[Illustration: "It Can't Be that You Want to Go Back to All Those
Society Shams, After You've Seen Real Life!"]
INTO THE PRIMITIVE
By ROBERT AMES BENNET
AUTHOR OF
"For the White Christ," "Thyra," Etc.
With Frontispiece in Colors
By ALLEN T. TRUE
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers--New York
Copyright
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1908
Published April 11, 1908
Second Edition, May 9, 1908
Third Edition, Aug. 1, 1908
_To the man and to the beast;_
_To the girl, the snake, the blossom;_
_To fever and fire and fear;_
_To hurricane blast and storm within;_
_To bloody fang and venomed tooth;_
_To love, to hate, to pain, to joy,--_
_For of such is Life,_
_In the Primitive--and out._
By Mr. Bennet
FOR THE WHITE CHRIST. A Story of the Days of Charlemagne.
Illustrations in full color by the Kinneys. Twentieth thousand. $1.50.
A. C. McClurg & Co., Publishers
CONTENTS
I. WAVE-TOSSED AND CASTAWAY 11
II. WORSE THAN WILDERNESS 18
III. THE WORTH OF FIRE 29
IV. A JOURNEY IN DESOLATION 40
V. THE RE-ASCENT OF MAN 56
VI. MAN AND GENTLEMAN 67
VII. AROUND THE HEADLAND 76
VIII. THE CLUB AGE 87
IX. THE LEOPARDS' DEN 105
X. PROBLEMS IN WOODCRAFT 123
XI. A DESPOILED WARDROBE 139
XII. SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST 147
XIII. THE MARK OF THE BEAST 159
XIV. FEVER AND FIRE AND FEAR 174
XV. WITH BOW AND CLUB 191
XVI. THE SAVAGE MANIFEST 201
XVII. THE SERPENT STRIKES 212
XVIII. THE EAVESDROPPER CAUGHT 226
XIX. AN OMINOUS LULL 235
XX. THE HURRICANE BLAST 251
XXI. WRECKAGE AND SALVAGE 263
XXII. UNDERSTANDING AND MISUNDERSTANDING 272
XXIII. THE END OF THE WORLD 284
XXIV. A LION LEADS THEM 299
XXV. IN DOUBLE SALVATION 314
INTO THE PRIMITIVE
CHAPTER I
WAVE-TOSSED AND CASTAWAY
The beginning was at Cape Town, when Blake and Winthrope boarded the
steamer as fellow passengers with Lady Bayrose and her party.
This was a week after Winthrope had arrived on the tramp steamer from
India, and her Ladyship had explained to Miss Leslie that it was as
well for her not to be too hasty in accepting his attentions. To be
sure, he was an Englishman, his dress and manners were irreproachable,
and he was in the prime of ripened youth. Yet Lady Bayrose was too
conscientious a chaperon to be fully satisfied with her countryman's
bare assertion that he was engaged on a diplomatic mission requiring
reticence regarding his identity. She did not see why this should
prevent him from confiding in _her_.
Notwithstanding this, Winthrope came aboard ship virtually as a member of
her Ladyship's party. He was so quick, so thoughtful of her comfort,
and paid so much more attention to her than to Miss Leslie, that her
Ladyship had decided to tolerate him, even before Blake became a factor
in the situation.
From the moment he crossed the gangway the American engineer entered
upon a daily routine of drinking and gambling, varied only by attempts
to strike up an off-hand acquaintance with Miss Leslie. This was
Winthrope's opportunity, and his clever frustration of what Lady
Bayrose termed "that low bounder's impudence" served to install
him in the good graces of her Ladyship as well as in the favor of
the American heiress.
Such, at least, was what Winthrope intimated to the persistent engineer
with a superciliousness of tone and manner that would have stung even a
British lackey to resentment. To Blake it was supremely galling. He
could not rejoin in kind, and the slightest attempt at physical
retort would have meant irons and confinement. It was a British
ship. Behind Winthrope was Lady Bayrose; behind her Ladyship, as a
matter of course, was all the despotic authority of the captain. In
the circumstances, it was not surprising that the American drank
heavier after each successive goading.
Meantime the ship, having touched at Port Natal, steamed on up the East
Coast, into the Mozambique Channel.
On the day of the cyclone, Blake had withdrawn into his stateroom with
a number of bottles, and throughout that fearful afternoon was blissfully
unconscious of the danger. Even when the steamer went on the reef, he
was only partially roused by the shock.
He took a long pull from a quart flask of whiskey, placed the flask
with great care in his hip pocket, and lurched out through the open
doorway. There he reeled headlong against the mate, who had rushed below
with three of the crew to bring up Miss Leslie. The mate cursed him
virulently, and in the same breath ordered two of the men to fetch him
up on deck.
The sea was breaking over the steamer in torrents; but between waves
Blake was dragged across to the side and flung over into the bottom of
the one remaining boat. He served as a cushion to break the fall of Miss
Leslie, who was tossed in after him. At the same time, Winthrope, frantic
with fear, scrambled into the bows and cut loose. One of the sailors
leaped, but fell short and went down within arm's length of Miss Leslie.
She and Winthrope saw the steamer slip from the reef and sink back into
deep water, carrying down in the vortex the mate and the few remaining
sailors. After that all was chaos to them. They were driven ashore before
the terrific gusts of the cyclone, blinded by the stinging spoondrift
to all else but the hell of breakers and coral reefs in whose midst
they swirled so dizzily. And through it all Blake lay huddled on the
bottom boards, gurgling blithely of spicy zephyrs and swaying hammocks.
There came the seemingly final moment when the boat went spinning stern
over prow. . . . .
Half sobered, Blake opened his eyes and stared solemnly about him. He
was given little time to take his bearings. A smother of broken surf
came seething up from one of the great breakers, to roll him over and
scrape him a little farther up the muddy shore. There the flood deposited
him for a moment, until it could gather force to sweep back and drag
him down again toward the roaring sea that had cast him up.
Blake objected,--not to the danger of being drowned, but to interference
with his repose. He had reached the obstinate stage. He grunted a
protest. . . . . Again the flood seethed up the shore, and rolled him
away from the danger. This was too much! He set his jaw, turned over,
and staggered to his feet. Instantly one of the terrific wind-blasts
struck his broad back and sent him spinning for yards. He brought up
in a shallow pool, beside a hummock.
Under the lee of the knoll lay Winthrope and Miss Leslie. Though
conscious, both were draggled and bruised and beaten to exhaustion.
They were together because they had come ashore together. When the boat
capsized, Miss Leslie had been flung against the Englishman, and they
had held fast to each other with the desperate clutch of drowning
persons. Neither of them ever recalled how they gained the shelter of
the hummock.
Blake, sitting waist-deep in the pool, blinked at them benignly with
his pale blue eyes, and produced the quart flask, still a third full of
whiskey.
"I shay, fren's," he observed, "ha' one on me. Won' cos' you
shent--notta re' shent!"
"You fuddled lout!" shouted Winthrope. "Come out of that pool."
"Wassama'er pool! Pool's allri'!"
The Englishman squinted through the driving scud at the intoxicated
man with an anxious frown. In all probability he felt no commiseration
for the American; but it was no light matter to be flung up barehanded
on the most unhealthful and savage stretch of the Mozambique coast, and
Blake might be able to help them out of their predicament. To leave
him in the pool was therefore not to be thought of. So soon as he had
drained his bottle, he would lie down, and that would be the end of
him. As any attempt to move him forcibly was out of the question, the
situation demanded that Winthrope justify his intimations of diplomatic
training. After considering the problem for several minutes, he met
it in a way that proved he was at least not lacking in shrewdness and
tact.
"See here, Blake," he called, in another lull between the shrieking
gusts, "the lady is fatigued. You're too much of a gentleman to ask
her to come over there."
It required some moments for this to penetrate Blake's fuddled brain.
After a futile attempt to gain his feet, he crawled out of the pool on
all fours, and, with tears in his eyes, pressed his flask upon Miss
Leslie. She shrank away from him, shuddering, and drew herself up in
a huddle of flaccid limbs and limp garments. Winthrope, however, not
only accepted the flask, but came near to draining it.
Blake squinted at the diminished contents, hesitated, and cast a glance
of maudlin gallantry at Miss Leslie. She lay coiled, closer than before,
in a draggled heap. Her posture suggested sleep. Blake stared at her,
the flask extended waveringly before him. Then he brought it to his lips,
and drained out the last drop.
"Time turn in," he mumbled, and sprawled full length in the brackish
ooze. Immediately he fell into a drunken stupor.
Winthrope, invigorated by the liquor, rose to his knees, and peered
around. It was impossible to face the scud and spoondrift from the
furious sea; but to leeward he caught a glimpse of a marsh flooded with
salt water, its reedy vegetation beaten flat by the storm. He himself was
beaten down by a terrific gust. Panting and trembling, he waited for
the wind to lull, in hope that he might obtain a clearer view of his
surroundings. Before he again dared rise to his feet, darkness swept
down with tropical suddenness and blurred out everything.
The effect of the whiskey soon passed, and Winthrope huddled between his
companions, drenched and exhausted. Though he could hear Miss Leslie
moaning, he was too miserable himself to inquire whether he could do
anything for her.
Presently he became aware that the wind was falling. The centre of the
cyclone had passed before the ship struck, and they were now in the
outermost circle of the vast whirlwind. With the consciousness of this
change for the better, Winthrope's fear-racked nerves relaxed, and he
fell into a heavy sleep.