Episode 6: Cassowary Jenkins
The first stage of their trek through the jungle proved easier than Everett
had anticipated. The path Fleming had spotted from the air might have been
overgrown with brush, festooned with vines, blocked here and there by
fallen trees, but it was also smooth, wide, and unexpectedly passable,
almost as if this route -- abandoned for ages -- had at one time been paved.
MacKiernan was intrigued by this, and speculated at length about the
possibility of lost cities and vanished civilizations. Everett, of a less
romantic turn of mind, concluded it had something to do with the soil.
The path did lay quite close to the river, where it was possible that
floods had leached away some essential nutrient.
The river itself flowed broad, flat, and muddy between dark green walls of
vegetation. It was an unattractive prospect for a swim. It became even less
so after Fleming pointed out what looked like logs drifting with the
"Salt-water crocodiles," he warned. "Much more dangerous than the regular
kind. In deep water, they grab your leg, pull you under, and wait for you to
"What do they do if the water’s shallow?" asked MacKiernan.
"They grab your leg, spin around ‘till they’ve twisted it off, then wait for
you to bleed to death."
"Yer jestin’," said the Irishman .
"Nope. It’s fair dinkum."
"I think I prefer the deep water," said Iverson.
"No one’s going in or near the river," ordered Everett. "If you need water,
draw it from a stream."
"Aye," muttered Abercrombie, "then ye need only worry about leeches."
Toward noon the party halted to rest. While his men gathered sticks for a
fire to brew tea, Everett made another entry in the ship’s log.
June 23, 1926, 1200 hrs. Lat, 22 36’ Long 168 57’. His Majesty’s Airship
Flying Lady, R-212, Captain Roland P. Everett cmdr. It’s been two days since
we landed the bow section of our ship on the southern coast of this nameless
island in the New Caledonian chain. The nine survivors are holding up well.
Airman Fleming made a reconnaissance flight yesterday on the Lilienthal
glider he’d smuggled aboard. Upon his return, he reported sighting a small
German airship moored at a village on the northern shore. There is no reason
to believe it has any connection with the vessel that attacked us, but its
presence in this French colony seems highly suspicious. We are making our
way across the island to investigate. I recommend Fleming for a
commendation. The men’s spirits remain high, and this jungle does not seem
to contain too many surprises.
The trail narrowed as they left the coast behind, slowing their progress.
In places, they had to hack their way through the undergrowth with their
improvised machetes. Everett took his turn with the rest, setting aside his
jacket and rolling up his sleeves to chop through the vines. Jenkins
followed, fussing over the damage the captain was doing to his wardrobe. At
a pause in the march, he produced a small clothes-brush to make sure his
commander’s attire was in appropriate condition for a man of his station.
"If you’d turn around sir, so I can get the back."
"I’m not sure this is strictly necessary, Jenkins. We are trekking through
"That may be so, sir, but this is no reason to lower our standards. We must
set an example for the men."
By now, most of the men had stripped to the waist to deal with the heat.
Everett couldn't help but wonder if their example was better. "I believe we
can dispense with the cap," he said, as Jenkins was preparing to replace it.
"Excuse me, sir," the signalman replied, "but a large predatory bird seems
to be plunging down the path to attack
Everett turned to see a strange creature, like a cross between an ostrich
and a rooster, burst from the undergrowth. As Jenkins stepped forward to
intercept it, the bird lashed out with its feet -- great claws tipped with
needle-sharp spurs -- in a vicious swipe to disembowel him. The signalman
tsked in annoyance, set aside the hat, swung his fist, and laid the creature
flat with a blow to the skull.
"Well done, man," said Everett. "Where’d you learn to handle yourself like
"I was fleet champion back at Liverpool."
"You’re a man of many talents, Jenkins."
"I like to think so, sir. What manner of creature is this?"
"It looks like the thing Rashid shot us for lunch yesterday. I imagine
Fleming would know, this is his part of the world. Fleming?"
"We didn’t have anything like these back in Bondi Beach, but I believe it’s
called a cassowary. They’re said to be quite dangerous."
"A ‘cassowary’?" said Jenkins in a disappointed tone of voice. "Couldn’t
someone have come up with a more threatening name? I can hardly run around
boasting about defeating a cassowary."
"Just be glad it wasn’t a kookaburra."
They made camp that evening in a hanging valley, near the crest of the
ridge. The setting was dramatic, with steep jungle-clad slopes that rose
above a dark meadow of ferns. Here and there, moss-clad stones stood,
seemingly at random. When the men brushed away some of the covering
vegetation, they found that the stones were covered with carvings.
"Do you think this could have been some manner of temple?" wondered
"Aye," said Abercrombie. "They probably sacrificed their victims at the
foot of these rocks and cast their still beatin’ hearts into the flames
before feastin’ on their raw and bleedin’ flesh."
"Ugh," said the lieutenant, turning green.
"I was only jestin’, lad," said the Scotsman. "I’m sure they cooked the
"Maybe ‘twas some kind o’ fertility cult," suggested MacKiernan.
"Gentlemen!" warned Everett. He beckoned Iverson over to the rock he was
examining. "Lieutenant, bring your lantern here and tell me what you make
The young officer focused the beam of his electric lamp to discover a worn
set of figures engraved in the face of the rock. "It looks like a procession
bearing gifts for some form of ceremony, sir," he observed. "See here, where
they open this box to hand what looks like a pair of cymbals to this
"That’s what I thought as well," mused Everett. "Here the musician has
clapped his instruments together and here they’ve all gathered under this
enormous tree around what one assumes are bonfires. But I’m puzzled by
these figures here. Could they be meant to represent costumes?"
"It’s difficult to imagine what else they could be, sir," Iverson replied.
"Surely no one could be so horribly disfigured. This fellow seems to have
misplaced some of the joints in his legs, and this one looks like he has
six or seven fingers."
Everett nodded thoughtfully. "So he does. Well, I don’t suppose we’ll ever
learn the answer to this particular mystery. Let’s turn in for the night."
Next week: An Island Maiden, at Last!...