Fear Drive My Feet (21 page)

More than anything in the world I wanted to go to sleep but the report had to be
written. Dinkila had left a whole kettleful of black coffee, and this helped me stay
awake until eleven o'clock, by which time the report was complete in draft form,
and it remained only to make a decent legible copy. I called out to the sentry to
see that everyone was out of bed by four o'clock next morning, and fell asleep without
waiting to undress.

V

IT WAS
morning. By lantern-light Dinkila prepared a cup of tea, while Watute supervised
the lining out of the cargo by the other police, ready for the carriers. The air
was cold, and a light breeze was drifting the mist up the valley. The fuzzy hair
of the boys was silvered by countless tiny droplets of moisture. The police were
reasonably warm in their sweaters, but the carriers, wearing for the most part only
a loincloth, shivered as they adjusted ropes and carrying-poles. Those who were not
working stood silently by, shoulders hunched and arms clasped across chests to conserve
as much bodily warmth as possible. Jock, expecting to return to the Wain shortly,
had left all his patrol gear in the camp, and that, together with my own equipment,
made a total of twenty-five carrier-loads. The news of our departure would spread
quickly, and I hoped the Japanese would not send a patrol to sit astride the Erap,
or perhaps wait for us at the canoe landing. To forestall any such move, we would
travel rapidly, sleeping the first night at Gain, and the following day pass straight
through Bivoro to Kirkland's. This would require a tremendous spurt, and we took
ten extra carriers to relieve the men with the heavier loads from time to time.

We reached Boana Mission not long after sunrise. The buildings had the same ill-omened
atmosphere about them as ever: even the usually irrepressible Dinkila was subdued.
We stayed only long enough to receive the respects of Singin, tultul of Wampangan,
and to give him charge of a case of meat to be handed to the next European who entered
the area. Then we moved on through Dzendzen, Kasin, and Wasinim to Gain, and at all
these villages relays of people were waiting to take over the carrying, while the
village officials, complete with hats, were there to salute me at the roadside as
I arrived, and then to bid me farewell.

There was an hour or two of daylight left when we reached Gain, and I was uncertain
whether to camp or to push on to Badibo. I decided to camp, but sent Watute ahead
to warn the people to be ready to carry next day. The old chap was pretty tired,
and said his ‘skin was paining'. However, he rubbed nettles all over his arms, back,
and chest, and announced that he felt much better. It was not uncommon to see a native
doing this. Once or twice I had inadvertently brushed against a clump of nettles,
and the pain was considerable, so I do not know how the boys could have borne to
rub them all over themselves, bringing up great weals. No doubt it had some beneficial
effect, or else they supposed it did.

The track from Gain was a good one, and before daylight next day we had passed through
Badibo, and shortly after dawn arrived at Munkip. Watute had done his job well, as
usual, and the people were standing by in readiness. He had also sent a lad ahead
to Bivoro to warn them of our coming. We reached that village, the last one of our
journey, about eight o'clock.

I was feeling sick and weak when the carriers put down the cargo outside the house-kiap,
but news travels so quickly that we dared not remain. I told Dinkila to make some
beef tea, which I tried to get down, but it was difficult. Then the line moved ahead,
out of the last few miles of the Erap Valley and into the bare, stony plain.

Walking in my usual place at the rear of the line to keep the stragglers from falling
too far behind, I suddenly felt a wave of great nausea and weakness, and the next
thing I remembered was Dinkila and Buka bending anxiously over me as I vomited violently.
While Dinkila lifted me into a little patch of shade behind some bushes, Buka rushed
ahead to stop the line of carriers.

‘Get my bed,' I called after him.

‘All right, master. Me-fella savvy,' Dinkila said, in a tone which implied that all
could safely be left in his hands.

Buka was a long time returning. Apparently I had been lying on the ground unable
to move for about half an hour before I had been missed, so the carriers were a good
way ahead. Buka brought four Bivoro natives with him, the biggest and strongest in
the line. They were carrying my bed-sail, blankets, stout poles, and lengths of
vine. They set to work at once to make a rough stretcher.

Despite the intense heat of the sun I was shivering, and Dinkila wrapped me in blankets
and lifted me onto the stretcher. At a word from Buka the Bivoro natives, one at
each corner of the stretcher, picked up their additional burden and hurried down
the track after the rest of the line. Every time they stumbled, which was often,
I felt as if my frame would jolt apart.

We reached the Erap River and to judge by Dinkila's shouted instructions they found
the crossing hard going, but I was too sick to worry. To have been dropped beneath
the cool water would have been a blessing, for the
shivering stage had passed and
I was now burning with fierce dry heat.

About midday we overtook the main line of carriers. Watute had halted them, out of
sight, at the edge of a patch of scrub.

‘The kanakas wanted to stop in some hunting shelters for the night, and continue
the journey in the morning,' he said. ‘But I kept them on the move. The sooner we
get out of this the better. We can still reach the Markham by sundown, if we hurry.
I'm going ahead to scout,' Watute added, as he handed cap, rifle, and bayonet to
Buka. ‘We are getting near the Markham road now.' And he vanished silently into the
cane-grass.

I called Dinkila and told him to take my maps and papers, which lay beside me wrapped
in oilskin.

‘If the Japs attack us,' I told him, ‘your job is to escape across the Markham with
these papers. Never mind about anyone else. You get this packet to the Number One
at Bob's.'

With a muttered ‘Yessir' he tucked the parcel under his arm and dropped back, while
at Buka's command the line picked up the cargo, which now included me, and resumed
the long southward march.

Two hours later, so the watch said, I was conscious of Watute's voice beside me.

‘We have passed the Markham road, master,' he said. ‘The Japanese could not have
known we were coming, or they would have lain in wait. Unless they see us from behind
now, and give chase, we should be safe.' And he moved away, to exhort the carriers
to an even greater turn of speed.

I must have fallen asleep then, for the next thing I remembered was throwing aside
the leafy branches with which Dinkila had covered me from the sun, and raising myself
on my elbow to look around. The sun was nearly
down, and I could see by the slack
water surrounding us, and the density of the cane-grass, that our journey was almost
ended. The dark forest-covered hills of the south side of the Markham and the kunai
spur of Kirkland's could be seen close at hand. I sank back on the stretcher with
a sigh of relief. Almost safe at last! Three shots rang out from Watute's rifle.
He had hurried ahead to give the signal summoning the canoes, and a few moments later
the carriers laid the stretcher down at the edge of the muddy, swirling Markham.

Buka was studying the opposite bank with my binoculars. There was smoke from the
camp, he said, but no sign of the canoes.

‘Fire again,' I ordered Watute, and he let fly another volley of three shots into
the air. This time there was an answering shot, and the canoes, Buka told me, could
be seen pushing off from the distant shore.

It seemed ages before they grounded, and I heard the excited questions of the boats'
crews asking why I was being carried. While the canoes were coming across, Watute
had paid off the Bivoro carriers. They had been wonderful, sharing between them the
four extra loads caused by my having to be carried, in spite of which they had made
the journey in record time. I told Watute to give them each two shillings and some
tobacco, and enough meat and biscuits for a meal, since it was nearly dark and they
would not be able to return home until next day.

As I lay on the canoe I felt I did not care how long it took to cross. The Japanese
had no hope of catching us now. Dinkila gave me back my papers, and I managed to
sit upright to respond to the greeting of the white man on the shore. He splashed
into the shallows to help me to the bank.

‘Where are you wounded?' he asked.

‘Not wounded – just a bad go of gastric fever.'

‘But the blood?' he questioned.

‘What blood?'

‘On the rag you had round your head.'

For a moment I was puzzled. Then, simultaneously, we caught sight of a red and white
towel Dinkila had put under my head for a pillow. Through the low-powered binoculars
it had seemed that my head was covered with a blood-soaked bandage.

‘Thank God for that, anyhow!' he said, laughing. ‘You look as if just about everything
else had happened to you, though.' He pulled my arm round his neck, to help me as
we made our way up the track to the camp.

Tom Lega was away at Bob's for the day, but I said a feeble hullo to the others,
and within ten minutes had swallowed a cup of tea and half a papaw and was asleep
beneath a mosquito-net.

I woke at midday next day, and we pushed straight on to Bob's. I could walk only
very slowly, and often sat down to rest. We arrived just before dark, and the doctor
sent me straight to bed. He told me I must go to Wau as soon as I could travel, for
a large weeping sore had broken out on my face, caused by exposure to the sun while
I had been lying on the stretcher, and he insisted on my seeing a skin specialist.

During the couple of days I was in bed Jim Hamilton and his brother Rob typed out
a copy of my report on the visit to the Chinese compound and sat and talked to me.
Bill Chaffey thrust his huge red beard under the mosquito-net from time to time to
tell me the latest news. Jock had been sent up to Wau, he said, for the ear was getting
worse and causing him severe pain.

The typed copy of the report was sent on to Wau by police-boy runner, and on the
third day, accompanied by Buka, Watute, and Dinkila, I set out after him.

While I was sick at Bob's, and during the three-day walk to Wau, one of the closest
battles of the New Guinea campaign was being fought. Japanese troops who had just
landed at Lae were brought across the bay to Salamaua, and advanced through the bush
to attack Wau.

Our reinforcements had only just begun to trickle in there from Port Moresby, and
the attacking Japanese took them utterly by surprise, outnumbering the defenders
many times over. The enemy came unnoticed along an old mining track, and were in
Wau before their arrival was even suspected. The curious thing is that the existence
of this trail was known to many of us who had been around the bush, but was nevertheless
left unguarded.

The Japanese entered the streets of Wau and reached the foot of the steeply sloping
aerodrome. Overcast weather had delayed the landing of planes from Moresby carrying
reinforcements, and it seemed that the Japanese would capture Wau. Then, through
slightly cleared skies, Douglas transport planes roared in to land right among enemy
machine-gun fire. ‘Right! Where are the bastards? Let's at 'em!' shouted one massive
infantryman as he jumped down from the plane waving his sub-machine-gun. Crack! went
a Jap sniper's rifle from the end of the drome. They picked up the soldier and took
him back to Port Moresby in the same plane, a casualty in thirty seconds.

The new troops were the 17th Infantry Brigade, among the most famous fighters in
the whole A.I.F. They had fought in the desert, in Greece, Crete, and Syria, and
now they were about to add New Guinea to their honours. They were the wildest and
the finest group of men I have ever known, a unit one is proud to have been associated
with.

Wau showed me a new aspect of war. Instead of the quiet of the jungle, and outnumbered
men spying on the
Japs but not daring to attack them, all was hurry, noise, and determination.
Gone was the placid quiet of the lovely Wau Valley. Now white men outnumbered black,
and the streets were crowded with men and vehicles, field telephone-lines were everywhere,
improvised signs and direction posts had been put up at every corner. Mechanics
had repaired some of the cars and trucks partly destroyed the year before when, following
an unconfirmed and (as it turned out) untrue report of a Japanese attack, orders
were given to burn Wau township down to prevent it from falling into the enemy's
hands. I was in Wau at the time and remember the panic that accompanied its abandonment
when it was fired.

The most picturesque of the mechanics' repair jobs was the Stonkered Taxi Service
– consisting of a nearly wrecked sedan car which had somehow been put back on the
road and which now served as an ambulance.

By the time I arrived the Japs had been driven off from Wau itself, but twenty-five-pounder
guns right in the heart of the town were pouring shells onto nearby Wandumi Ridge,
along which the enemy was retreating. The enemy suffered frightful privations on
the march back to Salamaua, and in some cases ate their own dead. I saw one corpse
with pieces hacked off the thighs to feed the survivors.

At the casualty clearing station set up in one of the few houses which the torch
had spared, the doctors took one look at the sore on my face.

‘Over to Moresby, and then to Australia for you,' they said.

I went back to my headquarters, the district office, to wait for a plane back to
Moresby. Jock, whose patrol gear and maps I had brought from the Wain, was out with
the troops near Skindiwai, on the road to Salamaua. He was in
charge of their native
carriers and was also acting as guide. These troops had been cut off from Wau by
the Japanese, but the latest information was that they were fighting on, and it was
hoped that they would soon be relieved.