town in that section of
the world. Along the water front, back of which squatted a line of
tin-roofed warehouses, were moored native craft from up the river with
bamboo cabins and great lattice sails that housed a whole family of
natives. In spite of the rain it was warm and steamy, and a strange
assortment of odors greeted their nostrils as the boat was run up to the
principal dock and made fast.
The population was a very mixed one. Pallid white men, who looked like
Frenchmen for the most part, rubbed elbows on the water front with
Chinese, Lascars, Malays, Javanese and the wild-looking Papuans from the
interior with their frizzed hair and ornamental cloaks of bird skins and
long spears. Here and there a stout German in white ducks waddled by
with a sun-helmeted Englishman. There appeared to be quite a lot of
trading going on.
But they were anxious to hurry on to the hotel where Mr. Jukes hoped to
begin the inquiries which he was sanguine would result in his finding
his brother. The hostelry for which they were bound lay some squares
back from the water front. It was situated, like most tropical hotels,
in a park in which flowers and shrubs of all kinds grew luxuriantly, and
bright colored birds flew with harsh cries, like (bright) jewels, among
the brilliant foliage. It was a two-story affair in front of which a
fountain plashed coolingly in the hot, heavy air. Verandas, upon which
every room opened, completely surrounded each story.
They entered the office where the hand baggage they had brought was
picked up by barefooted, white-garmented servants. Mr. Jukes was bending
over the register writing his name and those of his party when Jack
caught sight of somebody lounging in a bamboo chair in the reading room
that nearly took his breath away.
“Well, if that isn’t——”
“What is it, Jack?” asked Billy quickly.
“Look at that chap there reading a paper. It’s Donald Judson—Donald
Judson, as sure as you’re a foot high!”