CHAPTER XXVI
IN AUSTRALIA
Shortly after five o'clock the next afternoon, Paul saw ahead and toport what appeared to be haze, but which he and Tom hoped was thecoastline of Australia. Ten minutes later the observer joyfullypointed out to the pilot unmistakable evidence of an island upon whichstood a tall object--Bathurst Island lighthouse.
John and Tom were routed out, and all saw the rugged outline of thegreat island--a continent itself, as large as the United States andmuch the same shape--stretching away to the southward and slowlydwindling into low, sandy, barren shores as it went.
Less than forty minutes later they were circling over Port Darwin, onthe northwest corner of the continent, while a good-sized crowd ofpeople down below pointed excitedly upward. The flyers soon made outthe landing-field by reason of its white marker, and swooped gracefullydown, while those below cheered.
Two zealous customs officials were anxious to examine the new arrivals,also a health officer; but this did not take long, and during theprocess they were able to converse pleasantly with Mr. Seth Partlow,the British official in charge of the field, also with the mayor ofDarwin, who gave them the most cordial welcome.
They were sorry to learn that Pete Deveaux and his flyers had departedless than a half-hour before their own arrival; but they had beenexpecting such a report owing to the fact that they had been left sofar behind at Singapore. They now determined to hurry up refittingoperations, and leave at the first opportunity, hot upon the trail.
Messages were dispatched to Mr. Giddings at Panama and to his newspaperin New York; and another roll of films containing numerous interestingviews taken that morning just before and after landing, were mailed into the _Daily Independent_.
Here, for the first time, they were able to secure a paper containingaccounts of their own and their rival's passage. It was a novelexperience to read these glowing descriptions of incidents still freshin their minds--descriptions which had in some cases flown by wire, inothers by air-waves, from point to point, more than half-way around theworld. It provoked thoughts which made them marvel at the wonderfulingenuity and power of the very equipment which they were usingthemselves every chance they could get--their wireless telegraph andtelephone sets. The remarkable news-gathering efficiency of the world,the coordination of agencies in gathering and disseminating news, wasastounding to contemplate.
The mayor of the town insisted upon the boys partaking of dinner at hishome near by, and they thankfully agreed to do this when Mr. Partlowdeclared he would personally see to the filling of the Sky-Bird'stanks, for which task he had plenty of assistants.
They were most cordially received by the mayor's wife. Within fifteenminutes they had the satisfaction of sitting down to one of the mostsatisfying meals they had ever had. Not only was everything wellcooked, but there was a great variety of viands. They were allparticularly impressed with the toothsomeness of the meat which themaid served, so much so that Paul could not refrain from remarking:"Mr. Bailey, I never ate sweeter chicken than that."
"No, I don't believe you ever did," laughed the mayor. "The fact is,young man, that is not domestic chicken at all. It is the flesh of thebrush-turkey, a wild fowl which the bushmen or blackfellows bring inhere to market. It is a great delicacy."
"I have read of these bushmen," said Bob. "Are they quite wild?"
"Indeed they are," the mayor replied. "The blackfellow is, I believe,on the lowest rung of civilization. He is unlike the negro, the Malay,the Mongolian, and the American Indian, in many ways. If you couldstay a few days, I would be glad to take you back in the bush and showyou a few specimens in their native state. They have a long skull,with a low, flat forehead, Their brows overhang deep-set, keen eyes,and they have a heavy lower jaw, with teeth as strong as a dog's.Their hair is generally wavy or curly, being usually auburn or black incolor. As a rule their faces are almost hidden by beards and whiskers,which they never comb and which, like the hair on top of their heads,are always in a beautiful tangle."
"How do they dress, sir?" asked Paul.
This brought another laugh from Mr. Bailey. "That doesn't worry themin the least!" he declared. "Most bushmen are covered from head tofoot with hair, and I imagine they think this is a good enough uniform,for they wear nothing except what nature gave them. In bad weather,however, they do add some artificial protection to their tough bodiesby making a rough wrap out of the skin of a kangaroo or a piece offlexible bark. Some tribes use rushes and seaweed for this purpose,while others make a blanket from the dried frog scum of the swamps andponds. For boats, pieces of eucalyptus bark, folded and tied at theends and daubed with clay, suit them very well. They are too lazy todig out the trunk of a tree for a canoe, like the natives of most othercountries."
"Do these blackfellows live in huts?" asked John.
"That's where their laziness manifests itself again," said the mayor,smiling. "The blackfellow has no permanent dwelling. His shelter is acave or overhanging rock, as an animal might select one; sometimes itis only a large section of bark which he tears from a tree, and underwhich he walks or squats in storms or lies at night."
"Back in the States," remarked Tom, "we hear much about the skill ofthese fellows with the boomerang. I dare say a lot of these storiesare overdone."
"Possibly," said their host, "and yet it is a fact that these nativesare undoubtedly more adept at casting various forms of woodenimplements than any other people in the world. Their very indolenceleads them to adopt all sorts of easy-made weapons, and wood is surelyone of the most common materials for the purpose one could find. Clubsof all kinds are hurled at prey or human enemies. Among these theboomerang is a favorite. They have several forms. One type is verylight, round on one side and flat on the other, and slightly twisted onits axis. It is used almost entirely for play, though sometimes tohurl at flocks of birds in the sky. The war and hunting boomerangs aremuch heavier; they are bent differently, and do not return to thethrower, but are a deadly weapon in the hands of these bushmen atranges up to four hundred feet. But stone-pointed spears are theirchief weapons."
"With this skill I presume they have no trouble in securing enough toeat," suggested Paul, sipping his cocoa.
"On the contrary, there are times when weather conditions, such asdrouth, make it a very difficult matter for some tribes to getsufficient food. Then they will turn to human flesh, and will eat menwho have fallen to their weapons, or their own tribesmen who havesuccumbed to disease or hunger. Even infants are sometimes killed andeaten by their parents."
"Horrible!" cried the flyers. This seemed almost incredible, withcivilization in abundance so near.
"I agree with you," said Mr. Bailey, failing to notice his wife holdingup a protesting finger toward him. "Of course the blackfellow prefersto have other foods when he can get them. The kangaroo, wallaby, andopossum, form his chief food supply, but no animal or nourishing plantis neglected. He even eats ants, caterpillars, moths, beetles, grubs,snakes, lizards, often uncooked----"
At that point Mr. Bailey felt a sharp twist of his ear, and looking up,found his wife gazing at him with a very severe expression.
"Thomas Bailey! You are a cannibal yourself! Where is your sense ofpropriety? Have you lost your head in your interest in this subject?Don't you know you are _eating_?--that you have guests here who arealso _eating_?"
"My! my! Goodness gracious!" ejaculated their host, in a great fuss."Young men, I was not thinking. Will you ever pardon me for thistransgression of etiquette?"
The flyers smilingly hastened to assure both their friends that theyhad not lost their appetites in the least; that they really had enjoyedevery morsel of food and information passed out. They remained to chatlong enough to convince the lady and gentleman of this fact, and thentook their departure. They had actually spent a most entertaininghour, one which they would not have missed for a good deal.
At eight-fifty local time the Sky-Bird took off for her long hop toApia, principal
city of Upolu, an island of the Samoan group. It wasthe beginning of their long flight across the big Pacific, an ocean sowide, so fraught with perils, that no aircraft had ever beforeattempted to negotiate it. Some eight thousand miles away over thosegreat waters lay Panama, their goal. Would they reach it ahead oftheir rivals? Would they reach it within their schedule of ten days?
To these two queries in their minds, our stout-hearted, young friendsanswered doggedly and determinedly, "Yes!" Fortune might frown uponthem, it is true; but if so they would face her smilingly, withconfidence, with that pertinacity for which Americans are famous, andtry to make her look pleasant, too! They felt that they must win; thatthey would win. And yet they left Port Darwin handicapped by beingfully three hours behind their rivals.
As they wheeled over the town they waved a last farewell to thehundreds below, whose forms they could just make out in thefast-gathering darkness. Then, turning off straight east, they flewover the dark-green canopy of eucalyptus forests of fertile ArnhemLand, and crossed the Gulf of Carpentaria in the full darkness of thenight. When they passed over Cape York peninsula, Tom was at thethrottle, and the younger boys had been asleep for a number of hours.They had now left the whole continent of Australia behind them, andwere facing the broad wastes of the Pacific.
Their perils had begun in earnest. Should anything happen to causethem to be forced down, there was nothing but a vast basin of watermiles deep to catch them, and there would not be one chance in athousand that they would survive. This, surely, was no place and notime for engines to fail or steering apparatus to go wrong. Yet eachflyer was ready for such a mishap--attested by the mute evidence of aninflated rubber tube about his waist. Even Bob and Paul slumbered onthe airy contrivances.
Fortunately the weather was ideal. It is true that headwinds blewmildly and insistently, causing some bumpiness, but the night was calmand starry, and with the engine running close to full-out, they sawthat they were making up lost time very fast.
When morning broke, and Paul took the throttle, fair skies looked downupon their skimming bird, and the sea was bathed in brilliant sunshine.Bob wirelessed Sydney their position about noon. He made no attempt toget Apia, because he knew there was no telegraph or radio station there.
Flying low, early in the afternoon they passed close enough to theVanikord islands to see hordes of natives watching them from the coralshores. Numerous smaller islets, gems set in the ultramarine blue ofthe sea, were also passed within the next hour. Gulls, ospreys, andother swift-winged seabirds sailed about these pretty outcroppings ofthe mighty deep, and sometimes the creatures came after the Sky-Birdwith shrill cries of challenge, only to be quickly left behind.
Once more the shades of night fell, and once more John took thedestinies of the airplane in hand. For a time Bob and Paul worked onreports, then played with Grandpa, who in such tedious spells of flyingas this was a never-ending source of entertainment to all. Nineo'clock found them in their hammocks, hoping that when they openedtheir eyes again it would be to see the welcome shores of theirdestination.
Nor in this hope were they to be disappointed. It seemed they had nosooner fallen asleep than they were aroused by a hand shaking them andthe voice of John saying: "Come on, you sleepy-heads! Rout out hereand have a look at what's ahead!"
Having their clothes still on--so that they might be ready for anemergency at any time of the night--the two chums were up to thewindows about as soon as John himself. The latter had raised two ofthese a short time before, and the boys shoved their heads through totake a look.
It was broad day. Light, fleecy clouds covered the heavens to thesoutheast, but in the blue between a huge rift the sun shone downbenignly. And in its bright rays they could count nine islands andislets, sprinkled here and there like emeralds in a sparkling sheet ofmother-of-pearl. It needed only a glance at the chart to tell themthat these were the Samoan group, and a little searching also told themthat the nearest large one was Upolu.
In less than another hour they were circling above the beautiful islandof their choice, directly over the little town of Apia, which nestledin the center of a luxuriant forest of palms and other tropical trees.A number of boats and sailing vessels were in the harbor, and on boardthese as well as on the ground hundreds of people were looking up aloftand waving a welcome.
Now our flyers saw what they really were most concerned about--a T madeof white stones in an open spot by the beach. And in that field theyalso saw something else they were very glad to witness. This was theairplane of their rivals.
They had caught up with them at last!