off the sheet and halyard. We grabbed the canvas and pulled it down, and there we sat among the branches, as nicely hidden as we could be.
“There's a chief and his family what lives on these islands,” said Midgely. “The big one's deserted, 'cept for Sunny Wheeler. He's a trader, you know. Pearls andseashells. But if it's a feast you're after, you want to see the chief. His name is Koolamalinga.”
“Three cheers for him!” cried Mr. Mullock. “Now shut up, boy. You're talking rubbish.”
Poor Midge. He looked shocked, then sad. He couldn't help adding, in the tiniest whisper, “It means Welcoming One.” He sniffed and settled back in his place.
The river flowed brown from the jungle, with just enough swiftness to keep the boat pressed against the branches. From all around came the chatter and chirps of creatures. But we heard, in the distance, that too-familiar sound.
“Hiiiii-ya,
uhmp!
”
We didn't move from our spot. We didn't so much as peer out from the branches. I looked at seven faces that seemed much alike—wide eyes turned upward, mouths hanging open. We listened as the canoe came closer, the chant growing louder. We heard the water at its hull, the creak of its steering oar.
“Hiiiii-ya,
uhmp!
Hiiiii-ya,
uhmp!
”
The pace was slow and steady. The paddles beat against the hull with a boom that echoed from the hills. A flight of parrots went flashing up the river. Down with the current came what looked like a log, until it rose in the water, and I saw the yellow eyes of a crocodile. Longer than the boat, it nudged against the planks. It hit softly at first, and then again—harder.
“Oh, crikey,” said Mr. Mullock. “It's smelling the turtle skins.”
He moved to the center of the boat and kept himselfthere, thinking—no doubt—of his own clothes. In a swirl of brown water, the crocodile vanished. We looked to the left and the right but saw nothing. Then we heard a rubbing on the hull, a scraping at the keel below our feet.
Between the branches, I saw the canoe—or glimpses of a thing so big that I couldn't see it all at once. There was a warrior with a necklace of teeth, another with black tattoos on his forehead and chin. There was paddler after paddler, each with huge arms, brown as chestnuts, sweated to a sheen. For an instant I looked eye to eye with a savage whose nose was pierced by a bone, whose ears were stretched around polished shells and dangled halfway to his neck. Then I closed my eyes and waited, and clenched my hands in fists.
The paddlers slowed, and the chant slowed with them. “Hiiii. Ya.
Uhmp!
” they sang, thudding their paddles on the hull. Below us, the crocodile pushed so hard that the boat tipped up. Wood crackled near my feet. There was a rasp as the crocodile passed underneath; then its head surfaced again, its long snout low in the water.
Mr. Mullock looked nearly beside himself. He had brought out his axe and was standing on the stern seat now, gripping the branch of a tree. His green clothes melded with the jungle, and the whites of his eyes gleamed between his helmet and his beard.
The canoe went past. The paddler's chants faded slowly, then quickly hushed as they rounded a point or turned behind an island. Mr. Mullock seized his chance. He grunted and swung his axe, cracking it down on the crocodile's head.
The brown river exploded. A thick, leathery tail lashed across the boat. The crocodile spun over, whirling white andgreen in the flashes of its belly. Dark blood oozed in the water, and with a terrible silence other crocodiles came slithering from the jungle, down the banks and into the river. They streamed toward us like fat and gruesome snakes, grabbed the beast, and hauled it down. The water leapt and boiled. Whirlpools opened; eddies swirled. We saw the jaws of one creature, the leg of another; then up floated scraps of flesh. Soon all that was left of a thing bigger than the longboat was a shred of scaly skin.
“My, what a lovely place,”
“There's a chief and his family what lives on these islands,” said Midgely. “The big one's deserted, 'cept for Sunny Wheeler. He's a trader, you know. Pearls andseashells. But if it's a feast you're after, you want to see the chief. His name is Koolamalinga.”
“Three cheers for him!” cried Mr. Mullock. “Now shut up, boy. You're talking rubbish.”
Poor Midge. He looked shocked, then sad. He couldn't help adding, in the tiniest whisper, “It means Welcoming One.” He sniffed and settled back in his place.
The river flowed brown from the jungle, with just enough swiftness to keep the boat pressed against the branches. From all around came the chatter and chirps of creatures. But we heard, in the distance, that too-familiar sound.
“Hiiiii-ya,
uhmp!
”
We didn't move from our spot. We didn't so much as peer out from the branches. I looked at seven faces that seemed much alike—wide eyes turned upward, mouths hanging open. We listened as the canoe came closer, the chant growing louder. We heard the water at its hull, the creak of its steering oar.
“Hiiiii-ya,
uhmp!
Hiiiii-ya,
uhmp!
”
The pace was slow and steady. The paddles beat against the hull with a boom that echoed from the hills. A flight of parrots went flashing up the river. Down with the current came what looked like a log, until it rose in the water, and I saw the yellow eyes of a crocodile. Longer than the boat, it nudged against the planks. It hit softly at first, and then again—harder.
“Oh, crikey,” said Mr. Mullock. “It's smelling the turtle skins.”
He moved to the center of the boat and kept himselfthere, thinking—no doubt—of his own clothes. In a swirl of brown water, the crocodile vanished. We looked to the left and the right but saw nothing. Then we heard a rubbing on the hull, a scraping at the keel below our feet.
Between the branches, I saw the canoe—or glimpses of a thing so big that I couldn't see it all at once. There was a warrior with a necklace of teeth, another with black tattoos on his forehead and chin. There was paddler after paddler, each with huge arms, brown as chestnuts, sweated to a sheen. For an instant I looked eye to eye with a savage whose nose was pierced by a bone, whose ears were stretched around polished shells and dangled halfway to his neck. Then I closed my eyes and waited, and clenched my hands in fists.
The paddlers slowed, and the chant slowed with them. “Hiiii. Ya.
Uhmp!
” they sang, thudding their paddles on the hull. Below us, the crocodile pushed so hard that the boat tipped up. Wood crackled near my feet. There was a rasp as the crocodile passed underneath; then its head surfaced again, its long snout low in the water.
Mr. Mullock looked nearly beside himself. He had brought out his axe and was standing on the stern seat now, gripping the branch of a tree. His green clothes melded with the jungle, and the whites of his eyes gleamed between his helmet and his beard.
The canoe went past. The paddler's chants faded slowly, then quickly hushed as they rounded a point or turned behind an island. Mr. Mullock seized his chance. He grunted and swung his axe, cracking it down on the crocodile's head.
The brown river exploded. A thick, leathery tail lashed across the boat. The crocodile spun over, whirling white andgreen in the flashes of its belly. Dark blood oozed in the water, and with a terrible silence other crocodiles came slithering from the jungle, down the banks and into the river. They streamed toward us like fat and gruesome snakes, grabbed the beast, and hauled it down. The water leapt and boiled. Whirlpools opened; eddies swirled. We saw the jaws of one creature, the leg of another; then up floated scraps of flesh. Soon all that was left of a thing bigger than the longboat was a shred of scaly skin.
“My, what a lovely place,”
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