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Authors: Peter Ryan
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join the Markham.
We were close to Bivoro village now. It came into sight on a small area of flat ground
near the junction of the Erap and one of its tributaries. I halted the carriers and
squatted in the kunai, searching the houses with my binoculars. The village had
all the appearances of a normal native settlement – a few men sitting smoking under
the raised grass-thatched houses, women attending to cooking-fires and the preparation
of food, and children running about playing among the banana-plants that encircled
the houses.
I asked whether Bivoro boasted a house-kiap, or rest-house. (The pidgin name for
the government patrol officer was kiap, and in peacetime it had been the custom for
most villages under government control to build a rest-house of native materials,
where the officer could spend the night.) The luluai indicated a large grass house
a little apart from the village, and Kari drew my attention to a fire burning in
front of it. I examined the house care fully through the binoculars. It consisted
of two rooms with an open veranda between them. Hanging on the veranda, in full view,
was a strange-looking sub-machine-gun of a type I had never seen before.
This seemed conclusive evidence that the Japanese were in the place, so I called
to the carriers to remain hidden, and asked Kari and the luluai their opinion of
the situation.
The luluai was positive that there were no Japanese there.‘We have heard of the Japanese,
and are afraid of them. Long ago, we all agreed that if they came to our village
we would run away, but you can see for yourself that even the women and small children
are there. Would they be sitting round like that if the Japanese were in the village?’
While I admitted the force of his remarks, the machine-gun could not be explained.
Kari examined it with the glasses and agreed that it was very different from any
used by the Australians.
We moved back into the kunai a little, to consider the best thing to do. The luluai
offered to go in and investigate the situation himself, and bring us word. Although
he seemed a reliable old fellow, I decided against this. If he were, by some chance,
playing a smooth double game with us and the Japs, it would be better for us to surprise
them ourselves, rather than have them tipped off and prepared by the luluai.
Then again, there was no imperative reason for us to go in to Bivoro at all. We could
sleep in the bush and push on next morning, having skirted the place altogether.
I did not want to do this, however, because it would leave a grave uncertainty hanging
over us the whole time we were in the Wain. We would constantly be wondering whether
or not the Japanese were sitting near the end of our trail, waiting for us to come
out.
The only thing to do was to investigate for ourselves at once, and we hastily planned
our move.
Kari and I were to approach the house, while Achenmeri, concealed in the kunai,
was to cover us with his rifle. The backward glances Kari kept throwing over his
shoulder indicated that he felt the same misgivings as I did about Achenmeri’s covering
fire. I hoped it would not result in an accidental bullet in the back for either
of us. We moved quietly down upon the rest-house, feeling confident that the owner
of the gun was unaware of our presence, and anyhow would be dead before he reached
it if he did realize we were coming. How we would deal with any other occupants of
the rest-house was not so certain, but in the absence of a sub-machine-gun I relied
on the hand-grenades, and both Kari and I had one ready.
We had almost reached the house when we heard a movement in one of the rooms. I raised
my revolver, and out of the corner of my eye saw Kari’s rifle fly to his shoulder. Then
a fair curly head appeared in the doorway, and a voice shouted to a cook-boy to prepare
some hot water for a wash. To our intense relief the voice was unmistakably Australian,
and with a loud ‘Hullo!’ we hurried across the open space to meet
We were close to Bivoro village now. It came into sight on a small area of flat ground
near the junction of the Erap and one of its tributaries. I halted the carriers and
squatted in the kunai, searching the houses with my binoculars. The village had
all the appearances of a normal native settlement – a few men sitting smoking under
the raised grass-thatched houses, women attending to cooking-fires and the preparation
of food, and children running about playing among the banana-plants that encircled
the houses.
I asked whether Bivoro boasted a house-kiap, or rest-house. (The pidgin name for
the government patrol officer was kiap, and in peacetime it had been the custom for
most villages under government control to build a rest-house of native materials,
where the officer could spend the night.) The luluai indicated a large grass house
a little apart from the village, and Kari drew my attention to a fire burning in
front of it. I examined the house care fully through the binoculars. It consisted
of two rooms with an open veranda between them. Hanging on the veranda, in full view,
was a strange-looking sub-machine-gun of a type I had never seen before.
This seemed conclusive evidence that the Japanese were in the place, so I called
to the carriers to remain hidden, and asked Kari and the luluai their opinion of
the situation.
The luluai was positive that there were no Japanese there.‘We have heard of the Japanese,
and are afraid of them. Long ago, we all agreed that if they came to our village
we would run away, but you can see for yourself that even the women and small children
are there. Would they be sitting round like that if the Japanese were in the village?’
While I admitted the force of his remarks, the machine-gun could not be explained.
Kari examined it with the glasses and agreed that it was very different from any
used by the Australians.
We moved back into the kunai a little, to consider the best thing to do. The luluai
offered to go in and investigate the situation himself, and bring us word. Although
he seemed a reliable old fellow, I decided against this. If he were, by some chance,
playing a smooth double game with us and the Japs, it would be better for us to surprise
them ourselves, rather than have them tipped off and prepared by the luluai.
Then again, there was no imperative reason for us to go in to Bivoro at all. We could
sleep in the bush and push on next morning, having skirted the place altogether.
I did not want to do this, however, because it would leave a grave uncertainty hanging
over us the whole time we were in the Wain. We would constantly be wondering whether
or not the Japanese were sitting near the end of our trail, waiting for us to come
out.
The only thing to do was to investigate for ourselves at once, and we hastily planned
our move.
Kari and I were to approach the house, while Achenmeri, concealed in the kunai,
was to cover us with his rifle. The backward glances Kari kept throwing over his
shoulder indicated that he felt the same misgivings as I did about Achenmeri’s covering
fire. I hoped it would not result in an accidental bullet in the back for either
of us. We moved quietly down upon the rest-house, feeling confident that the owner
of the gun was unaware of our presence, and anyhow would be dead before he reached
it if he did realize we were coming. How we would deal with any other occupants of
the rest-house was not so certain, but in the absence of a sub-machine-gun I relied
on the hand-grenades, and both Kari and I had one ready.
We had almost reached the house when we heard a movement in one of the rooms. I raised
my revolver, and out of the corner of my eye saw Kari’s rifle fly to his shoulder. Then
a fair curly head appeared in the doorway, and a voice shouted to a cook-boy to prepare
some hot water for a wash. To our intense relief the voice was unmistakably Australian,
and with a loud ‘Hullo!’ we hurried across the open space to meet
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