the above; adding that the ourang-outang, or red gorilla, which he calls
_mias_, is a match, and more than a match, for any animal it may
encounter in forest or jungle; and that the only two creatures which
dare attack it are the crocodile and the great _ular_ or _python_, the
latter a serpent of the boa-constructor kind, with one of which our
castaways had already formed acquaintance. But the Bornean bee-hunter,
usually a Dyak, will also tell you that in these conflicts the red
gorilla is the victor, though each of the two great reptile antagonists
that attack it is often thirty feet in length, with a girth almost
equalling its own. Only fancy a snake ten yards long, and a lizard the
same; either of which would reach from end to end of the largest room in
which you may be seated, or across the street in which you may be
walking! You will seldom find such specimens in our museums; for they
are not often encountered by our naturalists or secured by our
travellers. But take my word for it, there are such serpents and such
lizards in existence, ay, and much larger ones. They may be found not
only in the tropical isles of the Orient, but in the Western world, in
the lagoons and forests of Equatorial America. Many of the "sailors'
yarns" of past times, which we have been accustomed so flippantly to
discredit, on account of their appearing rather tough, have under the
light of recent scientific exploration been proved true.
And although some of them may seem to be incorporated in this narrative,
under the guise of mere romance, the reader need not on this account
think himself misled, or treat them with sublime contempt. If it should
ever be his fate or fortune to make a tour through the East Indian
Archipelago, he will cease to be incredulous.
Henry Redwood and his sister Helen had no such tranquil reflections, as
they stood under the shadow of the great tree, concealing themselves
behind its trunk, and watching the terrible conflict between the two
huge creatures, both in their eyes equally hideous.
Giving way to an instinct of justice, they would have taken sides with
the party assailed and against the assailant. But, under the
circumstances, their leanings were the very reverse; for in the
triumphant conqueror they saw a continuance of their own danger;
whereas, had the amphibious animal been victorious, this would have been
at an end. The strife now terminated, they stood trembling and
uncertain as ever.
The crocodile, although crushed, and no longer dangerous for any
offensive manoeuvre, was not killed. Its body still writhed and
wriggled upon the ground; though its movements were but the agonised
efforts of mortal pain, excited convulsively and each moment becoming
feebler.
And the red gorilla stood near, squatted on its haunches; at intervals
tossing its long hairy arms around its head, and giving utterance to
that strange coughing laughter, as if it would never leave off exulting
over the victory it had achieved. How long was this spectacle to last?
It was sufficiently horrid for the spectators to desire its speedy
termination.
And yet they did not; they were in hopes it might continue till a voice
coming from the forest, or the tread of a foot, would tell them that
help was near.
Tremblingly but attentively they listened. They heard neither one nor
the other--neither voice nor footstep. Now and then came the note of a
bird or the cry of some four-footed creature prowling through the
glades; but not uttered in accents of alarm. The hunters must have
wandered far in their search for game. They might not return in time.
Again Henry bethought him of firing the musket to give them a signal.
But even if heard, it might not have this effect. They knew that he was
able to hold and handle the great gun, and might think some bird or
animal had come near and tempted him to take a shot at it.
On the other hand, the report would strike upon the ears of the mias,
might distract it from the triumph in which it was indulging, and bring
it to the spot where they were standing. Then, with an empty gun in his
hand, what defence could the youth make, either for himself or for his
sister?
To fire the gun would never do. Better leave the trigger unpulled, and
trust to Providence for protection.
And then, as the brave boy reflected on the many dangers through which
they had passed, and how they had always been delivered by some
fortunate interposition, he knew it must be the hand of Providence, and
was content to rely upon it again.
He said so to his little sister, whispering consolation, as with one
hand he drew her close to him, the other resting upon the musket. And
Helen whispered back a pious response, as she nestled upon the breast of
her brother.
A moment more, and the faith of both was submitted to a severe trial.
The red gorilla, after gloating for a long time over the agonised
contortions of its disabled enemy, seemed at length satisfied that it
was disabled to death, and facing toward the forest, showed signs of an
intention to take its departure from the spot.
Now came the crisis for Henry and Helen. Which way would the animal
take?
They had not time to exchange question and answer--scarce time even to
shape them in their thoughts--when they saw the red satyr turn to the
tree behind which they were standing, and come directly toward them.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
A CAPTIVE CARRIED ALOFT.
"We are lost!" were the words that rushed from Henry Redwood's lips.
They came involuntarily; for, as soon as said, he regretted them, seeing
how much they added to the alarm of his sister. It was a crisis in
which she needed rather to be inspired to confidence by words of
encouragement.
They were said, however, and he could not recall them. He had no time
to speak of anything, or to think of what course they should now pursue.
Coming straight toward the tree with an awkward, shambling, but speedy
gait withal, the monster would soon reach the spot where they stood.
Its movements showed it to be in a state of excitement--the natural
consequence of its late conflict with the crocodile. If seen, they
would come in for a share of its anger, already roused.
If seen! They were almost sure of being seen. They were endeavouring
to avoid it by keeping on the other side of the tree, and screening
themselves among the parasitical plants. But the concealment was
slight, and would not avail them if the animal should pass the trunk and
look around after passing. And now it was making straight for the tree,
apparently with the design of ascending it.
At this crisis Henry once more bethought him of running away and taking
Helen with him. He now regretted not having done so sooner. Even to be
lost in the forest would have been a less danger than that which now
threatened them.
A glance told him it would be too late. There was an open space beyond
and all around the trunk behind which they had taken shelter. Should
they attempt to escape, the ape would be certain of seeing them before
they could get under cover of the woods, and, as they supposed, might
easily overtake them in their flight.
Another tree was near, connecting that under which they stood with the
adjoining forest. But it was in a side direction, and they would be
seen before reaching it. There was no alternative but to risk a chase,
or stay where they were, and take the chances of not being seen by the
horrid creature that was approaching. They chose the latter.
Silently they stood, hands clasped and close to the stem of the tree, on
the side opposite to that on which the gorilla was advancing. They no
longer saw it; for now they dared not look around the trunk, or even
peep through the leaves of the orchids, lest their faces might betray
them.
After all, the ape might pass into the forest without observing them.
If it did, the danger would be at an end; if not, the brave boy had
summoned up all his energies to meet and grapple with it. He held the
loaded musket in his hand, ready at a moment's notice to raise it to the
level and fire into the face of the red-haired satyr.
They waited in breathless silence, though each could hear the beating of
the other's heart.
It was torture to stand thus uncertain; and, as if to continue it, the
animal was a long time in getting to the tree. Had it stopped, or
turned off some other way?
Henry was tempted to peep round the trunk and satisfy himself. He was
about to do this, when a scratching on the other side fell upon their
ears. It was the claws of the mias rasping against the bark. The next
moment the sound seemed higher up, and they were made aware that the
creature was ascending the tree.
Henry was already congratulating himself on this event. The ape might
go up without seeing them; and as the tree was a very tall one, with a
thick head of foliage and matted creepers, once among these, it might no
longer think of looking down. Then they could steal away unobserved,
and, keeping at a safe distance, await the return of the hunters.
At this moment, however, an incident arose that interfered with this
desirable programme, in an instant changing the position of everything
that promised so well into a sad and terrible catastrophe.
It was Murtagh who caused, though innocently, the lamentable diversion.
The ship-carpenter, returning from his excursion, had just stumbled upon
the crocodile where it lay upon the shore of the lake, which, though
helpless to return to its proper element, was not yet dead. With jaw
torn and dislocated, it was still twisting its body about in the last
throes of the death-struggle.
Not able to account for the spectacle of ruin thus presented, it caused
the Irishman much surprise, not unmingled with alarm--the latter
increasing as he looked towards the tree where Henry and Helen had been
left, and saw they were no longer there.
Had he prudently held his peace, perhaps all might have been well; but,
catching sight of the huge hairy monster ascending the trunk, the
thought flashed across his mind that the young people had been already
destroyed, perhaps devoured, by it; and, giving way to this terrible
fancy, he uttered a dread cry of despair.
It was the worst thing he could have done; for, despite the discouraging
tone of his voice, it seemed joyful to those crouching in concealment;
and, yielding to an instinct that they were now saved by the presence of
a stanch protector, they rushed from their ambuscade, and in so doing
discovered themselves to the ourang-outang.
Its eyes were upon them--dark, demon-like orbs, that seemed to
scintillate sparks of fire. The gorilla had only gone up the trunk to a
height of about twenty feet, when the cry of the alarmed ship-carpenter
brought its ascent to a sudden stop; then, bringing its body half round,
and looking below, it saw the children.
As if connecting them with the enemy it had just conquered, its angry
passions seemed to rekindle; and once more giving utterance to that
strange barking cough, it glided down the tree, and made direct for the
one who was nearest.
As ill luck would have it, this chanced to be the little Helen,
altogether defenceless and unarmed. Murtagh, still shouting, rushed to
the rescue; while Henry, with his musket raised to his shoulder,
endeavoured to get between the ape and its intended victim, so that he
could fire right into the face of the assailant, without endangering the
life of his sister.
He would have been in time had the gun proved true, which it did not.
It was an old flint musket, and the priming had got damp during their
journey through the moist tropical forest. As he pulled trigger, there
was not even a flash in the pan; and although he instinctively grasped
the gun by its barrel, and, using it as a club, commenced belabouring
the hairy giant over the head, his blows were of no more avail than if
directed against the trunk of the tree itself.
Once, twice, three times the butt of the gun descended upon the skull of
the satyr, protected by its thick shock of coarse red hair; but before a
fourth blow could be given, the ape threw out one of its immense arms,
and carrying it round in a rapid sweep, caught the form of the girl in
its embrace, and then, close hugging her against its hairy breast,
commenced reascending the tree.
Shouts and shrieks were of no avail to detain the horrid abductor. Nor
yet the boy's strength, exerted to its utmost. His strength alone; for
Murtagh was not yet up. Henry seized the gorilla's leg, and clung to it
as long as ever he could. He was dragged several feet up the trunk; but
a kick from the gorilla shook him off, and he fell, stunned and almost
senseless, to the earth.
CHAPTER THIRTY.
WHAT WILL BECOME OF HER?
It would be impossible to paint the despair that wrung her brother's
heart, as he stood with upturned face and eyes bent upon a scene in
which he had no longer the power to take part.
Not much less intense was the agonised emotion of Murtagh; for little
Helen was almost as dear to the Irishman as if she had been his own
daughter.
Neither could have any other thought than that the child was lost beyond
hope of recovery. She would either be torn to pieces by the claws of
the monster, or by its great yellow teeth, already displayed to their
view, and flung in mangled fragments to the ground. They actually stood
for some time in expectation of seeing this sad catastrophe; and it
would be vain to attempt any description of their emotions.
It was no relief when the two hunters came up, as they did at that
instant, on their return from the chase. Their approach for the last
two or three hundred yards had been hastened into a run by the shrieks
of Helen and the shouts of Henry and Murtagh. Their arrival only added
two new figures to the tableau of distress, and two voices to its
expression.
The ape could still be seen through the foliage ascending to the top of
the tree; but Captain Redwood felt that the rifle he held in his hands,
though sure of aim and fatal in effect, was of no more use than if it
had been a piece of wood.
Saloo had the same feeling in regard to his blow-gun. The rifle might
send a deadly bullet through the skull of the gorilla, and the latter
pierce its body with an arrow that would carry a quick-spreading poison
through its veins.
But to what purpose, even though they could be certain of killing it?
Its death would be also the death of the child. She was still living,
and apparently unhurt; for they could see her moving, and hear her
voice, as she was carried onward and upward in that horrible embrace.
Captain Redwood dared not send a bullet nor Saloo an arrow. Slight as
the chances were of saving the girl, either would have made them
slighter. A successful shot of the rifle or puff of the blow-gun would
be as fatal to the abducted as the abductor; and the former, with or
without the latter, would be certain to fall to the foot of the tree.
It was a hundred feet sheer from the point which the ape had attained to
the ground. The child would not only be killed, but crushed to a
shapeless mass.
Ah me! what a terrible scene for her father! What a spectacle for him
to contemplate!
And as he stood in unutterable agony, his companions gathered around,
all helpless and irresolute as to how they should act, they saw the ape
suddenly change his direction, and move outward from the trunk of the
tree along one of its largest limbs. This trended off in a nearly
horizontal direction, at its end interlocking with a limb of the
neighbouring tree, which stretched out as if to shake hands with it.
A distance of more than fifty feet lay between the two trunks, but their
branches met in close embrace.
The purpose of the ape was apparent. It designed passing from one to
the other, and thence into the depths of the forest.
The design was quickly followed by its execution. As the spectators
rushed to the side by which the gorilla was retreating, they saw it lay
hold of the interlocking twigs, draw the branch nearer, bridge the space
between with its long straggling arm, and then bound from one to the
other with the agility of a squirrel.
And this with the use of only one arm, for by the other the child was
still carried in the same close hug. Its legs acted as arms, and for
travelling through the tree-tops three were sufficient.
On into the heart of the deep foliage of the second tree, and without a
pause on into the next; along another pair of counterpart limbs, which,
intertwining their leafy sprays and boughs, still further into the
forest, all the time bearing its precious burden along with it.
The agonised father ran below, rifle in hand. He might as well have
been without one, for all the use he dared to make of it.
And Henry, too, followed with the ship's musket. True, it had missed
fire, and the damp priming was still in the pan. Damp or dry, it now
mattered not. Saloo's sumpitan was an equally ineffective weapon.
Murtagh with his fishing-hooks might as well have thought of capturing
the monster with a bait.
On it scrambled from tree to tree, and on ran the pursuers underneath,
yet with no thought of being able to stay its course. They were carried
forward by the mere mechanical instinct to keep it in sight, with
perhaps some slight hope that in the end something might occur--some
interruption might arise by which they would be enabled to effect a
rescue of the child from its horrible captor.
It was at best but a faint consolation. Nor would they have cherished
it, but for their trust in a higher power than their own. Of themselves
they knew they could not let or hinder the abductor in its flight.
All felt their own helplessness. But it is just in that supreme moment,
when man feels his utter weakness, that his vague trust in a superior
Being becomes a devout and perfect faith.
Captain Redwood was not what is usually called a religious man, meaning
thereby a strict adherent to the Church, and a regular observer of its
ordinances. For all this he was a firm believer in the existence of a
providential and protecting power.
His exclamations were many, and not very coherent; but their burden was
ever a prayer to God for the preservation of his daughter.
"Helen, my child! Helen! What will become of her? O Father! O God,
protect her!"
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
THE PURSUIT ARRESTED.
From branch to branch, and tree to tree, the red gorilla continued its
swift advance; still bearing with it the little Helen.
From trunk to trunk, the pursuers crawled through the underwood beneath,
feeling as helpless as ever.
What was to be the end of this strangely singular pursuit they could not
tell, for they had never before--and perhaps no man at any time had--
taken part in such a chase, or even heard of one so terrible.
They could offer no conjecture as to what might be its termination; but
moved forward mechanically, keeping the gorilla in sight.
Was Helen yet living, or was she dead? No cry came from her lips, no
word, no sound! Had the life been crushed out of her body by the
pressure of that strong muscular arm, twined round her like the limb of
an oak? Or was the silence due to temporary loss of feeling?
She might well have swooned away in such a situation; and her father,
struggling with faint hopes, would have been glad to think this was
indeed the case.
No signs could be gained from what they heard, and none from what they
saw. They were now passing through the very depth of the forest--a
tropical forest, with the trees meeting overhead, and not a speck of sky
visible through the interwoven branches, loaded with their thick
festoons of leaves and lianas.
They were gliding through dense arcades, lit up with just sufficient
sunshine to wear the sombre shadows of a dusky twilight. There were
even places where the retreating form of the ape could not have been
distinguishable in the obscurity, but for the white drapery of the
child's dress, now torn into shreds, and flaunting like streamers behind
it. These luckily served as a beacon to guide them on through the
gloom.
Now and then the chase led them into less shady depths, where the
sunlight fell more freely through the leafy screen above. At such
points they could obtain a better view, both of the red abductor and its
captive.
But even then only a glimpse--the speed at which the gorilla was going,
as well as the foliage that intervened, preventing any lengthened
observation.
Nor were the pursuers at any time able to get sight of the child's face.
It appeared to be turned toward the animal's breast, her head buried in
its coarse shaggy hair, with which her own tresses were mingled in
strange contrast.
Even her form could not be clearly distinguished. As far as they could
decide by their occasional glimpses, they thought she was still alive.
The brute did not seem to treat her with any malevolent violence. Only
in a rude uncouth way; which, however, might suffice to cause the death
of one so young and frail.
To depict the feelings of her father, under such circumstances, would be
a task the most eloquent pen could not successfully attempt. Agony like
his can never be described. Language possesses not the power. There
are thoughts which lie too deep for words; passions whose expression
defies the genius of the artist or the poet.
Perhaps he was hindered from realising the full measure of his
bereavement during the first moments of the pursuit. The excitement of
the chase, and the incidents attending it--the hope still remaining that
some chance would arise in their favour--the certainty, soon
ascertained, that they could keep up with the ape, which, despite its
agility in the trees, cannot outstrip a man pursuing it along the
ground,--all these circumstances had hitherto withheld him from giving
way to utter despair.
But the time had come when even these slight supports were to fail.
It was when they arrived upon the brink of a lagoon, and a water-surface
gleamed before their eyes; reflected by a daylight that struggled dimly
down through the tops of the tall trees.
The trees rose out of the water, their trunks wide apart, but their
branches intermingling.
The path of our pursuers was interrupted--they saw it at once--but that
of the pursued seemed continuous as before.
They were arrested suddenly on the brink of the lagoon, apparently with
no chance of proceeding farther. They saw the red gorilla still
climbing among the trees, with the white drapery streaming behind it.
Soon they saw it not--only heard the crackle of twigs, and the swishing
recoil of the branches, as its huge body swung from tree to tree.
The monster was now out of sight, along with its victim--a victim, in
very truth, whether living or dead!
But for the support of Murtagh and Saloo, Captain Redwood would have
fallen to the earth. In their arms he sobbed and gasped,--
"Helen! my child, Helen! What will become of her? O Father! O God,
protect her!"
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
LISTENING IN DESPAIR.
For some seconds Captain Redwood was powerless in a frenzy of despair.
Henry was equally overcome by grief truly agonising. It was to both
father and son a moment of the most unutterable anguish.
Helen, the dear daughter and sister, carried out of their sight,
apparently beyond reach of pursuit. And in the arms of a hideous
creature which was neither wholly man nor wholly beast, but combined the
worst attributes of each.
Perhaps she was already dead within the loathsome embrace--her tender
body soon to be torn to pieces, or tossed from the top of some tall
tree; to be crushed and mangled on the earth, or thrown with a plunge
into the cold dark waters of that dismal lagoon, never more to be seen
or heard of.
These were horrid thoughts and hideous images which rushed rapidly
through their minds as they stood in the sombre shadow, picturing to
themselves her too probable fate. It was no longer a question about her
life.
They knew, or believed, her to be dead. They only thought of what was
to become of her body; what chance there might be of recovering and
giving it the sacred rights of sepulture. Even this slight consolation
occupied the mind of the distracted father.
The Malay, well acquainted with the habits of the great man-ape, could
give no answer. He only knew that the child's body would not be eaten
up by it; since the red gorilla is never known to feed upon flesh--fruit
and vegetables being its only diet.
The whole thing was perplexing him, as an occurrence altogether unusual.
He had known of people being killed and torn to pieces by the animal in
its anger; but never of one being carried up into the trees.
Usually these animals will not volunteer an attack upon man, and are
only violent when assailed. Then, indeed, are they terrible in their
strength as in their ferocity.
The one now encountered must have been infuriated by its fight with the
crocodile; and coming straight from the encounter, had in some way
connected the children with its conquered enemy. Murtagh's shout might
have freshly incensed it; or, what to Saloo seemed more probable than
all, the seizure of the child might be a wild freak suddenly striking
the brain of the enraged satyr.
He had heard of such eccentricities on the part of the ourang-outang,
and there is a belief among the Dyak hunters that the mias sometimes
goes _mad_, just as men do.