by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
LISTENING IN DESPAIR.
For some seconds Captain Redwood was powerless in a frenzy of despair.Henry was equally overcome by grief truly agonising. It was to bothfather and son a moment of the most unutterable anguish.
Helen, the dear daughter and sister, carried out of their sight,apparently beyond reach of pursuit. And in the arms of a hideouscreature which was neither wholly man nor wholly beast, but combined theworst attributes of each.
Perhaps she was already dead within the loathsome embrace--her tenderbody soon to be torn to pieces, or tossed from the top of some talltree; to be crushed and mangled on the earth, or thrown with a plungeinto the cold dark waters of that dismal lagoon, never more to be seenor heard of.
These were horrid thoughts and hideous images which rushed rapidlythrough their minds as they stood in the sombre shadow, picturing tothemselves her too probable fate. It was no longer a question about herlife.
They knew, or believed, her to be dead. They only thought of what wasto become of her body; what chance there might be of recovering andgiving it the sacred rights of sepulture. Even this slight consolationoccupied the mind of the distracted father.
The Malay, well acquainted with the habits of the great man-ape, couldgive no answer. He only knew that the child's body would not be eatenup by it; since the red gorilla is never known to feed upon flesh--fruitand vegetables being its only diet.
The whole thing was perplexing him, as an occurrence altogether unusual.He had known of people being killed and torn to pieces by the animal inits anger; but never of one being carried up into the trees.
Usually these animals will not volunteer an attack upon man, and areonly violent when assailed. Then, indeed, are they terrible in theirstrength as in their ferocity.
The one now encountered must have been infuriated by its fight with thecrocodile; and coming straight from the encounter, had in some wayconnected the children with its conquered enemy. Murtagh's shout mighthave freshly incensed it; or, what to Saloo seemed more probable thanall, the seizure of the child might be a wild freak suddenly strikingthe brain of the enraged satyr.
He had heard of such eccentricities on the part of the ourang-outang,and there is a belief among the Dyak hunters that the mias sometimesgoes _mad_, just as men do.
This reasoning did not take place on the edge of the lagoon, nor anydiscussion of such questions. They were thoughts that had beenexpressed during the pursuit, at no time hurried. The captain and hiscompanions had easily kept pace with the pursued, while passing throughthe dry forest; and time enough was allowed them to think and talk ofmany things.
Now that they could no longer follow, scarce a word was exchangedbetween them. Their emotions were too sad for utterance, otherwise thanby exclamations which spoke only of despair.
It was well they were silent, for it gave Saloo the opportunity oflistening. Ever since the ape had passed from their sight, his ear hadbeen keenly anxious to catch every sound, as he still entertained a hopeof being able to trace its passage through the trees.
Thoroughly conversant with the animal's habits, he knew that it musthave an abiding-place--a nest. This might be near at hand. Theproximity of the lagoon almost convinced him that it was so.
The mias makes a temporary roost for his repose anywhere it may bewandering--constructing it in a few moments, by breaking off thebranches and laying them crosswise on a forked limb; but Saloo was awarethat, for its permanent residence, it builds a much more elaborate nest,and this, too, always over water or marshy ground, where its human enemycannot conveniently follow it.
Moreover, it chooses for the site of its dwelling a low tree or bushwith umbrageous boughs, and never retires among the taller trees of theforest.
This it does to avoid exposure to the chill winds, and the inconvenienceof being shaken to and fro during storms or typhoons.
With all this knowledge in his memory, the Malay had conceived a hopethat the monster's nest might not be far off, and they would still beable to follow and find it--not to rescue the living child, but recoverher dead body.
Keenly and attentively he listened to every sound that came back throughthe water-forest--cautioning the others to be silent. A caution scarceneeded, for they too stood listening, still as death, with hushedvoices, and hearts only heard in their dull sad beatings.
But for a short time were they thus occupied; altogether not more thanfive minutes. They still detected the crackling of branches whichindicated the passage of the ape through the tree-tops.
All at once these sounds suddenly ceased, or rather were they drownedout by sounds louder and of a very different intonation. It was achorus of cries, in which barking, grunting, growling, coughing,cachinnation and the squalling of children seemed all to have a share.There were evidently more than one individual contributing to thisstrange _fracas_ of the forest; and the noises continued to comeapparently from the same place.
"Allah be thank!" exclaimed Saloo, in a subdued tone. "He home at lass.Him family makee welcome. Maybe chile be live yet. Maybe mias nokillee after all. Trust we in Allah, what you Inglees people calleeGod. Who know he yet help us!"
These last words came like a renewal of life to the despairing father.He started on hearing them; fresh hope had sprung up in his breast, atthe thought that his beloved child might yet be alive, and that a chanceof rescuing her might still be possible.
"In thy mercy, O God, grant it may be so!" were the words that fell fromhis lips: Murtagh, with equal fervour, saying "Amen!"
