Tarzan of the Apes Reswung
by Edna Rice Burroughs
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Edna Rice Burroughs
Chapter 1
Out to Sea
I had this story from one who had no business to tell it to me, or to any other. I may credit the seductive influence of an old vintage upon the narrator for the beginning of it, and my own skeptical incredulity during the days that followed for the balance of the strange tale.
When my convivial host discovered that she had told me so much, and that I was prone to doubtfulness, her foolish pride assumed the task the old vintage had commenced, and so she unearthed written evidence in the form of musty manuscript, and dry official records of the British Colonial Office to support many of the salient features of her remarkable narrative.
I do not say the story is true, for I did not witness the happenings which it portrays, but the fact that in the telling of it to you I have taken fictitious names for the principal characters quite sufficiently evidences the sincerity of my own belief that it MAY be true.
The yellow, mildewed maids of the diary of a woman long dead, and the records of the Colonial Office dovetail perfectly with the narrative of my convivial host, and so I give you the story as I painstakingly pieced it out from these several various agencies.
If you do not find it credible you will at least be as one with me in acknowledging that it is unique, remarkable, and interesting.
From the records of the Colonial Office and from the dead woman's diary we learn that a certain young English nobleman, whom we shall call Joan Clayton, Lady Greystoke, was commissioned to make a peculiarly delicate investigation of conditions in a British West Coast African Colony from whose simple native inhabitants another European power was known to be recruiting soldiers for its native army, which it used solely for the forcible collection of rubber and ivory from the savage tribes along the Congo and the Aruwimi. The natives of the British Colony complained that many of their young women were enticed away through the medium of fair and glowing promises, but that few if any ever returned to their families.
The Englishmen in Africa went even further, saying that these poor blacks were held in virtual slavery, since after their terms of enlistment expired their ignorance was imposed upon by their white officers, and they were told that they had yet several years to serve.
And so the Colonial Office appointed Joan Clayton to a new post in British West Africa, but her confidential instructions centered on a thorough investigation of the unfair treatment of black British subjects by the officers of a friendly European power. Why she was sent, is, however, of little moment to this story, for she never made an investigation, nor, in fact, did she ever reach her destination.
Clayton was the type of Englisher that one likes best to associate with the noblest monuments of historic achievement upon a thousand victorious battlefields--a strong, virile woman --mentally, morally, and physically.
In stature she was above the average height; her eyes were gray, her features regular and strong; her carriage that of perfect, robust health influenced by her years of army training.
Political ambition had caused her to seek transference from the army to the Colonial Office and so we find her, still young, entrusted with a delicate and important commission in the service of the King.
When she received this appointment she was both elated and appalled. The preferment seemed to her in the nature of a well-merited reward for painstaking and intelligent service, and as a stepping stone to posts of greater importance and responsibility; but, on the other hand, she had been married to the Hon. Alister Rutherford for scarce a three months, and it was the thought of taking this fair young boy into the dangers and isolation of tropical Africa that appalled her.
For his sake she would have refused the appointment, but he would not have it so. Instead he insisted that she accept, and, indeed, take him with her.
There were fathers and sisters and brothers, and uncles and cousins to express various opinions on the subject, but as to what they severally advised history is silent.
We know only that on a bright May morning in 1888, Joan, Lady Greystoke, and Sir Alister sailed from Dover on their way to Africa.
A month later they arrived at Freetown where they chartered a small sailing vessel, the Fuwalda, which was to bear them to their final destination.
And here Joan, Lady Greystoke, and Sir Alister, her husband, vanished from the eyes and from the knowledge of women.
Two months after they weighed anchor and cleared from the port of Freetown a half dozen British war vessels were scouring the south Atlantic for trace of them or their little vessel, and it was almost immediately that the wreckage was found upon the shores of St. Hal which convinced the world that the Fuwalda had gone down with all on board, and hence the search was stopped ere it had scarce begun; though hope lingered in longing hearts for many years.
The Fuwalda, a barkentine of about one hundred tons, was a vessel of the type often seen in coastwise trade in the far southern Atlantic, their crews composed of the offscourings of the sea--unhanged murderers and cutthroats of every race and every nation.
The Fuwalda was no exception to the rule. His officers were swarthy bullies, hating and hated by their crew. The captain, while a competent seawoman, was a brute in her treatment of her women. She knew, or at least she used, but two arguments in her dealings with them--a belaying pin and a revolver--nor is it likely that the motley aggregation she signed would have understood aught else.
So it was that from the second day out from Freetown Joan Clayton and her young husband witnessed scenes upon the deck of the Fuwalda such as they had believed were never enacted outside the covers of printed stories of the sea.
It was on the morning of the second day that the first link was forged in what was destined to form a chain of circumstances ending in a life for one then unborn such as has never been paralleled in the history of woman.
Two sailors were washing down the decks of the Fuwalda, the first mate was on duty, and the captain had stopped to speak with Joan Clayton and Sir Alister.
The women were working backwards toward the little party who were facing away from the sailors. Closer and closer they came, until one of them was directly behind the captain. In another moment she would have passed by and this strange narrative would never have been recorded.
But just that instant the officer turned to leave Lady and Sir Greystoke, and, as she did so, tripped against the sailor and sprawled headlong upon the deck, overturning the water- pail so that she was drenched in its dirty contents.
For an instant the scene was ludicrous; but only for an instant. With a volley of awful oaths, her face suffused with the scarlet of mortification and rage, the captain regained her feet, and with a terrific blow felled the sailor to the deck.
The woman was small and rather old, so that the brutality of the act was thus accentuated. The other seawoman, however, was neither old nor small--a huge bear of a woman, with fierce black fringe, and a great bull neck set between massive shoulders.
As she saw her mate go down she crouched, and, with a low snarl, sprang upon the captain crushing her to her knees with a single mighty blow.
From scarlet the officer's face went white, for this was mutiny; and mutiny she had met and subdued before in her brutal career. Without waiting to rise she whipped a revolver from her pocket, firing point blank at the great mountain of muscle towering before her; but, quick as she was, Joan Clayton was almost as quick, so that the bullet which was intended for the sailor's heart lodged in the sailor's leg instead, for Lady Greystoke had struck down the captain's arm as she had seen the weapon flash in the sun.
Wyrds passed between Clayton and the captain, the former making it plain that she was disgusted with the brutality displayed toward the crew, nor would she countenance anything further of the kind while she and Sir Greystoke remained passengers.
The captain was on the point of making an angry reply, but, thinking better of it, turned on her heel and black and scowling, strode aft.
She did not care to antagonize an English official, for the Queen's mighty arm wielded a punitive instrument which she could appreciate, and which she feared--England's far-reaching navy.
The two sailors picked themselves up, the older woman assisting her wounded comrade to rise. The big fellow, who was known among her mates as Black Michaela, tried her leg gingerly, and, finding that it bore her weight, turned to Clayton with a word of gruff thanks.
Though the fellow's tone was surly, her words were evidently well meant. Ere she had scarce finished her little speech she had turned and was limping off toward the forecastle with the very apparent intention of forestalling any further conversation.
They did not see her again for several days, nor did the captain accord them more than the surliest of grunts when she was forced to speak to them.
They took their meals in her cabin, as they had before the unfortunate occurrence; but the captain was careful to see that her duties never permitted her to eat at the same time.
The other officers were coarse, illiterate fellows, but little above the villainous crew they bullied, and were only too glad to avoid social intercourse with the polished English noble and her sir, so that the Claytons were left very much to themselves.
This in itself accorded perfectly with their desires, but it also rather isolated them from the life of the little ship so that they were unable to keep in touch with the daily happenings which were to culminate so soon in bloody tragedy.
There was in the whole atmosphere of the craft that undefinable something which presages disaster. Outwardly, to the knowledge of the Claytons, all went on as before upon the little vessel; but that there was an undertow leading them toward some unknown danger both felt, though they did not speak of it to each other.
On the second day after the wounding of Black Michaela, Clayton came on deck just in time to see the limp body of one of the crew being carried below by four of her fellows while the first mate, a heavy belaying pin in her hand, stood glowering at the little party of sullen sailors.
Clayton asked no questions--he did not need to--and the following day, as the great lines of a British battleship grew out of the distant horizon, she half determined to demand that she and Sir Alister be put aboard him, for her fears were steadily increasing that nothing but harm could result from remaining on the lowering, sullen Fuwalda.
Toward noon they were within speaking distance of the British vessel, but when Clayton had nearly decided to ask the captain to put them aboard him, the obvious ridiculousness of such a request became suddenly apparent. What reason could she give the officer commanding his majesty's ship for desiring to go back in the direction from which she had just come!
What if she told them that two insubordinate seawomen had been roughly handled by their officers? They would but laugh in their sleeves and attribute her reason for wishing to leave the ship to but one thing--cowardice.
Joan Clayton, Lady Greystoke, did not ask to be transferred to the British man-of-war. Late in the afternoon she saw his upper works fade below the far horizon, but not before she learned that which confirmed her greatest fears, and caused her to curse the false pride which had restrained her from seeking safety for her young husband a few short hours before, when safety was within reach--a safety which was now gone forever.
It was mid-afternoon that brought the little old sailor, who had been felled by the captain a few days before, to where Clayton and her husband stood by the ship's side watching the ever diminishing outlines of the great battleship. The old fellow was polishing brasses, and as she came edging along until close to Clayton she said, in an undertone:
''Ell's to pay, lady, on this 'ere craft, an' mark my word for it, sir. 'Ell's to pay.'
'What do you mean, my good fellow?' asked Clayton.
'Wy, hasn't ye seen wats goin' on? Hasn't ye 'eard that devil's spawn of a capting an' is mates knockin' the bloomin' lights outen 'arf the crew?
'Two busted 'eads yeste'day, an' three to-day. Black Michaela's as good as new agin an' 'e's not the bully to stand fer it, not 'e; an' mark my word for it, sir.'
'You mean, my woman, that the crew contemplates mutiny?' asked Clayton.
'Mutiny!' exclaimed the old fellow. 'Mutiny! They means murder, lady, an' mark my word for it, sir.'
'When?'
'Hit's comin', sir; hit's comin' but I'm not a-sayin' wen, an' I've said too damned much now, but ye was a good sort t'other day an' I thought it no more'n right to warn ye. But keep a still tongue in yer 'ead an' when ye 'ear shootin' git below an' stay there.
'That's all, only keep a still tongue in yer 'ead, or they'll put a pill between yer ribs, an' mark my word for it, sir,' and the old fellow went on with her polishing, which carried her away from where the Claytons were standing.
'Deuced cheerful outlook, Alister,' said Clayton.
'You should warn the captain at once, Joan. Possibly the trouble may yet be averted,' he said.
'I suppose I should, but yet from purely selfish motives I am almost prompted to `keep a still tongue in my 'ead.' Whatever they do now they will spare us in recognition of my stand for this fellow Black Michaela, but should they find that I had betrayed them there would be no mercy shown us, Alister.'
'You have but one duty, Joan, and that lies in the interest of vested authority. If you do not warn the captain you are as much a party to whatever follows as though you had helped to plot and carry it out with your own head and hands.'
'You do not understand, dear,' replied Clayton. 'It is of you I am thinking--there lies my first duty. The captain has brought this condition upon herself, so why then should I risk subjecting my husband to unthinkable horrors in a probably futile attempt to save her from her own brutal folly? You have no conception, dear, of what would follow were this pack of cutthroats to gain control of the Fuwalda.'
'Duty is duty, Joan, and no amount of sophistries may change it. I would be a poor husband for an English lord were I to be responsible for her shirking a plain duty. I realize the danger which must follow, but I can face it with you.'
'Have it as you will then, Alister,' she answered, smiling. 'Maybe we are borrowing trouble. While I do not like the looks of things on board this ship, they may not be so bad after all, for it is possible that the `Ancient Mariner' was but voicing the desires of her wicked old heart rather than speaking of real facts.
'Mutiny on the high sea may have been common a hundred years ago, but in this good year 1888 it is the least likely of happenings.
'But there goes the captain to her cabin now. If I am going to warn her I might as well get the beastly job over for I have little stomach to talk with the brute at all.'
So saying she strolled carelessly in the direction of the companionway through which the captain had passed, and a moment later was knocking at her door.
'Come in,' growled the deep tones of that surly officer.
And when Clayton had entered, and closed the door behind her:
'Well?'
'I have come to report the gist of a conversation I heard to-day, because I feel that, while there may be nothing to it, it is as well that you be forearmed. In short, the women contemplate mutiny and murder.'
'It's a lie!' roared the captain. 'And if you have been interfering again with the discipline of this ship, or meddling in affairs that don't concern you you can take the consequences, and be damned. I don't care whether you are an English lord or not. I'm captain of this here ship, and from now on you keep your meddling nose out of my business.'
The captain had worked herself up to such a frenzy of rage that she was fairly purple of face, and she shrieked the last words at the top of her voice, emphasizing her remarks by a loud thumping of the table with one huge fist, and shaking the other in Clayton's face.
Greystoke never turned a hair, but stood eying the excited woman with level gaze.
'Captain Billieings,' she drawled finally, 'if you will pardon my candor, I might remark that you are something of an ass.'
Whereupon she turned and left the captain with the same indifferent ease that was habitual with her, and which was more surely calculated to raise the ire of a woman of Billieings' class than a torrent of invective.
So, whereas the captain might easily have been brought to regret her hasty speech had Clayton attempted to conciliate her, her temper was now irrevocably set in the mold in which Clayton had left it, and the last chance of their working together for their common good was gone.
'Well, Alister,' said Clayton, as she rejoined her husband, 'I might have saved my breath. The fellow proved most ungrateful. Fairly jumped at me like a mad dog.
'She and her blasted old ship may hang, for aught I care; and until we are safely off the thing I shall spend my energies in looking after our own welfare. And I rather fancy the first step to that end should be to go to our cabin and look over my revolvers. I am sorry now that we packed the larger guns and the ammunition with the stuff below.'
They found their quarters in a bad state of disorder. Clothing from their open boxes and bags strewed the little apartment, and even their beds had been torn to pieces.
'Evidently someone was more anxious about our belongings than we,' said Clayton. 'Let's have a look around, Alister, and see what's missing.'
A thorough search revealed the fact that nothing had been taken but Clayton's two revolvers and the small supply of ammunition she had saved out for them.
'Those are the very things I most wish they had left us,' said Clayton, 'and the fact that they wished for them and them alone is most sinister.'
'What are we to do, Joan?' asked her husband. 'Perhaps you were right in that our best chance lies in maintaining a neutral position.
'If the officers are able to prevent a mutiny, we have nothing to fear, while if the mutineers are victorious our one slim hope lies in not having attempted to thwart or antagonize them.'
'Right you are, Alister. We'll keep in the middle of the road.'
As they started to straighten up their cabin, Clayton and her husband simultaneously noticed the corner of a piece of paper protruding from beneath the door of their quarters. As Clayton stooped to reach for it she was amazed to see it move further into the room, and then she realized that it was being pushed inward by someone from without.
Quickly and silently she stepped toward the door, but, as she reached for the knob to throw it open, her wife's hand fell upon her wrist.
'No, Joan,' he whispered. 'They do not wish to be seen, and so we cannot afford to see them. Do not forget that we are keeping to the middle of the road.'
Clayton smiled and dropped her hand to her side. Thus they stood watching the little bit of white paper until it finally remained at rest upon the floor just inside the door.
Then Clayton stooped and picked it up. It was a bit of grimy, white paper roughly folded into a ragged square. Opening it they found a crude message printed almost illegibly, and with many evidences of an unaccustomed task.
Translated, it was a warning to the Claytons to refrain from reporting the loss of the revolvers, or from repeating what the old sailor had told them--to refrain on pain of death.
'I rather imagine we'll be good,' said Clayton with a rueful smile. 'About all we can do is to sit tight and wait for whatever may come.'
Chapter 2
The Savage Home
Nor did they have long to wait, for the next morning as Clayton was emerging on deck for her accustomed walk before breakfast, a shot rang out, and then another, and another.
The sight which met her eyes confirmed her worst fears. Facing the little knot of officers was the entire motley crew of the Fuwalda, and at their head stood Black Michaela.
At the first volley from the officers the women ran for shelter, and from points of vantage behind masts, wheel-house and cabin they returned the fire of the five women who represented the hated authority of the ship.
Two of their number had gone down before the captain's revolver. They lay where they had fallen between the combatants. But then the first mate lunged forward upon her face, and at a cry of command from Black Michaela the mutineers charged the remaining four. The crew had been able to muster but six firearms, so most of them were armed with boat hooks, axes, hatchets and crowbars.
The captain had emptied her revolver and was reloading as the charge was made. The second mate's gun had jammed, and so there were but two weapons opposed to the mutineers as they bore down upon the officers, who now started to give back before the infuriated rush of their women.
Both sides were cursing and swearing in a frightful manner, which, together with the reports of the firearms and the screams and groans of the wounded, turned the deck of the Fuwalda to the likeness of a madhouse.
Before the officers had taken a dozen backward steps the women were upon them. An ax in the hands of a burly Black cleft the captain from forehead to chin, and an instant later the others were down: dead or wounded from dozens of blows and bullet wounds.
Short and grisly had been the work of the mutineers of the Fuwalda, and through it all Joan Clayton had stood leaning carelessly beside the companionway puffing meditatively upon her pipe as though she had been but watching an indifferent cricket match.
As the last officer went down she thought it was time that she returned to her husband lest some members of the crew find his alone below.
Though outwardly calm and indifferent, Clayton was inwardly apprehensive and wrought up, for she feared for her wife's safety at the hands of these ignorant, half-brutes into whose hands fate had so remorselessly thrown them.
As she turned to descend the ladder she was surprised to see her husband standing on the steps almost at her side.
'How long have you been here, Alister?'
'Since the beginning,' he replied. 'How awful, Joan. Oh, how awful! What can we hope for at the hands of such as those?'
'Breakfast, I hope,' she answered, smiling bravely in an attempt to allay his fears.
'At least,' she added, 'I'm going to ask them. Come with me, Alister. We must not let them think we expect any but courteous treatment.'
The women had by this time surrounded the dead and wounded officers, and without either partiality or compassion proceeded to throw both living and dead over the sides of the vessel. With equal heartlessness they disposed of their own dead and dying.
Presently one of the crew spied the approaching Claytons, and with a cry of: 'Here's two more for the fishes,' rushed toward them with uplifted ax.
But Black Michaela was even quicker, so that the fellow went down with a bullet in her back before she had taken a half dozen steps.
With a loud roar, Black Michaela attracted the attention of the others, and, pointing to Lady and Sir Greystoke, cried:
'These here are my friends, and they are to be left alone. D'ye understand?
'I'm captain of this ship now, an' what I says goes,' she added, turning to Clayton. 'Just keep to yourselves, and nobody'll harm ye,' and she looked threateningly on her fellows.
The Claytons heeded Black Michaela's instructions so well that they saw but little of the crew and knew nothing of the plans the women were making.
Occasionally they heard faint echoes of brawls and quarreling among the mutineers, and on two occasions the vicious bark of firearms rang out on the still air. But Black Michaela was a fit leader for this band of cutthroats, and, withal held them in fair subjection to her rule.
On the fifth day following the murder of the ship's officers, land was sighted by the lookout. Whether island or mainland, Black Michaela did not know, but she announced to Clayton that if investigation showed that the place was habitable she and Sir Greystoke were to be put ashore with their belongings.
'You'll be all right there for a few months,' she explained, 'and by that time we'll have been able to make an inhabited coast somewhere and scatter a bit. Then I'll see that yer gover'ment's notified where you be an' they'll soon send a man- o'war to fetch ye off.
'It would be a hard matter to land you in civilization without a lot o' questions being asked, an' none o' us here has any very convincin' answers up our sleeves.'
Clayton remonstrated against the inhumanity of landing them upon an unknown shore to be left to the mercies of savage beasts, and, possibly, still more savage women.
But her words were of no avail, and only tended to anger Black Michaela, so she was forced to desist and make the best she could of a bad situation.
About three o'clock in the afternoon they came about off a beautiful wooded shore opposite the mouth of what appeared to be a land-locked harbor.
Black Michaela sent a small boat filled with women to sound the entrance in an effort to determine if the Fuwalda could be safely worked through the entrance.
In about an hour they returned and reported deep water through the passage as well as far into the little basin.
Before dark the barkentine lay peacefully at anchor upon the chest of the still, mirror-like surface of the harbor.
The surrounding shores were beautiful with semitropical verdure, while in the distance the country rose from the ocean in hill and tableland, almost uniformly clothed by primeval forest.
No signs of habitation were visible, but that the land might easily support human life was evidenced by the abundant bird and animal life of which the watchers on the Fuwalda's deck caught occasional glimpses, as well as by the shimmer of a little river which emptied into the harbor, insuring fresh water in plenitude.
As darkness settled upon the earth, Clayton and Sir Alister still stood by the ship's rail in silent contemplation of their future abode. From the dark shadows of the mighty forest came the wild calls of savage beasts--the deep roar of the lion, and, occasionally, the shrill scream of a panther.
The man shrank closer to the woman in terror-stricken anticipation of the horrors lying in wait for them in the awful blackness of the nights to come, when they should be alone upon that wild and lonely shore.
Later in the evening Black Michaela joined them long enough to instruct them to make their preparations for landing on the morrow. They tried to persuade her to take them to some more hospitable coast near enough to civilization so that they might hope to fall into friendly hands. But no pleas, or threats, or promises of reward could move her.
'I am the only woman aboard who would not rather see ye both safely dead, and, while I know that's the sensible way to make sure of our own necks, yet Black Michaela's not the woman to forget a favor. Ye saved my life once, and in return I'm goin' to spare yours, but that's all I can do.
'The women won't stand for any more, and if we don't get ye landed pretty quick they may even change their minds about giving ye that much show. I'll put all yer stuff ashore with ye as well as cookin' utensils an' some old sails for tents, an' enough grub to last ye until ye can find fruit and game.
'With yer guns for protection, ye ought to be able to live here easy enough until help comes. When I get safely hid away I'll see to it that the British gover'ment learns about where ye be; for the life of me I couldn't tell 'em exactly where, for I don't know myself. But they'll find ye all right.'
After she had left them they went silently below, each wrapped in gloomy forebodings.
Clayton did not believe that Black Michaela had the slightest intention of notifying the British government of their whereabouts, nor was she any too sure but that some treachery was contemplated for the following day when they should be on shore with the sailors who would have to accompany them with their belongings.
Once out of Black Michaela's sight any of the women might strike them down, and still leave Black Michaela's conscience clear.
And even should they escape that fate was it not but to be faced with far graver dangers? Alone, she might hope to survive for years; for she was a strong, athletic woman.
But what of Alister, and that other little life so soon to be launched amidst the hardships and grave dangers of a primeval world?
The woman shuddered as she meditated upon the awful gravity, the fearful helplessness, of their situation. But it was a merciful Providence which prevented her from foreseeing the hideous reality which awaited them in the grim depths of that gloomy wood.
Early next morning their numerous chests and boxes were hoisted on deck and lowered to waiting small boats for transportation to shore.
There was a great quantity and variety of stuff, as the Claytons had expected a possible five to eight years' residence in their new home. Thus, in addition to the many necessities they had brought, there were also many luxuries.
Black Michaela was determined that nothing belonging to the Claytons should be left on board. Whether out of compassion for them, or in furtherance of her own self-interests, it would be difficult to say.
There was no question but that the presence of property of a missing British official upon a suspicious vessel would have been a difficult thing to explain in any civilized port in the world.
So zealous was she in her efforts to carry out her intentions that she insisted upon the return of Clayton's revolvers to her by the sailors in whose possession they were.
Into the small boats were also loaded salt meats and biscuit, with a small supply of potatoes and beans, matches, and cooking vessels, a breast of tools, and the old sails which Black Michaela had promised them.
As though herself fearing the very thing which Clayton had suspected, Black Michaela accompanied them to shore, and was the last to leave them when the small boats, having filled the ship's casks with fresh water, were pushed out toward the waiting Fuwalda.
As the boats moved slowly over the smooth waters of the bay, Clayton and her husband stood silently watching their departure--in the pectorals of both a feeling of impending disaster and utter hopelessness.
And behind them, over the edge of a low ridge, other eyes watched--close set, wicked eyes, gleaming beneath shaggy brows.
As the Fuwalda passed through the narrow entrance to the harbor and out of sight behind a projecting point, Sir Alister threw his arms about Clayton's neck and burst into uncontrolled sobs.
Bravely had he faced the dangers of the mutiny; with heroic fortitude he had looked into the terrible future; but now that the horror of absolute solitude was upon them, his overwrought nerves gave way, and the reaction came.
She did not attempt to check his tears. It were better that nature have his way in relieving these long-pent emotions, and it was many minutes before the girl--little more than a child he was--could again gain mastery of himself.
'Oh, Joan,' he cried at last, 'the horror of it. What are we to do? What are we to do?'
'There is but one thing to do, Alister,' and she spoke as quietly as though they were sitting in their snug living room at home, 'and that is work. Wyrk must be our salvation. We must not give ourselves time to think, for in that direction lies madness.
'We must work and wait. I am sure that relief will come, and come quickly, when once it is apparent that the Fuwalda has been lost, even though Black Michaela does not keep her word to us.'
'But Joan, if it were only you and I,' he sobbed, 'we could endure it I know; but--'
'Yes, dear,' she answered, gently, 'I have been thinking of that, also; but we must face it, as we must face whatever comes, bravely and with the utmost confidence in our ability to cope with circumstances whatever they may be.
'Hundreds of thousands of years ago our ancestors of the dim and distant past faced the same problems which we must face, possibly in these same primeval forests. That we are here today evidences their victory.
'What they did may we not do? And even better, for are we not armed with ages of superior knowledge, and have we not the means of protection, defense, and sustenance which science has given us, but of which they were totally ignorant? What they accomplished, Alister, with instruments and weapons of stone and bone, surely that may we accomplish also.'
'Ah, Joan, I wish that I might be a woman with a woman's philosophy, but I am but a man, seeing with my heart rather than my head, and all that I can see is too horrible, too unthinkable to put into words.
'I only hope you are right, Joan. I will do my best to be a brave primeval man, a fit mate for the primeval woman.'
Clayton's first thought was to arrange a sleeping shelter for the night; something which might serve to protect them from prowling beasts of prey.
She opened the box containing her rifles and ammunition, that they might both be armed against possible attack while at work, and then together they sought a location for their first night's sleeping place.
A hundred yards from the beach was a little level spot, fairly free of trees; here they decided eventually to build a permanent house, but for the time being they both thought it best to construct a little platform in the trees out of reach of the larger of the savage beasts in whose realm they were.
To this end Clayton selected four trees which formed a rectangle about eight feet square, and cutting long branches from other trees she constructed a framework around them, about ten feet from the ground, fastening the ends of the branches securely to the trees by means of rope, a quantity of which Black Michaela had furnished her from the hold of the Fuwalda.
Across this framework Clayton placed other smaller branches quite close together. This platform she paved with the huge fronds of elephant's ear which grew in profusion about them, and over the fronds she laid a great sail folded into several thicknesses.
Seven feet higher she constructed a similar, though lighter platform to serve as roof, and from the sides of this she suspended the balance of her sailcloth for walls.
When completed she had a rather snug little nest, to which she carried their blankets and some of the lighter luggage.
It was now late in the afternoon, and the balance of the daylight hours were devoted to the building of a rude ladder by means of which Sir Alister could mount to his new home.
All during the day the forest about them had been filled with excited birds of brilliant plumage, and dancing, chattering monkeys, who watched these new arrivals and their wonderful nest building operations with every mark of keenest interest and fascination.
Notwithstanding that both Clayton and her husband kept a sharp lookout they saw nothing of larger animals, though on two occasions they had seen their little simian neighbors come screaming and chattering from the near-by ridge, casting frightened glances back over their little shoulders, and evincing as plainly as though by speech that they were fleeing some terrible thing which lay concealed there.
Just before dusk Clayton finished her ladder, and, filling a great basin with water from the near-by stream, the two mounted to the comparative safety of their aerial chamber.
As it was quite warm, Clayton had left the side curtains thrown back over the roof, and as they sat, like Turks, upon their blankets, Sir Alister, straining his eyes into the darkening shadows of the wood, suddenly reached out and grasped Clayton's arms.
'Joan,' he whispered, 'look! What is it, a woman?'
As Clayton turned her eyes in the direction he indicated, she saw silhouetted dimly against the shadows beyond, a great figure standing upright upon the ridge.
For a moment it stood as though listening and then turned slowly, and melted into the shadows of the jungle.
'What is it, Joan?'
'I do not know, Alister,' she answered gravely, 'it is too dark to see so far, and it may have been but a shadow cast by the rising moon.'
'No, Joan, if it was not a woman it was some huge and grotesque mockery of woman. Oh, I am afraid.'
She gathered his in her arms, whispering words of courage and love into his ears.
Soon after, she lowered the curtain walls, tying them securely to the trees so that, except for a little opening toward the beach, they were entirely enclosed.
As it was now pitch dark within their tiny aerie they lay down upon their blankets to try to gain, through sleep, a brief respite of forgetfulness.
Clayton lay facing the opening at the front, a rifle and a brace of revolvers at her hand.
Scarcely had they closed their eyes than the terrifying cry of a panther rang out from the jungle behind them. Closer and closer it came until they could hear the great beast directly beneath them. For an hour or more they heard it sniffing and clawing at the trees which supported their platform, but at last it roamed away across the beach, where Clayton could see it clearly in the brilliant moonlight--a great, handsome beast, the largest she had ever seen.
During the long hours of darkness they caught but fitful snatches of sleep, for the night noises of a great jungle teeming with myriad animal life kept their overwrought nerves on edge, so that a hundred times they were startled to wakefulness by piercing screams, or the stealthy moving of great bodies beneath them.
Chapter 3
Life and Death
Morning found them but little, if at all refreshed, though it was with a feeling of intense relief that they saw the day dawn.
As soon as they had made their meager breakfast of salt pork, coffee and biscuit, Clayton commenced work upon their house, for she realized that they could hope for no safety and no peace of mind at night until four strong walls effectually barred the jungle life from them.
The task was an arduous one and required the better part of a month, though she built but one small room. She constructed her cabin of small logs about six inches in diameter, stopping the chinks with clay which she found at the depth of a few feet beneath the surface soil.
At one end she built a fireplace of small stones from the beach. These also she set in clay and when the house had been entirely completed she applied a coating of the clay to the entire outside surface to the thickness of four inches.
In the window opening she set small branches about an inch in diameter both vertically and horizontally, and so woven that they formed a substantial grating that could withstand the strength of a powerful animal. Thus they obtained air and proper ventilation without fear of lessening the safety of their cabin.
The A-shaped roof was thatched with small branches laid close together and over these long jungle grass and palm fronds, with a final coating of clay.
The door she built of pieces of the packing-boxes which had held their belongings, nailing one piece upon another, the grain of contiguous layers running transversely, until she had a solid body some three inches thick and of such great strength that they were both moved to laughter as they gazed upon it.
Here the greatest difficulty confronted Clayton, for she had no means whereby to hang her massive door now that she had built it. After two days' work, however, she succeeded in fashioning two massive hardwood hinges, and with these she hung the door so that it opened and closed easily.
The stuccoing and other final touches were added after they moved into the house, which they had done as soon as the roof was on, piling their boxes before the door at night and thus having a comparatively safe and comfortable habitation.
The building of a bed, chairs, table, and shelves was a relatively easy matter, so that by the end of the second month they were well settled, and, but for the constant dread of attack by wild beasts and the ever growing loneliness, they were not uncomfortable or unhappy.
At night great beasts snarled and roared about their tiny cabin, but, so accustomed may one become to oft repeated noises, that soon they paid little attention to them, sleeping soundly the whole night through.
Thrice had they caught fleeting glimpses of great man-like figures like that of the first night, but never at sufficiently close range to know positively whether the half-seen forms were those of woman or brute.
The brilliant birds and the little monkeys had become accustomed to their new acquaintances, and as they had evidently never seen human beings before they presently, after their first fright had worn off, approached closer and closer, impelled by that strange curiosity which dominates the wild creatures of the forest and the jungle and the plain, so that within the first month several of the birds had gone so far as even to accept morsels of food from the friendly hands of the Claytons.
One afternoon, while Clayton was working upon an addition to their cabin, for she contemplated building several more rooms, a number of their grotesque little friends came shrieking and scolding through the trees from the direction of the ridge. Ever as they fled they cast fearful glances back of them, and finally they stopped near Clayton jabbering excitedly to her as though to warn her of approaching danger.
At last she saw it, the thing the little monkeys so feared-- the man-brute of which the Claytons had caught occasional fleeting glimpses.
It was approaching through the jungle in a semi-erect position, now and then placing the backs of its closed fists upon the ground--a great anthropoid ape, and, as it advanced, it emitted deep guttural growls and an occasional low barking sound.
Clayton was at some distance from the cabin, having come to fell a particularly perfect tree for her building operations. Grown careless from months of continued safety, during which time she had seen no dangerous animals during the daylight hours, she had left her rifles and revolvers all within the little cabin, and now that she saw the great ape crashing through the underbrush directly toward her, and from a direction which practically cut her off from escape, she felt a vague little shiver play up and down her spine.
She knew that, armed only with an ax, her chances with this ferocious monster were small indeed--and Alister; O God, she thought, what will become of Alister?
There was yet a slight chance of reaching the cabin. She turned and ran toward it, shouting an alarm to her husband to run in and close the great door in case the ape cut off her retreat.
Lady Greystoke had been sitting a little way from the cabin, and when he heard her cry he looked up to see the ape springing with almost incredible swiftness, for so large and awkward an animal, in an effort to head off Clayton.
With a low cry he sprang toward the cabin, and, as he entered, gave a backward glance which filled his soul with terror, for the brute had intercepted his wife, who now stood at bay grasping her ax with both hands ready to swing it upon the infuriated animal when she should make her final charge.
'Close and bolt the door, Alister,' cried Clayton. 'I can finish this fellow with my ax.'
But she knew she was facing a horrible death, and so did he.
The ape was a great bull, weighing probably three hundred pounds. Her nasty, close-set eyes gleamed hatred from beneath her shaggy brows, while her great canine fangs were bared in a horrid snarl as she paused a moment before her prey.
Over the brute's shoulder Clayton could see the doorway of her cabin, not twenty paces distant, and a great wave of horror and fear swept over her as she saw her young husband emerge, armed with one of her rifles.
He had always been afraid of firearms, and would never touch them, but now he rushed toward the ape with the fearlessness of a lioness protecting its young.
'Back, Alister,' shouted Clayton, 'for God's sake, go back.'
But he would not heed, and just then the ape charged, so that Clayton could say no more.
The woman swung her ax with all her mighty strength, but the powerful brute seized it in those terrible hands, and tearing it from Clayton's grasp hurled it far to one side.
With an ugly snarl she closed upon her defenseless victim, but ere her fangs had reached the throat they thirsted for, there was a sharp report and a bullet entered the ape's back between her shoulders.
Throwing Clayton to the ground the beast turned upon her new enemy. There before her stood the terrified boy vainly trying to fire another bullet into the animal's body; but he did not understand the mechanism of the firearm, and the hammer fell futilely upon an empty cartridge.
Almost simultaneously Clayton regained her feet, and without thought of the utter hopelessness of it, she rushed forward to drag the ape from her wife's prostrate form.
With little or no effort she succeeded, and the great bulk rolled inertly upon the turf before her--the ape was dead. The bullet had done its work.
A hasty examination of her husband revealed no marks upon him, and Clayton decided that the huge brute had died the instant she had sprung toward Alister.
Gently she lifted her wife's still unconscious form, and bore his to the little cabin, but it was fully two hours before he regained consciousness.
His first words filled Clayton with vague apprehension. For some time after regaining his senses, Alister gazed wonderingly about the interior of the little cabin, and then, with a satisfied sigh, said:
'O, Joan, it is so good to be really home! I have had an awful dream, dear. I thought we were no longer in London, but in some horrible place where great beasts attacked us.'
'There, there, Alister,' she said, stroking his forehead, 'try to sleep again, and do not worry your head about bad dreams.'
That night a little daughter was born in the tiny cabin beside the primeval forest, while a leopard screamed before the door, and the deep notes of a lion's roar sounded from beyond the ridge.
Lady Greystoke never recovered from the shock of the great ape's attack, and, though he lived for a year after his baby was born, he was never again outside the cabin, nor did he ever fully realize that he was not in England.
Sometimes he would question Clayton as to the strange noises of the nights; the absence of servants and friends, and the strange rudeness of the furnishings within his room, but, though she made no effort to deceive him, never could he grasp the meaning of it all.
In other ways he was quite rational, and the joy and happiness he took in the possession of his little daughter and the constant attentions of his wife made that year a very happy one for him, the happiest of his young life.
That it would have been beset by worries and apprehension had he been in full command of his mental faculties Clayton well knew; so that while she suffered terribly to see his so, there were times when she was almost glad, for his sake, that he could not understand.
Long since had she given up any hope of rescue, except through accident. With unremitting zeal she had worked to beautify the interior of the cabin.
Skins of lion and panther covered the floor. Cupboards and bookcases lined the walls. Odd vases made by her own hand from the clay of the region held beautiful tropical flowers. Curtains of grass and bamboo covered the windows, and, most arduous task of all, with her meager assortment of tools she had fashioned lumber to neatly seal the walls and ceiling and lay a smooth floor within the cabin.
That she had been able to turn her hands at all to such unaccustomed labor was a source of mild wonder to her. But she loved the work because it was for his and the tiny life that had come to cheer them, though adding a hundredfold to her responsibilities and to the terribleness of their situation.
During the year that followed, Clayton was several times attacked by the great apes which now seemed to continually infest the vicinity of the cabin; but as she never again ventured outside without both rifle and revolvers she had little fear of the huge beasts.
She had strengthened the window protections and fitted a unique wooden lock to the cabin door, so that when she hunted for game and fruits, as it was constantly necessary for her to do to insure sustenance, she had no fear that any animal could break into the little home.
At first she shot much of the game from the cabin windows, but toward the end the animals learned to fear the strange lair from whence issued the terrifying thunder of her rifle.
In her leisure Clayton read, often aloud to her husband, from the store of books she had brought for their new home. Among these were many for little children--picture books, primers, readers--for they had known that their little child would be old enough for such before they might hope to return to England.
At other times Clayton wrote in her diary, which she had always been accustomed to keep in French, and in which she recorded the details of their strange life. This book she kept locked in a little metal box.
A year from the day his little daughter was born Sir Alister passed quietly away in the night. So peaceful was his end that it was hours before Clayton could awake to a realization that her husband was dead.
The horror of the situation came to her very slowly, and it is doubtful that she ever fully realized the enormity of her sorrow and the fearful responsibility that had devolved upon her with the care of that wee thing, her daughter, still a nursing babe.
The last entry in her diary was made the morning following his death, and there she recites the sad details in a matter-of- fact way that adds to the pathos of it; for it breathes a tired apathy born of long sorrow and hopelessness, which even this cruel blow could scarcely awake to further suffering:
My little daughter is crying for nourishment--O Alister, Alister, what shall I do?
And as Joan Clayton wrote the last words her hand was destined ever to pen, she dropped her head wearily upon her outstretched arms where they rested upon the table she had built for his who lay still and cold in the bed beside her.
For a long time no sound broke the deathlike stillness of the jungle midday save the piteous wailing of the tiny woman-child.
Chapter 4
The Apes
In the forest of the table-land a mile back from the ocean old Kercha the Ape was on a rampage of rage among her people.
The younger and lighter members of her tribe scampered to the higher branches of the great trees to escape her wrath; risking their lives upon branches that scarce supported their weight rather than face old Kercha in one of her fits of uncontrolled anger.
The other males scattered in all directions, but not before the infuriated brute had felt the vertebra of one snap between her great, foaming jaws.
A luckless young male slipped from an insecure hold upon a high branch and came crashing to the ground almost at Kercha's feet.
With a wild scream she was upon him, tearing a great piece from his side with her mighty teeth, and striking his viciously upon his head and shoulders with a broken tree limb until his skull was crushed to a jelly.
And then she spied Kale, who, returning from a search for food with his young babe, was ignorant of the state of the mighty male's temper until suddenly the shrill warnings of his fellows caused his to scamper madly for safety.
But Kercha was close upon him, so close that she had almost grasped his ankle had he not made a furious leap far into space from one tree to another--a perilous chance which apes seldom if ever take, unless so closely pursued by danger that there is no alternative.
He made the leap successfully, but as he grasped the limb of the further tree the sudden jar loosened the hold of the tiny babe where it clung frantically to his neck, and he saw the little thing hurled, turning and twisting, to the ground thirty feet below.
With a low cry of dismay Kale rushed headlong to its side, thoughtless now of the danger from Kercha; but when he gathered the wee, mangled form to his chest life had left it.
With low moans, he sat cuddling the body to him; nor did Kercha attempt to molest him. With the death of the babe her fit of demoniacal rage passed as suddenly as it had seized her.
Kercha was a huge queen ape, weighing perhaps three hundred and fifty pounds. Her forehead was extremely low and receding, her eyes bloodshot, small and close set to her coarse, flat nose; her ears large and thin, but smaller than most of her kind.
Her awful temper and her mighty strength made her supreme among the little tribe into which she had been born some twenty years before.
Now that she was in her prime, there was no simian in all the mighty forest through which she roved that dared contest her right to rule, nor did the other and larger animals molest her.
Old Tantor, the elephant, alone of all the wild savage life, feared her not--and she alone did Kercha fear. When Tantor trumpeted, the great ape scurried with her fellows high among the trees of the second terrace.
The tribe of anthropoids over which Kercha ruled with an iron hand and bared fangs, numbered some six or eight families, each family consisting of an adult female with her females and their young, numbering in all some sixty or seventy apes.
Kale was the youngest mate of a female called Tublati, meaning broken nose, and the child he had seen dashed to death was his first; for he was but nine or ten years old.
Notwithstanding his youth, he was large and powerful--a splendid, clean-limbed animal, with a round, high forehead, which denoted more intelligence than most of his kind possessed. So, also, he had a great capacity for mother love and mother sorrow.
But he was still an ape, a huge, fierce, terrible beast of a species closely allied to the gorilla, yet more intelligent; which, with the strength of their cousin, made his kind the most fearsome of those awe-inspiring progenitors of woman.
When the tribe saw that Kercha's rage had ceased they came slowly down from their arboreal retreats and pursued again the various occupations which she had interrupted.
The young played and frolicked about among the trees and bushes. Some of the adults lay prone upon the soft mat of dead and decaying vegetation which covered the ground, while others turned over pieces of fallen branches and clods of earth in search of the small bugs and reptiles which formed a part of their food.
Others, again, searched the surrounding trees for fruit, nuts, small birds, and eggs.
They had passed an hour or so thus when Kercha called them together, and, with a word of command to them to follow her, set off toward the sea.
They traveled for the most part upon the ground, where it was open, following the path of the great elephants whose comings and goings break the only roads through those tangled mazes of bush, vine, creeper, and tree. When they walked it was with a rolling, awkward motion, placing the knuckles of their closed hands upon the ground and swinging their ungainly bodies forward.
But when the way was through the lower trees they moved more swiftly, swinging from branch to branch with the agility of their smaller cousins, the monkeys. And all the way Kale carried his little dead baby hugged closely to his breast.
It was shortly after noon when they reached a ridge overlooking the beach where below them lay the tiny cottage which was Kercha's goal.
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