by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER THIRTY.
WHAT WILL BECOME OF HER?
It would be impossible to paint the despair that wrung her brother'sheart, as he stood with upturned face and eyes bent upon a scene inwhich he had no longer the power to take part.
Not much less intense was the agonised emotion of Murtagh; for littleHelen was almost as dear to the Irishman as if she had been his owndaughter.
Neither could have any other thought than that the child was lost beyondhope of recovery. She would either be torn to pieces by the claws ofthe monster, or by its great yellow teeth, already displayed to theirview, and flung in mangled fragments to the ground. They actually stoodfor some time in expectation of seeing this sad catastrophe; and itwould be vain to attempt any description of their emotions.
It was no relief when the two hunters came up, as they did at thatinstant, on their return from the chase. Their approach for the lasttwo or three hundred yards had been hastened into a run by the shrieksof Helen and the shouts of Henry and Murtagh. Their arrival only addedtwo new figures to the tableau of distress, and two voices to itsexpression.
The ape could still be seen through the foliage ascending to the top ofthe tree; but Captain Redwood felt that the rifle he held in his hands,though sure of aim and fatal in effect, was of no more use than if ithad been a piece of wood.
Saloo had the same feeling in regard to his blow-gun. The rifle mightsend a deadly bullet through the skull of the gorilla, and the latterpierce its body with an arrow that would carry a quick-spreading poisonthrough its veins.
But to what purpose, even though they could be certain of killing it?Its death would be also the death of the child. She was still living,and apparently unhurt; for they could see her moving, and hear hervoice, as she was carried onward and upward in that horrible embrace.
Captain Redwood dared not send a bullet nor Saloo an arrow. Slight asthe chances were of saving the girl, either would have made themslighter. A successful shot of the rifle or puff of the blow-gun wouldbe as fatal to the abducted as the abductor; and the former, with orwithout the latter, would be certain to fall to the foot of the tree.It was a hundred feet sheer from the point which the ape had attained tothe ground. The child would not only be killed, but crushed to ashapeless mass.
Ah me! what a terrible scene for her father! What a spectacle for himto contemplate!
And as he stood in unutterable agony, his companions gathered around,all helpless and irresolute as to how they should act, they saw the apesuddenly change his direction, and move outward from the trunk of thetree along one of its largest limbs. This trended off in a nearlyhorizontal direction, at its end interlocking with a limb of theneighbouring tree, which stretched out as if to shake hands with it.
A distance of more than fifty feet lay between the two trunks, but theirbranches met in close embrace.
The purpose of the ape was apparent. It designed passing from one tothe other, and thence into the depths of the forest.
The design was quickly followed by its execution. As the spectatorsrushed to the side by which the gorilla was retreating, they saw it layhold of the interlocking twigs, draw the branch nearer, bridge the spacebetween with its long straggling arm, and then bound from one to theother with the agility of a squirrel.
And this with the use of only one arm, for by the other the child wasstill carried in the same close hug. Its legs acted as arms, and fortravelling through the tree-tops three were sufficient.
On into the heart of the deep foliage of the second tree, and without apause on into the next; along another pair of counterpart limbs, which,intertwining their leafy sprays and boughs, still further into theforest, all the time bearing its precious burden along with it.
The agonised father ran below, rifle in hand. He might as well havebeen without one, for all the use he dared to make of it.
And Henry, too, followed with the ship's musket. True, it had missedfire, and the damp priming was still in the pan. Damp or dry, it nowmattered not. Saloo's sumpitan was an equally ineffective weapon.Murtagh with his fishing-hooks might as well have thought of capturingthe monster with a bait.
On it scrambled from tree to tree, and on ran the pursuers underneath,yet with no thought of being able to stay its course. They were carriedforward by the mere mechanical instinct to keep it in sight, withperhaps some slight hope that in the end something might occur--someinterruption might arise by which they would be enabled to effect arescue of the child from its horrible captor.
It was at best but a faint consolation. Nor would they have cherishedit, but for their trust in a higher power than their own. Of themselvesthey knew they could not let or hinder the abductor in its flight.
All felt their own helplessness. But it is just in that supreme moment,when man feels his utter weakness, that his vague trust in a superiorBeing becomes a devout and perfect faith.
Captain Redwood was not what is usually called a religious man, meaningthereby a strict adherent to the Church, and a regular observer of itsordinances. For all this he was a firm believer in the existence of aprovidential and protecting power.
His exclamations were many, and not very coherent; but their burden wasever a prayer to God for the preservation of his daughter.
"Helen, my child! Helen! What will become of her? O Father! O God,protect her!"
