Back to the Primitive
As Tarzan struck the water, his first impulse was to swim clear of the
ship and possible danger from her propellers. He knew whom to thank for
his present predicament, and as he lay in the sea, just supporting
himself by a gentle movement of his hands, his chief emotion was one of
chagrin that he had been so easily bested by Rokoff.
He lay thus for some time, watching the receding and rapidly
diminishing lights of the steamer without it ever once occurring to him
to call for help. He never had called for help in his life, and so it
is not strange that he did not think of it now. Always had he depended
upon his own prowess and resourcefulness, nor had there ever been since
the days of Kala any to answer an appeal for succor. When it did occur
to him it was too late.
There was, thought Tarzan, a possible one chance in a hundred thousand
that he might be picked up, and an even smaller chance that he would
reach land, so he determined that to combine what slight chances there
were, he would swim slowly in the direction of the coast—the ship might
have been closer in than he had known.
His strokes were long and easy—it would be many hours before those
giant muscles would commence to feel fatigue. As he swam, guided toward
the east by the stars, he noticed that he felt the weight of his shoes,
and so he removed them. His trousers went next, and he would have
removed his coat at the same time but for the precious papers in its
pocket. To assure himself that he still had them he slipped his hand in
to feel, but to his consternation they were gone.
Now he knew that something more than revenge had prompted Rokoff to
pitch him overboard—the Russian had managed to obtain possession of the
papers Tarzan had wrested from him at Bou Saada. The ape-man swore
softly, and let his coat and shirt sink into the Atlantic. Before many
hours he had divested himself of his remaining garments, and was
swimming easily and unencumbered toward the east.
The first faint evidence of dawn was paling the stars ahead of him when
the dim outlines of a low-lying black mass loomed up directly in his
track. A few strong strokes brought him to its side—it was the bottom
of a wave-washed derelict. Tarzan clambered upon it—he would rest there
until daylight at least. He had no intention to remain there inactive—a
prey to hunger and thirst. If he must die he preferred dying in action
while making some semblance of an attempt to save himself.
The sea was quiet, so that the wreck had only a gently undulating
motion, that was nothing to the swimmer who had had no sleep for twenty
hours. Tarzan of the Apes curled up upon the slimy timbers, and was
soon asleep.
The heat of the sun awoke him early in the forenoon. His first
conscious sensation was of thirst, which grew almost to the proportions
of suffering with full returning consciousness; but a moment later it
was forgotten in the joy of two almost simultaneous discoveries. The
first was a mass of wreckage floating beside the derelict in the midst
of which, bottom up, rose and fell an overturned lifeboat; the other
was the faint, dim line of a far-distant shore showing on the horizon
in the east.
Tarzan dove into the water, and swam around the wreck to the lifeboat.
The cool ocean refreshed him almost as much as would a draft of water,
so that it was with renewed vigor that he brought the smaller boat
alongside the derelict, and, after many herculean efforts, succeeded in
dragging it onto the slimy ship’s bottom. There he righted and examined
it—the boat was quite sound, and a moment later floated upright
alongside the wreck. Then Tarzan selected several pieces of wreckage
that might answer him as paddles, and presently was making good headway
toward the far-off shore.
It was late in the afternoon by the time he came close enough to
distinguish objects on land, or to make out the contour of the shore
line. Before him lay what appeared to be the entrance to a little,
landlocked harbor. The wooded point to the north was strangely
familiar. Could it be possible that fate had thrown him up at the very
threshold of his own beloved jungle! But as the bow of his boat entered
the mouth of the harbor the last shred of doubt was cleared away, for
there before him upon the farther shore, under the shadows of his
primeval forest, stood his own cabin—built before his birth by the hand
of his long-dead father, John Clayton, Lord Greystoke.
With long sweeps of his giant muscles Tarzan sent the little craft
speeding toward the beach. Its prow had scarcely touched when the
ape-man leaped to shore—his heart beat fast in joy and exultation as
each long-familiar object came beneath his roving eyes—the cabin, the
beach, the little brook, the dense jungle, the black, impenetrable
forest. The myriad birds in their brilliant plumage—the gorgeous
tropical blooms upon the festooned creepers falling in great loops from
the giant trees.
Tarzan of the Apes had come into his own again, and that all the world
might know it he threw back his young head, and gave voice to the
fierce, wild challenge of his tribe. For a moment silence reigned upon
the jungle, and then, low and weird, came an answering challenge—it was
the deep roar of Numa, the lion; and from a great distance, faintly,
the fearsome answering bellow of a bull ape.
Tarzan went to the brook first, and slaked his thirst. Then he
approached his cabin. The door was still closed and latched as he and
D’Arnot had left it. He raised the latch and entered. Nothing had been
disturbed; there were the table, the bed, and the little crib built by
his father—the shelves and cupboards just as they had stood for over
twenty-three years—just as he had left them nearly two years before.
His eyes satisfied, Tarzan’s stomach began to call aloud for
attention—the pangs of hunger suggested a search for food. There was
nothing in the cabin, nor had he any weapons; but upon a wall hung one
of his old grass ropes. It had been many times broken and spliced, so
that he had discarded it for a better one long before. Tarzan wished
that he had a knife. Well, unless he was mistaken he should have that
and a spear and bows and arrows before another sun had set—the rope
would take care of that, and in the meantime it must be made to procure
food for him. He coiled it carefully, and, throwing it about his
shoulder, went out, closing the door behind him.
Close to the cabin the jungle commenced, and into it Tarzan of the Apes
plunged, wary and noiseless—once more a savage beast hunting its food.
For a time he kept to the ground, but finally, discovering no spoor
indicative of nearby meat, he took to the trees. With the first dizzy
swing from tree to tree all the old joy of living swept over him. Vain
regrets and dull heartache were forgotten. Now was he living. Now,
indeed, was the true happiness of perfect freedom his. Who would go
back to the stifling, wicked cities of civilized man when the mighty
reaches of the great jungle offered peace and liberty? Not he.
While it was yet light Tarzan came to a drinking place by the side of a
jungle river. There was a ford there, and for countless ages the beasts
of the forest had come down to drink at this spot. Here of a night
might always be found either Sabor or Numa crouching in the dense
foliage of the surrounding jungle awaiting an antelope or a water buck
for their meal. Here came Horta, the boar, to water, and here came
Tarzan of the Apes to make a kill, for he was very empty.
On a low branch he squatted above the trail. For an hour he waited. It
was growing dark. A little to one side of the ford in the densest
thicket he heard the faint sound of padded feet, and the brushing of a
huge body against tall grasses and tangled creepers. None other than
Tarzan might have heard it, but the ape-man heard and translated—it was
Numa, the lion, on the same errand as himself. Tarzan smiled.
Presently he heard an animal approaching warily along the trail toward
the drinking place. A moment more and it came in view—it was Horta, the
boar. Here was delicious meat—and Tarzan’s mouth watered. The grasses
where Numa lay were very still now—ominously still. Horta passed
beneath Tarzan—a few more steps and he would be within the radius of
Numa’s spring. Tarzan could imagine how old Numa’s eyes were
shining—how he was already sucking in his breath for the awful roar
which would freeze his prey for the brief instant between the moment of
the spring and the sinking of terrible fangs into splintering bones.
But as Numa gathered himself, a slender rope flew through the air from
the low branches of a near-by tree. A noose settled about Horta’s neck.
There was a frightened grunt, a squeal, and then Numa saw his quarry
dragged backward up the trail, and, as he sprang, Horta, the boar,
soared upward beyond his clutches into the tree above, and a mocking
face looked down and laughed into his own.
Then indeed did Numa roar. Angry, threatening, hungry, he paced back
and forth beneath the taunting ape-man. Now he stopped, and, rising on
his hind legs against the stem of the tree that held his enemy,
sharpened his huge claws upon the bark, tearing out great pieces that
laid bare the white wood beneath.
And in the meantime Tarzan had dragged the struggling Horta to the limb
beside him. Sinewy fingers completed the work the choking noose had
commenced. The ape-man had no knife, but nature had equipped him with
the means of tearing his food from the quivering flank of his prey, and
gleaming teeth sank into the succulent flesh while the raging lion
looked on from below as another enjoyed the dinner that he had thought
already his.
It was quite dark by the time Tarzan had gorged himself. Ah, but it had
been delicious! Never had he quite accustomed himself to the ruined
flesh that civilized men had served him, and in the bottom of his
savage heart there had constantly been the craving for the warm meat of
the fresh kill, and the rich, red blood.
He wiped his bloody hands upon a bunch of leaves, slung the remains of
his kill across his shoulder, and swung off through the middle terrace
of the forest toward his cabin, and at the same instant Jane Porter and
William Cecil Clayton arose from a sumptuous dinner upon the _Lady
Alice_, thousands of miles to the east, in the Indian Ocean.
Beneath Tarzan walked Numa, the lion, and when the ape-man deigned to
glance downward he caught occasional glimpses of the baleful green eyes
following through the darkness. Numa did not roar now—instead, he moved
stealthily, like the shadow of a great cat; but yet he took no step
that did not reach the sensitive ears of the ape-man.
Tarzan wondered if he would stalk him to his cabin door. He hoped not,
for that would mean a night’s sleep curled in the crotch of a tree, and
he much preferred the bed of grasses within his own abode. But he knew
just the tree and the most comfortable crotch, if necessity demanded
that he sleep out. A hundred times in the past some great jungle cat
had followed him home, and compelled him to seek shelter in this same
tree, until another mood or the rising sun had sent his enemy away.
But presently Numa gave up the chase and, with a series of
blood-curdling moans and roars, turned angrily back in search of
another and an easier dinner. So Tarzan came to his cabin unattended,
and a few moments later was curled up in the mildewed remnants of what
had once been a bed of grasses. Thus easily did Monsieur Jean C. Tarzan
slough the thin skin of his artificial civilization, and sink happy and
contented into the deep sleep of the wild beast that has fed to
repletion. Yet a woman’s “yes” would have bound him to that other life
forever, and made the thought of this savage existence repulsive.
Tarzan slept late into the following forenoon, for he had been very
tired from the labors and exertion of the long night and day upon the
ocean, and the jungle jaunt that had brought into play muscles that he
had scarce used for nearly two years. When he awoke he ran to the brook
first to drink. Then he took a plunge into the sea, swimming about for
a quarter of an hour. Afterward he returned to his cabin, and
breakfasted off the flesh of Horta. This done, he buried the balance of
the carcass in the soft earth outside the cabin, for his evening meal.
Once more he took his rope and vanished into the jungle. This time he
hunted nobler quarry—man; although had you asked him his own opinion he
could have named a dozen other denizens of the jungle which he
considered far the superiors in nobility of the men he hunted. Today
Tarzan was in quest of weapons. He wondered if the women and children
had remained in Mbonga’s village after the punitive expedition from the
French cruiser had massacred all the warriors in revenge for D’Arnot’s
supposed death. He hoped that he should find warriors there, for he
knew not how long a quest he should have to make were the village
deserted.
The ape-man traveled swiftly through the forest, and about noon came to
the site of the village, but to his disappointment found that the
jungle had overgrown the plantain fields and that the thatched huts had
fallen in decay. There was no sign of man. He clambered about among the
ruins for half an hour, hoping that he might discover some forgotten
weapon, but his search was without fruit, and so he took up his quest
once more, following up the stream, which flowed from a southeasterly
direction. He knew that near fresh water he would be most likely to
find another settlement.
As he traveled he hunted as he had hunted with his ape people in the
past, as Kala had taught him to hunt, turning over rotted logs to find
some toothsome vermin, running high into the trees to rob a bird’s
nest, or pouncing upon a tiny rodent with the quickness of a cat. There
were other things that he ate, too, but the less detailed the account
of an ape’s diet, the better—and Tarzan was again an ape, the same
fierce, brutal anthropoid that Kala had taught him to be, and that he
had been for the first twenty years of his life.
Occasionally he smiled as he recalled some friend who might even at the
moment be sitting placid and immaculate within the precincts of his
select Parisian club—just as Tarzan had sat but a few months before;
and then he would stop, as though turned suddenly to stone as the
gentle breeze carried to his trained nostrils the scent of some new
prey or a formidable enemy.
That night he slept far inland from his cabin, securely wedged into the
crotch of a giant tree, swaying a hundred feet above the ground. He had
eaten heartily again—this time from the flesh of Bara, the deer, who
had fallen prey to his quick noose.
Early the next morning he resumed his journey, always following the
course of the stream. For three days he continued his quest, until he
had come to a part of the jungle in which he never before had been.
Occasionally upon the higher ground the forest was much thinner, and in
the far distance through the trees he could see ranges of mighty
mountains, with wide plains in the foreground. Here, in the open
spaces, were new game—countless antelope and vast herds of zebra.
Tarzan was entranced—he would make a long visit to this new world.
On the morning of the fourth day his nostrils were suddenly surprised
by a faint new scent. It was the scent of man, but yet a long way off.
The ape-man thrilled with pleasure. Every sense was on the alert as
with crafty stealth he moved quickly through the trees, up-wind, in the
direction of his prey. Presently he came upon it—a lone warrior
treading softly through the jungle.
Tarzan followed close above his quarry, waiting for a clearer space in
which to hurl his rope. As he stalked the unconscious man, new thoughts
presented themselves to the ape-man—thoughts born of the refining
influences of civilization, and of its cruelties. It came to him that
seldom if ever did civilized man kill a fellow being without some
pretext, however slight. It was true that Tarzan wished this man’s
weapons and ornaments, but was it necessary to take his life to obtain
them?
The longer he thought about it, the more repugnant became the thought
of taking human life needlessly; and thus it happened that while he was
trying to decide just what to do, they had come to a little clearing,
at the far side of which lay a palisaded village of beehive huts.
As the warrior emerged from the forest, Tarzan caught a fleeting
glimpse of a tawny hide worming its way through the matted jungle
grasses in his wake—it was Numa, the lion. He, too, was stalking the
black man. With the instant that Tarzan realized the native’s danger
his attitude toward his erstwhile prey altered completely—now he was a
fellow man threatened by a common enemy.
Numa was about to charge—there was little time in which to compare
various methods or weigh the probable results of any. And then a number
of things happened, almost simultaneously—the lion sprang from his
ambush toward the retreating black—Tarzan cried out in warning—and the
black turned just in time to see Numa halted in mid-flight by a slender
strand of grass rope, the noosed end of which had fallen cleanly about
his neck.
The ape-man had acted so quickly that he had been unable to prepare
himself to withstand the strain and shock of Numa’s great weight upon
the rope, and so it was that though the rope stopped the beast before
his mighty talons could fasten themselves in the flesh of the black,
the strain overbalanced Tarzan, who came tumbling to the ground not six
paces from the infuriated animal. Like lightning Numa turned upon this
new enemy, and, defenseless as he was, Tarzan of the Apes was nearer to
death that instant than he ever before had been. It was the black who
saved him. The warrior realized in an instant that he owed his life to
this strange white man, and he also saw that only a miracle could save
his preserver from those fierce yellow fangs that had been so near to
his own flesh.
With the quickness of thought his spear arm flew back, and then shot
forward with all the force of the sinewy muscles that rolled beneath
the shimmering ebon hide. True to its mark the iron-shod weapon flew,
transfixing Numa’s sleek carcass from the right groin to beneath the
left shoulder. With a hideous scream of rage and pain the brute turned
again upon the black. A dozen paces he had gone when Tarzan’s rope
brought him to a stand once more—then he wheeled again upon the
ape-man, only to feel the painful prick of a barbed arrow as it sank
half its length in his quivering flesh. Again he stopped, and by this
time Tarzan had run twice around the stem of a great tree with his
rope, and made the end fast.
The black saw the trick, and grinned, but Tarzan knew that Numa must be
quickly finished before those mighty teeth had found and parted the
slender cord that held him. It was a matter of but an instant to reach
the black’s side and drag his long knife from its scabbard. Then he
signed the warrior to continue to shoot arrows into the great beast
while he attempted to close in upon him with the knife; so as one
tantalized upon one side, the other sneaked cautiously in upon the
other. Numa was furious. He raised his voice in a perfect frenzy of
shrieks, growls, and hideous moans, the while he reared upon his hind
legs in futile attempt to reach first one and then the other of his
tormentors.
But at length the agile ape-man saw his chance, and rushed in upon the
beast’s left side behind the mighty shoulder. A giant arm encircled the
tawny throat, and a long blade sank once, true as a die, into the
fierce heart. Then Tarzan arose, and the black man and the white looked
into each other’s eyes across the body of their kill—and the black made
the sign of peace and friendship, and Tarzan of the Apes answered in
kind.