  It was nearly dark when at length I beached the boat and made the painter fast to a tree. The Links were in a state of great anxiety, fearing the dread lake had swallowed me down. They had fished, during my absence, with such success that they had lost every hook, snarled all the lines, broken several rods and procured about a hundred pounds of shiners for dinner. A few of the fellows were attempting to fashion new hooks with the knives of flint. There was promise, in the work of some, indicating that in this direction at least there was chance for progress. Old Fatty, who had whined on the shore when I left in the morning, romped about me insanely, as usual. He and little Tike had occupied my shelter throughout the day, awaiting my return. My “Little Man” was asleep there when I entered, a troubled look on his serious little face. I carried him off to his mother, but he did not awake, so weary had he grown at his vigil that warm, long day. He was crooning “Man, man” beside me in the morning, happily, yet so wistfully that it played upon every cord in my breast. How thin the little fellow looked as he gazed in my eyes with that dumb affectionate expression; how different he appeared from all the other Links, with the golden sunlight streaming in on his quaint, childish countenance. When I had taken my morning bath, I washed the tiny chap. He caught his breath in funny little gasps, but I think he liked it immensely. Then we ate my breakfast. He ate so small a portion that I shook my head and pushed the fruits aside before I had taken half my usual quantity. Having vaguely thought of my exploration business as a duty to be continued faithfully, I had half intended to leave, later in the day, for a shorter trip. When the wee youngster nestled up to be comforted, the plan faded away. We would have a quiet day of rest and peace. The elders of the tribe, discovering my mood, gave up to the laziest of lounging and rolling about, playing at indolent games and wrestling, throwing bits of twigs and pulling at each other’s feet and toes. The chief and his white mate sat about in a somewhat superior style, the latter eyeing me sullenly from time to time, while her husband gazed by the hour into the half-clear depths of the great rock-crystal at the end of his club. The fellow seemed to adore this stone, as well he might, for by its weight and his own overtowering height he had made himself chief of his fellows. His chieftainship continued, although I had long believed I could overthrow the fellow and usurp his power to add to my own, did I wish to create a disturbance. But inasmuch as I was in no way hampered, and was obeyed, my position amounted to that of a ruler, while I gave this giant Link no offense. As long as he continued to feel himself the master of the family, my own sway could never be complete, but for this I cared nothing as long as I was enabled to proceed with my plans. More than once I might have taken advantage of the awe created by natural means to bring the chief under my rule, but I was waiting to see what he would do of his own accord. The day when my cannon exploded he had been so ready to acknowledge my leadership that a look would have brought him cowering to my feet, but I had turned my back upon him and he had refrained from doing anything impulsive. In order to provide entertainment for little Tike, this day of rest, I selected a slender section of bamboo rod and cut him a whistle. By placing a second piece inside of this and sliding it up and down, I had a primitive trombone, which begot a craze of delight among all the Links. I played this instrument about an hour during which time the fellows all came crawling up on all fours, to squat about in a circle where they remained, nodding, blinking and holding their heads on one side, with the greatest attention and pleasure. I bethought me then of a drum and procuring a section of bamboo six inches or more in diameter, stretched a wetted fish-skin across the end and let it dry there. This thing produced a fine resonant tone that made the creatures jump with astonishment at first and dance with excitement later. In point of popularity this instrument eclipsed the whistle totally. The Links took to it as naturally as a cat takes to mice. Having pleased little Tike and having rested myself, while providing a holiday of amusement for the tribe, I decided to go at my navigation again in the morning. Agreeable as some of these moments appear to have been, I was fretting constantly to be away from the unclean, semi-animal beings, and once more restored to my kind and to civilisation, where I could lie on a decent bed, eat a decent meal and listen to something besides barbarous language. So desperate did I frequently become to hear my native tongue, that I spouted every quotation and sang every song I could conjure from my memory. This performance was always attended by a demonstration of surprise and unrest on the part of all the Links who were close enough to hear. The following morning was the cool, still forerunner of another sultry day. Fatty waddled behind me to the boat, where he whined again and started convulsively every time I bade him “come along,” but to master his fear of the lake sufficiently to enter the boat and trust himself away from the shore, was quite beyond his power. He wanted to go, but had he been thrust in by force, he would have scrambled wildly back to the bank, to run up and down and dance, like an unwilling dog who has been thrown in the water whether he would or no. I left him, sad and anxious, on the beach. According to my previously formulated scheme, I directed the prow toward the left shore this morning, and rowed as before, about fifty yards out from the wall of foliage which marked the boundary of lake and jungle. In half an hour I passed the place where I had fought the battle with the alligator, while I was floating on the log. On this present occasion not a saurian could I see, but I knew the place where I was sure there were half a dozen. The day was practically a repetition of the other, except that this western shore had a greater number of small streams, and none that were large, contributing to the body of the lake. I dipped into bays and inlets without number, many of which were of exceeding beauty. These were frequently so large that I travelled many miles without being more than three or four from camp, by air line. In the late afternoon, when I had worked perhaps two miles further away in actual distance—or about eight as I skirted the edge—I approached what appeared to be a deeper and narrower bay than any before discovered. This arm of the lake presently curved about a point, which made me think it might perhaps be another tributary stream, or river, like the one in which I had passed a desperate fifteen minutes. I felt not entirely fond of such experiences and therefore regarded this place with suspicion. It was freer of insects than the other had been, although there were some I could have spared; while the alligator population was not numerously represented. There was the grass which I thought indicated flowing water, however, and the trees on the banks were like those of the other place which I dreaded. When I had penetrated several hundred yards into the jungle on the bosom of this winding stream, the shadows from the overhanging trees were again exceedingly dense. I confess I had a poor stomach for doing much of this sort of thing at the end of day. My brain began to invent excuses for proceeding home and coming again when the light was better. A number of scares, to which I had been subjected during the day, had contributed largely to this lack of proper enthusiasm. Soon I conceived a brilliant scheme for determining whether this stream were inlet or outlet to the lake. In either case there would be a slight current. I would stop the boat and let it drift. If it went on “up” I could be sure I had found the outlet which in all reason should flow eventually to the sea; if I drifted back toward the lake, I must continue my search on the morrow. Pulling slowly to the next turning, I brought the craft to a standstill and awaited results. For a long time I failed to detect any movement in either direction, so sluggish was the current. I became absorbed in studying a number of stakes, which stood in the water, near the bank. “Surely,” I thought at last, “we are moving slightly—down the stream.” Was it then actually the outlet for which I was seeking? I grew excited as I watched the stakes. Then I began to comprehend something. These stakes suggested order. Could it be possible they had been planted? I could not see how they could get there at such semi-regular intervals, in any natural manner. How far did they extend? Where was the first one I had noticed? I looked back. Then I was convinced, abruptly, that the boat was drifting down the stream much more rapidly that I had suspected. It was the outlet! This truth flashed upon me with all the power of instantaneous conviction. I forgot the stakes and all the line of speculation which their mysterious presence had engendered. I looked toward that green gate of deliverance. Mentally I saw myself rowing and drifting down this gentle, winding current, hastening away from this extraordinary land—away from this jungle fastness to the great open sea. A thousand suggestions came tumbling in upon me, as to how to provision my boat, how to leave the Links, how to sleep at night on “Outlet” river, how to search for a village when I should find myself at last free, and how then to take a steamer and hasten back to the world which was really a world! “The outlet!” I muttered in fervent thankfulness. “Freedom—Life—Home!” I was wrought to a fever in my excitement of hope; I was all but transported, thus to find the gate that let me out of my prison of greenery, when suddenly I nearly froze from chills and paralysis of all my senses and blood-circulation. A voice rose clear in the silence of ended day—a human voice, in that wilderness of jungle and jungle-creatures,—a voice pronouncing words in English—a singular mixture of words with no reason. Then presently they settled into the musical order of poetry: “There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men, And when music arose with its voluptuous——” I arose to cry out at the top of my voice. A human being—a man, no doubt, was in reach of my voice—a friend, companion, perhaps, to share my fate and solitude! I filled my lungs for a mighty halloo—a cry to this partner in exile—when out from the trees on the bank, not a spear’s throw distant, issued a black, ungainly form—and then another. Links! They were black Missing Links! Those stakes were theirs! I had found their camp. The voice—this human being—was he then a prisoner? What did it mean—and what should I do? To cry out meant instant detection—perhaps immediate death. The two had failed to see me—they might go back. But I was drifting—drifting toward them. One of them turned about. A yell went up immediately. I was known. The alarm spread like prairie-fire, up through the wood. I swung the boat about like mad and headed for the lake. A club came whizzing through the air, struck in the water beside the boat and splashed me with spray. A score of the villainous looking devils came running to join their companions. Along the bank they dashed in pursuit, crying out and making crazy gesticulations. The water foamed where it left the oars and it rippled and swashed from the prow of my craft. Club after club came hurtling toward me, end over end. One of these struck the stern a resounding thump; the demons cried out savagely and showered more. A small one would have dashed out my brains had I not been quick to duck to the bottom of the boat. I shot across the river to the opposite side, but a curve gave my infuriated pursuers a slight advantage. It seemed as if the thickets and trees were simply bridges over which the creatures hurried the faster. Making as if to sweep along below them, I back-watered one of my oars and pulled with the other, at the turn, spinning the boat clean about to hard-a-port, and sent her ahead so swiftly that all the clubs, which the devils threw at point-blank range, plunged stone-head first into the ripples behind. “Never touched me!” I bawled out in derision. They screamed in impotent rage. I rounded the curve and sped away with all the advantage mine. They gave up the chase. Ten minutes more saw me out on the lake and well away. |
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