Jap Dodging Behind Finschhafen

THIS is the concluding article in the series which have been written for us by the Rev. A. P. H. Freund. The articles have told of the adventures of Coast-Watchers in New Guinea in 1942-43. In the last instalment, in December, Mr. Freund told how he and his mates, K. H. McColl and L. Pursehouse, set up watching posts behind Finschhafen. Then the Japs landed at Finschhafen and, after several visits had been paid them by the Watchers, they began to send patrols out into back country.

PURSEHOUSE and McColl had had a hut built in thick jungle in a valley near a stream not far from the village of Moruruo, which is near Sattel berg. They had full confidence in the faithfulness of the local natives; and they took it in turns every morning to climb up a rough track out of the valley to a height from which they could overlook and watch Finchhafen and the coast for several miles both north and south.

During the day, they would relieve each other. For nearly three weeks they carried on undisturbed. Then the storm broke.

One morning, Mac was puffing up the steep climb out of the valley with his revolver in its holster and the Owen gun hanging at his hip with the webbing strap over his shoulder. Suddenly he heard a shot.

How it was possible for a man in Jap anese-occupied territory to hear a shot and not immediately think of the enemy, is a mystery. But it shows how uncon cerned men can become.

Mac’s first thought was that his own Owen gun had somehow gone off. He stopped and lifted the gun to examine it.

As he was doing so “brrrrr!”

Above him and about thirty yards away, seven Japs were spraying him with sub machine guns. He had stopped just be side a tree and could hear the bullets biting into the trunk beside his head, but

they missed Mac completely. Then fol lowed a lively time with Mac remaining unhurt, after two or more bursts from the enemy. He managed to escape into the jungle.

With his ammunition gone, the Owen gun was now of no more use to him than a piece of scrap-iron, so he put it be hind the butt of a tree. (About 18 months later, when that part of New Guinea had been recaptured, Mac revisited the scene of his ambush. In a letter he told me how he had looked for and found that Owen gun, and he claimed that it was still in working order.) From where he was hiding, Mac could hear the Jap soldiers enter the hut, and soon there came the clatter of cases of tinned foodstuffs being upset, and other effects being turned upside down as they made a thorough search.

Pursehouse had got out of the hut just before the Japs entered. Since it was his “off” morning, he had stayed in his bunk after Mac went out. And even when the shooting started, he did not immediately think of Japs, He and Mac had an understanding that if the man in the lookout saw anything that required im mediate reporting, he would fire a single shot with his revolver. Then the man in the hut would send one of the native houseboys up to get the message.

So, when Pursehouse heard the Jap officer’s single shot, he got out of bed

and called out to a boy to go up to Mac.

In the meanwhile he heard the automatic fire, but assumed that Mac was indulging in some practice shots, or that the mission cattle, which occasionally roamed as far as Moruruo, might have shown hostility, and that he was trying to scare them off.

But when he heard the further bursts of fire he realised that they were being attacked. So he got into his clothes, grabbed a pack that he always kept ready for any such an emergency, forgot his hat in the hurry, and vanished into the jungle—a very few moments before the Japanese entered the hut.

After a while, Pursehouse met a native near a field. He had to cross the field on his way back to where I was—but how was he to know whether Japs might not be snooping around? The native went to reconnoitre, and not only brought him safely across the clearing but accom panied him through the difficult jungle to the next village. It was evening when they arrived, and the village natives brought him food, so Pursehouse decided to stay for the night. He did not sleep very soundly, however, there was no knowing where the Japs might be prowl ing. Besides he was worried about Mac.

He feared that Mac had fallen. Sud denly, about four o’clock in the morning, the sound of automatic fire in the dis tance reached him. That indicated that Mac was still on deck. But it also in dicated that the Japs were still on the

hunt, so Pursehouse decided to move on, even at that early hour.

WHAT had happened to Mac in the meanwhile? He lay low in his thicket. In spite of their repu

tation for jungle craft, the Japs did not follow him. Probably they realised that it was not healthy to stalk a man with an Owen gun in the jungle. He lay low that whole day and into the small hours of the morning. In order to get away he had to cross the stream. Such a stream af fording an open view for much further than the normal visibility in the jungle, would have been the logical place for the the enemy to hide and watch for him. To cross it in daylight, assuming that the enemy had the sense to see this advant age, would have been highly dangerous, and even at night there was considerable risk.

At what he estimated to be about 4 a.m.. Mac decided to shift. Unless he wanted to make a long detour, he had to pass fairly close to the hut. And though the Japs had made quite a lot of noise, chattering and laughing as they left the hut and carried away the wireless set, food and other things they had captured, yet Mac had a suspicion that a few might have been left hiding in the hut. or in* the little cook-house near the hut, waiting for Mac’s or Pursehouse’s possible return.

Just as Mac was beginning to move, a dead branch broke off a nearby tree, and, with a resounding slap, hit a large leaf as it fell. Almost immediately from the door of the cook-house, there came spurts of flame and a rattle of automatics as two Japs sprayed the jungle all around That was the firing which Pursehouse heard at the village some miles away.

The fat seemed to be in the fire again.

Mac sat back and waited patiently.. But dawn was drawing dangerously near. Now or never!

Off he sneaked. Having been warned by the shooting, he was particularly caut ious. And without further trouble he managed to get clear of the danger area.

In the morning he had reached the main track leading from Sattelberg to the hill villages westwards.

All along the track were the imprints of the Japanese sandshoes with the spec ial compartment for the big toe. But fortunately the return footmarks were also there, indicating that they had re turned to Sattelberg, or even to Finsch hafen. They had also been on every little side track leading into the bush, appar ently looking for Mac’s tracks. Lying low that day had saved him.

When Mac came to the next village, he asked the natives about the Japs who had

passed through the previous day. They Insisted that they had seen none. He investigated and found that just before the village the Japs had left the track, worked their way through the jungle around the village, and it was only beyond the village that the tracks of their slit toed sand shoes again appeared on the track. Since the return tracks were also there, Mac knew that the Japs had re turned to Sattelberg or Finschhafen and that he would be safe from then on, IAT my post further afield at Besabong would have surmised that something had happened, had it hot been for a mishap at my end. My receiver had broken down, and therefore I could not know that Mac and Purse were no longer on the air.

One evening, a native lad arrived car rying a revolver in a holster on a belt.

He said that a “master” was following.

I assumed that McColl was coming to try and fix my receiver, but I did ask whether the master had much luggage, and was informed that he had only one pack—too little for even wartime travel.

Bo I asked whether the master had come via Joanggeng, only to receive the sur prising information that he had come from Sofifi—a roundabout route. Then I realised that something was wrong.

In a few minutes. Purse arrived to give me the terse information: “We’ve been shot out.”

“Where’s Mac?” I asked.

“I was badly worried about him at first,” replied Purse, “but I’ve heard from the natives that he’s safe.”

We had lost a Teleradio and our work ing receiver, clothing, food and other gear, but that did not matter. We had not lost a man.

Purse had already made up his mind what we should do. The danger signals were up. A man-hunt would soon be on.

We had better get away from that area.

So a message was sent to Moresby re porting what had happened and outlining our plans. We asked that emergency supplies, clothing, blankets and advice or instructions be dropped at Ogeram nang, where we would wait from April 12 to 15. If nothing were dropped in that time, we would leave, nevertheless.

We had no means of making sure that Moresby received our message, but we re peated it several times.

The evening after Purse’s arrival, Mac also reached Besagong safely. He was in really good form. We sent another mes sage to headquarters announcing his ar rival.

IT was noon on April 12, when we reached Ogeramnang. No drop had taken place that morning. We had asked that the drop be made early in the morning and without parachute. The reasons for this are obvious. We won dered if our message had been received.

Next morning at dawn, when we were still in our bunks, we heard a Fortress come sneaking up the valley east of the village. Evidently the pilot wanted to give us time to light our signal fires. He kept running back and forth in the val ley, gradually rising with each turn, and by the time our fires were smoking fur iously, he was at our level. Then he made a run over us. He was so low that it seemed ( a delusion, of course) that he would hit the iron roof of the church near which we were standing. We thought he would make his drop, but he was merely having a look to see that we three were all there and well.

Then he came round again, banked at the edge of the village, dropped a bag from a few hundred feet, waggled his wings, and flew off. He had his break fast in Moresby. We were there for late lunch five weeks later. And hundreds

of miles of mountain, ravine and jungle had to be traversed in that interval.

We had intended to travel over the mountains forming the southern side of the Cromwells, outflank Lae, and make our way to Wau. We reckoned on a three-week trip. Fortunately we selected and packed food for a safe margin be yond that. We took only meat, flour, sugar, tea and a small supply of butter, jam and dripping. We had about 120 tins of emergency rations, and we had a 56-lb case of salt. Pursehoyse knew that the hill natives are salt-hungry. And all the way through we were able to buy first-grade vegetables; beans, cabbage, potatoes, cucumbers and various other varieties which had been introduced in those areas by the missionaries, besides bananas and other tropical fruit. And, at least five times a week, we were able to buy a fowl.

The day after leaving Ogeramnang, we reached the last of the Hube villages— from there to the first village of the tribes behind Lae, there is a high area where for three days one sees no habita tion. At this jumping-off place the nat ives warned us against our plan to out flank Lae. The Japs were on all tracks, they said. We had better cross the central range of the Huon Peninsula and go along the northern “slopes”, event ually crossing the tail of the Cromwells again, and into the Markham valley.

We decided to follow their advice.

We required 25 carriers for all our foodstuffs, salt, camping and cooking equipment, blanket roll and packs. There was no difficulty in finding them. In view of the fact that the crossing of the range was also a three-day climb without a village, the carriers brought seven women loaded with their own food.

The first day was a terrific climb.

Soon we were at an altitude where the trees are draped in a flowing beard of moss a foot long from the leaves to the roots. Heavy fog and mist crowds in on the mountains most of the day, so that the moss is a wet sponge which drips water day and night. The ground is covered with a deep bed of leaves, bark and fallen moss squelching with water.

Leeches are there in millions. They boarded our boots as we walked and wand ered around, looking for an opportunity to get at our blood. But we wore top sox over our ordinary sox, and they were rarely able to get through the double layer. And since the tops of our sox were usually dry, they could not climb further up our legs. But the poor car riers had to stop every few chains and scrape them off. Streams of blood kept running down their legs, for the blood coming from a leech puncture will not readily congeal. One ingenious man car ried a length of bamboo filled with ashes, which he would dust on his legs. Leeches will not travel over anything dry.

Towards the end of the first day we reached an area of open “plains” thickly covered with dry grass, with small lakes here and there. The nights spent in im provised huts were cold. In the after noon of the third day, we descended a great limestone mountainside and reached the first village of the Komba tribe. Our carriers went back, and from there on we were taken from village to village by local carriers, whom we paid with stick-tobacco, of which we were for tunate enough to have a fair supply al though the people frequently assured us that they did not want payment.

Then, day after day we climbed up and down <|iose two or three thousand foot gorges which we had often admired with awe from our home on Rooke Island across the Strait. I had never imagined then that I would have to climb over all of them.

Our trail from village to village was necessarily a zigzag one. Once, after a whole day of climbing, slithering and stumbling, when we estimated that we had tramped 15 miles, the map showed that our actual progress was five miles.

On Easter Sunday we began a two day climb over a ridge which we estim ated to reach a height of ten thousand feet above sea level. The natives told us that only one white man had previously crossed that ridge—a “kiap” by the name of Black. The views across some of those gorges were, at times, truly breath-tak ing. A number of times, as we sat smok ing around the fire before turning in for the night, Mac, who had been assigned to the navy, used to joke; “If you want to see the interior of New Guinea, join the Navy.”

After three weeks, when we had crossed another particularly heart-breaking ridge and had scrambled in and across the Leron from where it was a tiny rivulet to where it had become a rushing dang erous torrent between pitiless mountains, we reached Ewok. Next morning the natives calmly informed us that a party of forty Japs had been there a week pre viously. We had imagined that they

would never penetrate to these forbidding areas.

But, we figured, they would not be around every week. Mac had slightly sprained his ankle before reaching Ewok.

We had to lay up for four days massaging the injury till he was fit to travel.

That delay probably saved our lives.

We had intended to continue down the Leron and cross the Markham at the confluence, but during our delay, a native teacher came along to warn up that the Japs were all along the IMarkham in that area, but that if we went with him he would show us another way out to where he had heard Australian soldiers were stationed.

This meant a longer trek, but a few days extra are well spent when it is a matter of saving one’s life. By a devious route we came to and followed another tributary of the Markham, through Kaiapit, .and crossed the Markham to Onga. Nearby we found an observation post manned by three Australian. We

had been cut off from the outside world for about four weeks. It was good to meet other white people and hear news of the world at large. We arrived just when the surrender of the Germans in Tunisia was announced, From here we went to K ainantu via Ayura. meeting “Tiny” Mac Adam, who had distinguished himself in the Sala maua area and elsewhere. “Kiap” Ham ilton, a pal of Pursehouse’s, was at Kain antu.

Five weeks after seffinj? nut from ncpr we reached Belna Benna oSv to hear that the Jans had been Kainantu and surroundings. After a few days wait, a DC3 came in with supplies for the Benna Benna force. We were taken to Moresby, escorted by four Lightnings. A fortnight was spent there, mostly with the Australian and American topographical sections who were prepar ing maps in readiness for the Finsch hafen campaign and wanted all the in formation they could collect.

lip were then flown to Townsville and f T Brisbane. We had often wondered whether we would see dear old Australia again, and we cheered when we caught the first glimpse of the coast.

We were given leave, after which I was discharged, and Pursehouse and McColl went back to New Guinea. Pursehouse was killed near Sio. McColl saw service in various places and was able to revisit the Ogeramnang area and reward the natives who had been. so faithful to us.

In the fifteen months, many of which were spent behind the Japanese lines, we achieved nothing spectacular, but we hope that in a small measure we contri buted towards the ousting of the Japs, thus making possible our eventual return to New Guinea, from where I am writing this concluding article of our wartime experiences.