A moment later, he seized two men, and dragging the evidently terrified fellows with him, approached me and by signs and words informed me that they had aided and abetted the late ruler in his attack upon me. Apparently Mumba felt that his position as Prime Minister carried with it the duties of Chief of Police. It was evident that his two prisoners expected to receive prompt and terrible punishment. After all, I thought, they were very likely blameless, for the king's word was law, and to refuse would have meant death. Moreover, if they had been brave enough to help seize and bind me, even at their king's orders, they would, no doubt, prove brave and loyal to me. So, using Mumba as an interpreter, I pardoned the fellows and set them free. The crowd received the verdict with shouts of approval and the two fellows fairly grovelled at my feet.
It was now past midnight, so I dismissed the crowd and returned to my own quarters, followed by Mumba. Tired out with the exciting events of the night I threw myself upon my rude bed, and feeling perfectly secure, with Mumba curled up like a watchful dog in the doorway, I fell off to sleep.
The whole affair seemed dream-like and unreal when I awoke the next day. But there was the royal crown, and somehow I felt happier and more free from worry than at any time since I had been taken prisoner. I no longer had the king to fear, and, being king myself, I felt sure I would not be under any restraint. In fact, I could leave the valley at any time—provided I could find a means of doing so, as soon as the rains ceased and the place became passable again.
All during my breakfast, my thoughts were concentrated on the chances of escaping. To scale the cliffs was, I knew, impossible. Moreover, to tramp alone through the jungle, wandering aimlessly in the forest in the hopes of eventually finding friendly Indians or natives, would be suicidal. I had no firearms; no white man can subsist on the game or products found in the tropical bush, and I could not hope to carry enough food to keep me any length of time. No, if I was to escape, it must be via the river. Somewhere the stream must flow out of the valley, and if I could construct a canoe or raft I might be able to float to civilization; perhaps over to the coast. But there was the ever-present danger of rapids and falls; I had no tools for boat-building, and even to construct a raft by means of my pocket knife and stone tools would be a Herculean task.
Moreover, long before I could dream of setting out—assuming I did manage to rig up some makeshift craft, I would have to provide an equipment and a supply of food that would last for a considerable period. And before I attempted anything at all, it behooved me to learn more of the river and its outlet. But that was simple now, for I could go about as I chose, and as the rains were now decreasing and the valley was drying, my explorations need not be delayed much longer.
For the immediate present I decided to thoroughly explore the caves, and with Mumba at my side, I started off. He seemed to know every turn and twist of the passages and every room or cavern in the whole labyrinthine place, and he guided me everywhere.
In one large chamber, I came upon the ex-king's family and harem. They did not appear in the least sorrowful over the demise of their lord and master, and all bowed down and prostrated themselves before their new ruler. It was apparently the custom of the monkey-men for a new king to assume all the duties and obligations of his predecessor, and Mumba explained that I was expected to take over the entire family and the dead king's lady friends.
At this I demurred, much to the amazement of both Mumba and the bereaved household; but since there was no thought of questioning a king's decision and since they could not understand such a superior being as myself, they said nothing; still the innumerable widows and their progeny set up a doleful wail as I left them, apparently deeply grieved and disappointed because they were condemned to remain without a royal head to the family.
Having thoroughly toured the caves, I wandered through the tunnel to the valley. The water had receded rapidly, and I managed to walk a considerable distance by choosing the higher ground. Almost unconsciously my steps took me towards the spot where we had first entered the valley. And very fortunate it proved that Fate led me that way. Searching about, I soon found the whitened skeletons of my Indian friends. Evidently their bodies had been left where they fell, and while some bones were missing and I could not find one skull—they had been washed away or had been carried off by some beast or bird—I could identify each skeleton, as in my mind I reconstructed the tragedy that had taken place so long before. I would have liked to bury the remains, but that was impossible, and the best I could do was to gather the bones together, place them in one pile and cover them with stones from the nearby river bed. Wondering, no doubt, what it was all about, Mumba aided me. Then I remembered the two who had fallen from the ladder and decided to add their bones to the little mound. The bones, badly broken, were there at the foot of the precipice, and as I stooped to pick them up, an involuntary exclamation of delight escaped me. Lying beneath Josh's skeleton, rusty and corroded but still serviceable, was the poor fellow's prized machete. To me it was more precious than gold or diamonds. A thousand things not possible before would now be easy. With the keen-bladed, heavy, implement I could hew down trees, could build a raft, might even essay the construction of a canoe. With it in my hand I felt like a new man. Whirling it about, I shouted and laughed until Mumba, thinking I had gone mad, hurried off to a safe distance and squatted ready to spring into a tree at any instant. But, when to try its corroded edge, I hacked with it at a shrub and the steel, dull as it was, sheared through the stout stems, Mumba looked on with wide-eyed wonder and gave vent to strange animal-like grunts of absolute amazement.
I felt more confident, more hopeful than at any time since I had been in the valley. Even my gun, had I been able to find it, would not have been so welcome as the rusty machete, for with but one remaining cartridge, my gun was a useless thing, whereas with a machete I felt equal to any emergency.
Chapter V
It was a few days after my discovery of the machete that I started out to make as thorough an exploration of the valley as possible. The rains had now ceased, the sun shone brightly, and with the exception of a pool here and there, the valley was again dry land. The river, however, still flowed in a turgid flood, and I knew that the rains in the higher lands about the valley were still falling. Accompanied by Mumba, as always, I wandered down the valley, following the general course of the river and expecting to find a narrow canyon or rift in the walls through which the stream flowed. Such an exit would have been as good a barrier as a precipice, as far as the monkey-men were concerned, for of course they had no knowledge of boats and hence could not have issued from their restricted habitat via the river. But I was doomed to bitter disappointment. When I at last came within sight of the rock cliffs that formed the lower end of the valley, I saw that the river flowed directly against the surface of the precipice and vanished within a yawning black hole that pierced the base of the cliff. That seemed to settle it. I was as much a prisoner as though I had been surrounded by steel and concrete walls, and sick at heart, I felt that I was doomed to spend the rest of my life in the valley of the monkey-men. There was but one ray of hope left. On the opposite side of the valley there might be some spot where it would be possible to scale the walls. But to reach the further side I soon found was impossible. I must cross the river, and the current was far too swift, too treacherous and too dangerous for me to attempt to swim it. My previous experience in the river had been quite enough. Moreover, I discovered that not a monkey-man knew how to swim, and hence none of the tribe had ever been beyond the river. This encouraged me in a way, for I reasoned that if the stream barred them effectually, as it did, there might be an easy means of escape on the further side of the valley. The more I thought of it the more determined I became to find out what lay beyond the river, and the idea of bridging it occurred to me. It may sound like a very simple matter to speak of building a bridge across a narrow river, where plenty of large trees are available. And under ordinary circumstances it would not have been a difficul
t feat. But if you consider that my only serviceable tool was a much worn machete, and that the savages had never learned to cut down trees, had never seen or heard of a bridge, and were filled with unreasoning, superstitious dread of crossing the river, the difficulties before me may be somewhat appreciated.
Weeks elapsed before the crude bridge was in place. I was forced to make numerous stone axes to supplement my machete, to teach the savages how to fell trees, how to use rollers and levers, and in fact instruct them in the simplest and most elementary principles of mechanics, before any real work was attempted. I soon found it easier to burn down the trees than to cut them, and after incalculable labor I was rewarded with several long, strong, tree trunks ready for use on the river bank at the narrowest portion of the stream. The next question was to place the logs across from shore to shore. To solve this problem cost me many hours of anxious thought and an immense amount of labor.
At last we erected a pair of 'shears' of strong logs bound together with vines, which were raised above the logs at the very brink of the river. A crude sheave, made by slinging a roller of wood in two loops of liana rope, served as a pulley, and by passing a stout liana over this, and by the gigantic ape-like men hauling on it, one end of the largest log was raised high in air. The rope was then made fast, the crowd of willing and powerful blacks lifted and pushed the butt end forward, and at last the log stood almost erect. So delighted were the savages when they saw this seemingly impossible feat accomplished, that they almost ruined everything by releasing their holds on the lines in order to dance and shout with triumph. But I managed to save the day by getting a quick turn around one of the shear-legs in the nick of time.
When the hilarious monkey-men were once more under control, I directed them to lift the butt-end of the suspended log and push it forward until at last it stood erect with one end resting on the nearest bank and the other towering twenty feet or more above the shears. Stout stakes were then driven into the earth behind the log to prevent its slipping back; it was lashed loosely to these so it could not kick up, and while my subjects looked on in wonder, I cut the rope. With a tremendous crash it fell, with its top resting on the further bank of the river. The delight of the savages at sight of the log bridge was wonderful. They yelled and shouted, pranced and leaped about, rolled on the grass and roared with glee. Then, like a crowd of school children on a holiday, they raced across the bridge which, to their feet, formed a safe and easy roadway. Never in the history of their race had any member of the tribe crossed the river, and now that the stream was spanned, they frolicked on the farther shore, entirely forgetting their former superstitious fears of the place.
The monkey-men might be perfectly satisfied with a single round log for a bridge, but it was far from satisfactory for my purpose, although I managed, with considerable difficulty to crawl across. I forced the savages to abandon their merrymaking and place a second log along side the first. By nightfall, a good substantial bridge had been completed and the opposite side of the valley was opened to me.
On the following day I crossed with Mumba, several of the monkey-men trailing behind, and started on my explorations. This side of the valley was far richer in natural resources than the other, for its wild life, fruits and vegetables had never been touched by man. Deer, tapir, peccaries and other creatures were abundant; curassows and pheasants abounded, and several times I saw the royal purple Wauponas, at sight of which Mumba and his fellows always prostrated themselves. It was such a pleasant, interesting district that I did not feel greatly depressed even when I found that there was no chance of ascending the cliffs. And it was while I was examining the rocky walls, searching for a possible slope up which I might climb, that I made a very interesting discovery. I had come upon a new rock, almost as clear as glass, which I felt sure would lend itself to making very superior stone implements, and I was gathering up a number of the best pieces, when I noticed a bit of stone of a semi-transparent green color. It was so much like a bit of a broken bottle that at first I mistook it for a fragment of glass and my heart gave an extra beat at thought that some white man had visited the valley before me. But as I picked the fragment up and examined it, I realized that it was a natural formation, a splinter from a regular crystal. Then suddenly it dawned upon me. It was an emerald, a bit of gem worth several hundred dollars in the markets of the world, but to me, a prisoner in the valley of the monkey-men, worth less than the flakes of common quartz. I laughed derisively as I thought of it, and was on the point of hurling the precious bit of green against the cliff, when common sense returned to me. Suppose I should escape from the valley? For, despite the apparent hopelessness of my plight, I had not given up hope. If I did get away, the emerald would go far towards making my way easier; it might even stand between me and starvation, for until I could reach civilization and draw upon my resources, I would be penniless, absolutely destitute. But throughout the land, even in the most remote villages, the green gem would be negotiable. Thus thinking, I pocketed the emerald, and with renewed interest began searching for more. I was well rewarded. Among the debris, crystals and portions of crystals were everywhere, and rapidly I scratched and dug among the fallen rock and gathered the green mineral, while Mumba, seeing what I was after, fell to and secured twice as many as I found myself. But the supply was limited. The emeralds had obviously been brought down by a landslide from some pocket or vein far up on the precipice, and longingly I gazed up, trying to locate the spot and wondering what incalculable fortunes might still lie in the cliffside. Even the gems I had were enough to keep me in comfort for a long time—provided I ever escaped, and I found no little pleasure and amusement in speculating on how I would spend my fortune, if ever I did reach civilization.
For several days thereafter I roamed the valley, hoping against hope to discover some exit I had overlooked before. Each day, too, the river fell and its current decreased, and I noticed that the stream no longer filled its tunnel through the cliff at the lower end of the valley. Above the water there now showed an opening several feet in height and fifty feet or more in width, and it was this aperture which finally gave me the idea that seemed the only possible solution to my dilemma. Would it not be feasible to escape through this tunnel? To be sure, such a venture would be perilous in the extreme. I would be entering an unknown Stygian passage, which might very well prove a trap.
For all I knew the tunnel might narrow or decrease in height so as to be filled with the racing-water. At one or a hundred spots jagged rocks might bar the way. Somewhere within the cliff there might be falls or rapids, or even if none of these menaces existed within the rocky wall, the stream might dash over a precipice or flow in terrific rapids where it emerged on the farther side. And I had no means of knowing how long the tunnel might be. The river might flow under ground for miles, or again the passage might be less than fifty feet in length. All of this I pondered upon and I knew that to go blindly at it would be worse than suicidal. But gradually, as I gave thought to the idea and it grew in my mind, I began to formulate plans to learn something definite regarding the tunnel and the stream before thinking seriously of attempting to escape by river. It was a very simple matter, once it came to my mind, and without delay I set about putting it into practice. With this end in view, I constructed a miniature raft, and attaching a long coil of vine rope to this, I allowed it to float into the tunnel. Rapidly the line paid out as the raft vanished within the aperture in the rock until nearly two hundred feet had slipped smoothly and without jerk or interruption through my fingers. Evidently there were no rapids, falls nor reefs for that distance within the passage.
But I wanted also to be sure if the space between water and roof remained constant, and whether or not the tunnel widened or grew more narrow. I soon hit upon a plan for determining these points. Cutting a number of stocks, I fastened them upright, like masts, in my little raft and cut them at varying lengths, the longest nearly five feet in length, the shortest barely a foot in length. Then, across the affair, I lightl
y bound slender sticks of varying lengths and again allowed my test raft to float into the passage, knowing that when I drew it out again the condition of the sticks would be a fairly accurate record of the conditions of the passage. And to my delight, when the raft was withdrawn, I found only one of the upright sticks broken, and that the longest, while not one of the horizontal sticks was injured or missing. Assured that the cavern roof was at least four feet above the water for fully two hundred feet from the entrance, and that it was nowhere less than ten feet in width, I decided to make a personal inspection of the place. To do this would necessitate building a raft large enough to float me, and several days were consumed in this work and in gathering a tremendous amount of lianas for rope, for I intended to penetrate far beyond the two hundred foot limit on my explorations.
Fortunately there were plenty of the light balsa or trumpet-trees in the valley, and building a raft was a comparatively easy feat. But to the monkey-men it savored of magic and witchcraft. And when they saw the crude affair bobbing on the water, and saw their king step aboard and drift down stream, they became absolutely terrified and beat their breasts and wailed, evidently thinking their white monarch was about to leave them forever.
It was with great difficulty that I reassured them, and, running the raft ashore, disembarked. But it was still more difficult to force them to permit me to board, the raft once more, and I knew that I would have my hands more than full if I attempted to enter the tunnel. In that case, they would assuredly feel I was deserting them, and despite my impatience, I knew that I would have to postpone my investigations until they became accustomed to seeing me navigate the river. Hence, for the next day or two, I made daily trips down stream upon my raft, each day approaching nearer and nearer my goal, and as the novelty wore off and the savages learned by experience that I always came ashore again, they began to look upon my inexplicable occupation as a regular thing and quite to be expected. But try as I might, I could not induce one of them—not even Mumba himself, to set foot aboard the raft. It was on one of these short voyages that I made another discovery which, had I been other than a virtual prisoner, would have filled me or any other man with excitement and delight. The raft had grounded upon a sand bar, and in order to get it free, I was forced to move several good sized cobbles. In doing this I caught an unmistakable yellow gleam among the fine black sand in the recess left by the stone. Forgetting everything, forgetting my state, my surroundings, even plans for my escape, I dropped to my knees and dug feverishly with fast beating heart in the gravel. The next moment, with almost bated breath, I was gloating over an immense gold nugget, weighing fully ten pounds. Rapidly, with machete and hands, I dug away the sand, stopping every few moments to secure a rough yellow nodule, until my first excitement was exhausted and common sense returned. I sat back and roared with delirious laughter. I was still a prisoner of the monkey-men's valley and all the gold in the world was of no slightest value to me until I could be sure of escaping. But, like the emeralds, the gold, if I ever left the place, would be riches, and I determined that before I made any attempt to get away, I would lay in a good supply of the precious metal.
The King of the Monkey Men Page 6
