“this is not an expedition—it’s getting to be a hospital!” exclaimed the curator, whimsically, as dwight was tucked away under his own tent fly. “baderoon’s arm is still game, and dwight will be at least three days getting healed up—yet. did you ever see such glorious country to move about in, or such wonderful weather?”
nicky agreed with him. he had collected in british guiana and the west indies, yet this was the first time he had been free of the eternal green maze of the deep jungle. up here, high on the mountain flanks, it was hot and dry, and the vegetation was more like the open african veldt. across the creek, to the east, and down into the lowlands, swept the damp jungle; back of camp, to the west, rose the mountain sides, inviting them irresistibly to climb up and see what might be seen from their tops.
dwight’s adventure with the cassowary[137] had upset their plans badly. there was no telling how soon he could move, for wounds in the tropics have an aggravating way of infecting and becoming obstinate about healing. the curator chafed over the delay, scarce daring to hope that the dry, breezy climate of the mountains would bring a swift closing of the scratches of the cassowary’s claw. he considered, meanwhile, the advisability of setting out with nicky on a scouting tour, leaving sadok and baderoon to guard the camp. he finally decided to risk a day’s absence.
“dwight,” said he, coming over to the boy’s tent after making up his mind, “nicky and i are going to climb this mountain back of us, and do some mapping and exploring from its top. we’ll be gone all day, and possibly the night, too. it’s taking a chance, to break up our party this way, i know, but half our time has already gone by since the proa left, and we must be up and doing. i’m leaving you the most deadly weapon i’ve got.” he pulled out a bright, shiny, nickel bomb from a flap case on his belt. it seemed very light and fragile to dwight as he handled it.
“i call it the ‘explorer’s bomb,’” said the[138] curator. “it’s filled with h. e. explosive. to arm it you bend this little copper projection over until it breaks off and you hear a hiss. then throw it for all you’re worth and run! if a war party comes up, and they won’t keep their distance or act hostile, throw it among them, and then you and the others bolt for cover.” he unbelted the bomb’s carrying case, and dwight replaced the missile in it gingerly. “you won’t have to use it, i’m sure,” said the curator, confidently. “between the lakatoi and the canoe fight we’ve got a reputation for being best left alone, in this region, i’m thinking.”
he and nicky set off early next morning. they went straight up the mountain side through the thick and thorny jungle. the geological formation was of comparatively recent lava rock, and the regular slope signified that an old extinct volcano crater formed its top, no doubt long since filled up and overgrown. as they climbed steadily higher, and wider and wider vistas of the country came to view, this impression was confirmed. high up on the slopes a regular talus of broken lava rock from some former eruption barred their way. the bowlders were of all sizes and their crevices and sunny[139] flats held many a snake, so that nicky, as “snakeologist” of the expedition, felt constrained to cut a snake stick and go after them.
the curator lit his pipe and sat down to spy out the country, meanwhile, with his glasses. presently nicky passed him, carrying a long stick of lignum-vitæ with a length of string tied to its top. just under it he had nailed a staple with the string looped through it. nicky stalked along, jumping from rock to rock, his eyes intent below him. presently he made a quick jab with the stick, pulled tight on the string, and then bore aloft a squirming red-and-black serpent, vainly winding itself around the end of the stick, while its head struck futilely at the empty air.
“elaterus wallacei—deadly poisonous,” announced nicky, scientifically, holding up the creature for the curator to admire. “isn’t he a beauty?”
“handsome!” agreed the curator, laughingly. “not quite so near, nick—and i hope you’ve got tight hold of that string!”
“sure! watch me make a specimen of him!” said the enthusiast, picking up a small club. he held the end of the snake stick[140] down on a rock, where a few judgmatical raps reduced his captive to a scientific curiosity.
nicky dropped him in a small canvas bag which was pretty sure to have a few lizards and frogs and turtles in it, also, at any given time of day, and they set out upward again. a wide belt of century plants barred their way as they climbed higher. they grew in rank profusion, the great green leaves crossing in every direction, six feet high, and all armed with a dagger point at the tip and saw teeth along the blades. a man’s eyes would be worth nothing if he once got himself well into them.
a detour of about a mile brought them around the century plants, and then came lava escarpments, steep and difficult to climb. up them they swarmed, and found themselves on a gradually rising, arid table-land with sparse vegetation growing all about, and magnificent views out in every direction.
working southward, they finally came out on a bald knob that the curator had noted from the camp below and had determined to reach. here the view was superb, wonderful—when you came to consider that all you looked at below was new and unmapped[141] country. the curator’s pocket aneroid gave their height at a little over six thousand feet. far over to the east could be made out the dim outlines of geelvink bay, with the limitless pacific behind it. below them, to the west, the slopes ran down sharply to the mangrove swamps that lined the shores fronting on the banda sea, with the long point of cape debelle jutting out as if on a small relief map directly below them. beyond it, far over the sea, a bank of clouds on the horizon told them of aru, a hundred miles away.
but it was to the south that their eyes turned with the most inquiring interest. here the ranges rose higher and higher, under heavy banks of clouds, until, on the extreme horizon, the sun glinted on a white, snowy sea of mountains, jagged with peaks and caps, with carstensz (17,000 feet) just visible as a tiny jutting point of white. two hundred years ago jan carstensz, navigating along these shores, caught a glimpse of the snow mountains from the decks of his vessel and reported them in the ship’s log. it was such a rare glimpse, behind the eternal veil of clouds that shrouds the interior of new guinea, that no one believed him. from[142] that day to this, a lifting of the jungle clouds hanging low over the mountains, and the white man present to see them, have never come at the same time, so that even the existence of the high fellows in the interior has been regarded as a wild tale of jan carstensz. it was not for more than two centuries later, in 1911, that jan lorentz, another intrepid hollander, with a party of twenty dyaks, made a dash through the pygmy country and ascended the first one of the snow mountains, naming it mt. wilhelmina in honor of the dutch queen.
from their own knob another wonderful feature of the country could also be seen, extending southward in a long flat perspective—the great precipice. for two hundred miles this precipice extends like a rampart, dividing the mountains from the flat jungle. it rises sometimes to a sheer height of ten thousand feet, undoubtedly the grandest precipice in the world. sloping up to it, they could make out the jungle-clad talus, and beyond that the lowlands of the river country, widening out more and more as the coast land flowed southward. dozens of rivers, they knew, cut through this jungle, out of sight in the green sea of foliage, and here was[143] the scene of the english expedition, their party arriving full of hope and confidence, only to be baffled by the precipice and the swift floods of the rivers from getting farther than the foothills of the snow mountains. here they had discovered the race of pygmies, and had visited one of their villages, collected implements of war and domestic usage, and, most valuable of all, a list of some fourteen words in their tongue, now carefully preserved for future use in the curator’s notebook.
“nicky,” said the curator, after a long and careful examination of a spot on the jungly hills to the south of them, “i wish you would take a look at that scar over yonder, where a sort of ravine seems to run down the second mountain to the south of us. my eyes may be deceiving me, but—” he handed over the glasses.
nicky looked eagerly, with his fresh young eyes glued to the binoculars.
“huts! little huts, ’way up in the tree tops! i’m sure of it!” he cried, after a careful scrutiny.
“i knew it!” said the curator, quietly. “those huts up in the tree tops are where the unmarried girls of the pygmy tribes sleep.[144] that marks it as a pygmy village. see if you can’t make out larger huts on the ground.”
nicky studied the jungle awhile, with intense concentration. “i see them,” he cried, handing the curator the glasses. “the small huts are built up in bare pandanus trees, and under the palms and bamboos around them i can see a brown shape like a bear’s back—that’s a thatched hut.”
baldwin agreed with him, after a look for himself. together they planned a route to reach the village in about two days’ march.
“say, mr. baldwin, that war party of the outanatas was on its way for a fight with them, when they came upon us—that’s my hunch!” declared nicky, with sudden conviction.
“no doubt! there’s probably more or less of an old trail, if we look for it. and now for some plane-table surveys, nicky.”
the curator unfolded a large blank sheet among the rear pages of his notebook, and on it drew a rough map of the country, with nicky to help with comment and suggestion. then out of his mess kit he took a flat, round brass box, which turned out to be a compass with folding sight bars. with this compass, bearing sights were taken of all the prominent[145] peaks and hills in sight, and the map was then corrected to agree with the bearings.
then the curator indicated a tall banyan tree growing on the end of a spur of the mountain opposite to them to the south.
“see that tree, nick?” he asked. “we’ll climb up there to-morrow, and take all these bearings again from that point. where they intersect these we have taken from here will be the true positions of all these interior peaks and valleys on our maps. that’s the way we make an accurate plane-table survey.”
“how about the distance from here to the banyan tree as a base line?” objected nicky. “how’ll we lay that out on the map? we don’t know it.”
“we’ll measure it, son. we’ll lay off a base line down in those open swales where the cassowary got his dwight, so to speak, and we’ll sight this knob and the banyan tree, both, from below. with a known base, and the two triangles erected on it by bearing angles, it’s a cinch to calculate the distance from this knob to the banyan.”
they descended the mountain to camp, finding dwight up and about and puttering around his camp, an occupation he dearly loved. baderoon was loafing to his heart’s[146] content, and sadok had succeeded in adding a rare black cockatoo to the collections. that evening nicky and the curator went into the open and measured off a base line. from both ends of it their mountain knob and the banyan tree on the next mountain to the south could be sighted. the compass was set up on a stake, and the bearings of both points carefully taken from each end of the base line. it was dark when they got through.
after the camp had fed for the night, the curator came over to nicky’s fly and squatted there, with his notebook spread out. he first laid off their base line in a small number of the blue-line squares on a page of the notebook. from the ends of this he drew the angles they had taken with the compass. they formed two thin, wedge-shaped triangles, slanting away from the base line in opposite directions. counting the blue squares between the outer points of these two triangles gave the distance between the knob and the banyan tree compared with the base line, from which it was easy to figure the actual distance. laying this out on his map, they were ready for the climb next day.
[147]it did not seem possible to nicky that they could climb up a new mountain, clear up to that banyan tree, without a series of hair-raising adventures, but, strange to say, it was done! the boy began to study out this phenomenon, finally, so unusual did it seem, and he found the secret of it lay in the curator’s method. he was after a plane-table survey, now, and so he let all the wild creatures alone—and they let him alone! cassowaries and brush turkeys ran off, squawking cackles through the swales of saw grass, but the curator heeded them not. wallabys leapt for cover, and were let go free. they passed a high pandanus with a tree kangaroo crawling in its top, but no nicky was detailed to go up after him. snakes of high and low degree, fascinating in the extreme to nicky, went squirming on their ways unchased. even a cuscus of a new kind was passed by unmolested. nicky perceived that trouble would not hunt you, if you did not seek it, in the new guinea jungle. in a surprisingly short time they were at the foot of the banyan tree and truing up all the points on the map with intersecting lines drawn from their position.
“besides which, we have added a lot of stuff[148] to the north which i can correct with coast surveys,” concluded the curator as he folded the pocket notebook. “i reckon this map will admit me to the royal geographic and entitle me to a whole alphabet tacked on after my name—much that i care!” he laughed. “the thing for us to do now is to push on and visit the pygmies, and then for cinnabar mountain! sorry this survey did not show it up. must be farther on to the south.”
next day camp was broken and the whole party was on the move. baderoon was entirely well, now, and dwight so far healed that he and sadok had overturned nearly every rock near camp the day before, adding hundreds of new beetles to his collection. they followed at first the old war trail of the outanatas, and then, as it deviated away, took the route planned out by nicky and the curator through the mountains from the knob. that night the tents were pitched on the edge of a warm, dry field of yellow grass, with coco palms and wild, small-fruited bananas crowding out into the clearing. a little stream, flowing into their old friend the creek, gave their roots the necessary water, and made a rill to camp besides. it all reminded nicky and dwight of some of[149] their earlier florida camps with the curator, and they felt entirely at home.
at dawn each man cooked him a breakfast, rolled up his pack, and by sunup they were on the trail again. from across the valley, a look-see by nicky up on the hillside disclosed the pygmy village, now not half a day’s march away, and they went along cautiously, guns and pistols ready and the curator’s air gun loaded with a short-range shell, for they might come on a party of them unexpectedly and no one could foresee the outcome. about a mile from the village they halted, and chose an easily defended position on the mountain side. there they waited for some of the pygmies to come that way. there was a well-defined trail just below them, and they judged that it was often used. in perhaps an hour voices came along it through the jungle. a small party, of four warriors and a dog, were walking single file along the path, and at sight of the curator they all stopped with guttural exclamations of alarm.
it seemed to dwight that he had never looked upon such villainous-looking little men. they were about four feet six inches high, the tallest not four feet nine; brownish[150] black in color; and, instead of the papuan mop of frizzled hair, their heads were nearly bald, with black chin and side whiskers, in a sort of thick mane from ear to ear. they carried bows at least a foot longer than they were tall, spears, and a net bag slung over the shoulder. each man had also a small sack containing his fire sticks and other belongings slung about his neck. in place of the usual loin cloth, or just plain nudity, each wore a long, yellow half gourd, hung from a string around his middle and secured by a thong through the crotch.
dwight thrilled to realize that he was looking upon the original aborigines of new guinea. like the negritos of the philippines, and our own cave men forbears, they were short, strong little men, with well-developed muscles and stout legs, and they were in a high state of hunting-tribe civilization, as shown by the decency of the gourd, the absence of barbaric ornament, and the efficient hunter’s equipment that each man carried. they did not seem particularly afraid, but stood staring at the white party, arrows on bow, ready for any eventuality.
the curator grinned and, pointing at the mangy-looking dog, “wiwi!” he pronounced.
[151]the four started with astonishment, to hear a word in their own tongue spoken by this strange-looking white man.
then, pointing at the most clownish-looking one of the four, “amare-ta?” (“his?”) he asked, smiling genially.
the man was evidently the butt and good fellow of the crowd, for the shot about it being his dog went home. a black-whiskered old pirate, who was evidently their leader, cracked a smile and nodded his head. then they began to chatter among themselves, excitedly. evidently they had heard of the english expedition from their own tribes to the south. the english had treated them well, experienced as they are in handling natives.
“kami oro-ta?” (“your houses?”) asked the curator, next. “gosh! boys, i only know fourteen words of their language, but i’m working them for all they are worth!” he exclaimed in an aside to their own party.
the pygmies grinned and nodded again, dropping their arrow points in a more friendly manner. he was winning them fast.
“kema-u-uteri!” said the old fellow, vigorously, pointing toward the village.
“he means they’re going to give us a pig and some coconuts,” explained the curator[152] to his own party. “they want us to come up to the village. i guess not! we’ll stay right here and see what next.”
he nodded his thanks for their offer; then, “area-ta ku!” (“my boat!”) he said to the pygmies, waving his hand toward the lagoon down in the valleys. “uta doro-ta!” he added, pointing to their camp site, the words telling them that his fire would be made there.
the four nodded and grinned as the curator signified politely that they were welcome to visit him. then they started up the trail, with many a backward glance of curiosity.
“now, then, boys, it’s up to us to barricade this camp and make it as strong for defense as we can, until we see how everything turns out,” said the curator, energetically, after they had gone.
the site was admirably chosen. a huge prone bole lay across the front of it, overlooking the trail, and it only needed stones cleared away and piled on the flanks to make a veritable fort of it, with their rear protected by the rocky ledges of the mountain. they cleared out the inclosure and then started their fire. presently yells and shouts and an excited babel of voices came floating across[153] the valley from the village. through the glasses they could see men, women, and children crowding around the four hunters, and then there was an immense amount of running around and preparations of some sort going on in the village.
“the four were not on the war path, for they carried no bamboo knives for head hunting,” ruminated the curator. “tapiros, i suppose. get a lot of wood for a big fire,” he ordered. “we want plenty of light if they come around to-night, so we can see what we are doing.”
the noise in the village redoubled, and, as night came down and the tents and hammocks were slung, it seemed that every man, woman, and child in it was coming to visit them in a mob. a singing chorus of the wild little hill men came marching toward them through the jungle paths.
“that’s bad!” exclaimed the curator, anxiously. “if there was only some way we could show our power, without hurting them! we can’t let a mob get to close quarters with us.”
“i think i’ve got a scheme, sir,” ventured nicky. “there are a few flashlights in my vest-pocket camera. suppose i run out and[154] explode one in the path, about thirty yards off?”
“well—get it ready, anyhow,” hesitated the curator. “they don’t seem to be hostile. dwight and sadok will cover you, while i will step out in front of the log and try to act like a peaceable human being.”
the pygmies came on in a crowd through the dark, torches here and there shining through the bush. they did not seem to be sending out flanking parties, which was reassuring, and the main body came on down the trail. nicky dashed out, lit the fuse of his flash, and had just gotten back to the tree when it went off. a blinding glare lit up the scene. it showed at least a hundred pygmies diving frantically for cover. the whites noted with relief that the men were decorated with flowers and carried no arms. a party bearing a pig trussed up on a pole had suddenly set down their burden and decamped.
“they’re friendly!” cried the curator, relievedly. “i’d give a million dollars for the word ‘friend’ in tapiro!” instead, he put his hand over his heart and bowed his thanks for the pig, like any after-dinner orator. sadok threw a pile of grass on the[155] fire and its flames lit up the scene. the moment hung in the balance.
“sing, boys!—something plaintive!—for god’s sake, sing!” barked the curator, hastily.
on such sudden notice nicky could think of nothing but the old campfire ditty, “sweet adeline.” he poured it out, at the top of his voice, the others chiming in on the refrain. all over the world, in lonely campfires from the arctic to the equator, that plaintive song has unburdened the hearts of hunters and explorers, as a wolf bays the moon. it did not fail them now. where words lacked, music got across. that remote something in the plaintive chimes of “adeline” that satisfies the white hunter had reached over into the souls of this tribe of the most ancient of all hunters. one or two old men came out, quaking, from their hiding places, the leader of the original four one of them.
“yow-nata-u; kema-kema!” he quavered, indicating the pig.
“thanks!” called out the curator, desperately. “go get him, sadok and baderoon. we’ve got to do the polite. i never knew music to fail with savages yet!”
they went down and carried the pig up ceremoniously, while the curator kept on[156] bowing his thanks. “set it down in front of our tree. i’ve got another idea,” he said, as they brought the pig up. “put another of your flashes in front of the pig, nicky, and touch it off.”
nicky lit the fuse, and the curator stood over the pig, making what he hoped were sufficiently impressive incantations over it. presently the flash went off, lighting up the whole jungle with its lurid glare. in the intense darkness that followed, the pig was whisked over the log out of sight. by the time sight returned to the eyes of the little hill men it had disappeared.
“that ought to hold ’em for a bit!” said the curator, out of the corner of his mouth. “they call me yow-nata, ‘sun maker,’ so a miracle or two won’t do any harm. got any more ideas, boys?”
“yes, i’ve got a good one!” came back dwight. “let’s have your flasher, sir, and yours, nicky. they’re both powerful. now, then, have you got anything to give them, sir?”
“sure! i’ve been saving a small bag of beads for some such affair as this,” said the curator, producing them from a pocket.
“all right. you walk out there with them, and i’ll do my stunt,” chuckled dwight.
[157]“thank the lord, ‘bead’ is one of the words the english got,” said the curator, starting down to the trail.
“upou [beads] kema! [give]” he called out, holding out a handful of them and waving it about. the old men crept forward warily. as they came close to the curator, dwight, with the flashers held on both sides of his eyes, flashed them on. the effect was weird in the extreme. it looked as if he had two fiery eyes, and the rays lit up the curator and made the glass beads in his palm flash like jewels. there was an instant dive by the hill men into the brush again.
“amare upou kema! amare upou kema! [i give you beads! i give you beads!] come out, you little devils!” he called, reassuringly, while dwight kept the rays turned on him steadily.
it took a lot of coaxing, but finally the same old fellow ventured forth again, trying the effect of the light on himself gingerly. he jumped back as dwight turned his face and swept the jungle, heads popping out of sight like chipmunks as his “eyes” lit up the jungle. then the old man ventured out again as the rays returned to the curator. foot by foot he drew near, with many a[158] questioning glance, and finally the curator was able to drop a pile of beads in his hand. he grunted with pleasure, and baldwin signed for the other to approach. he gave a small pile to each, and then walked back to the log.
“switch ’em off, dwight. you did fine!” he exclaimed. “now we’ll go about our affairs and let ’em watch us for the present. you keep guard, and if any of them venture too near, just turn those eyes on them and we’ve got ’em on the run.”
the tents were put up and candles and lanterns lit, the pygmies watching every move from the jungle depths. the curator spent his time trying to talk to the old men, who had gathered in the trail below their log breastwork, and he finally attempted a few words in the hated papuan tongue. to his surprise they knew considerable of that, too, and baderoon was at once called to interpret. between them a feast was arranged next day in the village, and the information conveyed that the white man would prefer that the tribe go back to their village, now, as it was time for sleep.
at this the older men gave an order (there did not seem to be any central head chief)[159] and they all drifted slowly back, their voices coming faintly out of the jungle, all talking excitedly.
“and now, boys, we’ll call it a day!” said the curator. “looks as if they were going to be friendly. sadok, you stand watch until those stars there”—indicating the southern cross—“come over that mountain. then call me.”
the camp turned in, leaving sadok on guard by the fire.
