For two days they traveled thus, making fresh discoveries constantly.
Once, for instance, Billy triumphantly pounced on what seemed like a
fine bit of fire-wood for the noon-day halt. But he dropped it with a
yell, as the “stick” suddenly developed legs and on being dropped walked
off.
“Begorrah, there’s a shillalegh come to loife, so it has,” yelled
Muldoon, as he observed the phenomenon; but the “shillalegh” was only
one of those strange “stick insects” that abound in that part of the
world and sometimes fool even the natives.
At noon of the third day they found themselves approaching a settlement,
as cleared ground, where grew maize, sugar cane, yams and other plants,
testified. The village proved to be a large one where white traders and
animal collectors often stopped and there was a native hostelry in it
conducted by a greasy-looking Frenchman who had a native wife as
dirty-looking as he was. The native huts were all of bamboo hung with
cocoanut mats. Natives squatted in front of them chewing betel nuts, the
juice crimsoning their lips and chins. All ages and both sexes indulged
in the habit, which is universal throughout Polynesia and the South Seas
generally.
There appeared to be a lot of rivalry among the men as to who could grow
the fuzziest, most outstanding crop of hair.
“Faith, a barber would starve to death in this country,” declared
Muldoon.
Just then a young woman came down the “street,” if such the muddy track
between the huts could be called. She held something in her arms that
they thought at first was a baby. But it turned out to be a young pig!
“We’ll rest at the hotel here,” said Mr. Jukes, “till it grows cooler.
My dyspepsia is bad again. It comes from traveling during the heat of
the day as we have been doing.”
The mid-day meal was cooked on a sort of altar built of stones. The boys
watched the operations in this open-air kitchen with interest. At least
twenty natives assisted in the culinary demonstration and the chatter
and laughter was deafening. They made a hearty meal on the native fare,
which they were astonished to find was quite as good as anything they
had tasted at home.
As Mr. Jukes did not wish to go forward at once after the meal they took
it easy in several grass hammocks stretched under a large, shady, tree.
The fact that the natives kept coming up and peering into their faces
and that babies, chickens and pigs wandered about under the hammocks did
not disturb the boys after a while, and they dropped off to sleep.
“I don’t wonder the natives here are lazy,” remarked Jack, when Muldoon
awakened him with a yell of “All hands on deck to see it rain.” “I
rarely slept in the day-time, but here I just dozed off without knowing
it.”
“Same here,” chimed in Raynor. “I didn’t have to even half try.”
“This climate is very enervating, boys,” declared Captain Sparhawk,
joining in the conversation. “That is why this part of the globe makes
so little progress toward civilisation. Men who are hustlers in their
own country come here determined to make the dirt fly, but after a few
months their energy oozes out of them like—well, say like tar out of
the seams of a hot ship’s deck.”
“That’s a good comparison,” laughed Jack.
Once more everything was stirring in the adventurers’ camp, and soon
they were on their way again. The Frenchman, whose “hotel” they had
left, had told them that by evening they would reach another village,
the last one they would encounter before plunging into the really wild
jungle, where there was another “hotel.”
“As it will be our last chance for many days to sleep under a roof, I
propose we stay there to-night,” said Mr. Jukes, swallowing a pill.
This suited the rest of the party and they struck forward at a brisk
pace after their refreshing rest and sleep. The jungle was filled with
countless birds, but there were no feathered songsters among them. The
air was filled with nothing but discordant shrieks and cries that set
the teeth on edge. Once the boys had the thrill of seeing a bird of
paradise, with its glorious plumage and wonderful tail feathers, flash
across their path.
The village they stopped at that evening resembled in almost every
respect the one in which the noon-day halt had been made. There were the
same huts, the same swarming pigs and chickens, and the same
fuzzy-headed Papuans, many of them returning from the fields with corn
and yams.
The proprietor of the “hotel,” which had no more pretensions to the name
than the other hostelry, proved to be a Portuguese half-caste, lacking
one eye, and sporting a pair of huge brass ear-rings. His wife was a
giant negress. However, they welcomed the party warmly, as they had good
reason to do, not having had any guests for some time, and pigs and
fowls were at once killed for supper, everything in such places being
ordered “on the hoof,” so to speak. Mr. Jukes delighted his native
followers by ordering an elaborate meal for them also, in celebration of
the fact that on the morrow they would leave “civilization” behind them.
Jack, at Mr. Jukes’ request, set up his wireless plant, stringing the
aerials from a tall tree up which one of the natives swarmed like a
monkey to make the long wires fast. As he worked, he and Billy talked.
“I guess we’ll sleep with one eye open to-night,” said Jack in an
undertone, for they were surrounded by a curious crowd watching the
white boy “make conjure medicine.”
“Yes, those hotel people are a crafty-looking couple,” rejoined Billy,
“and in a country like this it’s a good thing to regard everybody with
suspicion till you find them all right.”
Muldoon sauntered up to them as they chatted and worked and had his word
to put in too.
“Begorrah, that Portugee don’t look like no angel,” he said, “and his
wife looks like the ould Nick himsilf.”
“Just what we were talking about, Muldoon,” said Jack. “It will be a
good thing if we keep our eyes and ears open.”
[Illustration: It was some time before Jack got a reply, but at last he
received Thurman’s answering call.]
At last Jack got everything ready, and Raynor started to turn the
hand-crank of the generator, for of course a gasoline engine for that
purpose could not be carried into the jungle. When the storage batteries
were charged, Jack began to pump out the _Sea Gypsy’s_ call. At the
first crackle and whip-snap like explosion of the spark the natives
scattered with yells. Even Salloo, who was looking on, and had to stand
his ground to maintain his dignity before his men, looked uneasy and
shifted about nervously.
It was some time before Jack got a reply, but at last he received
Thurman’s answering call.
Everything it seemed was O. K. and there was no particular news from his
end except that another party had started up-country right on the heels
of Mr. Jukes’ expedition. It was thought they were traders, Thurman
said. Jack gave his news and then flashed “Good-night.”
He told Mr. Jukes of the conversation and of the start of a second
party.
“I heard nothing in Bomobori of a second expedition,” mused Mr. Jukes,
on receipt of this information. “But no doubt they are traders. It seems
odd, though, that they didn’t join with us if they were coming this way,
as is the general custom.”