The night dragged on wearily and miserably. Inside the house a chill discomfort reigned, for I had lit no fire this evening, and every article that I possessed, even to the sleeping mats, had been stowed in the canoe. The rain thundered upon the flimsy roof and oozed through in places with unpleasant tricklings, while from outside came the continuous hissing roar of the deluge as though some giant locomotive were blowing off steam. At long intervals there was a lull, and then I ran out to see that the canoe was not washed away, and that no enemies were approaching my stronghold.
So the night wore on, full of unrest, anxiety and bodily discomfort. Each time that I visited the canoe I found the water farther up the slipway, and each time that I went to the bank to look out across the river, the murmur of the rushing water seemed louder.
About an hour before dawn (as I judged by observing a group of stars through a rift in the clouds) there came a more decided lull in the downpour, and a few patches of starlit sky appeared overhead. I had been sitting on my bedstead dozing, but the sudden quiet aroused me, and I went forth once more to see that all was secure. The air was brilliantly clear, and although there was no moon, I could distinctly see the dark shapes of the trees on the opposite bank. And as I looked, I could see something else; in the dark space under the bank was a spot of blacker darkness which began to slowly move out into the stream, growing smaller as it did so. It was soon followed by another, and yet another, until there was a line of black spots on the dim surface of the river, like a row of corks above a drift-net.
A night attack was being made, then, despite the unfavourable weather.
I waited until the leader had reached mid-stream, when I could make out his head and shoulders just emerging from the water, and his arms held up, grasping either a musket or a spear; then I turned and softly ran to the canoe.
As I passed along the rear of the island, I was startled at observing a party of men approaching from that side of the river also. The water, I knew, was now too deep there for them to get across, but this second party suggested yet others and made me anxious to be gone. Excepting my spear, which was in my hand, all my goods were on board, so when I reached the canoe, I silently pushed back the cover, climbed into the well, and unfastened the mooring line from the cleat.
I stood for a moment with the taut line in my hand, looking out across the little bay to see that no one was approaching from that direction; then I let go, casting the end clear of the stage, and immediately the canoe began to move. There was a soft rumble as her greased keels slid over the slippery bars, and as she gathered momentum, her stern dived into the still water, deeper and deeper, until for one horrid moment I thought she was overweighted and was going right under; then her bow dropped with a gentle splash and she rode on an even keel, gliding away into the quiet backwater at the end of the island.
I drew a deep breath as the rapidly widening space of water appeared between me and the land, and, putting the helm over, guided my craft towards the swift stream that swept between the island and the shore. In a few seconds the canoe emerged from the backwater into the flood stream, and on this began to drift rapidly down the river.
At this moment the rain came on again and poured down in such torrents that I was glad to take shelter under the waterproof apron or well-cover. I had rigged two curved sticks on cord pivots so that they could be drawn over the well, thus supporting the cover and forming a hood like the tilt of a waggon. This tilt I now fixed in position, and found it a perfect protection from the rain; and as the opening was at the after end, I could look out over the stern, although, of course, in the direction of the bows the view was obstructed. When the tilt was up I let go a fathom or so of the line attached to the sinker, and found that I was able to feel, by the vibration of the cord, to what extent the weight was dragging on the bottom, while the noise of the water rushing past the canoe enabled me to judge roughly how much her drift was retarded by it.
I was just belaying the cord of the sinker when a tremendous shouting arose from the direction of the island, and was answered from the banks. My good friends had apparently realised their loss, but by what means I could not judge. Perhaps the empty house had told the tale, or possibly they had found the slipway and guessed at its purpose. If the latter were the case I might expect a hot pursuit, especially if they should come across the empty hole, for of the significance of this they could have no doubt whatever.
As the shouts re-echoed from the banks I was tempted to take to the paddle and forge ahead at full speed, regardless of the rain and the darkness; but my judgment told me that it was better to go cautiously at reduced speed than to risk dashing on to some obstacle and either wrecking the canoe or becoming so involved that I must wait for daylight to extricate myself. Indeed, had there been any choice at all, I should certainly have anchored until the darkness was past, for I might even now, for all I could tell, be drifting straight on to an impassable rapid or even a waterfall. But there was no choice. If I anchored, I should be overtaken and totally lost, whereas if I were wrecked on a rapid or fall, I might save myself and even ultimately recover the treasure. So there was nothing to be done but crouch in the shelter of the tilt and hope that the river hereabouts was free from falls and rapids, and that my good genius would carry the canoe clear of sunken rocks and snags.
Let me, once for all, make clear to the non-nautical reader my mode of progression. The canoe was being carried along by the swift current of the flooded river, but over her bow hung the line with the weighted log attached, which by trailing along the bottom created a resistance to her progress, which was great or little according to the length of line paid out, and kept her head pointing up-stream. She thus drifted down the river stern foremost, but as she moved more slowly than the water, the current acted on her rudder as though she were moving against it; so that if the tiller were put over to the right her head would turn to the left and she would be carried by the current obliquely across the river to the left bank, and vice vers.
Consequently, the vessel was far from being out of control—in fact, this is the safest method of descending a rapid river; but, of course, the canoe's obedience to her helm was of little avail at the moment, for the darkness was profound, and I was being carried on into unknown regions. Yet even so, the trailing sinker was of service, for it naturally rolled down into the deepest parts of the river-bed and thus guided the canoe clear of the banks and shallows.
And all this time the deluge descended with a roar like that of some great cataract. My frail shelter trembled with the impact of the falling torrents, and the water around was lashed into seething foam.
It cannot have been much above an hour (although it seemed a very eternity) that I had sat crouching in my shelter, peering out into the grey void, my ears stunned by the uproar and my heart in my mouth with the momentary expectation of being flung into some fall or rapid or being dashed against a rock, when the dimness around began to lighten and I knew that the dawn had come. A cheerless dawn it was, with the sombre grey pall overhead, a sheet of dirty yellow foam around, and on either side a dim and shapeless shadow that I knew to be the wall of forest on the banks. Yet it was better than darkness, for I could see far enough to steer clear of visible rocks and snags; and now and again, when the canoe swung in towards one bank, some tall shape would start out of the void and encourage me by the speed with which it passed. There might be dangers ahead, but there also lay safety, and my pursuers must needs be fleet of foot to overtake me at this rate.
Not long after daybreak, as the canoe was slipping along pretty close inshore, the wall of forest suddenly came to an end, and for a little space neither bank was visible; then the tall grey shadow reappeared, first on one side and then on the other. By this I judged that the river had joined some larger stream—probably the main stream of the Tano—and this surmise was confirmed by the fact that the current was now noticeably stronger, although the river seemed no wider than before.
The cravings of hunger had been making themselves felt for some time past, and as my anxieties were now somewhat allayed, I thought it time to pipe all hands to breakfast; so I looked up the hind legs of a ground squirrel, which, being the latest addition to my store and therefore the least perfectly cured, required to be consumed without delay, and made a barbaric but refreshing meal.
There was one feature of my voyage that had all along caused me some uneasiness, and had recurred to my mind more than once since I had left the island.
This was the Tánosu bridge.
I remembered that it hung very low—so low, in fact, that at the middle, where it sagged a good deal, its lower surface was immersed even when I crossed it in the dry season, while the ends were hardly high enough then for the canoe to pass under. The river had risen considerably since the rains began, and it was certain that the bridge would be partly submerged. If it should be deeply submerged all would be well, but if it were only awash I should have to unload the canoe before I could drag it over. But Tánosu was a mighty unpleasant place at any time at which to execute a manuvre of this kind, and now, with the possibility that the hue and cry had already been raised there, it would be a veritable hornets' nest. True, I might not be on the Tano after all, but this was highly improbable, as that river drained practically the whole of north-western Ashanti, and the island was but a mile or two from its source.
I was still cogitating upon the matter, when the rain, which had been decreasing in violence for some minutes, ceased altogether, and as the banks came clearly into view, I swept round a curve into a long straight reach of the river, and there, hardly a quarter of a mile away, was the bridge itself.
It presented a most formidable obstruction.
The ends, on a level with the tops of the banks, were just clear of the water, while the central part was quite submerged; but I could see by the way the water foamed over it that its surface was not many inches under.
Directly I saw the bridge, my decision was made. I would try to jump the obstacle without unloading.
To this end I began to rapidly unfasten the bunches of manillas from their lashings and push them down towards the bows, keeping an eye upon the trim of the canoe, that I did not either swamp her or strain her timbers in the process. Less than half the metal had to be moved, for when this change had been made in the stowage, her bows were nearly under, while her stern was almost out of the water.
By the time these hasty preparations had been made the bridge was less than two hundred yards ahead, so having steered the canoe into mid-stream, I pulled up the drop rudder by its cord and hauled in the sinker, letting the craft go at the full speed of the current. Straight, stern on, she charged at the middle of the bridge, over which the water was roaring and foaming as if on a weir; her stern passed on to the bridge and over it and for a moment I hoped that we should float clear, when, with a shock that flung me on to the floor of the well, her keels ground against the massive timber and she stuck hard and fast, turning nearly broadside on to the current as she brought up.
This last circumstance alarmed me terribly, for the water poured over the bridge with such force that I feared every moment that the canoe would be capsized and sunk; besides which the water was now washing right over the forward half of the vessel and threatening to come into the well. However, I was relieved to find that the rudder was well clear of the bridge, so that as soon as I could get the weight back into the stern I could bring her head to stream again.
I was about to dive into the bows to bring back the cargo, when a shout from the bank attracted my attention, and I saw a man running away from the river towards the village, apparently giving the alarm.
There was no time to be lost.
Letting the rudder drop down, I crawled into the bows and hauled for dear life at the manillas, dragging bunch after bunch aft of the well, yet stowing the weight carefully so as not to break the back of the canoe. I had got all the cargo back into its place and was beginning to trim it further aft, when I saw a party of men running furiously from the village towards the river; and, before I could move more than a single bunch, they had reached the end of the bridge.
In sheer desperation I put the helm hard over, and getting out of the well, crawled right out on to the stern, sinking it nearly flush with the water. This caused the current to lay hold of it so that the canoe swung round head to stream; and just as the foremost of the men was ankle deep in the rushing water that poured over the bridge, the keel slowly grated down the edge of the great timber, the bow slipped down with a splash, and she floated away on the current.
The men who were on the bridge instantly turned about and began to run along the bank, but finding that they could barely keep up with the canoe (for the current was sweeping along at fully five miles an hour), they struck off into the bush, evidently taking a short cut for some bend in the river.
This was highly unpleasant, for I had noticed that some of the men carried muskets, while others wore the familiar garb of the fetish-priest; probably they intended to wait for me at some promontory further down, and as they were on the right bank, I at once took my paddle and steered well under the left, urging the craft forward with all my strength. The combined effect of the current and the paddle drove the canoe along at fully seven miles an hour, and I had some hopes of outstripping my pursuers, which I was most anxious to do, for their behaviour clearly showed that they had received news from Aboási and intended to stop me at all costs.
The river now made several abrupt turns, which compelled me to keep nearly in mid-stream; then it entered a long straight reach like that at Tánosu, and I was beginning to congratulate myself on the chance this afforded me of drawing ahead, when I caught the white glint of broken water at the far end.
I was approaching a rapid.
That this was the trysting-place selected by my friends was now made clear, for I could hear the shouts of the advancing party and even the cracking of the branches as they pushed through the forest.
It was a terrible dilemma.
If, as I strongly suspected, the rapids were impassable it was useless to rush blindly at them, and yet it would be impossible to unload the cargo and ease the canoe down, with a squad of ruffians peppering me from the bank.
As I neared the critical spot and the roar of broken water was borne to my ear, I stood up and hastily surveyed the rapids. A broad band of yellowish-white foam stretched across the river almost from bank to bank, broken here and there by projecting masses of rock. In one place only was the water unbroken—a narrow space quite near to the right bank.
There was little time to consider, for the voices of my pursuers grew rapidly nearer, and I was being swept down towards the rapids with increasing velocity; so, as the passage seemed clear at the one place, I decided to take the risk of what lay beyond. I therefore pointed the head of the canoe at the smooth space, paddling in towards the right shore, and at that moment a chorus of yells from the bank almost abreast of me announced the arrival of the enemy. As I charged at the narrow passage a loud explosion rang out, and the air was filled with the screams of flying slugs; but to these I paid no attention, for I had enough to do to keep my bark in the little alley of smooth water.
The next few bewildering moments were passed in a whirl of noise and confusion. The water roared on both sides, great hummocks of rock whizzed past, muskets boomed from behind, slugs howled through the air, and the canoe flew forward with a velocity that left me breathless.
Suddenly a great rock loomed up right ahead, half way down the rapid. I flung down the paddle, and snatching up the pole, lunged wildly at a passing ledge. The canoe swerved imperceptibly and swept on, as it seemed to inevitable destruction; but her bow missed the rugged monolith by a hair's breadth, and her side flashed past its rough face, but so close that the paddle, which projected a couple of inches, was caught by the rock and flung into the water. Once past this obstacle, the dangers of the rapid were over, although the heavily-weighted craft almost buried her bows as she plunged into the smooth water below; and a sharp turn of the river carried me out of the range of the muskets.
As the firing ceased I looked round to see if the men were following or taking measures to cut off my retreat, when I observed that a stream of some size, and very full and swift, joined the river just below the rapid. By this my pursuers were most effectually stopped, at any rate for the present, and almost certainly for good; for when I remembered the network of rivers by which the forest is intersected—rivers which just now would all be flooded—I felt that I had nothing to fear from a pursuit overland.
It would not do, however, to lose my paddle, for as the water was too deep for poling, I was rather helpless without it; but it could not be far away, and must certainly come along presently on the current. So I let go two or three fathoms of the drag line, and as the canoe slowed down, I presently saw the paddle come round a bend in the river, floating nearly in mid-stream, and slowly overtaking me. When I had recovered it I hauled up the sinker, and paddled ahead in a leisurely fashion. There was no need to exert myself, for the current was already taking me along as fast as was safe in so tortuous a river; but I had to use either the paddle or drag to keep the canoe under control, and I grudged the trifling delay that the latter caused. The river hereabouts seemed pretty free from obstructions, although the overfalls or eddies upon the surface told of jagged rocks at the bottom; indeed, it is probable that in the dry season, this part of the river was an almost continuous series of rapids. But now a good depth of water covered the rocks, and snags, and the whirlpools plainly pointed out those that approached the surface, so, by keeping a bright look-out, I was able to keep on my course.
And now that there was a lull in the excitements of the voyage, I had time to examine the bark that was carrying me so bravely on my way. A very staunch and sturdy little craft she was, and fully up to my expectations, and I was gratified to notice how accurately my calculations had worked out. She showed a good seven inches of free-board amidships, and a foot at either end; was quite dry inside, and so stiff and steady by reason of her breadth and the weight of ballast, that I could stand up without in the least affecting her stability. She was certainly very heavy to paddle, but as the whole voyage was down stream this mattered little, and I had no doubt that she would sail moderately well.
For several hours I pursued a very uneventful journey, steering with the paddle rather than propelling the canoe. Once I encountered a fallen tree which stretched almost across the river and was rather difficult to pass without damaging my vessel; I also met with two or three small rapids, but as I was now unembarrassed I had no difficulty in steering clear of the rocks.
As I went on, the river widened out very perceptibly, the tributaries being very numerous, and many of them of large size, so that by the afternoon I found myself upon a really fine and noble-looking stream; and as I looked upon its yellow, unruffled waters, rolling on majestically between the lofty, forest-clad banks, it seemed strange that it should be so desolate and silent. Yet for hours I had passed no village, nor seen any sign of human occupation, and only the familiar forest sounds—voices of bird or beast—disturbed the death-like stillness.
The afternoon passed away, not tediously, though with little incident, for the leafy banks that slipped by so quietly, but swiftly, were so many milestones on the road to freedom; coming from ahead with friendly greeting, and passing astern with a silent God speed! And when the dull grey of the western sky turned to a duller crimson, I began to look about for an anchorage with a cheerful and thankful heart.
For some reasons I would rather have drawn my canoe up on the shore for the night, but the overhanging banks were crumbling and unsafe, and the beasts of prey might prove dangerous. So I decided to anchor in the slackest water I could find, sufficiently far from the bank to be secure from nocturnal visitors.
With this object I dropped the sinker and drifted down until, just round a sharp bend, I found a sheltered spot out of the main current. Here I was about to let go my anchor when I noticed a tall Odúm tree on the very edge of the bank—a highly undesirable neighbour at this season of the year—and remembering the tree I had passed earlier in the day, I let the canoe drift another fifty yards down; when, as the current was comparatively slight, I dropped anchor, and paid out a good length of the stout liana cable. It was with some trepidation that I checked the outrun of the cable, fearing that the prongs or flukes of the hard-wood grapnel might snap off; but they held quite securely, so I belayed the cable to its cleat, and hoisted the sinker, and, for the first time, my little ship rode to her anchor.
There were but a few minutes of daylight left, and these I employed in critically watching the bank to see if the anchor dragged at all; but there was no sign of movement, and when I pulled on the cable, it seemed as firm as though there had been a fifty-pound Trotman at the end of it. So I set up the tilt, in case it should rain in the night, made a frugal supper of smoked meat, and, having spread the mats, lay down between the two rows of manillas.
It was an odd sensation, but very pleasant and peaceful, to lie in that tiny cabin and listen to the water gurgling past outside the thin bark skin. But I did not listen long, for I had had no sleep on the previous night, and was tired out with the day's exertions; and my head had rested but a few minutes on the pillow that I had hastily extemporised by wrapping an antelope's ham in my riga, when I fell asleep.
I cannot tell how long I had slept, when I woke with a violent start and the feeling that something had happened. The canoe was rocking slightly, and the rain was pounding upon the deck and tilt. At first I thought my bark had broken adrift, but the trickle of the water past her run was still audible, and on giving a pull at the cable, I could feel that the anchor was fast. I put my head out of the opening of the tilt, but, of course, nothing was to be seen in the black obscurity, so, as the canoe was now motionless again, I concluded that some floating object must have struck her and aroused me; and with this I lay down again, and was asleep directly.
The dull light of a wet morning was streaming in through the companion hatch (as I may magniloquently call the tilt opening) when I next opened my eyes, and as I was ravenously hungry, I commenced the day by breakfasting off a portion of my pillow—it is needless to say which portion—after which I piped all hands to heave up the anchor. But before beginning to haul on the cable, I put my head outside the tilt to see that all was clear; and immediately the cause of last night's disturbance was apparent. The lofty tree that had aroused my misgivings on the previous evening lay sprawling across the river, its flat base of roots at the top of the bank, and its crown of branches in mid-stream. It had fallen just over the place where I had first intended to anchor, and even now, some of the topmost branches were barely ten yards from the canoe. My caution had not been superfluous, and as I hauled in the cable—very gently, so as not to strain the anchor—I congratulated myself on my escape.
I examined the anchor anxiously as it came up out of the water, and was much relieved to find it none the worse for the night's work. Two out of the four flukes had been deep in the sandy bottom, and had manifestly held fast, for the canoe had not dragged an inch in the whole night.
As the rain still fell slightly, I kept the tilt up, and drifted down, trailing the drag. My spirits were very buoyant, for I had succeeded beyond my expectations in this enterprise; one day of my voyage was gone, and I must have travelled well over sixty miles in the thirteen or fourteen hours that I had been under way. And not only had I left far behind the most imminent and alarming dangers, but I had met with far fewer obstacles and difficulties than I had anticipated. None of the rapids had been impassable, even to the loaded canoe, and the river had been most unexpectedly open and free from snags.
But it was not all to be such plain sailing, for even as I was thus complacently reviewing the previous day's exploits, my ear caught a new sound—an even, continuous murmur, faint and distant, but unmistakable—the sound of falling water.
As I drifted on, the murmur grew louder, but with a slowness that was ominously suggestive of a great volume of sound travelling a long distance, and several reaches were passed before it seemed much nearer. Gradually, however, it waxed in intensity, until it rose clear above the hiss of the rain, and I began to look ahead with keen anxiety at each turn of the river's tortuous course.
At length, creeping along inshore on the shallow side, I rounded a rocky promontory, and met the full roar of the cataract, which appeared to be half way down the next reach. Yet there was little to see. The river seemed to break off abruptly, and its continuation at a lower level was visible through a steamy haze.
I ran the canoe inshore where a small, stout tree grew close to the water's edge, and to this I prepared to make fast. The canoe was fitted with a painter (or mooring rope) of plaited bark, the strongest piece of cordage I possessed, twenty feet long, and fixed to the stem-post with an eye-splice; so there was no fear of her breaking away from her moorings. Having hitched the painter securely to the tree, I tied on my wig, and taking my spear and catapult, stepped ashore. There was no one in sight on either bank, so with a cautious look round, I made my way along the shore towards the rapids.
When I reached them their aspect filled me with despair. They commenced with a sheer drop of seven or eight feet; but this was only the beginning, for the water poured down into a chaos of rocks, amidst which it boiled and spouted, only to dash onward into a new labyrinth. I wandered dejectedly down stream, eagerly looking for the end of the rapids, but at each few paces a fresh stretch of foaming water came into view, tumbling boisterously among great blocks of stone, and filling the air with noise and spray.
I walked on for about half a mile without seeing any sign of the river resuming its ordinary course, and then, growing uneasy about the canoe, turned back, terribly disheartened, and at my wits' end how to proceed.
It looked as if my voyage must end here, for it seemed as impossible to carry the canoe this distance on land, as it was to navigate her through the cataract. And how much farther did the rapids extend? That was a question I could not answer, and yet until it was settled I could form no plan.
As I turned my face upstream, I noticed with no little surprise that the fall was out of sight, for my attention had been so fixed upon the water that I had not observed the way in which the river curved, and I now found that I had traversed nearly a quarter of a circle, and that the curve below continued to turn in the same direction.
I found the canoe just as I had left it, and stepping on board, cast off the painter, and paddled a little way up in the slack water; then turning her head off shore, I drove her at full speed obliquely across the river, and secured the painter to a tree on the opposite bank. Once more taking my weapons, I climbed up on to the level and entered the forest, and had gone but a short distance when I struck a path of the usual narrow and tortuous type. Proceeding briskly along this, I had walked two or three hundred yards when, quite suddenly, I came in sight of a party of six men sitting round a small fire. They looked like Ashantis, and were evidently travellers, for their narrow, canework trays piled with produce lay hard by; and I observed with envy a goodly bunch of plantains lashed to each tray.
As I was standing taking in these details, one of the men turned his head and observed me, and for a moment seemed paralysed with astonishment; but he presently rose slowly, still staring at me, and reaching out for his tray, snatched it up, clapped it on his head, and bolted precipitately down the path. His companions looking round for the cause of his alarm, also perceived me, and with one accord grabbed up their loads and fled.
The fact that they had taken their goods made it clear that they had no intention of returning, so I sauntered up to the fire and examined it. More than a dozen peeled plantains lay on the embers roasting, and two or three with the skins partially removed had been dropped close by. Evidently I had frightened the poor fellows away from their breakfast, and if my conscience reproached me a little, I allowed the recollection of the bunches on their trays to allay my qualms, and licked my lips at the prospect of a meal of cooked food. Pursuing my way along the track I soon distinguished the murmur of water ahead, and presently came to a place where the path divided into two. Following the left-hand branch, a few paces brought me to a shelving hard or landing-place—possibly a ford in the dry season—apparently at the foot of the rapids, for above this spot the water came foaming down among scattered rocks, while below the channel was almost clear.
I walked some distance along the bank to make sure that there were no more rapids below, and having ascertained that the river seemed to have resumed its normal course, I made my way back towards the canoe, gathering up the roasted plantains as I went. But the existence of the ford below suggested the probability of another farther up, so before returning to the canoe, I explored the road in that direction; and to my unbounded satisfaction came presently to a side path leading down a gentle incline to the water.
The problem of the portage was now considerably simplified. The river, it was clear, made a wide, horseshoe sweep, the whole of the curve being occupied by impracticable rapids, enclosing a peninsula across the isthmus of which the canoe would have to be dragged, that it might be again launched in the smooth water below. The difficulties of the task were enormously reduced by the existence of the road, and especially of the landing-places; for, of course, the portage was a contingency not unforeseen nor unprovided for, and it was only the steepness of the banks and the denseness of the forest that had made it seem so impossible. The distance across the isthmus was about a quarter of a mile—a long way to haul so heavy a weight; but with sufficient time and labour the thing could be done, and I could start once more on my voyage.
The first thing to do was to unload the canoe, and on reflection, I decided to carry the gold at once to the lower landing-place, where it would be ready to put on board without delay as soon as the canoe was launched.
But this required circumspection, for the track was evidently used by travellers, and might possibly lead to some neighbouring village, and it would certainly be unwise to carry the gold uncovered, in case I should meet any strangers.
The plan I adopted was to wrap three bunches of manillas in my old riga, and two more in my wondo, and passing the connecting cords over my shoulders (which I protected with pads of grass) I was able to stagger along pretty well, the weight being only about a hundred pounds.
I had made eight journeys (depositing the manillas among some bushes at the water's edge, where they were hidden from view, and yet were easy to get at for restowing), and was returning for a ninth load when I heard someone talking at no great distance. Hastily stepping off the path, I retired a little way into the bush, and took up my position behind a large tree; and I had but just hidden myself when I heard the strangers coming down the path. They were a small party of Wongáras (as I ascertained by peeping at them when they had passed), heavily laden, and apparently in a great hurry, for they strode along at a swinging pace, all talking together, without even stopping to look at the fire by the roadside.
I followed them to make sure that they were not going down to the river, and when I had seen them take the right-hand turning, I went for a fresh load.
The transport of the gold was completed in three more journeys, but on the last two, to save an extra journey, I had to carry six bunches, which I found very heavy; and when I had deposited the last of the manillas by the launching place, I fetched the uncooked plantains from the canoe, and rested by the fire while they roasted. The hot, cooked fruit seemed very delicious after my monotonous animal diet, and I was soon sufficiently revived to attack the main difficulty—the portage of the canoe.
The arrangements I had made for this purpose were not very satisfactory, but were the best that I could manage with my limited appliances. I had brought with me four rollers about three feet long, and four poles each eight feet, which I carried lashed on the deck. The latter were to serve as rails for the rollers to run on if the ground should be rough or soft. I also had a hard-wood eye, through which I could reeve a rope, and so make a primitive purchase tackle (or "handy Billy," as sailors would call it), but I was badly in want of an efficient tackle or a small windlass.
Poling the canoe with some difficulty against the swift current that ran past this shore, I brought her to the upper landing place, and made fast; then having hoisted the drop-rudder, I went ashore and laid down the lines on the easiest part of the slope. Setting one of the rollers on the lines, I lifted the stern of the canoe on to it, and made fast with a spare rope to a neighbouring tree while I cast off the painter, which latter I brought aft and lightly lashed to the stern-post, so that in hauling on it, the weight would be principally borne by the strong bow timbers. I next fixed the tackle on to the painter, and, having rubbed the eye with a piece of fat to make it run easily, secured one end of the tackle to a tree some distance up the slope, and hauled steadily on the other. The canoe ran on to the roller more lightly than I had expected, and I soon had her out of the water and the other rollers in position, with small pegs stuck in the ground to prevent them from running back down the slope when they were released. The slope was but a short one, as the river was nearly full, and with a few hearty pulls at the fall of the tackle, the canoe came up on to the level. Here there was no difficulty at all, for when the lines were laid and the rollers placed, she ran along quite easily.
All the time she was on the road I was in mortal dread of meeting some of the natives; for one cannot hide a canoe at a moment's notice, and my "make up" might have failed to produce its customary effect. But nobody appeared along the path, and I worked with such a will, that in less than half an hour her stern was overhanging the slope of the lower landing-place, and the tackle fixed ready for letting her down. Here the rollers were not really necessary, but were used to save her keels from chafing; with their aid she ran down the incline in fine style, and I had the satisfaction of seeing her once more afloat and sitting on the water, without her cargo, as light as a bubble.
It took but a short time to put the gold on board again, and when this was done I pushed off without stopping to distribute the weight. As the rain was still falling, I let go a length of drag rope and put up the tilt; and as the canoe drifted down stream, I gradually trimmed the cargo into its proper place.
For some miles the river continued to be slightly obstructed by jutting masses of rock, and here and there small rapids occurred; but towards afternoon the stream grew wider, and its channel quite clear and open.
The loss of speed entailed by the use of the drag was a constant source of regret to me, and as the river was for the present easily navigable, I grudged it the more, and began to consider if it could not be avoided. It occurred to me that, as the water at the bottom of a river flows more slowly than at the surface, perhaps it would be sufficient if I let the sinker hang just clear of the bottom; and on making the experiment I found it to answer perfectly, the slower bottom current checking the canoe just enough to enable her to be steered.
I drifted on for several hours without any incident, making very good progress as I took my ease inside my shelter, and rested after the morning's exertions. I passed two villages, but saw none of the inhabitants, who were probably sheltering indoors from the rain; on the bank, however, by the second village, I noticed a long, flat-bottomed dug-out canoe, probably a ferry-boat (for the river was already too wide to be spanned by the ordinary single-log bridge), and I noted the fact with interest, as showing that I was entering a more populated region.
About the middle of the afternoon the rain cleared off, and as the river was wide and open, I lowered the tilt and took to the paddle, so making up somewhat in the latter part of the day for the delays of the morning; and I continued my voyage thus until the sun began to dip behind the trees. Then, having found a secure anchorage on the slack side of the river, I made all snug for the night, and turned in soon after the darkness had set in.
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