12 Cannibal Adventure
Cannibal Adventure
By Willard Price
Chapter 1
Cannibal isle
Hal Hunt and his young brother Roger didn’t like the look of it.
The world’s wildest island’ - that was what explorers had called it. Enormous New Guinea, second largest island on the globe, stretched across the Arafura Sea like a huge toad, dark and ugly, under black storm clouds.
The toad’s back was covered with evil-looking warts -warts bulging two or three miles high. Hundreds of them. For New Guinea is the most mountainous island in the world.
Shut away in these mountains were people who were just beginning to learn that there was another world outside their valleys. They had no way of getting to that outside world. In most areas there were no roads. And outsiders had a hard time getting in. Some valleys had been visited by aeroplanes. The savages in other valleys had never seen a white skin, nor any colour but their own brown. If a white man dropped out of the sky, they promptly pulled the clothes off him to see if he was white all over.
Roger shivered. It was not because of the cold wind sweeping across the deck of the Flying Cloud. He turned to the schooner’s captain, salty old Ted Murphy. Captain Ted had sailed these seas for fifty years.
‘These people,’ Roger said, ‘they’re not really cannibals, are they? That’s just a story, isn’t it?’
‘Depends on what people you mean,‘“said Captain Ted. “The east part of New Guinea is governed by Australia, and Australian patrols have almost wiped out cannibalism. But the west part, the part you’re looking at right now,- is just about as it was a thousand years ago. The tribe in one valley makes war on the tribe in the next valley, and the winners eat the losers. But don’t worry. A visitor is pretty safe.’
‘You mean they like visitors?’ said Roger hopefully.
‘No. I mean they don’t like visitors. They think a stranger’s head is a bad thing to put into their tambaran.’
‘What’s a tambaran?’
‘House of the dead. Sort of a temple, or ghost house. With shelves of heads the tribe has taken. They think there is a spirit or ghost still living in every dead head, and a stranger’s skull would contain the very worst kind of spirit that would cause the tribe no end of trouble, so they don’t want it around.’
‘So they never kill whites or blacks?’
‘Not often. Still there’s no telling. If they get angry they may lop off your head, but they won’t give it the honour of a place on the shelf.’
‘Honour, my eye,’ said Roger. ‘I can get along without that honour.’
He looked again at the savage shore and the towering black mountains. They seemed to promise nothing but trouble.
But there was an easy way to play it safe. Just stay away from the island.
‘How about staying off shore?’ he said to Hal. There’s plenty we could do out here. Dad wanted us to get crocodiles. Okay - they’re out here, not on shore. And he wanted us to capture sea cows and sharks and any sea animals that he could sell to Marineland or Sea World or any big oceanarium. The sea life is all out here. Why go on land and get messed up with cannibals?’
Hal smiled. ‘I don’t think you’re really as scared as you sound. And remember - sea life wasn’t all Dad wanted.’
He pulled out his father’s cablegram. ‘He says: “I suggest you explore world’s wildest island, New Guinea. But look out for cannibals. We need crocodiles, sea cows, tiger sharks, Komodo dragons, birds of paradise, cassowaries, kangaroos, bandicoots, cuscus, flying foxes, phalangers, giant scorpions, dinosaur lizards, death adders, taipans, koala bears, cannibal skulls for museums.”
Hal put the message back in his pocket ‘Now tell me, young man, how are we going to collect all those things without stepping ashore?’
Roger grinned. Hal was right - Roger was no fraidy cat. He was only fourteen, but big for his age. He and nineteen-year-old Hal had been in wild places before - perhaps not as wild as this - but the Amazon jungle was no picnic, the underwater world of the South Seas had spelled out many adventures, and they would never forget the danger and delights of capturing wild animals alive in Africa.
They were both young for this business, but older in knowledge of animals than men twice their age - because they had started early. Before they could walk they were getting acquainted with wild animals on their father’s animal farm on Long Island. Wild beasts, reptiles, birds and sea creatures collected the world over were kept on the animal farm until they could be sold to zoos, circuses, aviaries and aquariums.
The boys had grown up with animals. Hal was now a fully-fledged naturalist and Roger had a rare talent for making friends with all sorts of creatures whether they had two legs, four legs, or a hundred. So confident had their father become in their ability that he had renamed his firm. It had been John Hunt - now it was John Hunt and Sons.
Following their father’s instructions, they had chartered a schooner in Sydney along with its captain, Ted Murphy. It was really Captain Murphy’s own ship, but so long as the boys held the charter it was theirs. And they were very proud of it. While they had it they would call it the Flying Cloud because of its magnificent spread of white sails and its speed of seventeen knots.
Just now the Flying Cloud was not flying. She was wallowing badly in waves that seemed to roll in from all sides. The dark sky promised still worse weather.
‘These seas have a bad reputation,’ said Captain Ted. “Those big mountains twist the winds around in every direction. It was here that Michael died.’
‘Who was Michael?’ Roger asked.
‘Michael Rockefeller. Son of Nelson Rockefeller, Governor of New York. When it happened you were probably too young to be reading the papers.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He and his friend were sailing a catamaran. A storm came up, the cat was knocked around by the waves, their motor went dead and they were driven out to sea. Finally the boat capsized.
They clung to the wreck all night and all the. next day, hoping some other vessel might come along and rescue them. None came. They argued about what they ought to do. Michael wanted to swim the ten miles to shore. His friend thought it was better to stick to the wreck.
‘Michael struck out for shore. The other boy was picked up, but Michael never made it - perhaps the distance was too great, perhaps a shark or crocodile pulled him down, or possibly he got to shore and was killed by cannibals.
‘His father, the governor, flew here and searched for him but none of the natives knew anything about him - or if they knew they wouldn’t tell.’
The story did not make Roger any happier about going ashore. But he was to go ashore whether he liked it or not.
The storm grew more savage, the large sails had to be reefed, the auxiliary engine was buffeted by the waves until the propeller gave out, and the helpless Flying Cloud was driven towards the rocky coast. Once on the rocks it would be pounded to pieces.
But the captain knew his geography. ‘The Eilanden River comes out here. If we could just get into the mouth… Lay hold boys - help me on this wheel. It’s bucking like a wild horse.’
Hal knew as well as the captain that a dead ship will not answer to its helm. But the Cloud was not quite dead. The big sails were down but the jib remained. It took three pairs of hands to control the wheel. The overstrained rudder groaned and threatened to split at any moment.
The ship grazed the rocks at the river’s mouth, but scraped by into quieter waters. Now the incoming tide caught it and carried it upstream.
There was no wind here, therefore the jib was powerless and so was the rudder. The schooner was at the mercy of the tide. She spun about, sometimes bow on, sometimes stern first, sometimes broadside.
The largest of the buildings was the tambaran, the spirit house, and Roger fervently hoped the captain was right -that the headhunters didn’t care to adorn the shelves of that house with any heads except good brown ones. Perhaps they would hate his skin so much they would leave him alone.
Chapter 2
Magic
Women and children screamed and ran to hide. A burly savage beat an alarm on a huge wooden drum. Men burst out of the huts, armed with spears, stone axes, bows and arrows.
With a war cry that echoed back from the surrounding mountains, they rushed forward, brandishing their weapons.
Chills ran up and down two spines - for it was enough to terrify Hal as well as Roger. They had never seen anything like it. Some of the savages wore skulls as ornaments, all had waving bird of paradise plumes in their kinky hair, their bodies were covered with pictures of snakes, crocodiles and centipedes tattooed in many colours on their brown skins.
They wore no clothing, unless you would call grass clothing. A tuft of long grass dangled in front and another behind. Their painted faces were ferocious. Every man looked like a horned animal because of the curved tusks of the wild boar that projected from each side of his nose.
But if they expected their visitors to be so frightened that they would leap into the river and drown, they were disappointed. The boys stood still - perhaps they were too scared to move. The captain also stood still, for he knew that if they showed fear they would be killed. He had seen people like this before - many times in his fifty years of sailing these coasts.
Instead of turning tail, he raised his hand and shouted something that evidently meant ‘Stop!’ Hearing a word in their own language, the savages stopped.
But they weren’t ready to make friends. They brandished their weapons. What right had these three fantastic creatures on their shore? They looked in amazement at the schooner. It wobbled a little in the ripples. They seemed to be wondering whether it was alive. Was it some monster from the sea?
‘They act as if they had never laid eyes on any people like us,’ Hal said.
‘Probably they never have,’ said Captain Ted. ‘Hundreds of rivers come down from these mountains to the sea. Most of them have not been explored.’
‘You’ve never been up this river before?’
‘Never. Wouldn’t be here now if it hadn’t been for the storm. It’s a bad place to be. Frankly, I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this mess. I’ll speak to them.’
He did, but it had no effect. They answered angrily. They began to edge closer. They peered into the faces of the strangers. They could understand white faces because some of them painted their own faces white. Probably these three strange creatures had painted theirs, and the rest of their bodies would be brown.
One suddenly seized Roger’s shirt and ripped it off. A cry went up. Hie skin was white! Hal’s shirt came off next. Then Ted’s. All white! Like things that live under stones.
That seemed to frighten them. They shrank, back. They’re superstitious,’ said Ted. ‘They think we’re gods or devils or something.’ He listened to the talk. ‘Some say we are witch doctors. They’re deathly afraid of witch doctors.’
‘Great!’ exclaimed Hal. ‘Let’s be witch doctors. Perhaps a little magic will save our lives.’
Captain Ted looked blank. ‘Magic? What kind of magic?’
‘Well,’ said Hal, ‘to start with - you have false teeth, I believe. Show them how you can take them out.’
Captain Ted chuckled under his breath. Then he put on his most sober face and spoke to the crowd.
‘What did you say?’ Hal asked.
‘I asked them to bring out their own witch doctor. Said I wanted to see if he could do what I can.’
Several men ran to the tambaran and opened the door. It was dark inside but the boys could see dimly the rows of
skulls on the shelves. In a moment the village sorcerer came out, a large man of great dignity tattooed from chin to toe.
He advanced proudly, and the crowd melted away on both sides of him. His face was painted a deep purple and his eyes burned like lamps under heavy brows. He stood before Captain Ted and eyed him with utter contempt.
‘There are good witch doctors and bad witch doctors,’ said the captain. ‘This is a bad one. Now I’m going to ask him to prove his magic power by taking out his teeth.’
The sorcerer responded to the question with a blank stare. He could perform many feats of magic, but he had never before been challenged to take out his teeth.
Ted translated his reply. ‘No one can do that.’
The captain calmly reached into his mouth and took out his lower denture with a complete set of false teeth.
The witch doctor pretended to pay no attention, but his people were greatly impressed. They crowded around to get a closer look. One grabbed the teeth and they were passed from hand to hand.
The captain looked worried - he wasn’t sure he would get them back. Without them he couldn’t eat. But the last man to get them respectfully returned them. Ted stepped to the river’s edge, washed the denture, and replaced it in his mouth.
He said to Hal, ‘Now it’s your turn.’
Hal had no false teeth to take out. He must think of something else to do. How about fire?
‘I want to talk with him,”he said to the captain. ‘Interpret for me, will you Ted?’
With Ted translating, Hal carried on this conversation with the sorcerer.
‘Can you make fire?’
‘Of course I can make fire.’
‘How quickly can you do it?’
‘Faster than anyone else. Faster than you can.’
‘Let me see you do it.’
To the man nearest him the magician said, ‘Get me a piece of bamboo.’ And to another, ‘Get me some dry grass and dead leaves.’ And to another, ‘Get me a sharp stick.’
When these materials were brought, he placed the bamboo on the ground, crushed the grass and leaves into a powder which he placed on the bamboo, then scraped the pointed stick back and forth through the dry powder.
It was an ancient method of making fire that had come down through the ages to the Boy Scouts. For several minutes he scraped the stick back and forth. It took muscle and patience.
Finally there was a faint spark, then a tiny flame. The whole process took about five minutes. He looked up with an evil smile.
‘Can you make fire faster than that?’
Hal took a match from his pocket, scratched a match on his trousers and it burst into flame. It had taken two seconds.
Someone grabbed the matches, and soon all were scratching matches over their bare skin and getting fire - their hide, toughened by exposure, was almost as rough as cloth.
As quickly as he could, Hal got back what were left of his matches. He feared that the delighted savages in their excitement would set fire to their village.
The young one,’ cried one of the men, pointing at Roger, ‘is he a witch doctor too?’
The sorcerer laughed scornfully. ‘He is too young. It takes many, many years to learn this art.’
Roger whispered to his brother: ‘That little mirror you use for shaving. Let me have it.’
The mirror was very small and Hal passed it over in the palm of his hand without anyone being the wiser.
Roger said to the sorcerer: ‘Can you see your own face?’
it sounded impossible. But the witch doctor was not to be easily beaten. He called for a bowl of water.
It was brought. The boys had never seen a bowl like it. It was solid stone. It had been chipped out of a rock by some even harder material, probably flint, into the form of a bowl. Captain Ted saw the surprise on the boy’s faces.
‘Your own ancestors used bowls like that’, he said, �
�about ten thousand years ago. They made lots of things out of stone. So that time has been called the Stone Age. It was a long time before they passed into the” Iron” Age, and then gradually discovered other metals.
‘But these people are still in the Stone Age. They make axes out of stone, knives out of stone, arrowheads out of stone, hammers out of stone, pillows out of stone, all sorts of things. Nowhere else in the world are the people still in the Stone Age - not in the Australian desert, not in Africa, not in the Arctic, not in the South Seas.
‘But New Guinea remains in the Stone Age because of these tremendous mountains and deep valleys that have shut out the world for thousands of years while people everywhere else were going ahead. Well, let’s see what he’ll do with the stone bowl.’
The sorcerer held the bowl in both hands and looked down into it. He saw a very faint image of his own face, faint and jumpy because of the little ripples running over the water.
He looked up with a satisfied smile. He held the bowl so Roger could look into it. Roger had to admit that there was a slight reflection of his face, but so unsteady that he could not tell an ear from an eye or an eye from his mouth.
Roger drew out the mirror and held it before the sorcerer’s face. The image was sharp and clear. It was the first time the savage had really seen himself. He drew back in disgust - he had never before realized how ugly he was.
Another man seized the magic glass and gasped in astonishment when he saw himself. The mirror was passed around, then returned to Roger with respect, for he must indeed be a greater magician than their own if he could make two faces where there was only one before.
The three mighty magicians from the outer world were now accepted as honoured guests. The women were called out from the huts. They were ordered to lie down. They lay down side by side and the row of brown bodies reached all the way from the water’s edge to the door of the tambaran.
The men bowed to the visitors and waited for them to act.
‘What’s the idea?’ Roger asked the captain. ‘What do they want?’
‘They want to welcome us to their village. This is their way of doing it. We are supposed to walk over the women.’