THE NIGHT IN THE JUNGLE
It seemed as if I had been in the tree for an age when the sun finally
sank behind the hill. For long the twilight had been dim in the jungle,
and creepers and shadows made a picture of grotesque forms, wrapped
about and hung as if with serpents, like a weird conception by Doré.
There was rarely a sound. It seemed like the hour when the day-creatures
crept stealthily home to caves and covers, afraid they were already too
late and sure to be overtaken by the prowlers of the darkness.
Once I had a fearful up-welling of excitement suddenly flood my being
and make my heart to thump heavily. An armadillo came trotting quietly
into the open space below me. The movement was what caught my glance,
and for the second I thought only of the tiger. Then the little animal
sniffed that gory object and darted instantly away.
The darkness increased. Some early complainer howled out a dismal note.
Now and then there came a rustling sound from the trees or vines. An
hour after the darkness became complete, I heard a pounce, a struggle,
the quiet moan-cry of something which gave up its life, and it made a
chill go down my back and spread through my nerves. Sounds of birds in
the air and forest—inhabitants hiding in the trees, came occasionally,
now, with surprising distinctness. All of this kept me in a high state
of tension. I wished myself anywhere on earth other than where I was. I
confess the woods at night, where merely bears and owls were at large,
had awed me earlier in life, and this jungle, alive with poisonous
reptiles and blood-hungry animals, terrified me beyond expression. If I
had only had a companion, if there had even been another man awaiting my
return—somebody to talk to, somebody to think about rejoining, or even a
soul who would dare to hunt for my body if I never returned,—it would
have been a little comforting at least.
I managed, with an effort, to pull myself together a trifle, by thinking
that it was now too late to meditate retreat. I would not have climbed
down from my tree and attempted to find my way out of the darksome
forest—taking the chances of starting wrong and getting lost—for the
price of a mine of diamonds. Thus the hours went by and a score of
things kept me startled constantly. I feared the tiger would fail to
come; then I feared he would arrive at any second.
It seemed to me that midnight must have come and gone ages since.
Suddenly my breath came fast, my whole body was rigid with attention as
I noted a dim form, apparently standing in the tangle, directly across
the clearing. I knew I had become pale; I knew I trembled with
agitation. I was cold and my teeth did their best to chatter, as I
watched to see if the form moved.
There were ample sounds about me, some slight, some heavy, but I think I
paid little heed to anything except that dim, uncertain form. Then I was
sure it moved. While I was still at the height of my excitement I noted
a leaf, which became clearly defined. I knew immediately that the form
was merely a patch of half light, cast through the foliage by the moon.
The excitement subsided as if I had pulled out a plug and let it run
away. And while it was going, I heard a wet lapping and chewing, beneath
me, which told me instantly that the man-eater was below and dining at
his cold and ghastly feast. He had come—unseen and unheard,—while I was
being frightened at a patch of light!
I looked, but so dark was the place that until the monster moved around
I thought his body was exactly on the opposite side of his victim, to
which it really was. The excitement had flushed upward in my veins
again, but not so strongly as before. I was angered, as I have often
been to hear a cat lapping at the meat in a cupboard.
Moving cautiously on the branch, I half stood, half leaned against my
seat and slowly brought my bow into position. I was stiff in my hands
and joints, from sitting so long in one position. Having made a slight
slip and noise, the flood of nervousness leapt upward in me at once; I
perspired coldly; my heart beat a violent measure; in my mouth the
saliva became like gluey cotton. But the beast below kept on chewing,
with a horrible noise of drooling chops. I dared not try at him yet,
both because my hands were too unsteady and because the brute was too
undefined an object to be seen.
I underwent a trying ordeal for half an hour. While I was watching
below, straining my eyes to pierce the gloom, slightly bending the bow
and holding the poisoned arrow in readiness, the tiger shifted about in
his feeding. Abruptly I saw a patch of his hide, a small irregular
target, full in the light of the moon, where a ray shone down through
some open shaft between leaves and branches. I could see a dark stripe
across the dusty-looking hide. Even the play of a muscle was visible.
Doubtless the thrill and ardour of the hunter came to my rescue in that
vital second. I only know that I was eager, steadied, released from all
that had made me nerveless and cold. I even forgot what a deadly brute
he was and what he might be capable of doing, if only slightly wounded.
The bow became vertical in my fist, at the end of my arm, now as rigid
as oak. I drew the arrow backward to my ear with a strong, confident
pull. Then the point came down, toward the lighted patch. I aimed as one
aims at the head of a nail with a hammer—with no need to see my shaft.
Then it sprang away like a flash, the twang resounded in my ear, and I
saw a streak stab straight in the middle of the target.
Instantly a furious lunge and a roar that all but shook me down made the
place terrible. I clutched another of the arrows, and fumbled it, so
that it fell. Another then I got upon the string. All the while a most
awful uproar was continued below. The arrow that had dropped betrayed my
presence. The tiger leaped toward the branch, fell short, leaped again,
thrashed in the grass with frantic force and bellowed a doom-song that
made my flesh creep on my bones.
In his madness the brute was in the patch of light and out again,
constantly. Once, as he oscillated there for a whole second, making
ready to jump toward me, I fired another arrow with all the power of
fear and hatred. It struck him, I could not determine where, and a
moment later he reached my branch with his two great paws, and hung
there by his claws, bending the limb so low and shaking all so
tremendously that I clung on for very life. I felt his paw against my
foot and stamped upon it viciously. He lifted that one; the bark gave
way from beneath the other and down he thudded.
Again and again he leaped in his wrath. It sounded as if all the beasts
of the jungle were there in mortal combat. I tried with another poisoned
arrow, though I was sick, from my dread that he was proof against the
venom. This shot I missed. It served to make the brute more furious,
however, but finally I thought his ravings began to lose in force.
Once more he crouched in the light. This time my last arrow met him just
as he rose in his spring. I failed to notice where it was planted in his
body, for so tremendous was his leap that his whole head, chest and paws
were up on the tree. The shock knocked me off; I fell, grasping a
creeper, that stopped me with a jerk and a painful wrench.
The tiger dropped, striking me down the leg with one of his out-thrown
paws; I thought my time had come. With a superhuman effort I chinned
myself on the creeper, clutched the limb again, got an arm about it,
reached a twig higher up and threw my leg fairly over. I was quickly in
my old position again, blown, dizzy and wholly unable to believe the
tiger had been evaded by such a clumsy scrambling. He was beating about
in the trampled grass below, but his roar had grown hoarse and guttural;
it seemed no longer so savage. Then I heard his breath blowing froth and
bubbles-of-blood through his nostrils. My heart leaped exultantly—I knew
an arrow had reached his lungs!