A FELLOW HUMAN
Greatly relieved to have something to do—something which might be about
to furnish a turning point in all this unnatural existence of mine in
the wilds, I set off for the boat at an early hour of the afternoon.
Once started on the expedition, I was in a fever of haste to be about it
and to try my new conclusions with fortune.
The skull of the bear had been boiled free of everything suggesting
meat. When a mile away, down the lake I replaced this heavy thing in the
skin and sewed the hide roughly about it to give the head a natural
appearance. Then along the edges where I had been obliged to cut the
pelt to get it off, I made a series of holes, into which I laced the
cords, provided for the purpose, intending to draw them tight when the
costume was properly adjusted about me.
Having nothing more to prepare, I rowed leisurely for two hours, when I
went ashore, near the mouth of the outlet, and tried my disguise. This
business discouraged me greatly. I was able to get the neck portion
fastened about my head, in such a manner that I could see easily, and
the body of the skin about my chest and waist, but my arms and legs were
too long for the paws and legs of the bear, while the body part was
longer than my trunk. Altogether I was about the most extraordinary
looking freak to be found in the jungle, when I had done my utmost to
make the costume fit.
I should quite have appreciated the use of several mirrors at this stage
of my make-up, in order to see if sundry portions were on straight, but
was denied this pleasure, having failed to provide myself with various
articles of the toilet. It was only by crawling and lolling about on the
ground, on knees and elbows that I was enabled to convince myself that I
looked the slightest bit like the creature whose part I had essayed to
perform.
I have never felt more warm in my life than I did in that skin. The day
was hot, the hide was heavy, and I had laboured hard to get it on. The
perspiration threatened to make the pelt insupportable. But now that I
had myself fastened inside it, I dreaded the task of taking it off and
putting it on again later. As an outcome of much agitated mental debate,
I decided to be a bear until my work as a spy was concluded. I therefore
sat me down, in the shade, near my boat, and waited for sunset.
The sun becomes very deliberate, I found, when it catches a man in a
tight, hot place. It seemed as if the fiery ball intended to hang in the
western sky for several centuries, for my particular delectation. At
last it got weary of the game and departed.
A bear can perform several feats with comfort and ease to himself and
with grace, perhaps, but rowing a boat is not among the number. I grew
hotter, in several ways, directly. I think I wished fervently that my
unknown friend, the prisoner, had never committed the indiscretion of
being captured by the Blacks. It being necessary to proceed with
caution, my torture was much prolonged. At length, however, I noted a
snug retreat in which my boat could remain, undetected, and which I
hoped would be readily accessible from the camp I was searching in the
jungle.
Already the shadows had begun to be deep, so that I walked erect, in
what I thought to be the right direction, moving with the greatest care,
and alert every second for the smallest sound. I had made my way for a
considerable distance in this manner, without being able to detect any
disturbance in the forest, when presently a low rumble, as of something
rolling over stones, beneath a muffling canopy, broke on the air. This
sound increased. It seemed to come from a source not far away, and yet
it was most uncertain and elusive. I was quite at a loss to determine
whence it proceeded. Growing stronger it made a great ado of grumbling,
reaching a sort of climax in less than a minute, after which it slowly
subsided and was gone.
Standing where I was, I listened attentively, for the noise had puzzled
me much. Then through the silence came another sound, which anyone could
have understood, anywhere on earth. It was a moan. A second later I
heard the rustle of leaves and saw a prowling form—one of the ebon
Links.
Falling upon my hands and knees, noiselessly, I waited for the fellow to
pass from sight and hearing, after which I crawled laboriously forward,
nearing the sound where something was voicing its pain. My heart was
beating so tumultuously that I felt obliged to halt frequently, in order
to calm myself as much as the perilous situation would permit. Moving
thus and keeping constantly in the cover of the vines and grasses, I
glanced about me keenly.
When I came upon the clearing in which the Blacks abided, it happened so
abruptly that I started, to find myself so near. Lying out full length,
I endeavoured to quiet the thumping of my heart and to moisten my mouth,
which had become dry and gluey. Then I looked about, through the
friendly screen of creepers.
The shadows lay thick enough for all purposes, yet there was light
enough to reveal several incongruous things. First I noted a dozen or
more of the black Links, some of them moving about, some squatting on
the ground, monkey-fashion, eating mangoes and melons, one lying flat on
his back in the agony of death. He it was that moaned; he had received
his mortal wounds in the great explosion. I saw that his arm was gone,
and then I knew him—Grin.
At the back of the clearing was a wall of rock. In front of this stood a
natural pillar of stone, and fastened up at the top was something which
for a time presented the greatest mystery. It looked like portions of a
skeleton, disconnected, but it gleamed, even in the twilight. I studied
it closely for the thing compelled my undivided attention. Then I saw
the skull and knew it had all been, upon a time, the frame work of a
living creature, but astonishing fact of all things weird—it was plated
all over with something precisely resembling gold!
I forgot the Links; I forgot my mission to their village. That skeleton
centered my every thought. I studied it, patched it together mentally,
and attempted to picture it properly straightened out. This process
convinced me at once that the arms were shorter than those of any Link,
while the skull was finely formed on the human pattern. I observed that
the whole thing, if properly articulated would be taller than I. The
Links, I told myself, cared nothing for the bones of their kind, and
less for those of their foes. It must be—it had to be the skeleton of a
man!
But the gold—or whatever it was,—the plating, how came it on the skull
and on those ribs, those bones of the arms and thighs and all the rest?
Why was it here? Immediately my brain jumped to the preposterous
conclusion that my “friend,” the man I had come to save, had been killed
since my former visit, his skeleton plated with something and strung up
here on the rock to please some strange whims of these incomprehensible
creatures. I knew, a second later, that this was absurd. My mental
process as quickly formed a saner theory. This man had lived among the
Blacks before; they had learned of him—which accounted for many
things,—like their superiority over my Reds,—they had killed him, later,
and by some singular accident this appearance of plating had come to
pass on the bones.
In the midst of my conjectures, that weird, low rumble commenced again,
nearer at hand, but still in some locality invisible from where I was.
Crouching, while its mighty tones increased, several Blacks glanced
upward at the skeleton and then put their heads upon the ground in
adoration before the pillar of stone.
I nearly cried out as I suddenly grasped at a wonderful thought. That
rumbling—it was certainly a sound I had heard before that day—it
certainly must be that marvellous cauldron of gold, where the geyser
shot upward and boiled in its cavern. The plated skeleton had received
its plating there; the nugget of gold at the end of the club which a
Black had wielded in war, had come from there; the cavern which I and
old Fatty had seen, on the day we fled in the subterranean passage, was
there; and these creatures owned it and evidently knew of an opening
leading to its wondrous interior from the outside world!
What was I about to discover? What was here, in and about this
remarkable camp? Would I see it all?—would I get a chance to investigate
the wonderful cave? Could I rob that cauldron of its treasure? I was
wild with excitement. I wished that I had an overwhelming army behind
me—a force sufficient to drive these creatures anywhere, away in the
jungle. I looked about, as if to see my army. Great Scott! I had utterly
forgotten how alone I was! The wretches might discover me, know me and
beat me to jelly in a second. My breath came hard; I remembered my
business in a manner painfully vivid.
I must go ahead, for obviously there was nothing here for me, nothing of
that partner I had come to steal. He must be off, where a pair of Blacks
were walking as I looked. Still keeping in the cover, I edged about the
clearing and pushed ahead. A tangled isthmus of greenery divided the
small open space from another which was considerably larger. In a brief
time I came in sight of this and beheld another remarkable sight.
At the foot of a towering cliff of rocks, surrounded by fruit trees on
the left, the river down in front, and the isthmus of trees and vines in
which I was lying on the right, was a fine flat space, commodious,
strategically situated and now alive with black Missing Links. Our
explosion had killed the fighters by the score, but the females and
children were exceedingly numerous, while of males there were still
almost as many as we had in all our tribe.
That once the creatures had been directed by a man was plain, for here
were a score of dugouts, such as we possessed, but the roofs were gone
from many, while those of the others showed every sign of neglect and
the rapid deterioration into which it seemed as if the creatures must
fall, and let everything fall, when abandoned to themselves. Of any
weapons which they might have possessed in the “age” of that man, there
was not the slightest sign. Looking carefully about, I saw but one
shelter on which the roof appeared to be intact. This one was near the
base of the cliff, on the left-hand side of the clearing, from me; that
is to say, the same side on which I was now concealed.
The light was growing dim. I peered about, in a vain endeavour to see
“my man.” How I wished I might raise my voice and cry out a greeting—a
something which would tell this other human being of my nearness! It is
unbelievable how strong was the impulse to commit this indiscretion. I
curbed the desire, however, and waited to see if anything would happen.
Here and there, on the campus, the evening fires of the Links were being
kindled, from a “mother” fire smouldering in a natural hollow beneath
the wall of rock. I could see what I thought were the ruins of a more
convenient fireplace, near the central fire. It looked as if that former
man had provided a means for a better culinary output, but that the
creatures had soon gone back to their own original methods, when he was
dead. Then I thought that things were peculiar, for why were there no
material evidences of the presence of the man I had come to seek, about
the camp? What was the matter with this unseen individual? He must be
weak indeed to do absolutely nothing!
I remembered his spouting of poetry, and I fear my estimation of a man
who would give himself over to such effeminate employment as that was of
precious little account. Poetry indeed! He was evidently a lady’s man
for his voice had sounded soft and here was proof that he either could
not, or was not willing to, manufacture the very first thing, either for
cooking, living or fighting. Perhaps such a fellow was hardly worth the
risk; perhaps I should be wise to retreat, in good order, and let him
work out his own salvation.
My attention was caught, as I scanned the place in this critical frame
of mind, by a flutter of something, near the only decent shelter.
“Upon my word,” I muttered in huge contempt, “I believe the fellow has
got out his washing on a line!”
About that moment a bird in the tree above me made a sound like a boy
whistling. This was my cue. If any man were anywhere about, he would
hear a whistle—and the Links would have no suspicion. I piped up on the
opening bar of “Yankee Doodle.” This I repeated time after time. It
appeared as if the scheme would turn out worthless, as it produced no
apparent effect. Growing more bold, I started to whistle my lay a trifle
louder, but I chopped it off short in the middle, for I beheld a figure
emerge from the decent dug-out and start slowly toward me, walking and
performing some singular weaving motions with the arms.
The dusk had gathered over the scene, yet I saw that this was a white
human being!