Guy in the Jungle: or, A Boy's Adventure in the Wilds of Africa

"We are saved," cried Forbes with sudden inspiration. "There lies meat in plenty."

Melton's words caused a speedy revulsion of feeling. The colonel shouted for very joy, and Canaris sprang toward the dead lion with drawn knife.

"Cut off as much of the meat as you can," said Guy. "Here, give me my saber. Let me help."

He turned to reach it, but a sudden weakness came over him, and he was compelled to lie down on the rugs. The colonel, in deep alarm, made a hasty examination to see if he had sustained any injury, but with the exception of a severe bruising and a slight laceration of the left arm, caused by the lion's teeth, he appeared to be all right.

Melton and Canaris were just on the point of cutting into the dead lion with their sabers, the only weapons that remained to them, when a fierce roar echoed through the cavern, repeated two or three times in rapid succession, and in the gloom they could see a pair of shining eyes.

"Run for the raft," cried the Greek; and, as they reached the shore, a superb lioness bounded forward and stood by the body of her mate.

"See!" cried the colonel, pointing a trembling finger. "Two more lions coming out of the cavern. Push the raft into the water at once or we shall be devoured."

The danger was indeed imminent, and yet, in their starving condition, it was hard to leave all that meat behind. Forbes, impelled by some mad impulse, pointed his revolver at the angry lioness, but Guy grasped his arm before he could pull the trigger. Two more lions were now in plain view, stalking slowly out of the shadows.

"The pistol is useless," said Guy. "We dare not resist. We must get away as silently as possible."

The raft had been tossed but lightly upon the beach, and with but little effort it was pushed free of the shore and trembled on the water.

A loud roar close at hand caused them to fall on board in frantic haste, and as the swift current whirled them away the three lions trotted down to the water's edge and howled in concert.

"We may be thankful we got away with whole skins," said Chutney. "It was a great misfortune to have to abandon all that meat, but a delay or an attempt at resistance would have cost us our lives."

"It means starvation," said Melton bitterly. "Those lions came down from the open air to drink. That hole in the rocks led out of the cavern, I have no doubt, and we could have followed it up and perhaps found food, or we might even have abandoned the cavern entirely and finished our journey on top of ground. We must be close to the coast now."

This statement of what "might have been" sent their spirits down to the lowest ebb. They realized that Melton was undoubtedly right. Safety had actually been within their grasp, but the lions had driven them off, and now they were doomed to almost certain death by starvation. Even had they chosen to go back and risk the chances it was too late, for the current had taken them far from the spot, and the sandy shores had given way to perpendicular walls of rock.

The torch continued to burn brightly, a piece of extravagance that called forth no rebuke.

The journey continued amid unbroken silence. Sir Arthur and Bildad were both asleep, though it was no peaceful slumber, to judge from their restless tossings.

Sir Arthur's illness had now lasted a week. It was more of a nervous attack than anything else, but without food it was hopeless to look for recovery. He was extremely weak, and lay most of the time in a stupor.

The painful bruises Guy had sustained kept him awake much longer than the rest, but at last he too fell asleep.

Thus several hours passed away, and they awoke in utter darkness. The torch had burnt out during the night, but Guy recklessly lit another.

The river was flowing rapidly among scattered rocks, and as the raft approached a jagged ledge that cropped up from the water, a dark object was seen clinging to it.

"Why, it is our lost canoe," said Forbes as they drew near. "Help me catch it, Chutney. We will pass close to it."

The raft struck the edge of the rocks, and as it swung round with the current they grasped the end of the canoe and pulled it on board.

"It will do for firewood," said Guy. "We won't have to travel in the dark any more."

"Yes, yes; build a fire," said Sir Arthur feebly, sitting up among the rugs. "I'm cold, Chutney; icy cold. Have we come to the end of the cavern yet?"

"He seems a little better," whispered the colonel, coming close up to Guy. "Do you know, Chutney, I've been thinking for the last hour that we must surely be near the end of the river. Since first we entered this cavern we have traveled eight hundred miles. Calculate the rate of speed at which the current flows, and you must see that I am right. Moreover, we cannot be very far beneath the surface of the earth. Those lions do not dwell in the cavern. They only came down for water."

"I believe you are right," said Guy. "Two more days will tell. If we don't reach the open air in that time – well, it won't matter after that whether we reach it or not. I can hardly stand on my feet, and as for the torments of hunger, I need not speak of that. You know them yourself."

"Yes, I do indeed know what it is," said the colonel bitterly, "but we must endure it a while longer. For myself I do not care so much, but Sir Arthur is in a bad way, and as for Bildad, we may have to bind him hand and foot. He sleeps now, but no one can tell what he may do when he awakes."

"We will watch him closely," said Guy. "Canaris is splitting up the canoe for firewood, and it will no longer be necessary to travel in darkness."

"See!" cried the Greek, pausing with uplifted axe. "The shores have disappeared. Has the river become wide or is this another lake?"

"There is still a strong current," said Guy. "The channel has suddenly become broad. That is all."

A cheerful fire was soon blazing, and the ruddy reflection stained the water far and near, as the raft drifted on with the current. Sir Arthur fell asleep again, and Bildad lay among the rugs as one dead, glutted with his savage feast, and his lips and hands still red with clotted blood.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

BILDAD TURNS CANNIBAL

All through that day – for such we shall call it – they floated on without a single glimpse of the shores, though a good current still existed.

Their sufferings had now reached a point that was almost unendurable. The emptiness at the stomach and the pangs of hunger had given way to the fierce pains and the appalling weakness that come to those perishing of starvation.

For two days, it must be remembered, they had eaten nothing, and for a week previous three dry crackers apiece had been their daily allowance.

Chutney, with marvelous endurance, retained his strength and affected a hopefulness he was far from feeling, though, if the truth were known, a share of his food for a week past had been secretly given to Sir Arthur, whose illness had roused his compassion.

The colonel was almost too weak to stand – for his previous captivity had undermined his constitution, while Melton and the Greek made no efforts to conceal their sufferings.

Bildad, instead of becoming violent, woke up very weak, and lay helpless on his rug.

It was pitiful to see how they all turned their pockets inside out and drove their fingers into the crannies of the logs, hoping to discover a stray crumb. It was useless to fish, for they had nothing to put on the hook.

After nightfall, as near as Guy could guess, the river became very narrow and the current increased perceptibly in speed. The steep and rocky shores seemed scarcely ten yards apart, and overhead hung masses of stalactite almost close enough to strike with the paddle.

"We are near the end," said Guy, making an effort to speak calmly in spite of his sufferings. "Hold out a little longer. I feel sure that we shall be saved."

"Yes, we are near the end," said the colonel, "very near, Chutney. Our sufferings will soon be over. You deserve a better fate. I wish – "

"No, no, don't talk that way," cried Guy. "You will live to see the sunlight again – I am sure of it."

The colonel turned over on his side without making a reply.

"If we don't reach the mouth of the cavern in twenty-four hours, I for one will never see the light of day," said Melton huskily. "I'd hate to die in this place. It wouldn't be so hard out under the open sky."

"Water! water!" moaned Sir Arthur feebly, and crawling to the edge of the raft Guy filled his helmet and put it to the sick man's lips. He drank deeply and sank back on the rugs.

Guy crept cautiously forward to the front of the raft again – for every motion was a torture – and resumed his watch ahead, straining his eyes to catch the first glimpse of light that he felt sure must come before long.

Faster and faster ran the current now and the shores flitted past like dim specters. The channel became more turbulent and rocky, and the raft tossed and trembled as it swept over brawling rapids and grated over unseen obstructions.

When Guy turned toward his companions again they seemed to be all sleeping, and he envied them their merciful oblivion.

Bildad was muttering excitedly in his own tongue, and as Guy watched him he tossed his arms and sat bolt upright. The ugly face was frightfully distorted and the fever-stricken eyes shone with a baleful light. With an apprehension that he took no pains to disguise Guy watched him sharply. There was no telling what this savage might do in the delirium of illness – a delirium aggravated tenfold by the tortures of hunger.

Guy noted with secret uneasiness that no weapon was lying anywhere near. Melton alone had a revolver, and he was half inclined to waken him and ask him for it.

Bildad, however, made no attempt to leave his place on the rugs. He kept on talking to himself at intervals, his eyes staring vacantly out on the river.

A dingy leopard skin was still bound around his loins, and suddenly seizing the end of it he began to chew it greedily.

Then he noticed the blood still sticking to his fingers, and placing his hand in his mouth he sucked it with a hollow noise that made Guy sick.

Suddenly his eyes became fixed and glaring, his hands dropped to his side, trembling nervously, and his lips parted in a wolfish expression, that displayed two rows of glistening teeth.

A thrill of horror ran through Guy from head to foot as he saw what had unmistakably fascinated Bildad's gaze. Two yards distant, facing the savage, lay Sir Arthur, propped up slightly among the rugs. His head was thrown back, and in the perspiration, caused probably by his slight fever, he had torn loose the fore part of his flannel shirt, so that the throat and part of the breast were fully exposed, and shone clearly in the soft glow from the fire.

To Chutney Bildad's wolfish gaze admitted of no misconstruction. The sight of the white flesh had roused the savage's fiercest instincts. At that moment Bildad was a cannibal at heart!

No words can describe Guy's feelings as he realized the awful truth.

At first a deadly faintness threatened to deprive him of all consciousness. Then came a thrill of strength, and his quick mind sought some plan of action. There was no weapon within reach. He must waken the Greek.

"Canaris," he muttered in a low voice, but the word stuck in his throat and died away in a whisper.

The sound, slight as it was, drew Bildad's attention. A glance at Guy's frightened countenance told him his horrible design was discovered. His thick lips parted in a glare of ferocious hatred – the blind fury of a madman.

He thrust his hand to his side, drew out a long, gleaming knife, and with a demoniacal laugh sprang at Sir Arthur, brandishing his weapon.

At the first flash of the steel Guy uttered a shout that might have wakened the seven sleepers, and threw himself across the raft. He fell short of the African, and staggered to his knees with another wild cry.

The glittering blade wavered a second in mid-air, not ten inches from Sir Arthur's heart, and then, his eyes flashing and his face distorted with passion, Bildad turned and threw himself on the man who had thwarted him.

Guy staggered to his feet in time to meet the shock, and they fell together with a crash, the madman on top. As he blindly threw out his arms in self protection he grasped Bildad's wrist, arresting the course of the descending knife. Before the fiend could snatch the knife with the other hand he twisted the brawny wrist till the bone cracked. The knife dropped from the nerveless fingers, and Bildad shrieked with rage and agony. Guy tried to shout, but the savage's uninjured arm clutched his throat, and he felt himself jerked violently along the raft. He struggled and kicked in vain. A mist swam before his eyes, and he felt the agonies of suffocation. With both hands he tore at the brawny arm, but the grip only seemed to tighten, and then he realized that he was on the edge of the raft. He was powerless. He wondered vaguely why the rest did not come to his assistance. He felt his head and shoulders slip over the edge, and then opening his eyes he saw the madman's leering face, flushed with rage and triumph, staring into his own. His eyes closed with a shudder as he seemed to feel the icy waters close over him. Then the grasp on his throat suddenly relaxed, and he knew nothing more.

When Guy opened his eyes some minutes later, and saw with wonder the familiar faces of his friends bending over him, he felt as a man might who had come back from the grave. He tried to rise, but a firm hand pushed him gently back, and the colonel's voice said softly, "No; lie down. Not a word until you are better."

Gradually memory came back as he rested, and he knew why his throat felt so queer. In the firelight he saw Bildad lying motionless across the logs. The ugly face was smeared with blood, and Forbes and Canaris were binding the brawny arms and legs.

And there lay the knife, flashing back the light from its polished steel.

"You came as near to death, Chutney, as any man can come," said the colonel a little later, when Guy was able to sit up and lean against the fragments of the canoe. "Forbes saved you on this occasion. He got awake just in time, and crawling over the logs – for he was unable to walk – he brought down the butt of the revolver on the fiend's head. He first tried to shoot, but his weapon missed fire."

"Is he dead?" asked Guy.

"No," replied the colonel; "more's the pity. He seems to be only stunned. We've tied him up securely, so he can't do any more harm. But what started him, anyhow?"

Guy, with many a shudder, related the events that led to the attack, and his audience were horror-stricken at the terrible tale. The strangest part of it was that Sir Arthur had slept through it all and was still sleeping.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE END OF THE CAVERN

After that Guy himself fell asleep – a deep, heavy slumber that caused his friends some uneasiness as they listened to his labored breathing and saw the red flush that mounted over his pallid face.

Later on he struggled back to a wretched consciousness of his misery. He made an effort to rise, but such keen pains darted through his body that his head dropped back on the rug. The least movement was an agony, and his head was aching with a fierce intensity that he had never known before.

"I will rise," he muttered between his clinched teeth, and summoning all the power of his iron will he sat up.

The remaining half of the canoe was just behind him, and dragging his body a foot or more over the raft he fell back against it with a groan of agony.

The glowing embers of the fire shed a dim light over the scene. On his right lay Sir Arthur, white and motionless. On the left was Bildad, his arms and legs drawn up about his body in the throes of suffering. Near the front of the raft lay the colonel, face downward on the logs, and close by was the Greek, his white features turned toward the firelight.

One alone showed any signs of life. Melton was leaning over the edge apparently drinking, and presently he raised his head and crawled feebly toward the fire.

"How long have I slept?" asked Guy in a hoarse whisper.

Melton turned in astonishment as though frightened by the sound of a human voice.

"I don't know," he said, speaking with a great effort. "Hours, Chutney, hours. A day and a night must have passed since I cracked that fellow there on the head. I hoped you would never wake. This is like dying a thousand times over. It won't last long now. A few hours at the most – and then – "

"But tell me," interrupted Guy, "the rest, are they – are they – ?"

"Dead?" said Melton. "No, I think not. Very near the end, though. They can't move. They can't even reach the edge of the raft to drink. Water has kept me up a little."

Crawling inch by inch, he drew himself beside Guy and propped his back against the canoe. They sat side by side, too exhausted to speak, mercifully indifferent to their fate.

It is doubtful if they realized their position. The last stages of starvation had blunted their sensibilities, thrown a veil over their reasoning faculties.

Presently Guy observed that the raft had entered upon a most turbulent stretch of water. At frequent intervals he heard dimly the hoarse roar of rapids and felt the logs quiver and tremble as they struck the rocks. The shores appeared almost close enough to touch as they whirled past with a speed that made him close his eyes with dizziness, and the jagged roof seemed about to fall and crush him.

He saw these things as a man sees in a dream. He could no longer reason over them or draw conclusions from the facts. The increasing roar of the water, the cumulative force of the current, told him dimly that a crisis was approaching.

So they drifted on, lost to all passage of time. Presently the last embers of the fire expired with a hiss as a dash of spray was flung on them, and all was dark.

Guy whispered Melton's name, but a feeble groan was the only response. He reached out a trembling arm and found that his friend had slipped down from the canoe and was lying prostrate on the rugs. He alone retained consciousness, such as it was.

Bildad was jabbering in delirium, and Guy could catch broken sentences muttered at intervals by Carrington or the Greek.

He felt that his own reason was fast going, and he conceived a sudden horror of dying in darkness.

A torch was lying under his hand and he had matches.

The effort of striking the light was a prodigious one, but at last he succeeded and the torch flared up brightly over the raft and its occupants.

The sudden transition from darkness to light had a startling effect on the very man whom Guy supposed to be past all feeling. Sir Arthur suddenly sat straight up, his white face lit with a ghastly light.

"Ha, ha!" he shouted, waving his shrunken hands. "The light, the light! We are saved! Do you see it, Carrington; do you see it?"

Then the wild gleam faded from his eyes, and in a quavering voice – a mere ghost of his old pompous manner – he exclaimed:

"To the Guards' Club, Waterloo Place! Do it in twenty minutes, driver, and the half sovereign is yours. Go by way of Piccadilly; it's the near cut."

A moment later he added: "I'll be late. What beastly luck!"

Then a swift change passed over his face.

"Ha! ha! There's the light again," he cried exultantly. "Look, Carrington, look – " His lips trembled over the unfinished sentence, and without another word he dropped back on the logs and lay there perfectly motionless.

This was the last thing that Guy remembered.

The torch still burned beside him, and the raft plunged on its dizzy course, but his mind was wandering far away, and the past was being lived over again.

He was riding through London streets, dining with his old friends at the club, pulling a skiff over the placid current of the Thames, shooting quail on his brother's estate, dancing at a ball at Government House, Calcutta, marching through Indian jungles at the head of his men, plotting the capture of the Rajah, Nana Sahib, in far-away Burma – thus the merciful past stole his mind away from the horrors of the present, and he alternately smiled or shuddered as he recalled some pleasant association or stern reminiscence of peril.

So the hours passed on. The torch faded and dimmed, burned to a charred ember, and then went out.

The water hissed and boiled, crashing on rocks and shoals, beating its fury against the barren shores, and rushing down the narrow channel at an angle that was frightful and appalling.

Guided by an unseen power, the frail raft rose and fell with the current, whirling round and round like an eggshell, creaking, groaning, and straining at its bonds, like a fettered giant; but the wretched castaways, sprawled in careless attitude across the logs, heard nothing, knew nothing – simply lay with their pallid faces turned toward the blackness and the gloom overhead.

Ah, how pitiful! If they could only have known what was close at hand, fresh life would have flowed into their wasted veins. They would have gone mad with joy.

The roar of the water had now become softened and less violent. The rocks had disappeared, the river slipped like an avalanche through the fast narrowing channel, and at such a prodigious speed that a cold blast of air whistled about the raft.

Chutney, still propped against the canoe, caught its full effect on his face. It stirred up the flickering spark of life within him and he opened his eyes; he thought he saw a faint gleam of daylight.

Like the fabled giant that sprang from an uncorked phial, the gray streak expanded with marvelous celerity, growing longer and wider and brighter until it shone like burnished silver on the hurrying tide of the river.

Guy saw it and that was all. It dazzled his eyes and he closed them. When he looked again the raft was trembling on the edge of the silvery sheet, and then, swift as the lightning flash, a flood of brightness sprang up and around it.

He closed his eyes, but the fierce glare seemed to be burning into his very brain. He could not shut it out, though he thrust a trembling arm across his closed eyes.

The next instant something rough and pliable struck his face with stinging force, and he felt the warm blood trickle down his cheeks. Instantly there came a second shock. The canoe was whirled forcibly from under him, and a heavy blow from some unseen object struck him with stunning violence to the hard logs.

An icy wave dashed over the raft, and then another and another. Smarting with pain, the blood dripping from his lacerated face and hands, he staggered to his knees.

He opened his eyes. At first he could see nothing for the dazzling light that was all around him. Then the blindness passed suddenly away, and he saw clearly.

The glorious, entrancing light of day was shining on the raft, on the sparkling water, on his motionless companions – everywhere.

The raft was dancing on the bosom of a vast and mighty stream that rolled in the blessed sunlight between shores of sparkling green. He saw sloping hillsides and mangrove jungles, wind-tossed patches of reeds and waving palm trees, mountains shooting their rugged peaks heavenward, and billows of forest land rolling off into the distant horizon, while overhead was the deep blue vault of the sky, that perfect sky that had haunted his memory in many a dream – the sky that he had never hoped to see again. The air was redolent with perfume and melodious with the sweet notes of countless birds.

Flushed and trembling, Guy staggered, with new-found strength, to his feet.

"Saved! Saved! Saved!" he cried aloud. "Thank God! Melton! Canaris! Do you hear? The blessed sunlight is shining around us. Why don't you answer? Why don't you shout for joy?"

But no response came, and the five ghastly figures on the raft remained as stiff and motionless as before.

A swift change passed over Guy's face.

"Merciful heavens!" he cried. "Can it be? All dead!"

He gasped for breath, beating the air with stiffened fingers, and then dropped like a log.

The warm sunlight still played on the raft, and the yellow tide of the river lapped the roughened logs with a soft and musical murmur.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

CAPTAIN BECKER LOSES A WAGER

"No, no, gentlemen. I respectfully beg leave to differ with you. Africa never gives up her white slaves."