Fear Drive My Feet (15 page)

‘Morning nothing!' I grunted aloud. ‘We're going right now!'

I sent the Wampangan boy hurrying back to his village, with instructions to send
twenty men for carriers as fast as they could run. Then Buka, Achenmeri, and I got
all the cargo lined out and ready for the road. It would
almost certainly be dark
before we reached Bawan, but anything was better than another night here.

The walk to Bawan was steep, largely through thick rainforest country, but once we
reached the top of the first mountain the rain stopped and the sky became clear.
The track was thickly overgrown, and though this meant extra effort for us it would
make patrolling much more difficult for the Japanese, who did not know the area.
From a clear spot in the track the boys pointed out the ‘ficus belong Lae' – a huge
ficus-tree on the hill behind Lae township, and a famous landmark. It stood out clear
against the sky like a big mushroom. When I looked through the field-glasses I was
startled at the clarity of the detail – I could practically distinguish the branches.
Once again I was reminded of the nearness of the Japanese base, a fact easily forgotten
in the sensation of isolation produced by the rugged mountain country.

Bawan, the village which was to be my headquarters for some time, is worth describing
in detail. Being about four thousand feet above sea-level it was cool and pretty
well free from mosquitoes. I first saw it just before dusk, from the far side of
the valley, in that brief half-hour – there is no long twilight in New Guinea – when
the valleys darken and the hills soften from green to palest blue, and when the chill
that comes into the air causes a little shiver, for one's clothes are still wet through
either from sweat or from rain. I could see the main village far below me, on a level
space near the foot of a deep gorge. Smoke was rising from the many little cooking-fires
in front of the houses, and men were standing round a larger fire which blazed on
the red earth of the open space in the centre of the village. Above the roar of the
water we heard laughter – tiny, feeble sounds almost lost in the distance. A crazy
bamboo bridge spanned the river, and opposite us, on the other side of the
gorge,
several hundred feet up, was a group of about fifteen houses. Their occupants stood
in a little cluster at the edge of the cliff, pointing across the valley in our direction.
We waved to them and they waved back, and when I studied them at close range I saw
that they were all kanakas. There was no sign of Ian or his police.

About half a mile farther round the side of the valley a faint wisp of smoke curled
up, barely discernible against the blue of the hillside. A careful search through
the binoculars showed the roofs of three more houses. This was where the doctor-boy
of Bawan lived with his relatives. Since I had not been able to see Ian in either
of the other two hamlets, I concluded he must be living chez doctor-boy.

We hurried down the steep track, anxious to reach at least the outskirts of Bawan
before dark. The carriers shouted encouragingly to each other, and their loads of
cargo swung and bounced about as they scrambled eagerly downward.

Darkness had fallen when we reached the houses, and as we strode into the circle
of firelight there were surprised shouts from the natives. Unlike their fellow villagers
on the cliff above, they had not seen us coming. They were most friendly, running
to help the carriers with their loads, and offering us sugarcane to suck.

Ian was not to be seen.

‘Master 'e stop where?' I inquired of one of the men.

‘Master 'e stop on top. 'Im 'e workim two-fella house.'

Apparently Ian had built two houses for himself and was not living in either of the
hamlets, or with the doctor-boy. I hoped he would not be far away. We had made the
journey from Boana at such a cracking pace that I was very tired, and so were the
carriers.

‘House belong master, 'e long way, nau close to?' I asked.

‘ 'Em 'e long way lik-lik,' was the reply. ‘Long way lik-lik' literally interpreted
means ‘A little long way!'

Further inquiries about the exact distance would have been profitless, so I asked
whether someone would guide us to Ian. Willingly, three men picked up blazing sticks
from the fire for torches and, shouting to their womenfolk – presumably that they
would be late for their meal – led the way across the river.

The dark water that roared beneath the rickety bridge reflected the flames of the
torches, and I looked down, fascinated, till I almost lost my balance. I would have
fallen in but for the grip on my hand of one of the Bawan guides, who pulled me firmly
off the bridge, saying in a kind but determined voice, ‘Master come now', as though
remonstrating with a wayward child. In a few moments we were clambering up the black
wet rocks on the side of the valley.

Twenty minutes' climb brought us to the second hamlet, where the people, outlined
in the doorways of their houses, called out greetings, both to us and to the Wampangan
carriers. I heard Buka's voice in querulous inquiry above the din, ‘House belong
master close to?'

‘ 'Em 'e close to finish,' I heard the reply.

‘Ha! Suppose 'em 'e long way, me buggerup finish,' sighed poor Buka, who was not
at his best in the mountains.

Five minutes later we came to a clear level space, where the torchlight dimly showed
two large houses. More torches appeared, and there was excited chattering and laughter
as Buka and Achenmeri were greeted by Ian's boys. Ian, lantern in hand, advanced
to meet me from the farther house, and as we shook hands I saw that he was dressed
warmly in sweater and long trousers. His tousled fair hair shone in the flickering
light.

‘Hi! Didn't expect you till tomorrow. But there's hot water all ready for a wash-wash
– we put it on the fire as soon as we spotted you across the valley. By the time
you've cleaned up, the cook-boy will have some kai-kai ready.'

‘Thanks, Ian, but I think I'll just have a mug of beef tea and then turn in. I reckon
we made record time for the Boana to Bawan Stakes. I've just about had it.'

‘You must have gone like blazes to get here tonight – I didn't send that messenger
till nearly midday. Why didn't you wait till tomorrow?'

‘To be quite honest, I wasn't game to spend another night in that mission. It was
giving me the horrors, and the boys too. They all reckon it's ‘place no good'. If
your messenger hadn't come I was going to move into one of the native villages. They
may be dirty, but at least they don't give you the creeps.'

Ian nodded sympathetically. ‘I know what you mean. You feel you're being watched all
the time – and not just by the Holy Ghost, either. Well, you go and wash up, and
I'll see all the stores are put away. I made the ground floor of the house a storeroom
in expectation of plenty, but it doesn't look as if you got too much.' He strained
his eyes, peering at the cargo the carriers were lining out at the edge of the clearing.

‘There's a full month's ration for one European – that's a fortnight for the two
of us – and a fair amount of trade goods. There's a few odds and ends, like gelignite,
hand-grenades, and some kerosene.'

‘I suppose we ought to count ourselves lucky to have that much, really,' said Ian,
though the disappointment in his voice was obvious. ‘Were they hard up at Bob's?'

‘They certainly were! They were even running out of brus to smoke.' I went into the
house as soon as I had washed. Ian handed me a steaming mug of beef tea; one
of his
boys was still putting up my bed, so I sat down on the end of Ian's, taking in the
details of the hut as I drank.

For the camp, Ian had selected a grassy clearing, the only flat piece of ground for
miles around. The ground floor of our house was a storeroom, while the upper storey
comprised a kitchen at one end, a large living - and sleeping-room in the centre,
and at the other end a spacious veranda. The building had been done with great care. The
eaves hung low over the walls, which were double thicknesses of bark sheets lined
with parts of an old tarpaulin of Jock's. The doorway could be covered with a strip
of canvas also. All this was necessary to keep out the cold and the heavy nightly
fog.

As soon as I had drained the cup I rolled into the blankets and was asleep. My last
recollection was of Ian arranging the hurricane-lamp above his head as he lay on
the bed to read an old newspaper I had brought from Bob's.

Breakfast-time was cold. We ate dressed in long trousers and sweaters. Outside,
fog limited visibility to about fifty yards, and everything looked grey and dismal.
Drops of moisture off the ends of the grass thatching dripped softly onto the ground.
However, even while we ate, the fog was becoming thinner and the sun could be seen
trying to break through. By the time we had eaten breakfast and shaved, the fog was
completely dissipated, and we had a beautiful day of warm sunshine. Almost always
it was the same – cold night with fog or rain, and warm, sunny day till about three
or four in the afternoon, when the mists rose up from the valley floor. Sometimes
there were several clear hours in the evening, when, if the moon was shining, it
was bright enough to read and write outside.

Stripped of all our clothes, we lay on our groundsheets and basked in the sun while
we formulated our plan of campaign.

Bawan was an extremely good choice for a camp. It was near the border between two
native districts, the Wain and the Naba country. It was centrally situated, close
to several main tracks, and was not too remote from Lae, while being within easy
reach of the wild mountains to the north if it became necessary to hide from enemy
visitors. Moreover, in this spot it would be very difficult for the Japs to surprise
us. Anyone coming from Boana would have to wind his way down the steep track on the
far side of the gorge and then climb an equally steep path on this side. He would
be in full view at least half an hour before he reached us. There were only two other
approaches – one from Gewak village and the other from Monakasat – and a sentry posted
on a rise five minutes' walk behind the house could command both these paths, which
were mere goat tracks, exposed and narrow. A machine-gun could dispose of a party
of Japs here without a hope of their escaping. Another most important point in Bawan's
favour was that the surrounding country was exceedingly fertile and carried a fairly
dense population. This meant that native foods would be in good supply – as an enormous
pile of sweet potatoes, taro, pumpkins, and other vegetables under the house-police
testified.

I congratulated Ian on his choice, and we went on to discuss the work we could do.
He contemplated moving to Bawan all his stores from the base camp south of the Markham,
together with his radio set, remaining quiet till the Japanese had more or less forgotten
the encounter near Hopoi, then making quick patrols down to the back of Lae to find
out what was happening there. The interim period of lying low we could devote to securing
our position with the natives, so as to be assured of their support, and perhaps
training a number of them to shoot, forming a small local guerrilla band. This seemed
to me a good
scheme. Having the radio on the spot would enable us to cut out the
long and dangerous walk back to Bob's every time we wished to send a message. As
soon as Constable Watute returned with news from Ian's base camp, we would know whether
Ian's cloak-and-dagger organization would allow him to go ahead.

Two days passed, and one afternoon we heard the sentry call out that someone was
coming down the track from Boana. With the binoculars we saw that it was Watute,
and in about half an hour he stepped up to us, puffing and panting. He saluted, and
handed Ian a letter.

The message dashed our hopes completely. Ian was instructed by his headquarters in
Australia to leave the area immediately. That night he packed his gear by lantern-light,
and early next morning, leaving me most of the food, he set out on the long road
back – to Australia, ultimately. I watched him through the glasses as he climbed
slowly up the far side of the valley. He turned momentarily, waved, and then plunged
into the forest and out of sight. Again I had that feeling of loneliness which had
first come over me when I crossed the Markham on my original journey into the Wain
– and a terrible certainty that now there was no one to turn to for help, no matter
what happened. I had just spent my nineteenth birthday alone in the bush, I remembered,
and now it seemed that Christmas, a couple of weeks off, would be celebrated alone
too.

Before he left, Ian had suggested that I should send a message to Jock telling him
what had happened and pointing out that now he would probably be employed better
here than on the north coast. As I had left Achenmeri at Bob's to receive further
training, Watute and Buka were my only police. Though both were experienced men, I
did not want to send either of them on the difficult
journey across the Saruwageds. Watute
had just come back from his long walk to Tungu, and Buka was not at his best in the
mountains. The last we had heard of Jock was a message he had sent to Ian with his
returning Bungalamba carriers, saying that he had made the crossing but that it
had been very difficult and bitterly cold. I did not know exactly where he was, but
I decided to send Buka to Bungalamba with a letter for him. Buka was to find a native
willing to take it to the first village on the north side and ask the kanakas there
to pass it on to the next village, and so on until it caught up with Jock. I gave
Buka a big parcel of salt and some coloured calico: the man who made the trip across
the range was to get this as payment, and Buka was to tell him that I would reward
him further when Jock either came back or sent me a message. Buka went off, and four
days later he returned to say that he had found a young man to do the job and had
actually seen him set out on his arduous trip.