THE BOOYA

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 55, Issue 3929, 21 July 1937, Page 9

THE BOOYA

IRUE LIFE STORIES.

(By

YON L.IDRIESS.)

AUSTRALIA’S MOST POPULAR WRITER.

—Copyright.

The Booya in this story is a fact, according to the last of the Zogole of the Strait. It is said to be stone which emits a piercing ray of light which, if turned on to a man, sends him mad. “If wo could only find it!” exclaimed Rawlings for the hundredth time. “It is worth millions!” He was walking the verandah, his face animated by desire. “What did you say an ounce of radium was worth?” “Priceless,” answered Musgrove. "There are only a few ounces in the world.” “And the ‘Booya’ must weigh at ieast ten pounds!” broke in Rawlings. ' A hundred and sixty ounces, worth “Millions!” answered Musgrove. “Really billions, for it would supply iight for the cities of the world; its energy is inexhaustible. Its rays might even vanquish disease!” “Damn disease!” exclaimed Raw--I’ngs as he wheeled and gazed towards the massive bulk of Gelam. “Think of the money, the power! Two men owning the world's radium, selling it grain by grain, every nation bidding! And it is here—where? We have searched every cranny of the island; you have won the confidence even of the Zogo-le, and all we know is that it is here—somewhere!”

The two men were searching for the Booya, the "spirit light" of the Eastern group of Torres Strait islanders; a “sacred” stone which is alleged to throw off an unquenchable bluishgreen light. There were in existence, according to tradition, three of these

Booyas, one each held by the Zogo-les of Mer, of Eroob, and of Ugar islands. When the first missionaries landed on the eastern group in Torres Strait they, with their South Sea henchmen, in perilous isolation and seeing nothing around them but crowds of headhunters given over to idolatrous ways burned the Zogo houses and the Auguds—huge idols these, of polished tortoise shell —burned the divinatory tkulls and masks and accessories of Zogo worship; destroyed the Zogo grounds and the sacred shrines; discredited the priesthood of the Zogo-le, and wrought general havoc upon the religion of the islanders. But the keeper of the shrine’s innermost secrets, the Booya of Mer, was buried in its deepest cave, its whereabouts a secret known only to the Zogo-le. These had made a vow with their spirit fathers to train their sons to the mysteries of the priesthood, so that, should Time overthrow the white man, their descendants would tie able to recoyer the Booya and rehabilitate the religion of their race. Of a substance perhaps stranger even that radium, the Booya was set I within a socket held by a bamboo rod with various symbolic decorations done in shells, ochres and bone. The composition of this setting was such that the rays were 'uirected upward, to ascend from the main Zogo house only on the occasion of an island victory, a calamity, or the death of the chief priest of the cult. The rays ascending in the form of a searchlight were visible far across the Strait. Of the very few white men who have had dealings with the Eastern Group, perhaps not six all told know of the Booya. The last of the Zogo-le <iescribe emphatically and intriguingly the rays of light shed by this apparent stone. Nothing can stop the lays, they say; it will penetrate tnrough stone and iron. Those ghostly rays will penetrate an iron ship and shine out far through the other side. When turned on to dugong and turtle the innermost secrets of their insides become visible but—the creatures turn mad! The queerest of happenings are told, by those who should I now, of the powers of those phantom rays. They have been so told to me, and in other ways to the "Wandering Missionary,” McFarlane, who for 20 years with sympathy and understanding has worked among these most interesting people and gained their deepest confidence. To the half-dozen men who have become convinced of the reality of the Booya, the only weak explanation we can guess is—radium. I have heard the theory expounded that the Booya may originally have come from some lost civilisation, possibly from a fleeing migration of that vanished people who have left those huge monuments on Easter Island or those more utterly vanished still, v. hose jungle covered ruins have been refound in the Solomons. The Torres Strait islanders say it was a highly-

cultured people who in ages past brought the Booya to Mer. Now Musgrove abruptly stood up. “Well,” he declared, "only Gelam remains.” Musgrave was a big man, his hair iron-grey. His unsmiling face indicated the thinker as he stared towards the age-old volcano, the crater filled in centuries ago. "What of it?” inquired Rawlings expectantly. “Why,” Musgrove explained, “the Booya is hidden in a cave. We have searched every cave. But the whole inside of Gelam must be hollowed —we have never searched there!” "I’m ready,” exclaimed Rawlings. They searched Gelam for weeks, working its wide miles of grass grown surface for any trace of .a cave. They examined especially its ravines; tangled places they are, long and steep and quiet. Rawling searched with an eagerness turning to exasperation with failure. Musgrove searched eagerly, too, but methodically, patiently. They combed the hill of Zomar, the spurs of Upimagar; they roamed the slopes of Mekarnurnur and traced the ravines right back into Gelam. Finally as a forelorn hope, they climbed down into the valley of Deaudupat; whose head is at the very base of the old volcanic mountain. The valley soil is of porous ash; scrub entangled by vines. A parched scattered palms peep from stunted valley, grey and desolate, it is the site of the old taboo grounds—the home .only of spirit hosts awaiting the return of the ancient worship. After weeks of searching and hope

i deferred they located a scrub-clad de- . ! pression somewhat cluttered with fal- . i len rocks. Hawlings gazed up at the ; steep hillside but could see no sign of , a landslide which would account for ■ those loose rocks. Might not they have been carried there, and earth • filled in amongst them, and grass grown upon it! The very surmise set them working. Rawlings was filled with excitement as he tore out these rocks day after exhausting day. Strong man though he was, and even with Musgrove’s help, those wedged rocks barred their progress for a week. Then he broke through into a cleft which clearly ran into the i mountain itself. But how far? | They sweated, often lying on their I sides, gouging in between the rocks and eventually were able to crawl : right into the cleft until the roof abruptly vanished and the rock walls opened out into a tunnel. Standing in their torchlight, eager eyed, they stared questioningly at each other. They carefully ventured into the silence, Rawlings in trembling anticipation, Musgrove curbing his joy. Presently Rawlings flashed his torch at a branch tunnel. “We could easily get lost,” he said. “My heavens, wouldn’t it be awful to be lost down here in the bowels of the earth!” Musgrove chalked a directing arrow on the wall beside them. "We will have to he very careful,” he said quietly; “this old volcano may. be a maze of galleries and pitfalls.” “I would never have thought of it,” laughed Rawlings. “Your talk with <id Passi has borne good fruit. What would the old heathen say if he areamed we had located their precious cave?” “The question is, “what would they do?” Carefully watching their path they walked a winding quarter of a mile, drawing deeper in towards the heart of Gelam; they passed the black mouths of two more tunnels, and then their own widened to a chamber dangerous with numerous openings. They stopped, searching the black room, flashing their torches on to clefts and twisted fissures in the towering walls. Not dug by the hand of man, these tunnels, but riven by nature when the mountain’s volcanic fires were slowly sinking back into the earth! "It’s a waste of time and energy rushing things,” decided Musgrove finally. "We must plan our search; it has only just begun. God knows how many of these passages intersect the old volcano. We are in a labyrinth. If we get lost we perish. Don’t ■ walk so fast! IT chalk a wall as we go along. Watch your feet, too, or you might, drop into something.” Still impatiently, but now more cautiously, Rawlings moved on, straining his eyes, seeking a light. The feeble torches merely gave the blackness emphasis; there was cavern titter cavern encompassed by fantastic walls. Their torchlight was like a

dim candle wavering into the Pit. Queer shapes seemed watching them, hunched up rocks left by the cooling lava. “We must return,” Musgrove decided. "We have been hours in here and my chalk is nearly done. “Rawlings swore impatiently; but they followed the chalk-line back and emerged, to Rawlings’ amazement into starlight. “It means a systematic search,” Musgrove said, “perhaps of weeks.” Then one day, deep in the belly of Gelam, Rawlings spied a faint blue mist stealing through a crevice near the roof a hundred feet up. Eerily stationary, it seemed to come from some deep inner chamber. Rawlings shouted excitedly as he climbed; the rock gave foothold in projections of twisted shapes until at eighty feet above, the wall flattened into a broad ledge. He ran across the crevice and peered through on to a broad rock platform. Rawlings shouted the discovery and squeezed into the crevice. Musgrove began climbing, his heart thumping violently, refusing to allow himself to believe that the search was successfully ended. He scrambled up on to the ledge, ran across it and stepped through the crevice on to a platform flooded with a bluish light. Even the fissures in distant walls showed eerily plain. But his eyes were instantly attracted by a pillar of violet light rising from a circular pit, evidently the old volcano throat away down in the floor below. Musgrove gazed astounded, more astounded still when his eyes followed the violet light upward and saw deep into the semi-transparent roof. "Look,” he shouted, “the rays are penetrating the solid rock!” But to his horror Rawlings took no notice; he w,as making towards the circular pit. "Hold back, man!” he cried. “Don’t go near the rays!” An excited face looked up. "Nonsense!” Rawlings answered. “The Booya is down there. It’s too late, anyway! We’re bathed in the rays.” “That is only the reflection from the roof and chamber walls,” called Musgrove urgently. “Look up, man; look up! The rays are piercing the very roof!” “We can go to the edge, anyway!” Rawlings called back. "I’m near it, and the rays don’t affect my eyes. It’s the Booya, man—the Booya!” "Wait for me!” called Musgrove insistently. “I’m coming . . You fool,” he cried as he scrambled nearer, “remember the legends of the Zogo-le! Even the priesthood suffered awful death if they came in direct contact with the rays!” But Rawlings was now edging across the cavern floor. A defiant laugh floated through the chamber as, like a fascinated child, he hesitated within yards only of the crater lip, staring at the pillar of violet light. Musgrove edged out towards him. “My God, Rawlings!” he whispered, "it is' beyond our comprehension. Something that has never been even imagined! Powers never dreamed of may exist there! Don’t risk anything further!”

There was no glare, no sound, no smell; just a pillar of intense violet light. Rawlings tossed a pebble into the pit. It vanished noiselessly. He turned a startled face to Musgrove. “How are we going to climb down?” he demanded. "It must be a frightful depth!” Before Musgrove could stop him he peered over the crater lip. Hororr chilled Musgrove. The rays permeated that portion of the man’s body leaning over the crater lip. His tones were shadows within transparent jelly! He turned back from the rays. His tody appeared normal again, but his eyes blazed with violent fire. "The Booya is down there,” he exclaimed tensely. "I could not see it —I could feel it! I saw nothing but violet! My brain is violet-——” Without warning he leapt straight at Musgrove, shrieking, “You shall look, too, Musgrove—you shall look!” But Musgrove sprang aside and abruptly shot out his leg. As Rawlings crashed, Musgrove raced across the chamber and clambered up the wall.

At the top he glanced down, panting. His blood ran cold as two violet eyes blazed up from below. He scrambled over the flat top, crept through the crevice, then, gripping his torch settled himself for the perilous descent into the darkness beyond. He jumped the last ten feet to the bottom. Then he glanced up towards the crevice, and there, framed in the faint blue glow, he saw two violet eyes. Musgrove trained his torch on the chalk line as he started to run through the mile of winding passages. He had not gone a tenth of the distance when footsteps pattered behind him. Wheeling around, his scalp tingled at the sight of the living skeleton pursuing. Its eyes like molten gold, its body jelly enclosing dark bones. And grotesque trousered legs. Musgrove switched off his torch and ran, panic stricken; he crashed against the wall to crawl frantically forward, then crouched still. Rawlings groped towards him —that thing with the legs of .a man, but the upper half a luminous framework with tiger’s eyes, feeling its way with shadow fingers—a new thing in a world below the earth! Musgrove pressed back against the wall, listening to that sibilant breath, hearing his own thumping heart, while Rawlings came groping past. Rawlings hesitated with his head cocked sideways, a hideous caricature of listening. He turned to grope back.

Nearer he crept, feeling the wall with his bony claws, toeing it. Stealthily Musgrove crept to the opposite wall. Stealthily Rawlings crept across too, listening, groping. Yard by yard Musgrove drew back as the luminous man came on. Time, sound, everything ceased in the concentrated effort to dodge this supernatural thing. At last he felt his spine pressing against . the very platform wall and instantly imagined that to climb might mean salvation. Gropingly he began the ascent. But Rawlings began climbing, too, following in Musgrove’s footsteps! Musgrove reached the top of the wall, then waited, his back to the crevice. Rawlings ascended rather than climbed, a luminous shell arising from the gloom. But he did not come quite within reach of Musgrove’s threatening foot. His glowing eyes searched the rock crannies, then deliberately he started to creep around by the right, chuckling as he passed: “Why, Musgrove, I see you, I have seen you all the time! Darkness for me no longer exists, neither of sight nor of mind. Be sensible, Musgrove; come and look into the rays with me!"

“By God, I won’t!” gasped Musgrove as Rawlings sprang. They fought as madmen fight. They tore at one another on the very brink of the platform; they kicked and clawed and howled as they rolled upon that ledge within the heart of Gelam, deep in its waiting silence. Musgrove stiffened as skeleton arms raised him bodily above the brink. But Rawlings threw him back on the ledge and laughed!

“Why, Musgrove, you are paralysed. I am only playing with you—playing! Wait until you gaze into the rays! You will feel the strength of a hundred men. Then we can fight! Come!” He bent down and they fought towards the crevice, they fought through it out into the blue light, they struggled right to the very edge of the rock. But there the rays reclaimed Rawlings; he planted his foot on the panting man and stood gazing at the violet pillar, fascinated. "The Booya is there,” he whispered, “all alone, at the bottom of the earth.” “Go down and get it, Harry,” whispered Musgrove, in desperate hope. “I’m not as mad as that!” shrieked Rawlings, and laughed to the echoes. But his eyes gazed back to the violet pillar. "I wonder,” he whispered. "It draws me!” He stepped to the edge of the wall, and began climbing down. Musgrove rose to his knees. Rawlings was climbing with an uncanny ease and swiftness. He reached the lottom and walked straight across the floor to the funnel lip. Musgrove watched him peer over; farther, farther still! . . . And then he was gone. Musgrove sped as if from devils — sped, seeking the open air and daylight, terrified for his reason. He found himself running back along that mile of tunnel, laughing in an ecstasy of relief—and ran into a barrier of earth and rock raised at the tunnel end! Dazedly he flashed the torch back along the wall. The chalk line was there! he had come the right way. What in heaven—God! fresh earth—the natives had buried him in! He cried aloud, clawing at the earth, snatching away the stones, throwing all behind him as an animal might claw. He shrieked aloud to Passi, .Passi the descendant of the Zogo-le; cried to him of the kindnesses he had done the islanders, of the 'many times he had stood between them and the whites; of how he had tutored them, had taught them the values of pearl shell, of trochus, of beche-de-mer. And as he cried he dug ahead and flung the dirt behind him. Then came a listening silence in which he broke down altogether.

They dragged Musgrove into the sunlight and . laid him at the feet of Passi. He gazed up at the brown, wrinkled face, the black eyes that hid the thoughts of a savage and a knowledge at which civilisation can but guess. “White man,” Passi said at last, “for long you have lived amongst us, a friend against the greed of your countrymen who are our present masters. Otherwise your tomb would have been Gelam. Know then that no white man may even touch the Booya, though they come in ships to get it. I only may reach it. It means my death, but first I can hand the knowledge of it to my unharmed son and then he may direct its madness on any number of men, any number of ships. White man', the Booya sent cities mad long before your countrymen were known. Forget the Booya, and go!” And Musgrove went.