EXCESSIVE AFFECTION.
Philip’s dismal forebodings were destined to be realized within a very
short time. If his subjects had been impatient on the day previous
because they only saw him on the balcony, they were furious now when the
windows and doors remained closed and their king came not forth to greet
them.
From his place of refuge he could hear a murmuring sound, as of the
waves on the sea-shore; but after an hour passed this had increased to a
deafening roar, which was echoed and re-echoed from every portion of the
forest until it seemed as if the entire island must be covered with apes
searching for their ruler.
Now and then the fugitive could hear a hoarse cry, which arose above the
general din, and in it he believed he recognized Goliah’s voice. The huge
baboon, who had been only suspicious on the day previous, was probably
positive now that the king was not all he should be, and was most likely
inciting the multitude to open rebellion.
Judging from the events which followed, it was not a hard task to induce
these long-tailed subjects to rise in their might, for before noon the
attack was begun.
The apes, probably understanding that they could not learn the cause of
the king’s indisposition and sudden disappearance except by demolishing
the building which they themselves had reared, made a furious attack on
all four sides at the same moment.
From previous experience Philip knew that in this assault they must
necessarily be successful owing to their numbers, and also because it was
no longer possible for him to interpose any lengthy resistance; therefore
he remained in one corner of the kitchen, with the musket in his hands
and the small amount of ammunition in his pocket, resolved to sell his
life dearly when the supreme moment should arrive.
Against the sides of the building the heavy missiles rattled like hail;
the walls shook under the repeated blows, and now and then the crashing
and splintering of roof-timbers told that slowly but surely Philip’s
place of refuge was being reduced to a ruin.
At rare intervals the bombardment ceased as the entire army burst forth
in noisy cries of grief, deafening howls of sympathy, and groans which
were intended to be expressive of tenderness.
This mourning for their king was always followed by a more vigorous
onslaught, and, as near as Philip could judge, it was about the hour of
sunset when the building gave way beneath a shower of rocks. First a
heavy crash from above told that the roof had fallen; then the front wall
was forced in, probably burying amid its ruins the papers and books of
Captain Seaworth, and causing Philip’s hiding-place to rock to and fro
like a tree shaken by the wind.
Finally there came that which Philip had not anticipated.
Instead of the dwelling being demolished in such a manner that he was
exposed to view, the walls, besieged on every side, fell inward; and
at the last deafening crash he commended himself to God, for it seemed
positive he was buried alive.
In the brief space of time which elapsed from the first shattering of the
side-wall until the end came Philip thought, with intense relief, that he
would be crushed to death rather than murdered by those who had been so
loyal a few days previous. Then the ceiling and sides of the room burst
in, sending forth great clouds of dust, which from the outside must have
looked like smoke ascending from a funeral pyre.
The assailants were silenced—awed by their work. The building was nothing
more than a mass of ruin, but yet no trace of their king could be seen.
Looking from the outside, one would have said there could be no living
thing beneath these enormous fragments of rock and wood; and yet, strange
as it may seem, Philip was there with not so much as a single scratch
upon his body. It was destined that his life should not be taken by his
subjects during an assault planned by Goliah.
The heavy furniture, piled up from the door of the cupboard to the
corner of the room as a barricade in case the apes succeeded in entering
the building, had been sufficient to uphold the weight which fell upon
it, and the timbers of the ceiling had formed across the top a perfect
support.
The king of the apes, whose reign had been of such short duration,
was thus literally buried alive; but in this accidental tomb he had
provisions sufficient to serve him many days.
For a few moments after the falling of the timbers Philip congratulated
himself upon this fact; but his joy was short-lived. He soon realized
that unless—as was improbable—he could have aid from the outside, the
stock of provisions would simply serve to prolong his wretched life a
certain time, after which death must inevitably come.
“At all events I need not starve,” he said to himself after some
reflection, as he raised his musket; and with the knowledge that he could
invoke death before the torture of hunger and thirst became agonizing, he
grew more resigned.
Then came a long time of silence, which was finally broken by the sound
as of some one digging from above.
“Probably the night has passed, during which the apes were asleep, and
now they are searching for my body,” Philip said to himself; and although
he knew death would be inevitable in case of discovery (for the mandrill
skin had literally been torn from his body), it was with a certain sense
of relief he learned that the debris from above was being removed.
Yet one does not welcome death, however full of torture may be the
alternative; and when the noise made by the army of laborers grew more
distinct, telling that they were approaching nearer to his narrow prison
each moment, the thought of the struggle which must ensue was very
painful. With twenty cartridges he would hardly be able to hold the first
squad of laborers in check sixty seconds. Then, unarmed, he must meet
those whom he had so unwittingly deceived.
As the moments passed he was able to form a definite idea of the approach
of his enemies, for in such a light must he now consider his former
subjects. Already could he see tiny rays of light through the crevices of
the rocks and timbers, and the shower of dust which fell upon him told
that but a few feet of the debris remained between him and the open air.
Now he clutched his musket more firmly and stood on the alert, prepared
to spring forward at the instant the aperture was sufficiently large to
admit of the passage of his body, although he knew that the ruins were
surrounded by an army so great that it would be impossible to make his
way twenty feet before receiving a death-wound.
It was at this moment, when he had nerved himself for the struggle he
believed was about to ensue, that he felt, rather than heard, a noise
directly beneath his feet, and even while wondering as to the cause of it
an upheaval of the floor told that the enemy were searching for him both
above and below.
Then one of the boards upon which he stood was pushed aside, almost
overturning him, and he leveled his musket, ready to fire when they
should spring upon him out of what was evidently a tunnel.
The fragments from above had been so far removed by this time that the
darkness was partially dispersed, allowing him to see everything in the
vicinity quite distinctly.
An ape’s head presented itself from this unexpected aperture, and, in
order to save his ammunition as far as possible, Philip raised his musket
to strike. Another instant and there would have been one ape the less on
the island—an event well calculated to plunge the prisoner into an agony
of grief.
It was the chimpanzee, Ben Bolt, and not one of Goliah’s adherents, who
had thus come from the very earth, as it were; and an instant later the
besieged youth was shaking the animal by the paw as if he were a human
being, for there could be no question but that the two chimpanzees had
formed some plan to extricate their old master from his perilous position.
There was no time to be wasted in ceremonies, however. The laborers above
had so nearly reached the tiny place of refuge that fragments of stone
were already falling between the timbers, and the chimpanzee realized
quite as well as did Philip that to make this means of escape practicable
they must beat an immediate retreat.
The former stood at the edge of the tunnel and pointed downward with an
impatient gesture.
Philip descended into a narrow excavation barely large enough to admit of
his crawling on his hands and knees; and here, as if waiting for him, was
the other chimpanzee, who immediately led the way through the passage,
assuring herself that he would follow by winding her long tail around his
neck in such a manner that he must perforce be dragged if he could not
creep.
Had a spectator been in the place so lately occupied by Philip he would
have seen Ben Bolt pull the furniture together even above his head, and
then, retreating into the hole, drag some of the floor-boards after him
to hide the existence of the tunnel.
In this he displayed reasoning powers beyond a peradventure, for those
who were working above would, on reaching the bottom, find no evidences
of an excavation, and it was hardly probable they would pursue their
investigation any further than the floor of the room.