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The
A-shaped roof was thatched with small branches laid close together and
over these long jungle grass and palm fronds, with a final coating of
clay.
The
door he built of pieces of the packing-boxes which had held their
belongings, nailing one piece upon another, the grain of contiguous layers
running transversely, until he had a solid body some three inches thick
and of such great strength that they were both moved to laughter as they
gazed upon it.
Here
the greatest difficulty confronted Clayton, for he had no means whereby to
hang his massive door now that he had built it.
After two days' work, however, he succeeded in fashioning two
massive hardwood hinges, and with these he hung the door so that it opened
and closed easily.
The
stuccoing and other final touches were added after they moved into the
house, which they had done as soon as the roof was on, piling their boxes
before the door at night and thus having a comparatively safe and
comfortable habitation.
The
building of a bed, chairs, table, and shelves was a relatively easy
matter, so that by the end of the second month they were well settled,
and, but for the constant dread of attack by wild beasts and the ever
growing loneliness, they were not uncomfortable or unhappy.
At
night great beasts snarled and roared about their tiny cabin, but, so
accustomed may one become to oft repeated noises, that soon they paid
little attention to them, sleeping soundly the whole night through.
Thrice
had they caught fleeting glimpses of great man-like figures like that of
the first night, but never at sufficiently close range to know positively
whether the half-seen forms were those of man or brute.
The
brilliant birds and the little monkeys had become accustomed to their new
acquaintances, and as they had evidently never seen human beings before
they presently, after their first fright had worn off, approached closer
and closer, impelled by that strange curiosity which dominates the wild
creatures of the forest and the jungle and the plain, so that within the
first month several of the birds had gone so far as even to accept morsels
of food from the friendly hands of the Claytons.
One
afternoon, while Clayton was working upon an addition to their cabin, for
he contemplated building several more rooms, a number of their grotesque
little friends came shrieking and scolding through the trees from the
direction of the ridge. Ever as they fled they cast fearful glances back of them, and
finally they stopped near Clayton jabbering excitedly to him as though to
warn him of approaching danger.
At
last he saw it, the thing the little monkeys so feared-- the man-brute of
which the Claytons had caught occasional fleeting glimpses.
It
was approaching through the jungle in a semi-erect position, now and then
placing the backs of its closed fists upon the ground--a great anthropoid
ape, and, as it advanced, it emitted deep guttural growls and an
occasional low barking sound.
Clayton
was at some distance from the cabin, having come to fell a particularly
perfect tree for his building operations. Grown careless from months of
continued safety, during which time he had seen no dangerous animals
during the daylight hours, he had left his rifles and revolvers all within
the little cabin, and now that he saw the great ape crashing through the
underbrush directly toward him, and from a direction which practically cut
him off from escape, he felt a vague little shiver play up and down his
spine.
He
knew that, armed only with an ax, his chances with this ferocious monster
were small indeed--and Alice; O God, he thought, what will become of
Alice?
There
was yet a slight chance of reaching the cabin.
He turned and ran toward it, shouting an alarm to his wife to run
in and close the great door in case the ape cut off his retreat.
Lady
Greystoke had been sitting a little way from the cabin, and when she heard
his cry she looked up to see the ape springing with almost incredible
swiftness, for so large and awkward an animal, in an effort to head off
Clayton.
With
a low cry she sprang toward the cabin, and, as she entered, gave a
backward glance which filled her soul with terror, for the brute had
intercepted her husband, who now stood at bay grasping his ax with both
hands ready to swing it upon the infuriated animal when he should make his
final charge.
"Close
and bolt the door, Alice," cried Clayton.
"I can finish this fellow with my ax."
But
he knew he was facing a horrible death, and so did she.
The
ape was a great bull, weighing probably three hundred pounds.
His nasty, close-set eyes gleamed hatred from beneath his shaggy
brows, while his great canine fangs were bared in a horrid snarl as he
paused a moment before his prey.
Over
the brute's shoulder Clayton could see the doorway of his cabin, not
twenty paces distant, and a great wave of horror and fear swept over him
as he saw his young wife emerge, armed with one of his rifles.
She
had always been afraid of firearms, and would never touch them, but now
she rushed toward the ape with the fearlessness of a lioness protecting
its young.
"Back,
Alice," shouted Clayton, "for God's sake, go back."
But
she would not heed, and just then the ape charged, so that Clayton could
say no more.
The
man swung his ax with all his mighty strength, but the powerful brute
seized it in those terrible hands, and tearing it from Clayton's grasp
hurled it far to one side.
With
an ugly snarl he closed upon his defenseless victim, but ere his fangs had
reached the throat they thirsted for, there was a sharp report and a
bullet entered the ape's back between his shoulders.
Throwing
Clayton to the ground the beast turned upon his new enemy.
There before him stood the terrified girl vainly trying to fire
another bullet into the animal's body; but she did not understand the
mechanism of the firearm, and the hammer fell futilely upon an empty
cartridge.
Almost
simultaneously Clayton regained his feet, and without thought of the utter
hopelessness of it, he rushed forward to drag the ape from his wife's
prostrate form.
With
little or no effort he succeeded, and the great bulk rolled inertly upon
the turf before him--the ape was dead. The bullet had done its work.
A
hasty examination of his wife revealed no marks upon her, and Clayton
decided that the huge brute had died the instant he had sprung toward
Alice.
Gently
he lifted his wife's still unconscious form, and bore her to the little
cabin, but it was fully two hours before she regained consciousness.
Her
first words filled Clayton with vague apprehension. For some time after
regaining her senses, Alice gazed wonderingly about the interior of the
little cabin, and then, with a satisfied sigh, said:
"O,
John, it is so good to be really home!
I have had an awful dream, dear.
I thought we were no longer in London, but in some horrible place
where great beasts attacked us."
"There,
there, Alice," he said, stroking her forehead, "try to sleep
again, and do not worry your head about bad dreams."
That
night a little son was born in the tiny cabin beside the primeval forest,
while a leopard screamed before the door, and the deep notes of a lion's
roar sounded from beyond the ridge.
Lady
Greystoke never recovered from the shock of the great ape's attack, and,
though she lived for a year after her baby was born, she was never again
outside the cabin, nor did she ever fully realize that she was not in
England.
Sometimes
she would question Clayton as to the strange noises of the nights; the
absence of servants and friends, and the strange rudeness of the
furnishings within her room, but, though he made no effort to deceive her,
never could she grasp the meaning of it all.
In
other ways she was quite rational, and the joy and happiness she took in
the possession of her little son and the constant attentions of her
husband made that year a very happy one for her, the happiest of her young
life.
That
it would have been beset by worries and apprehension had she been in full
command of her mental faculties Clayton well knew; so that while he
suffered terribly to see her so, there were times when he was almost glad,
for her sake, that she could not understand.
Long
since had he given up any hope of rescue, except through accident.
With unremitting zeal he had worked to beautify the interior of the
cabin.
Skins
of lion and panther covered the floor.
Cupboards and bookcases lined the walls.
Odd vases made by his own hand from the clay of the region held
beautiful tropical flowers. Curtains of grass and bamboo covered the
windows, and, most arduous task of all, with his meager assortment of
tools he had fashioned lumber to neatly seal the walls and ceiling and lay
a smooth floor within the cabin.
That
he had been able to turn his hands at all to such unaccustomed labor was a
source of mild wonder to him. But he loved the work because it was for her
and the tiny life that had come to cheer them, though adding a hundredfold
to his responsibilities and to the terribleness of their situation.
During
the year that followed, Clayton was several times attacked by the great
apes which now seemed to continually infest the vicinity of the cabin; but
as he never again ventured outside without both rifle and revolvers he had
little fear of the huge beasts.
He
had strengthened the window protections and fitted a unique wooden lock to
the cabin door, so that when he hunted for game and fruits, as it was
constantly necessary for him to do to insure sustenance, he had no fear
that any animal could break into the little home.
At
first he shot much of the game from the cabin windows, but toward the end
the animals learned to fear the strange lair from whence issued the
terrifying thunder of his rifle.
In
his leisure Clayton read, often aloud to his wife, from the store of books
he had brought for their new home. Among these were many for little
children--picture books, primers, readers--for they had known that their
little child would be old enough for such before they might hope to return
to England.
At
other times Clayton wrote in his diary, which he had always been
accustomed to keep in French, and in which he recorded the details of
their strange life. This book
he kept locked in a little metal box.
A
year from the day her little son was born Lady Alice passed quietly away
in the night. So peaceful was her end that it was hours before Clayton
could awake to a realization that his wife was dead.
The
horror of the situation came to him very slowly, and it is doubtful that
he ever fully realized the enormity of his sorrow and the fearful
responsibility that had devolved upon him with the care of that wee thing,
his son, still a nursing babe.
The
last entry in his diary was made the morning following her death, and
there he recites the sad details in a matter-of- fact way that adds to the
pathos of it; for it breathes a tired apathy born of long sorrow and
hopelessness, which even this cruel blow could scarcely awake to further
suffering:
My
little son is crying for nourishment--O Alice, Alice, what shall I do?
And as John Clayton wrote the last words his hand was destined
ever to pen, he dropped his head wearily upon his outstretched arms where
they rested upon the table he had built for her who lay still and cold in
the bed beside him.
For
a long time no sound broke the deathlike stillness of the jungle midday
save the piteous wailing of the tiny man-child.
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