Fear Drive My Feet (20 page)

Transferring my gaze from the farther bank to the flat below us, I saw that they
were indeed searching for us, in a puzzled way, in the spot where we had been squatting
when they crossed the river. I handed the binoculars to Watute with orders to shout
a warning if there were any suspicious movements. Then I advanced to meet Peter.

We introduced ourselves, shaking hands warmly. He was of medium height, with gold-brown
skin, and a face that looked as much European as Chinese. Through the wet singlet
that stuck to his skin his ribs showed up like a
washboard, and he was panting and
heaving as I led him to a patch of long grass where we could hide while we talked.

‘Are you all right?' I asked. ‘They won't be looking for you?'

‘I've been down in Lae, in jail,' he said bitterly. ‘They only let me go a few days
ago. Look!'

He held out his wrists and indicated his ankles for my inspection. All were encircled
with black bruises, and on the inner surfaces the skin had been worn away, leaving
raw, open sores which were starting to fester.

‘Handcuffs?'

‘Yes. And leg-irons! They keep you chained hand and foot. You can't move. You can't
eat. You just lie there. You shit yourself, you piss yourself, for days! And they beat
you!'

His voice became shrill and loud – almost a scream, for a moment – as he recalled
his ordeal. Then he calmed down.

‘Some natives told the Japs I was spying for the Australians,' he said. ‘So they
had me in there for questioning.'

‘Do they leave you alone in your camp? Isn't it always guarded?'

‘They don't bother to watch us all the time – they know we haven't much chance of
escaping. Every few days a patrol comes to look at us, but that's all… But we'd better
not waste time – today's a likely day for them to come, and there'll be trouble if
I'm missing.'

A rapid-fire burst of question and answer began concerning the number of ships,
the strength of the force landed from the convoy a few days ago, the amount and type
of equipment brought ashore. To all my questions, and many others, Peter gave answers
either from his own observation or from the reports of his fellow Chinese.

‘What effects are our bombing raids having on the enemy?' I asked.

‘They aren't killing many – the Japs have got tremendous deep shelters everywhere.
But the raids do a lot of damage, and they've affected the troops' rations. Only
yesterday one of your planes burnt up a huge dump of bagged rice. And the enemy
lose a lot of petrol the same way.'

‘Do you think the supply position is really acute yet?'

‘It must be fairly bad because they bring stores in by submarine now. The subs don't
surface till night-time, and the stores are unloaded offshore, in the dark.'

‘Do you think the Japs know there are any white men in the mountains?' I asked. I
was scribbling furiously with a stub of pencil on a grubby sheaf of papers.

‘Yes, they know several white men are there, and that one recently crossed over the
Saruwaged mountains. Only last Wednesday a party came up to look for you. They got
as far as the old broken vine bridge over the Busu – they tried to swim the river
but after a couple of them were nearly drowned they gave up.'

This intelligence was important, for it meant that our movements were certainly being
reported to the enemy by natives, and that the Japanese believed them. On the other
hand, the fact that the enemy had abandoned their expedition at the first serious
obstacle seemed to indicate that they still had no stomach for inland patrolling
into the wild and, to them, unknown mountain country. On the whole, in view of our
tremendous initial advantage, I felt we could still consider ourselves fairly safe
in the high country.

‘How do they treat the rest of your people?'

Peter Ah Tun answered that the Japanese gave them only enough food for their subsistence,
made them work in Lae, but generally treated them with reasonable humanity. They
had not molested their women, and had provided food for their old people. ‘Our rations
have got worse, though,' he added. ‘Once we used to get oil and dripping
and tinned
fish, but now it's only rice and a little salt. We get a bit of stuff from the natives,
as you see today.'

‘Things are going to get worse still,' I said. ‘Before we actually make an assault
on Lae the bombing will be terrific. Would you like to come out with me? I think
we can still get out O.K.'

His eyes lit up for a moment, but he shook his head slowly. ‘No, I couldn't do that.
I must stick to my people. The Japanese would ill-treat them all if I disappeared.
I must stay. We'll manage somehow. We'll go bush with the natives when the time comes.'

‘You're sure you won't come?'

Peter shook his head again, without speaking. I gave him the cake of American ration
chocolate I carried for an emergency, and having arranged that any further meetings
should be at this spot we shook hands again. He and the Gwabandik boys went down
to the water with the food, while Watute and I, with the tultul of Gawan and his
friend, set off rapidly into the bush, to return to Dinkila at Gawan. We still had
with us the supposed tultul of Tali, now under Watute's watchful eye.

This man, and many other people like him, was one of my worst headaches. If I made
him a prisoner he would be a constant millstone round my neck, for I had no proper
jail at Bawan, nor did I have enough police to guard it if I built one. On the other
hand, if we let him go he might make straight for the Japanese. We decided he was
to come part of the way back with us, and that we'd let him go along the road. At
least we'd have time to get clear before he could raise the alarm.

The tultul of Gawan was like a man who has just been reprieved. He grinned and laughed
now that his distasteful job was over. He was looking forward to our departure from
his country with unconcealed pleasure, and he made the pace of our journey back to
Gawan a
cracker, breaking into an enthusiastic jog-trot from time to time. I found
it hard to keep up with him, for there was almost no skin left on my feet and I was
suffering a good deal from recurrent malaria that somehow could not be shaken off.
My legs were weak, and I was short of breath.

All the way I was swearing, in a manner which would scarcely have disgraced Jock
himself, at the idiocy of the headquarters crowd in insisting still that we needed
no radio set. All the precious information from Peter Ah Tun instead of being in
the hands of New Guinea Force Headquarters within a few hours, would have to be written
out and sent to Bob's by runner – a delay of at least three days. Not only was the
delay infuriating, but the messenger would be risking his life and jeopardizing the
safety of our whole set-up – if he were captured the Japs might easily torture him
into telling where our camp was. As Jock had said the day I met him in the mountains,
without a radio we would be better employed drinking ourselves quietly to death in
a nice pub in Australia.

Dinkila met us at the entrance to Gawan village. The billy was boiling, he assured
me, and a mug of tea would be prepared in an instant.

As I ate some biscuits and drank a couple of pints of the hot black tea I was busy
with paper and pencil roughly drafting the report. I told Dinkila to pack the few
bits of gear we had, and to be ready to leave in ten minutes. Watute, his mouth crammed
with sweet potato, grinned at me and pointed to the overjoyed expression on the face
of the tultul of Gawan as he heard me give Dinkila the order to prepare to move.
He was probably the happiest man in New Guinea at that moment.

Evening was near when we left. There was no hope of reaching Lambaip to spend the
night, so when it became dark we slept in the bush a few miles up the side of the
mountain above Musom.

I must have been more tired than I realized, for it was dawn before I woke, drenched
from the heavy rain that had fallen in the night, and burning with fever. Watute,
too, had slept through the rain. Dinkila and his friend from Lambaip had taken it
in turns to guard our prisoner.

We stretched our stiff and creaking limbs, and I struggled painfully into my boots
again. When we reached Lambaip we released the captive and said goodbye to Dinkila's
friend. I had nothing to reward him with for his services, but I wrote a note explaining
what he had done for us, telling him to give it to the first government officer to
visit the village, unless of course I returned there myself. Then we struck into
the hills towards Bawan, arriving about four o'clock.

As I stepped over the low fence which kept the village pigs away from the house,
a strange police-boy in full uniform stepped forward and saluted smartly, handing
me a folded paper, and murmuring that he had arrived at Bawan just a few moments
earlier. I dismissed him and the others and went into the house to read the note.
It was from Bob's, and contained a radio message from the district officer who had
just taken charge in Wau. The message said, ‘Return south of Markham at once. Bring
all gear from Wain country.'

I sat down to consider what might lie behind this unexpected order. The instruction
to bring all gear was clearly an indication that the Wain country was to be abandoned.
It almost seemed that in Wau they expected the Japanese attack to be successful,
and were withdrawing me while it was still possible to make contact. Again I cursed
the lack of a wireless. If we should lose Wau, it was enormously important that someone
should remain to watch Lae. If the new D.O. were taking this action for my safety
(as he was in fact doing, I found later), a radio
message would have told him that
we could safely remain for a year or more in the mountains. As long as we kept contact
with the kanakas they would protect us from the Japanese. Once lose touch, however,
and one would hardly be able to blame them if they concluded that the Japanese had
won the war.

Without a wireless I realized I could not argue. That slip of paper in my hand told
me clearly what must be done. So I called all the boys into the house and translated
the message into pidgin for them.

‘The district officer thinks our work is ended,' I continued, ‘and we must do what
he says. Now go and call the luluai, the tultul, the doctor-boy, and some of the
old men. I want to talk to them.'

They filed silently outside, except Watute, who lingered a moment near the door.

‘Well?' I asked. ‘What are you thinking about?'

‘Master, we are not afraid, you and I?' he questioned, as though to clear up a doubt.

‘No, of course not,' I assured him.

‘That is all that matters, then,' he said. ‘Now, if the Number One says we must go,
we must do as he says. But it is a pity. This is a good country, the Wain.' And as
he went down the steps he looked wistfully round at the blue hills and at the lengthening
shadows in the valleys.

By the time the luluai and other natives of Bawan arrived it was dark, and Dinkila
had lit the fire. My blankets, still damp from the drenching the night before, were
steaming beside it. Dinkila, his glossy black skin gleaming in the firelight, moved
quietly about the room, packing things for our journey next day, and occasionally
turning his attention to the pots on the fire, in which he was preparing tea.

I told the Bawan men that I was leaving, but hoped
to return one day. In the meantime
they must bear in mind all the things I had told them. They must avoid the Japanese,
and help any white man who came to them, just as they had helped me. Then, when the
government returned, they would have a good name, they would be well rewarded. But
if they did not heed my words it would be no use their appealing to me to intercede
for them against the wrath of the government.

‘Oh, sorry, master,' they replied. ‘Me-fella hearim finish talk belong you. Me-fella
no can loosim talk belong you.'

Warning them that all the men must be ready to carry my cargo in the morning, I gave
each one a calico loin-cloth and a couple of pounds of salt, and they lifted the
canvas curtain across the doorway and vanished into the misty blackness of the night.
I heard them ask Watute, at the door of the house-police, for a lighted brand from
the fire to show them the path home, and I could hear their voices receding as they
went down the track to the village.

‘Do you think they will remember what I have told them?' I asked Dinkila.

That cynic shrugged his shoulders. ‘How do I know? Men forget everything sooner or
later. I suppose they will remember for a while.' And he busied himself again at
the pots on the fire.

There was a case or two of meat left, which I did not feel disposed to carry back
to Bob's, so I opened one and distributed it and a good deal of other extra food
to the police. I saw by the pile of native food they were cooking that their last
night in the Wain was to be a memorable one, and upon returning to my house for tea
I found that Dinkila seemed to have the same idea for me. The first course came on
three plates, one piled high with potato-
chips and rissoles, and the other two with
cabbage, sweet corn, taro, sweet potatoes, spinach, and fried bananas. I could see
him completing the preparation of an enormous dish of fruit salad to follow.

‘Good heavens!' I exclaimed. ‘How many men do you think I am?'

‘You can eat it,' he said. ‘You haven't had a proper meal for days.'

He was right. I was terribly hungry, and finished the meal without any trouble.

Dinkila watched with approval.

‘Master 'e like sleep now,' he said mischievously as he cleared away the last dish
and replaced it with some black coffee. Then he ran quietly down the steps and up
to the house-police, to get his own meal.