CHAPTER IX
THE TREACHEROUS BOG
Two days after their trip over the course of the Canal the three chumsdecided to spend a long day on an exploring expedition after their ownheart. They resolved to go off early some fine morning on "their ownhook" and see and do what pleased them best. Accordingly, they made alltheir plans, and, the night before the eventful day, laid in provisionsfor a "bang up" lunch for three.
They procured an old alarm clock and set it to go off at four o'clock inthe morning. This done, they finished discussing every detail of thetrip, and as soon as their excitement would let them, fell into a soundsleep.
It seemed to them that they had hardly laid their heads on the pillowswhen they were awakened by the strident whirring of the littlesleep-killer, and sat up in bed yawning and rubbing their eyes.
"Good-night!" exclaimed Bert. "It isn't possible that it's really timeto get up. It seems to me that I haven't been asleep more than tenminutes."
"Same here," yawned Dick. "I guess there must be something sleepy inthis air. No wonder the natives are lazy, if they feel every morning theway I do now."
"Oh, what's the matter with you two lemons, anyway?" laughed Tom. "Myprivate opinion, publicly expressed, is that you're both just plumb lazy.But there's nothing like that about me. Just see how lively I feel,"and to prove his assertion he grasp ed a pillow in each hand and landedthem with fatal aim on the respective heads of the other two.
"Gee," exclaimed Dick, as he and Bert rose in righteous wrath preliminaryto smothering Tom under an avalanche of bedclothes, "it's a lucky thingyou don't feel any better than you do. In that case you'd probably belanding us with a couple of pieces of furniture."
"I'd like to do that, anyway," came Tom's muffled voice from beneath thepile of pillows and blankets. "For Heaven's sake, let me up and quitstepping on my head."
Thus adjured, Bert and Dick released their victim, and after what lookedlike a miniature earthquake among the pile of things on the floor Tomemerged, very red in the face.
"That's a swell way to start the day, isn't it?" he protested in aninjured tone. "Two minutes more of that and I'd have smothered, sure.If you want to murder me, why don't you do it in a less painful manner?"
"Hush, my son," said Dick. "Who started it? Never start anything youcan't finish, my boy."
With this piece of good advice Dick started dressing, and the othersfollowed suit. After this they made up the lunch, eating a sandwich nowand then by way of breakfast. There was nothing fancy in the way inwhich the sandwiches were thrown together, and the mothers of the threeboys would no doubt have been horrified could they have seen it.However, "everything went," as Bert expressed it, and in a very shorttime they had their packing done and were ready to start.
They slipped as silently as possible through the corridors, and in lesstime than it takes to tell were in the outer air. It was still veryearly, and the hot sun was not yet high enough to dissipate the heavymist that hung close over the ground. They knew this would not lastlong, however, so started out on their expedition at a round gait.
They had resolved beforehand to strike into the wild country borderingthe path of the big ditch, and see it "at first hand," as Dick phrasedit. Each had a rifle with him, and they expected to bag some small gameif opportunity should offer, with which to supplement their lunch.
The country immediately bordering the Canal at this point was ratherbarren and rocky, but at no great distance a thick tropical jungle sprangup, and it was into this that the boys resolved to go. Accordingly theypicked their way over the rough flat, perhaps two miles in width, whichlay between them and the line of green jungle.
The going was very rough, and it took them almost an hour to reach thetrees. Everything has an end, however, and in due time they foundthemselves at the edge of the fringe of trees that stood out a little wayfrom the main forest. These were soon passed, and the comrades enteredthe green gloom of the big tropic trees. Their trunks shot up thirty orforty feet before the branches sprang out, and were thinly encircled byclinging vines and plants.
The leaves in many places met overhead, and caused a perpetual twilightin the forest aisles. As the boys penetrated deeper and deeper towardthe heart of the woods the underbrush and vines grew continually thicker,and in many places they found their progress stopped by some tangledgrowth and were forced to cut it away before they could proceed. It grewhotter and hotter, too, with a damp, clammy heat that at last becamealmost unbearable.
"Great Scott!" burst out Dick, at last, while they were cutting through aparticularly tough growth of vines and creepers. "I think this is aboutthe hardest work I ever did in my life. What you need to make a path inthis blooming jungle is a carload of dynamite--not merely a few littletoad-stickers like these we're using."
"Well, as we haven't the dynamite handy, I suppose we'll have to make thebest of the 'toadstickers,'" laughed Bert, amused by his companion'srueful countenance. "You didn't expect to find a macadamized roadrunning through this little strip of woodland, did you?"
"No, but I didn't expect to find vines made of cast iron, either,"replied Dick.
"Never mind, old scout," said Bert, "this can't last long. We're certainto hit on a game trail sooner or later, and then we'll be in clover. Andthe harder we work now, the sooner we'll find it."
"Oh, well, here goes," responded Dick, and fell to with renewed vigor.
Before very long it turned out as Bert had predicted. After cuttingthrough a particularly dense thicket, they had not gone far when theystumbled on a narrow but clearly defined trail that ran in asoutheasterly direction.
"Eureka!" exclaimed Tom, as this welcome sight met their eyes, "it willbe plain sailing from now on, and we ought to be able to get somewhere."
"We don't know where we're going, but we're on the way," sang Bert."Forward, march, fellows. Christopher Columbus had nothing on us asdiscoverers."
"Righto," agreed his companions, and they set forth along the narrow pathat a brisk pace.
There were traces of game in plenty, but they were unable to catch aglimpse of anything that might give them a chance to exercise theirmarksmanship. Of course, the trees were full of monkeys and parrots, butthey had no wish to kill merely for the sake of killing, and wereresolved to shoot nothing that they could not use as food.
No game made its appearance, and the boys were looking around for a siteon which they could pitch camp, when they were suddenly startled by adistant shout.
"Help, help!" came the cry, evidently at some distance from them. Inspite of this, the three adventurers had no difficulty in recognizing thenote of terror in it, and after one look at each other started off at adead run in the direction of the cries. Running, tripping, stumbling,picking themselves up and racing on again harder than ever, it was notlong before the shouts for help were appreciably nearer, and Bert, withwhat breath was left him, shouted back. Tom and Dick followed suit, andit became evident the person in distress, whoever it might be, had heardthem, for his shouts ceased.
Suddenly Bert, who was a little in advance of the others, pulled himselfup abruptly, and glanced down at the ground. "Easy there, fellows," hecautioned, between gasps for breath. "It looks as though we'd struck theedge of a bog, and now we'd better make haste slowly."
"You're right," exclaimed Dick, after they had taken a few cautious stepsforward. "It keeps getting softer and softer, and I think we'd betterlook around for some path. We'll be bogged in another hundred feet."
"Well, we might as well let whoever it is we're going after know we'restill on the job," said Tom, and forthwith he gave vent to a whoop thatsent a cloud of wild birds soaring up from the reeds by which they werenow surrounded.
His shout was answered by another from the unknown, and Tom yelled,"Don't give up, we'll get to you as soon as we can. What's the matter,are you stuck in the swamp?"
"Yes," called the other, "and I'm getting deeper every minute. Followthe edge of the swamp a few hundred yard
s toward the west, and you'llfind the path that I wandered from. But hurry up, or I'm a goner."
"All right," sang out Bert, and the three hurriedly skirted the bog inthe direction which its unfortunate victim had indicated. Sure enough,in a few minutes they reached a spot where the reeds thinned outconsiderably, and they could see the stranger. He was almost up to hisshoulders in the soft, sticky mud, but when he caught sight of hiswould-be rescuers, he waved a hand to them feebly.
"Step lively, boys," he implored, "I'm almost done for. I won't be ableto last long. The further I sink the faster, and this muck will soon beover my head."
The three comrades held a hurried consultation as to the best means theycould employ to effect the man's release.
"Let's buckle our belts together," suggested Bert, hastily divestinghimself of his. "Maybe we can pull him out that way."
This was no sooner said than done, and in a twinkling the three stoutbelts were fastened together. Then, following the captive's direction,they ventured gingerly out on the narrow path, composed of quaking tuftsof soft earth that led into and presumably across the swamp. Soon theywere within ten feet or so of the unfortunate, who proved to be a wellbuilt man of middle age. They threw him the end of the improvised rope,which he grasped desperately. Then they bent their united efforts topulling him out of the clinging mire. Pull as they might, however, theywere hardly able to move him, as they could get no purchase on the softground, and only began to sink in themselves. It was with difficultythat, after giving over this attempt as hopeless, they managed toscramble back to solid ground.
"Don't give up, boys," pleaded the unhappy man. "You're not going to letme die here, are you?"
"Don't worry about our deserting you," said Bert. "We're going to getyou out of this, but we've got to figure out how. Can you think ofanything?"
"You might run back to where the underbrush starts and bring back a lotof it," suggested he. "I might be able to support myself that way whileyou went for help."
"That's a good idea," exclaimed Bert, and in accordance with thesuggestion they raced back to the jungle and soon returned, each bearinga large bundle of underbrush. This they threw into the swamp in such away that the man could rest his arms on it. Then they waited expectantlyto see if this would "turn the trick."
At first it seemed that the plan would prove successful, but before longit became apparent that the man was still sinking, although more slowlythan before. The brush only served to defer his fate.
"Hang it all!" exclaimed Bert, as he realized this fact, "there's nothingwe can do here alone. What we need is planks, and ropes, and tools. Theonly thing I can see is for us to hustle back to camp and get help."
"The sooner the better, I guess," agreed Dick, soberly, and accordinglythey explained their intentions to the man in the bog.
"How far have you got to go?" inquired the latter, and when they told himhe groaned.
"You'll never get back in time," he said, "but I guess it's the onlything left to do. Only, one of you please stay here with me. If I'vegot to die, I'd rather not die alone."
"Oh, quit that talk about dying," exclaimed Bert, although in his hearthe had little hope. But the three comrades were resolved to employ everymeans, however desperate, for the stranger's release.
They held a brief consultation.
"You and Tom had better go, Dick," said Bert. "I'll stay here and do allI can to keep this poor fellow alive, but it's a long trip and I'm afraidthere's not much chance for him."
So Tom and Dick set off at a brisk trot, and Bert began to talk with theunfortunate man with the idea of getting his mind as much as possible offhis predicament. It developed that he was an engineer connected with theCanal, who had gone for a day's hunting in the jungle. He had lost hisway, and had been forced to make camp over night. Early the next morninghe had set out, and when he had reached the swamp had attempted to crossit by way of a path that a native guide had pointed out to him as being ashort cut, on a previous trip. He had taken two or three steps off thepath before he realized it, and then, when he had attempted to return,had found himself held fast in the treacherous mire. All his efforts toescape had only resulted in his sinking deeper and deeper, and finally hehad ceased struggling. Then he began to shout at intervals, in the fainthope of someone being within earshot, and, as we have seen, brought thethree boys to his aid.
While the man had been talking, Bert's mind had been busy with a hundredplans for helping him, which, however, he was forced to abandon one afterthe other. It wrung his heart to see the poor wretch slowly sinking inthe filthy mud, and to feel his own absolute inability to help him. Bythis time, the stranger was in the mire up to his chin, the underbrushwhich the boys had cut for him having gradually been pulled under.
Almost imperceptibly, but none the less surely, he sank, and Bert torehis hair and paced wildly up and down the bank, wrung by pity for thedoomed man. At last the latter smiled weakly, and said, "Well, good-bye,my boy. You and your pals did your best, but I'm done for now.Hartley's my name, and tell the boys back at the camp that I died game,anyway. Tell them----"
But at this point Bert dashed madly away, pulling his sharp hunting knifefrom its sheath as he ran. He plunged into a thick clump of reeds on theedge of the swamp, and hastily cut an unusually long and tough one. Heput it to his lips and blew through it, assuring himself that it washollow. Then he rushed madly back to the place where the engineer wasimmersed. Nor was he a minute too soon.
The man had sunk until the mud was at his very lips, and in another fewmoments it would inevitably close over his mouth and nostrils. Bertdashed out on the quaking path, careless of his own danger, and in a fewwords explained his plan to the engineer. The latter's eyes lighted upwith hope, and expressed the thanks he had no time to utter.
Bert got as near him as he could, and thrust one end of the reed intoHartley's mouth. His teeth and lips closed tightly about it.
"There you are." exclaimed Bert, exultantly. "Now you can breathethrough that reed until help comes from camp, and then we'll get you outif we have to drain the swamp to do it. I'll stay right here till theycome, and the reed will mark your position. Keep up hope and you'll beall right yet."
His eloquent eyes told Bert that he understood, and now there was nothingto do but sit down and wait for the expected help to arrive from camp.He knew that this would not be for some time yet, and his only hope wasthat the man in the swamp would not sink deeper than the length of thereed.
He sank very slowly now, but none the less surely, and gradually the mudcovered his mouth--his nostrils--his eyes--and at length his head sankbeneath the surface. The smooth mire closed over the place where he hadbeen, and the slender reed was all that remained to connect him with theliving, pulsing world about.
At the thought of the horrible death the engineer would now have sufferedwithout the aid of that frail thing Bert shuddered, and thanked Heavenfor the inspiration.
The seething tropic life went on without interruption, as Bert sat on theedge of the swamp with his eyes fastened on the reed. From the jungleback of him came the myriad cries of the wild things: the chatter ofmonkeys, the screams of the gaily colored parrots, and, once, the distantyell of a mountain lion.
The tropic sun beat down with ever-increasing intensity as it neared thezenith, and Bert felt an awful oppression stealing over him. After thefirst flush of triumph over cheating the bog, at least temporarily, ofits victim, a rush of doubts and fears came over him. Could the engineerretain consciousness, immersed as he was in the vile, sticky mud? Wouldhe not give up, and release his hold on the precious reed? These and athousand other misgivings tortured Bert as he watched the reed and waitedfor the expected reinforcements. The minutes seemed hours, and when helooked at his watch he was astonished to find it was not yet noon.
At length his weary vigil was broken by a distant shout, which herecognized as Tom's. All his fears vanished at the prospect of immediateaction, and he raised a great
shout in return. In a few moments he couldhear the noise occasioned by the passage of a considerable body of men,and soon the rescuing party hove in sight. This consisted of several ofthe camp engineers and foremen, together with eight or ten huskylaborers. Everybody, including Tom and Dick, carried shovels and ropes,and some of the laborers bore long, wide planks on their shoulders.
Dick and Tom rushed forward, followed by the others, but stopped shortwhen they looked at the treacherous swamp and saw no sign of theengineer. Their faces paled, and Dick exclaimed, "Too late, are we? Wedid our best, but we've got here too late."
Grief was written on every face, but this was soon dispelled when Bertexclaimed, briskly, "Too late nothing. He's under the swamp, to be sure,but he's breathing through the reed you see sticking up there," and hepointed out to them this slender barrier between life and death.
"Well, I'll be hanged," muttered one of the rescuing party, "how in theworld did he ever come to think of that, I wonder?"
"Never mind how I came to think of it!" exclaimed Bert, "the thing is nowto get him out. I've been watching that reed, and I don't believe he'smore than ten inches or a foot below the surface. I feared he'd be agood deal deeper by this time."
Accordingly the rescuing party fell to with feverish haste, and beganconstructing a sort of boxed-in raft about eight feet square. This wouldsupport several people on the shaky surface of the bog, and it would givethem a place to work on while attempting to extract Hartley.
In the meantime, what had been the sensations of the unfortunateengineer? As the thick mud slowly closed over his head he held the reedtightly between his lips, and had little difficulty in breathing throughit. The mud was warm, and strange to say, he had a feeling almost ofcomfort as he sank beneath it. Soon he felt an almost overpoweringdesire to sleep. He knew, however, that if he yielded to this he wouldlose his hold on the reed, and so fought off the perilous drowsiness.
Before very long he felt something hard under his feet, and was consciousthat he was no longer sinking. At first he was at a loss to know whathad stopped his downward progress, but at last decided he must have cometo rest on a sunken stump. This theory was confirmed when he feltaround, first with one foot and then with the other, and found that onall sides of him there was only soft mud. But the stump beneath himrenewed his hope.
Above ground the rescuing party was plying its saws and hammers to goodeffect, and in an incredibly short time had finished the rough raft.This done they spread the remaining planks along the so-called pathleading into the swamp, and prepared to launch their "mud boat," as Tomstyled it.
The rude affair was hoisted up on the brawny shoulders of the laborers,and they carried it into the swamp, treading very gingerly on the narrow,quaking pathway. They "launched" it at a spot as near as possible to thereed, and it was evident that it would give them an ample base from whichto conduct their operations.
Stout ropes were then brought, and one of the engineers reached down intothe soft mud directly under the spot where the reed disappeared. Quicklydrawing his hand up, he exclaimed, "I touched him easily that time!Give me the rope, and I think I can reach down far enough to get it underhis arms."
The rope was given him, and, reaching far over the side of the raft, heplunged his arms into the mud up to his shoulders. He manipulated therope deftly, and soon jumped to his feet, waving his muddy arms.
"I've got it tied, all right," he exclaimed. "Now, men, we'll see if wecan't pull the poor fellow out."
Three of the laborers took hold of the rope, and exerted all theirstrength on it. Slowly, very slowly, inch by inch, they pulled it up,until at last, amid a roar of cheers from them all, Hartley's headappeared above the surface of the swamp, the reed still held between hislips. The men leaned over and grasped his arms, and at last succeeded inpulling him into the boat.
He was a strange figure, and would hardly have been recognized as being aman. The thick mud clung to him, and made his features unrecognizable.
"Here," exclaimed Bert, "let's get the mud off him," and accordingly thecontents of several water bottles was dashed over his face. At last hewas able to open his eyes and to speak.
"There's no use my trying to thank you," he said, addressing the littlegroup. "Nothing I can say can express my thankfulness to everybody here,and especially these three lads, who have certainly done wonders for me."
"Oh, that's all right," said Bert, "maybe you'll have a chance to dosomething for us one day, and then we'll be quits."
"Well, that doesn't alter matters at present," replied Hartley, "and youand your friends certainly did everything that could be done. I had justabout given up hope when you happened along."
"It's a lucky thing for you they did, Hartley," broke in one of theengineers, who had accompanied the rescuing party. "Why, when these twolads dashed into camp and told us of your fix, we gave you up for lost.That reed business was certainly a great stunt."
"No doubt about it," agreed another, and the three boys were deluged witha flood of like congratulations. Then the party started back. Hartleypluckily declared that he could walk, but they overruled him, and tookturns in carrying him on a rude litter that they had hastily knockedtogether.
"That fellow certainly has got wonderful nerve," said Tom to Bert andDick, and they heartily agreed with him.
Bert Wilson at Panama Page 9
