The Best Adventure and Exploration Stories Ever Told

by Stephen Brennan

  “Boss,” he said, “do I get antying’ if I cotch de giraffe what got away last night?”

  “No giraffe got away,” was the reply.

  “Wal, I cotched something over on my place dat must ha’ got away from somebody. My ole woman done say it’s a giraffe, but mebbe it’s a elephant.”

  “Our elephants are all here, but one of the camels is gone.”

  “Maybe it’s a camel. I nebber seed no camel. He ain’t got no wings not nuffin’.”

  “Does it look like a horse or a cow?”

  “No, sah. My boy Henry says it’s a ‘nosceros, but I’se a little suspicious dat it hain’t.”

  “We have no rhinoceros, but it may be our sacred bull from India.”

  “Does yo’ sacred bull growl like a dawg an’ show his teef?”

  “No.”

  “Does he walk roun’ a nigger’s cabin, an’ take a dawg by de neck and shake de life outen him, an’ roar an’ roar?”

  “No, it must be one of our lions! You don’t mean to say you have captured a lion?”

  “Can’t say, boss. It’s somethin’ dat growls an’ roars an’ switches his tail. Him didn’t wanter come along, but I just tied a rope roun’ his neck an’ made him. He’s tied up to dat tree ober dere, an’ I reckon yo’ oughter gimme ’bout two bits for my trouble.”

  The circus hands went up the road with the old man, and about a quarter of a mile away, tied to a persimmon-tree and looking much disgusted, was the biggest lion of the menagerie.

  “Dunno if it’s an elephant or a ‘nosceros or a giraffee,” said the coloured man, as he went up and began loosening the rope, “but yere he am, an’ sein’ as he killed my dawg, an’ sein’ as I had ter drag him all de way ober, mebbe you’ll make it fo’ bits.”

  “Man alive!” gasped the manager, as he handed the negro a silver coin. “Didn’t you know this was a lion?”

  “No. Nebber done knowed what he was. Jest got a rope an’ made him come along; an’ when he growled an’ roared I hammered him wid dis stick. Much obleeged, sah.”

  IN A CUBAN CAVE

  JULIUS A. PALMER

  Between the Morro Castle at Santiago and Cape Maisi, or the eastern point of the island of Cuba, lie a number of remarkable defiles cut by the sea this precipitous coast. There is port Escondido, or the Hidden port, with an entrance of, say one hundred feet, yet by the peculiar contour of the adjacent land a ship may sail close to the mouth of the channel without observing the harbor.

  Not twelve hours’ sail from Santiago, in the direction of Escondido, may be found that wondrous cave, often mentioned by tourists, which has not been explored because of the belief that no boat which has entered its mouth has been known to return. An adventure of my younger days indicates that there may be more truth than superstition in the tradition.

  My sister Bertina and I, being thoroughly acquainted with the regular alternation of land-and sea-breezes on that coast, were able to enjoy together many delightful sails in the course of the years when our parents were residing at Santiago. With the farewell sighing of the morning’s land-breeze, we sailed our little skiff down the channel, and gained an offing. We then laid our course alongshore close to the wind with the first puffs of the change, and came back to port with the final breathings of the sea-breeze. Bertina had suggested from time to time that we should explore the nameless cave.

  I shook my head at first, thinking it was a passing whim; but she came back to the proposal by after day.

  The result of these entreaties was, that on one of the national holidays of the year 1853 it was agreed that our sail should be to the mouth of the mysterious cave. We passed the frowning bastions of the Morro with a fresh landbreezes came we were opposite the cavern. Into its mouth we shot our boat and unshipped the mast, though this seemed an unnecessary precaution. A delicious coolness welcomed us into the shade.

  The inward draught of the breeze made a perceptible current from the mouth of the cavern to its dark background. I had taken the precaution to bring a bull’s-eye lantern, and lighting it, we took in the grapnel, and allowed the boat to drift slowly into the unknown recesses, the bull’s-eye pointing ahead like a locomotive light, insuring us against collision with any projection of the rock. There was no sign of danger, however. Though the altitude of the roof grew less as we advanced, its height, for the whole distance before us illuminated by the lantern, exceeded that of the tallest man. The width perceptibly enlarged.

  “It is all perfectly fascinating!” cried Bertina, in a rapture.

  The waters were dark, smooth and still; I had just spoken of their apparently great depth, when a slight concussion shook our boat.

  “We’re touching bottom,” said Bertina. I at once thrust my paddle down its full length into the water touching nothing.

  “How queer!” said my sister, looking a little grave.

  After advancing a few yards farther, another tremor jarred the boat. It was a very peculiar motion, similar to that of a swiftly moving craft when it slips over a bar of soft ooze. Then came a third shock, this time under the stern of the skiff, so that the boat shot ahead as though propelled by a shove or kick. I turned the light of the lantern astern, but saw nothing, though it seemed strange that so light a craft should leave a track so disturbed.

  The next vibration and impetus from astern was still more violent. Turning instantly, I brought the rays of the bull’s-eye to bear on the wake, and plainly saw, moving here and there on the surface of the water the fin which rises from the back of the shark.

  Not one only, but two three, four—I could not tell how many, since they constantly appeared and disappeared. The fearful truth flashed upon me that we were in one of those sheltered localities on the Caribbean Sea which are selected by sharks for the home of their young. Our boat had disturbed them It was useless to make any attempt to turn the boat and retreat from the cave. The sharks were now breaking the water in every direction, and with the sweep of their powerful tails they made such a cession of whirlpools and currents that they made the light boat almost unmanageable.

  The sharks were evidently attempting to upset. From the gentle nudge, which first had startled the shocks had become so heavy that they seemed like the bumping of a yacht when she passes over a short reach of shoal water with headway enough to enable her to clear one after another of the obstructions. The single chance for us was that the cavern might have an outlet at the farther end.

  Bertina was not nervous or alarmed; she did not realize our danger. I availed myself of this coolness on her part. The boat was moving, carried forward apparently by a slight current.

  “Lie done flat, forward, as near the bow as you can get,” I said, and she obeyed promptly. I took a position astern, with my hand on the tiller. By means of this arrangement I had the boat well trimmed, and although the motion imparted by the sharks was like that given by a short, choppy sea, their striking was not so likely to make her overturn.

  Soon, however, a new peril was evident; the channel perceptibly narrowed, and what was still more ominous, the height of the roof quickly lessened. I glanced toward the bow, wondering if it were not best to tell Bertina our danger, when I perceived a faint ray of light. If there were any exit ahead, I thought it might conduct us into a basin where young sharks are nourished, prior to their venture into the deep sea.

  There are species of these creatures, the young of which are enclosed at the earliest stage of their existence in small sacks. There are left by the female shark in protected localities until the growth of the infant fish allows it to break the confinement, after which it care of itself.

  The prow of our boat now grated on the irregularities of the rocky roof. We were still pursed by our foes, who continued to thrust themselves with more or less of energy against the bottom of the boat.

  The lantern was eclipsed by something very like sunlight ahead, when the projecting stem of the boat met with an obstruction. For one awful moment I thought that the sharks and the current would swing th
e boat broadside on to the narrow aperture, which seemed to open into lighted chamber.

  “Put your hand upon the rock, and press the boat downward,” I cried to Bertina.

  My brave sister saw that this was the critical moment, and without rising stretched upward her hands, and by her skilful pressure guided the prow so that in a few seconds we were moved out into an open lake, the sun beating down upon the glassy water, and the mountains towering above our heads. The side seemed steep and abrupt, and the basin to have been hewn out of solid rock.

  Our enemies did not accompany us farther. With sharp turns and quick flashes, which revealed their ugly under-jaws and long, white bellies, they disappeared under the rocks, leaving, by the swing of their powerful tails, a succession of eddies which soon disappeared. We had escaped the sharks, but seemed imprisoned in the lagoon. Soon, however, I saw that by abandoning our boat we night ascend a portion of the cliffs and probably find our way back to Santiago down the farther slope. Some natural steps to the summit were soon found. They had evidently been used by others, ignorant that the lake communicated with the cavern.

  By means of these rocky projections we reached the hilltop, and from thence once more looked forth on the fertile valleys, wooded hill-sides and smiling plains of beautiful Cuba. By good fortune the heat of the day had moderated, and we arrived safely at our house before sunset.

  LEININGEN VERSUS THE ANTS

  CARL STEPHENSON

  Unless they alter their course and there’s no reason why they should, they’ll reach your plantation in two days at the latest.” Leiningen sucked placidly at a cigar about the size of a corncob and for a few seconds gazed without answering at the agitated District Commissioner. Then he took the cigar from his lips, and leaned lightly forward. With his bristling grey hair, bulky nose, and lucid eyes, he had the look of an aging and shabby eagle.

  “Decent of you,” he murmured, “paddling all this way just to give me the tip. But you’re pulling my leg of course when you say I must do a bunk. Why, even a herd of saurians couldn’t drive me from this plantation of mine.”

  The Brazilian official threw up lean and lanky arms and clawed the air with wildly distended fingers. “Leiningen!” he shouted. “You’re insane! They’re not creatures you can fight—they’re an elemental—an ‘act of God!” Ten miles long, two miles wide— ants, nothing but ants! And every single one of them a fiend from hell! Before you can spit three times they’ll eat a full-grown buffalo to the bones. I tell you if you don’t clear out at once there’ll be nothing left of you but a skeleton picked as clean as your own plantation.”

  Leiningen grinned. “Act of God, my eye! Anyway, I’m not an old woman; I’m not going to run for it just because an elemental’s on the way. And don’t think I’m the kind of fathead who tries to fend off lighting with his fists either. I use my intelligence, old man. With me, the brain isn’t a second blindgut; I know what it’s there for. When I began this model farm and plantation three years ago, I took into account all that could conceivably happen to it. And now I’m ready for anything and everything—including your ants.”

  The Brazilian rose heavily to his feet. “I’ve done my best,” he gasped. “Your obstinacy endangers not only yourself, but the lives of your four hundred workers. You don’t know these ants!”

  Leiningen accompanied him down to the river, where the Government launch was moored. The vessel cast off. As it moved downstream, the exclamation mark neared the rail and began waving its arms frantically. Long after the launch had disappeared round the bend, Leiningen thought he could still hear that dimming imploring voice, “You don’t know them, I tell you! You don’t know them!”

  But the reported enemy was by no means unfamiliar to the planter. Before he started work on his settlement, he had lived long enough in the country to see for himself the fearful devastations sometimes wrought by these ravenous insects in their campaigns for food. But since then he had planned measures of defence accordingly, and these, he was convinced, were in every way adequate to withstand the approaching peril.

  Moreover, during his three years as a planter, Leiningen had met and defeated drought, flood, plague and all other “acts of God” which had come against him—unlike his fellow-settlers in the district, who had made little or no resistance. This unbroken success he attributed solely to the observance of his lifelong motto: The human brain needs only to become fully aware of its powers to conquer even the elements. Dullards reeled senselessly and aimlessly into the abyss; cranks, however brilliant, lost their heads when circumstances suddenly altered or accelerated and ran into stone walls, sluggards drifted with the current until they were caught in whirlpools and dragged under. But such disasters, Leiningen contended, merely strengthened his argument that intelligence, directed aright, invariably makes man the master of his fate.

  Yes, Leiningen had always known how to grapple with life. Even here, in this Brazilian wilderness, his brain had triumphed over every difficulty and danger it had so far encountered. First he had vanquished primal forces by cunning and organization, then he had enlisted the resources of modern science to increase miraculously the yield of his plantation. And now he was sure he would prove more than a match for the “irresistible” ants.

  That same evening, however, Leiningen assembled his workers. He had no intention of waiting till the news reached their cars from other sources. Most of them had been born in the district; the cry “The ants are coming!” was to them an imperative signal for instant, panic-stricken flight, a spring for life itself. But so great was the Indian’s trust in Leiningen, in Leiningen’s word, and in Leiningen’s wisdom, that they received his curt tidings, and his orders for the imminent struggle, with the calmness with which they were given. They waited, unafraid, alert, as if for the beginning of a new game or hunt which he had just described to them. The ants were indeed mighty, but not so mighty as the boss. Let them come!

  They came at noon the second day. Their approach was announced by the wild unrest of the horses, scarcely controllable now either in stall or under rider, scenting from afar a vapor instinct with horror.

  It was announced by a stampede of animals, timid and savage, hurtling past each other; jaguars and pumas flashing by nimble stags of the pampas, bulky tapirs, no longer hunters, themselves hunted, outpacing fleet kinkajous, maddened herds of cattle, heads lowered, nostrils snorting, rushing through tribes of loping monkeys, chattering in a dementia of terror; then followed the creeping and springing denizens of bush and steppe, big and little rodents, snakes, and lizards.

  Pell-mell the rabble swarmed down the hill to the plantation, scattered right and left before the barrier of the water-filled ditch, then sped onwards to the river, where, again hindered, they fled along its bank out of sight.

  This water-filled ditch was one of the defence measured which Leiningen had long since prepared against the advent of the ants. It encompassed three sides of the plantation like a huge horseshoe. Twelve feet across, but not very deep, when dry it could hardly be described as an obstacle to either man or beast. But the ends of the “horseshoe” ran into the river which formed the northern boundary, and fourth side, of the plantation. And at the end nearer the house and outbuildings in the middle of the plantation, Leiningen had constructed a dam by means of which water from the river could be diverted into the ditch.

  So now, by opening the dam, he was able to fling an imposing girdle of water, a huge quadrilateral with the river as its base, completely around the plantation, like the moat encircling a medieval city. Unless the ants were clever enough to build rafts, they had no hope of reaching the plantation, Leiningen concluded.

  The twelve-foot water ditch seemed to afford in itself all the security needed. But while awaiting the arrival of the ants, Leiningen made a further improvement. The western section of the ditch ran along the edge of a tamarind wood, and the branches of some great trees reached over the water. Leiningen now had them lopped so that ants could not descend from them within the “moat.”


  The women and children, then the herds of cattle, were escorted by peons on rafts over the river, to remain on the other side in absolute safety until the plunderers had departed. Leiningen gave this instruction, not because he believed the non-combatants were in any danger, but in order to avoid hampering the efficiency of the defenders. “Critical situations first become crises,” he explained to his men, “when oxen or women get excited.”

  Finally, he made a careful inspection of the “inner moat”—a smaller ditch lined with concrete, which extended around the hill on which stood the ranch house, barns, stables and other buildings. Into this concrete ditch emptied the inflow pipes from three great petrol tanks. If by some miracle the ants managed to cross the water and reached the plantation, this “rampart of petrol,” would be an absolutely impassable protection for the besieged and their dwellings and stock. Such, at least, was Leiningen’s opinion.

  He stationed his men at irregular distances along the water ditch, the first line of defence. Then he lay down in his hammock and puffed drowsily away at his pipe until a peon came with the report that the ants had been observed far away in the South.

  Leiningen mounted his horse, which at the feel of its master seemed to forget its uneasiness, and rode leisurely in the direction of the threatening offensive. The southern stretch of ditch—the upper side of the quadrilateral—was nearly three miles long; from its center one could survey the entire countryside. This was destined to be the scene of the outbreak of war between Leiningen’s brain and twenty square miles of life-destroying ants.

  It was a sight one could never forget. Over the range of hills, as far as eye could see, crept a darkening hem, ever longer and broader, until the shadow spread across the slope from east to west, then downwards, downwards, uncannily swift, and all the green herbage of that wide vista was being mown as by a giant sickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow, extending, deepening, and moving rapidly nearer.