During the afternoon of the second day of our search for Duare Nalte
and I came to the big river that Duare and I had seen from the summit
of the escarpment, the same river down which Nalte had drifted into the
clutches of Skor.
And it was a big river, comparable to the Mississippi. It ran between
low cliffs of gleaming white limestone, flowing silently out of the
mystery above, flowing silently toward the mystery below. Upon its
broad expanse, from where it swept majestically into sight around a low
promontory to where it disappeared again beyond a curve down stream,
there was no sign of life, nor on either bank--only the girl, Nalte,
and I. I felt the awe of its grandeur and my own insignificance.
I had no words to express my thoughts; and I was glad that Nalte stood
in silence that was almost reverential as we viewed the majesty and the
desolation of the scene.
Presently the girl sighed. It awoke me to the need of the moment. I
could not stand mooning there in the face of the immediate necessity
that confronted us.
"Well," I said, "this is not crossing the river." I referred to the
affluent that we had followed down from the castle of Skor.
"I am glad that we do not have to cross the big river," remarked Nalte.
"We may have enough trouble crossing this other," I suggested.
It flowed at our left, making a sudden turn before it emptied into the
larger stream. Below us was a great eddy that had strewn the nearer
bank with flotsam--leaves, twigs, branches of all sizes, and even the
boles of great trees. These things appeared to have been deposited
during a period of high water.
"How are we going to cross?" asked Nalte. "There is no ford, and it
seems too wide and swift to swim even if I were a good swimmer." She
looked up at me quickly then as a new thought seemed to strike her. "I
am a burden to you," she said. "If you were alone you would doubtless
be able to cross easily. Pay no attention to me; I shall remain on this
side and start up the river on my journey toward Andoo."
I looked down at her and smiled. "You really do not believe or hope
that I will do anything of the sort."
"It would be the sensible thing to do," she said.
"The sensible thing to do is to build a raft with some of that stuff
down there and float across the river." I pointed to the débris piled
up on the bank.
"Why, we could do that, couldn't we?" she cried.
She was all eagerness and excitement now, and a moment later she
pitched in and helped me drag out such pieces as I thought we could use
in the construction of a raft.
It was hard work, but at last we had enough material to float us in
safety. The next job was to fasten the elements of our prospective raft
together so securely that the river could not tear it to pieces before
we had gained the opposite bank.
We gathered lianas for that purpose, and though we worked as rapidly as
we could it was almost dark before we had completed our rude ferry.
As I contemplated the fruit of our labor, I saw Nalte surveying the
swirling waters of the eddy with a dubious eye.
"Are we going to cross now," she asked, "or wait until morning?"
"It is almost dark now," I replied. "I think we had better wait until
to-morrow."
She brightened visibly and drew a deep sigh of relief. "Then we had
better think about eating now," she said. I had found the girls of
Venus not unlike their earthly sisters in this respect.
The meal that night was a matter of fruit and tubers, but it was
sufficient. Once more I constructed a platform among the branches of a
tree and prayed that no prowling arboreal carnivore would discover us.
* * * * *
Each morning that I awoke on Venus it was with a sense of surprise that
I still lived, and this first morning on the big river was no exception.
As soon as we had eaten we went to our raft, and after some difficulty
succeeded in launching it. I had equipped it with several long branches
for poling and some shorter ones that we might use as oars after we got
into the deep channel, but they were most inadequate makeshifts. I was
depending almost exclusively on the eddy to carry us within striking
distance of the opposite shore, where I hoped that we would then be
able to pole the raft to the bank.
Our craft floated much better than I had anticipated. I had feared
that it would be almost awash and most uncomfortable; but the wood was
evidently light, with the result that the top of the raft was several
inches above the water.
No sooner had we shoved off than the eddy seized us and commenced to
bear us up stream and out toward the center. Our only concern now was
to keep from being drawn into the vortex, and by poling frantically we
managed to keep near the periphery of the whirlpool until the water
deepened to such a degree that our poles would no longer touch bottom;
then we seized the shorter branches and paddled desperately. It was
gruelling work, yet Nalte never faltered.
At last we swung in toward the left bank, and once more we seized our
poles, but, to my astonishment and chagrin, I discovered that the water
here was still too deep. The current, too, was much stronger on this
side than on the other; and our futile oars were almost useless.
Remorselessly the river held us in its grip and dragged us back toward
the vortex. We paddled furiously, and held our own; we were keeping
away from the center of the eddy, but we were being carried farther
from the left bank.
Presently we were in mid-channel. We seemed to be hanging on the very
edge of the eddy. Both of us were almost exhausted by this time, yet
we might not pause for an instant. With a last, supreme effort we tore
the raft from the clutches of the current that would have drawn us back
into the embrace of the swirling Titan; then the main current of the
mid-channel seized us--a fierce, relentless force. Our craft swirled
and bobbed about absolutely beyond control, and we were swept down
toward the great river.
I laid aside my inadequate paddle. "We have done our best, Nalte," I
said, "but it wasn't good enough. Now all that we can do is to hope
that this thing will hang together until we drift to one shore or the
other somewhere along the big river."
"It will have to be soon," said Nalte.
"Why?" I asked.
"When Skor found me he said that I was fortunate to have come to shore
where I did, as farther down the river tumbles over falls."
I looked at the low cliffs that lined the river on both sides. "There
isn't any chance of making a landing here," I said.
"Perhaps we shall have better luck lower down," suggested Nalte.
Down we drifted with the current, sometimes borne close to one shore,
sometimes close to the other as the channel meandered from bank to
bank; or again we rode far out on the center of the flood. Sometimes
we saw little breaks in the cliffs where we might have made a landing;
but we always saw them too late, and were carried past before we could
maneuver our clumsy craft within reach.
* * * * *
As we approached each bend we looked expectantly for some change in the
shore line that would offer us some hope of landing, but always we were
disappointed. And then, at last, as we swung around a headland, we saw
two cities. One lay upon the left bank of the river, the other on the
right directly opposite. The former appeared gray and drab even at a
distance, while that upon the right bank shone white and beautiful and
gay with its limestone walls and towers and its roofs of many colors.
Nalte nodded toward the city on the left bank. "That must be Kormor;
this is about the location that Skor told me his city occupied."
"And the other?" I asked.