Round the World in Seven Days Part 17

"No can do, ma.s.sa," replied the man in a shrill tone of voice, that seemed singularly unbefitting to his ma.s.sive frame. "Topside man catchee my inside G.o.down 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. Ma.s.sa 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, ma.s.sa. 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. "Ma.s.sa 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 G.o.down, 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 a.s.sured 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 compa.s.s, 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 const.i.tuents 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 st.u.r.dy 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 s.p.a.ce. 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 embarra.s.sment 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.

CHAPTER XII

STALKED BY PIGMIES

Smith had noticed before leaving Palmerston that the wind had risen and was blowing steadily from the north-west. He was very anxious not to miss Port Moresby, the princ.i.p.al harbour in British New Guinea, for he hoped, in spite of what the Resident at Palmerston had said, to be able to replenish his stock of petrol there, knowing very well that among the smaller islands of the South Pacific the places where petrol was kept must be very few. He determined, however, if he should fail to make Port Moresby, to steer straight for Ysabel Island. If it turned out to be impossible to obtain petrol, he would have to resign himself to the inevitable, return to Australia on the gunboat that had been dispatched to relieve the castaways, and endure as philosophically as he might the consequences of overstepping his leave.

His course lay across the head of the Gulf of Carpentaria. By daybreak, if he were able to keep up full speed through the night, he should have pa.s.sed the northernmost end of the Yorke Peninsula, and it might then be possible to take his bearings by the group of islands in the Torres Straits. On leaving these islands behind him he should soon come in sight of the mountain chain running from the middle of the Gulf of Paqua to the south-eastern extremity of New Guinea. He might expect to sight these mountains from a very great distance, and in particular, if he could distinguish Mount Astrolabe, the square, flat-topped mountain lying behind Port Moresby, he would have no further anxiety about his position.

The engine was working as well as ever, and by keeping over the sea, Smith was able to avoid any gusts or cross-currents of air that might be set up by irregularities in the conformation of the land. Taking turns as usual with Rodier at the wheel, he was able to get a few hours of sleep; about an hour and a half after daybreak he descried the strange shape of Mount Astrolabe towering nearly four thousand feet into the sky, and in less than a quarter of an hour afterwards he came to the coast, a little to the west, as he judged, of Port Moresby.

The aspect of the coast was far from inviting. There were long stretches of mangrove forest lining the sh.o.r.e, from which unpleasant exhalations arose, affecting his sense of smell even at the height of a hundred feet. Beyond rose limestone hills, very scantily wooded, with a plentiful crop of rocks and stones. There was scarcely a patch of level ground to be seen. He came almost suddenly upon the port, lying in a hollow of the hills, and for some time looked in vain for a suitable landing place. The aeroplane, circling over the harbour, was seen by the sailors on the ships and the people on the quays, and its appearance brought all work to a standstill.

At length Smith discovered at the north end of the little town a spot where landing was just possible if the descent was not endangered by the wind. He felt more nervous than at any other time during his voyage, and was on the alert to set the propellers working at the first sign that the wind was too strong for him. To his great relief he came safely to the ground, with no other misadventure than collision with a huge eucalyptus tree at the edge of the clearing.

Without loss of time he made his way down to the town, and accosting the first white man he met, asked to be directed to the residence of the Administrator.

"You're a stranger, I guess," said the man, who had not seen the aeroplane. "Come from Sydney?"

"No, from Port Darwin."

"Gosh! We don't often have vessels from there. How's my friend Mr.

Pond?"

"I don't know him."

"Well, that's real strange. I thought everybody knew d.i.c.k Pond; he's lived there fifty years or more. Say, what's up?" he asked of a man hurrying in the opposite direction.

"It's down. Didn't you see it or hear it?"

"Hear what?"