It was two days after this strike that I decided to attempt my long deferred exploration of the subterranean stream. It was with the utmost difficulty that I made the monkey-men understand what I wished them to do. In fact, Mumba, who by constant association with me could grasp my meaning more quickly than the others, and who, by the way, was far more intelligent than his fellows, was the only one who really understood my desires. I had not over much confidence in him, and yet, in a way, my life depended upon his and his companions’ carrying out my orders. I quite fully appreciated the fact that I was taking a tremendous risk, but my mind was made up. I would penetrate the tunnel to the limit of my vine ropes, unless forced to give up before then, and I hoped at that distance to be able to see the further outlet to the place. I had already prepared torches of resinous gum, and equipped with several of these, I moored the raft close to the tunnel entrance and repeated my instructions to Mumba for the last time. A strong line had been made fast to the raft and to a stout stake driven into the earth, and fully five hundred feet of this lay coiled neatly on the bank. In addition, I had provided a light line to be used as a signal cord, and my great danger lay in the possibility that the primitive, ape-like beings might confuse my signals or become panic-stricken and desert me, once I had vanished in the tunnel. However, I consoled myself with the thought that if worst came to worst, I could probably haul myself back to daylight, for the river's current was now very slight. By words and gestures and by a demonstration, I impressed my signals upon Mumba. One pull at the light line and heavy line was to be held fast; two pulls and more was to be let out, while three pulls meant to haul in. A bit fearful of what might lay before me, I lit my torch, stepped upon the raft, pushed it from shore, and ordered Mumba to pay out the line. The next instant, I floated in inky darkness, illuminated only by the ruddy glow from my torch. Steadily I drifted on, holding my torch aloft, moving it about, and peering into the shadows. But I found nothing that would impede my progress. The current remained constant, the roof and walls varied little in height or width, there were no jutting rocks or reefs, and the tunnel was nearly as straight as if it had been drilled by man. At last I reached the limits of my ropes, and still no glimmer of light ahead. The passage might continue so for miles for all I knew; yet the fact that it was navigable for such a considerable distance gave me much encouragement. Finding nothing to discover, I jerked three times on the signal line, and presently felt myself being hauled back whence I had come.
I have never seen more curious expressions on the faces of any human beings than those of the monkey-men, when I reappeared. They showed fear, awe, wonder and sadness combined, and all these gave way to triumphant, hilarious shouts when they realized that I had not vanished forever. It really affected me deeply to see how much my subjects thought of me, and I experienced a pang of regret and felt something of a scoundrel at the idea of deserting them. However, my mind was now firmly made up. I would steal down to the place before dawn, and taking my life in my hands, would attempt the passage of the tunnel as soon as I could complete necessary preparations. With the finding of the emeralds and the gold, and the thoughts of civilization and its comforts which would follow, longer imprisonment in the valley became intolerable. Better death in the subterranean stream than life in the valley among the ape-like people.
But my preparations could not be made in a day. In the first place, I decided that a raft would not serve my purpose. It was a cumbersome thing, ill adapted to running possible rapids, too heavy for one man to handle in swift water or to dislodge from a reef or bar, and, if I succeeded in passing through the mountain in safety, its progress would be very slow upon any stream I might descend. To build a boat would, I knew, be far too great an undertaking to consider, and even a dugout would be beyond me and my monkey-men laborers. But to construct a woodskin, such as I had often used and had frequently helped make in the forests of Guiana and Brazil, would be neither impossible nor very difficult. The main trouble would be to find a tree with bark that could be stripped from the trunk in one large cylindrical piece.
But fortune favored me. Trees very similar to the purple-heart grew here and there in the red-leaved forest, and a test proved that their bark was perfectly adapted to my requirements. Work was at once begun, and in due time I had a large tree felled, and by dint of painstaking work and with the aid of my priceless machete, I managed to wedge off a splendid section of the tough thick bark. The rest was comparatively simple. Spreaders of hard wood were easily cut and having nicked and bent the ends of the bark together, and having secured them in place with strips of a rattan-like vine, the spreaders were forced between the gunwales and my canoe was complete. Many a time two Indians and myself had constructed such a wood-skin in a few hours, but here in the valley many days of laborious work had been required. The canoe, however, was a complete success. It floated buoyantly on the water, was steady and easily handled, and the monkey-men regarded it as another miracle. By now, however, they had become so accustomed to miracles that they gave them little heed; in fact, they were by this time so occupied with their own affairs, that it was often difficult for me to induce them to work for me. I had taught them many arts and crafts, and they had become most enthusiastic and interested in their new accomplishments. I had shown them how to spin and weave, for these purposes using the inner bark of the "Seda Virgin" or lace-bark tree which was as soft, tough and strong as silk.
They had already used the material for the bits of scanty loin-cloths they wore, but they had never discovered that it could be twisted or spun into thread and woven into coarse cloth or made into hammocks. The monkey-men took to the latter as ducks take to water, and everywhere the comfortable swinging beds had supplanted the piles of dried palm leaves in the savages' apartments. Fish hooks of bone and fishing lines of bark, had also been introduced and were in constant use, and I had taught the people to till the earth and raise vegetables instead of grubbing for them here and there. I had even succeeded in twisting or spinning the wild cotton and weaving it by hand and had spent many hours trying to devise and construct some sort of loom; this, however, I found beyond me. I had far greater success in making baskets, and once the monkey-men had learned the principle, they became adept basket makers. Pottery had followed the baskets, and every member of the tribe was well supplied with earthenware dishes, basket and high finished and well made stone tools, implements and weapons. Indeed, in practically all savage arts and industries, the monkey-men were now fully the equals of the ordinary primitive Indians of the country and were rapidly developing a culture of their own, for all I had to do was to start them on anything and they progressed rapidly, evolving and introducing many ideas and innovations themselves.
I have told all this as if it required little time, and I confess that time passed far more rapidly than I would have thought possible. I was really surprised, when I counted over my time strings, on the day my canoe was completed, to discover that I had been with the monkey-men for more than a year and that the second rainy season was rapidly approaching. If I was to escape by way of the river I must act promptly, because with the first heavy rains, the tunnel would be impassable for months. Fortunately I had few preparations to make. Ever since I had decided to attempt the passage, I had been gathering a supply of provisions in the shape of dried meat, tubers, roots and vegetables, and I now had enough to last me several weeks. My hammock, a bundle of dry sticks and leaves, my flint and tinder, my machete, my bow and arrows and several torches, completed my equipment. I was ready to set out at a moment's notice, but I was determined to secure more gold from my rich placer for, I reasoned, if I did reach civilization, it would be most welcome; if I failed, I would be no worse off with the gold than without it. And it was this determination that very nearly cost me my life.
When it actually came to the point of leaving, I felt not a little sad and depressed, for though I would never have believed it possible, I had become attached to the monkey-men and felt as if they were old friends and my own p
eople. I was particularly sorry to desert Mumba, and for a time I even considered taking him with me. But I realized that even if I could persuade him to embark in my canoe and attempt the tunnel passage—which I very much doubted—he would probably pine away and die of loneliness and homesickness, away from his people and among strangers.
And I found myself strangely excited and nervous as the hour for my secret departure approached. I slept little the night before and was up before dawn; and long before the sun rose I had my belongings stowed in my woodskin or bark canoe and was drifting down the river towards the bar where I had discovered the gold.
By the time I reached the spot, it was almost light, and drawing the bow of my craft on the bar, I set to work with my machete and a wooden hoe I had made. The place was far richer than I had imagined, and in nearly every handful of gravel and sand, which I washed and sifted in a basketwork tray and "panned" out in an earthenware basin, I found nuggets. No doubt the finer flakes and dust were even more abundant, but I could not spare the time to secure these, and contented myself with the larger lumps and nuggets of metal. So interested did I become in my labors that I did not realize how time was passing, until my attention was attracted by the loud rumbling of distant thunder. I was rather startled, for according to my calculations, the first heavy rains were not due for several days and thunder was most unusual except as an accompaniment to these first torrential downpours. Dawn, I noticed, was rapidly approaching; the eastern sky was already light, and I saw that the sky was overcast and that a bank of heavy black clouds hung low over the summit of the cliff at the opposite end of the valley. All this I noticed, and stopped to gather a last basketful of gravel, thinking to myself that with a few more nuggets I would be satisfied, for civilized man's greed at sight of gold is irresistible. Then another terrific crash of thunder echoed over the valley, reverberating from cliff to cliff. Startled, realizing that I must hurry if I was to get away before the storm broke, I shoved my canoe free from the bar, grasped my paddle, and headed down stream. It was fully two miles by the river from the bar to the tunnel, and before I had covered half the distance it was broad daylight. I noticed, too, that I seemed to be moving very swiftly, while the clouds had now spread until they covered half the sky, and peals of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning were frequent. Still I did not realize my peril, did not dream that the cloud-burst-like deluge would break for many hours, perhaps for several days.
Not until I was close to the yawning black hole was I aware that the rains must be falling with tropical violence in my rear, that on the highlands beyond the walls of the valley the storm was raging, and that the lake which fed the river had been flooded and was pouring its surplus water into the valley.
But as I saw the entrance to the tunnel before me I realized this and was panic stricken. But too late. Feverishly I plied my paddle and tried to guide my craft to shore, but all my efforts were futile. The river was rushing me forward, straight for the hole in the cliff, and its current held my frail canoe in the centre of the channel despite my utmost endeavors to swing it aside. My heart seemed to stand still; I felt sick and faint with terror as I saw that already the water filled the tunnel to within a yard of the arched roof. Certain death faced me, I felt sure. Long before I could traverse the passage the water would have risen until it filled the subterranean channel, and vainly I cursed myself and my insane cupidity which had delayed me.
All this happened in the fraction of a second. The next instant the black arch was above the dancing bow of my canoe. Scarcely aware of my action, I threw myself flat in the bottom of the woodskin, shot into the tunnel, and was enveloped in absolute darkness.
Chapter VI
Trembling, shaking, expecting at any moment to feel the water pouring over the gunwales of my canoe, to hear its sides grinding against the rock roof as the water rose, I lay there. Ages seemed to pass. There was not a glimmer of light; only the roar of rushing water filling the awful underground tunnel. Gradually, as the minutes passed and the canoe still dashed onward unharmed, I grew calmer. Perhaps the passage was higher inside than at the entrance. There was a chance that I might yet win through, borne on the first crest of the flood, and cautiously, I raised my paddle, expecting to feel it strike the roof above. But it met with no resistance, and encouraged, with new hope, I managed to light a torch and held it aloft. Barely discernible in the glow, I could see the walls of the tunnel, sparkling and glinting as the light was reflected from the crystalline rock, and fully ten feet above my head I saw the water-worn roof with its pendant stalactites. I breathed more easily. For the present I was in no real danger, and it seemed to me that the current was not as swift now.
But my canoe was gyrating wildly, swinging around and in imminent peril of capsizing or dashing against a wall or some submerged rock. Fixing my torch in the bow, I grasped my paddle and guided the canoe along the centre of the stream. Onward, ever onward I went. Often the river swept around sharp bends, and had the craft been left to itself, most certainly would have been wrecked. Often, too, the tunnel became very narrow, but always there was ample space between my head and the roof, and gradually full confidence returned to me. Then, suddenly, swinging around a sharp curve, my greatest dread was realized. The roof lowered abruptly, and before me the foaming torrent seemed to completely fill the channel. Before I could cry out, the flaring torch struck the low-hung rock and was knocked overboard, and barely in time I ducked and threw myself prone in my canoe. This, I knew was the end. I would be drowned like a rat in a trap, and deeply, bitterly I regretted ever having left the valley of the monkey-men.
Again and again I felt the gunwales of my canoe bump against the roof above. Each time, as it grated against the rock and momentarily hesitated in its onward rush, my heart seemed to stop beating and I felt that all was over. Often, too, as the craft grated slowly along, water slopped over the sides and I lay there, sick, terrified, half-submerged in icy water, helpless, unable to rise, awaiting death. It was torture indescribable, agony beyond words, and then, just as I felt the canoe stopping, as the friction against the roof was too great for the current to overcome, the darkness suddenly vanished and the tunnel was filled with light The next instant the canoe shot forward, and with dazed eyes I gazed up at a vast stretch of clear blue sky. I was saved; saved by the narrowest margin, for as I sat up, blinking and shaking, and glanced back, I saw the last few inches of the tunnel's mouth vanish in a mass of bubbling seething water.
With a mighty sigh of thankfulness and relief I looked about. I was floating on the surface of a broad stream into which the river from the valley emptied. On every side stretched the dark, dim aisles of heavy forests, rich, green and cool, and I shouted aloud and cried at the welcome sight of so much greenery, of vine-draped trees with never a red leaf visible.
For hours I paddled and drifted down the stream, headed I knew not where, but content to know that I had escaped; that somewhere ahead lay the coast and civilization, and that before me—with good fortune and reasonable care—lay life and freedom among my fellow men. So anxious was I to put all possible distance between me and the valley I had left, that I did not even stop to eat ashore, but munched dried meat and fruit until well into the afternoon.
Then, overcome with weariness from my exertions and my excitement, I ran the woodskin ashore in a little cove sheltered by vines and brush, and making it fast, stepped into the forest. Within a dozen yards of shore I routed a small herd of peccaries, and with a lucky shot, brought down one of the beasts with my arrow. Soon a fire was blazing and I dined well on broiled pork and roast yams. Then, refreshed and sleepy, I threw myself in my hammock and instantly lost consciousness.
It was dark when I again awoke, and feeling thirsty, I stepped towards the river to secure a drink. As I reached the bank and stooped to secure a calabash from my canoe, my eyes caught sight of a faint glow far down the stream. For a brief moment I stared at it, puzzled. Then my somewhat sleep-befuddled mind cleared and I realized that it was the light fr
om a fire. Someone was near, some sort of human beings were camped within a mile of where I stood. Were they friends or foes, Indians or white men? I had no idea where I was, how far from civilization, whether in an Indian country or in a district frequented by rubber gatherers or other natives. Those whose camp fire cast a ruddy glare upon the river might be white, black or red, and if the latter, they might be either friendly or hostile. Anxious as I was to meet a fellow human being, I knew I must be cautious. I must not run blindly into a camp of savages, who would kill me out of hand and perhaps feast on my body afterwards. But I was a skilled bushman; I felt confident that I could approach the fire unseen and unheard, and if the campers were civilized or semi-civilized, I would land; if they appeared to be hostile Indians, I could drift on downstream, out of their way. Accordingly I silently unfastened my canoe, as silently stepped into it and grasped the paddle, and as noiselessly as one of the shadows along shore, I floated down towards the fire.
The King of the Monkey Men Page 7
