CHAPTER XII
THE MAN-EATERS
On the fifth day they turned from the mighty Congo into a tributarythat threaded the dark mysterious forest, whose depths had neverbeen trodden yet by white men, whose dark retreats and sombreavenues, into which no ray of sunlight struggled, were the haunt ofthe gorilla, of pigmies, and of cannibals, dreaded most of all.After the broad Congo this was a mere thread, no more than a fewhundred yards across, a gloomy opening in the gloomy woods thatmarched right down to its shores; that sent out huge branches in aleafy roof over the water near the banks, making dark retreats, inwhich lurked watchful crocodiles. The stir and bustle of the greatriver found no echo in this silent byway. Nowhere was there anytrace of man. The forest seemed impenetrable, beyond all his punyefforts to make a footing.
There seemed no room enough for a man to set his foot, so close wasthe foliage from the ground to the topmost bough of the tallesttree. Mile after mile they went on, without a sign of life, thenfrom the shore an arrow whistled, pierced the awning, and rang onthe metal deck.
Compton put the wheel over, and the Okapi slid away from thatdangerous screen. Then they slowed up and looked, but there was nosound and no sign from the hidden enemy. Doubtless, fierce eyes wereglaring out upon them, but they could see nothing, and with a longuneasy look all around they kept on for a mile or so, when they cameupon a clearing that spoke of man. It spoke of man, but there wasnothing living in the few acres that had been hewn out of the woods.A ring of black embers showed where huts had stood, a dug-out canoelay half in, half out the waters, a broken clay pot, a rusty hoe,and a litter of bones were gathered forlornly in one spot, and astrip of cloth fluttered from a scarred post. They ran the Okapi in,and Muata, with his jackal, leapt ashore to decipher what thiswriting in the forest meant. The jackal showed none of the delightthat a dog would have shown under similar conditions, but at oncevanished into the wood, with his nose to the ground, bent on theserious business of life--that of nosing out the enemy, while hismaster, with his favourite Ghoorka knife in his hand, rapidlyinspected the ground.
Instinctively they all felt the need for caution. The boys had theedge taken off their rash ardour long before, but that sinisterwarning from the forest in the shape of the arrow had driven homeagain the lesson that it was necessary to be always on guard.
The forest, in its silence and in its gloom, was menacing. Theyglanced up the river. It stretched away like an avenue cut out of asolid mass of vegetation, and all the length to the spot where thebanks seemed to run together, as if the river had ended, there wasno sign of living thing.
Suddenly an animal darted across the clearing and crouched behindMuata. It was the jackal, the hair on its neck erect, and its bodyquivering with fear, or excitement. Then a branch snapped with astartling report, there was a violent shaking of leaves, a shortbark-like roar, and then a noise of shaking gradually decreasing.
Muata had fallen back to the river's brink at the roar, but now heturned his attention once more to the clearing.
"What was that?"
"Man-monkey," he said quietly.
"Gorilla! By Jove!" and the boys stared into the forest, and then ateach other. "Perhaps he's gone to call up the others. Will he comeback, Muata?"
"Not he," said Mr. Hume. "He's just about as frightened as we were.What are the signs, Muata?"
"Wow! Bad--bad signs. These be the bones of men;" and he turned overthe ashes with his foot. "They were few who made a home here, andthe man-eaters marked them for their own. In the night they fell onthe village, killed the men, and rested here while they feasted--rested till the last was eaten; then with the women and the childrenthey went back. That much the signs tell me."
"Does he mean," asked Venning, in horror, "that they werecannibals?"
Mr. Hume nodded his head.
"The brutes," muttered Compton, turning white.
"I don't wonder," said Venning, in a whisper. "This place is enoughto breed any horror."
"It will be safe to land," said the chief, quietly.
"But what of the arrow?"
"That was not shot by a man-eater. It was the arrow of a river-man;maybe the same man loosened it as tied the fetish cloth to the pole,for one has been here since the man-eaters left."
He put two fingers in his mouth and produced a shrill whistle.
There was no answer; and after a time they all landed to stretchtheir legs, but the associations of the place, with those grimremains of the cannibal feast, were too terrible, and they did notstay long. As the Okapi resumed her voyage up the sombre defile, afaint whistle sounded on the opposite bank. Muata replied in thesame fashion, and called out.
Back from the shadows came a quavering answer. Muata called again,and out from under the roof of leaves, formed by the overhangingbranches, shot a tiny craft, with two men in her. The Okapi sloweddown, and the little canoe, with many a halt, timidly drew near tillthe occupants could be clearly seen. One--he who wielded the paddle--was a young man, black as soot, with a shaggy head of frizzledwool, and wild, suspicious eyes. The other, who appeared to beurging the other to more speed, was an old man, whose head wascovered by an Arab fez.
"Peace be with you," said Mr. Hume, in Arab.
"And with you, also," replied the old man, in a thin voice. "Haste,my son!"--this to the paddler. "They are white men, such as I havespoken of."
The canoe gradually drew near, and the old man held out a shakinghand to be helped on board the larger boat; but the wild manremained in his dug-out. The old man told his story slowly in astrange dialect understood by Muata, and the purport of it was thatthe cannibals had surprised the village at dawn, killed all the menwith the exception of themselves, and had gone off with the women.
It was a familiar story to Muata, and he related it coldly; but hisindifference did not last very long. It was plain that the old manwas not of the same race as his companion, and when the two hadeaten, Compton asked the old chap how he came to wear a fez andspeak Arabic.
"It is the speech of my fathers, effendi," he said, turning hissmoke-bleared eyes on the young face.
"And how came it that an Arab was dwelling with the river-people?"asked Muata. "Sooner would I have looked for an old wolf living atpeace with the goats."
The Arab withdrew his gaze from Compton and fastened it on the otteroutlined on the chiefs breast. With a skinny finger he pointed atthe chief.
"Allah is great," he said. "This is his work; and you will follow onthe track of the man-eaters."
"Save your speech, old man, for we work not for river-people; andyou forget the arrow that was loosed at us."
"This one loosed it in rage at the loss of his wife, mistaking youfor wolves; but, even so, it was as Allah willed, for the arrowwarned you of our presence."
"You speak in circles, my friend," said Compton. "Show us the fingerof Allah in this matter?"
"This," said the old man, solemnly, placing his finger on Muata'sbreast, "is he they call the River Wolf, the son of the wise woman,the warrior who will follow the track of the man-eaters."
"What know ye of the wise woman?" demanded the chief.
"We talked together, she and I, at the village that is burnt, of thedays when Muata was a babe in her arms, when these limbs of minewere strong to do service for a white man, whose voice was the voiceof the young effendi."
"And where now is the wise woman, old man?"
"It is four days since the cannibals left. Tell me where they wouldbe, O warrior, for the forest is your hunting-ground."
Muata lowered his eyelids, and took the news of his mother's captureby the cannibals in silence; but Compton was burning with excitementat the reference to the white man.
"What white man was that you spoke of? I look for such a one."
"Men search not for the dead, effendi."
"But for signs of the dead--for the place of his burial, for thebook he wrote, for the things he left."
The old man nodded. "Allah is great. Is it not as I said; you havebeen guided
hither?"
"But tell me of the white man," said Compton, impatiently.
"We two, the wise woman and I, talked of the white man; and sheknows all. See, I am old, and the past is like a mist, through whichold memories pass quickly like shadows; but the wise woman can blowthe mist away. Find her, and you will learn all of my white man."
More than this the old man could not say, and presently he fellasleep; but from the wild man Muata learnt that his mother hadindeed been at the village.
"And you will want to leave us, chief?" said Mr. Hume, when thestory had been straightened out.
"Ow aye. Shall a son leave the mother who bore him through thedangers of the wood? I will follow;" and his eyes lingered on theGhoorka knife.
"The knife you can take, chief, and food; but we will miss you. Puthim up some biltong, Venning."
Venning hesitated.
"Put up some for me too," said Compton, peremptorily.
Mr. Hume raised his brows.
"I mean it so, sir. You will remember that my great hope was to findsome trace of my father; and who can this white man be if he is notmy father? Will you take me with you, chief?"
The chief shook his head. "This river-man and I go together on thetrail."
Compton stormed and begged; but the chief remained silent, with hiseyes on Mr. Hume.
"What's all the fuss about?" put in Venning. "We have come here toexplore and hunt, not to crawl for ever up a river. What is toprevent us all from following on the track of the cannibals?"
"If Compton had made that suggestion," said Mr. Hume, "we could atleast have considered it calmly in the interest of the whole party;but he has thought only of himself."
"I am awfully sorry," said Compton, firing up. "I did not think."
"No," said the hunter, drily; "otherwise you would have known that Iwould not permit you to leave us."
"Of course I could not break up the party," said Compton, eagerly;"but you will think over Venning's proposal, won't you, sir? We havecome to explore the forest. Let us begin now when we have such agood reason."
"Do you hear, Muata; the young men say that we should all follow onthe trail?"
"It is my quarrel," said the chief, not jumping at the offer.
Mr. Hume smoked in silence.
"Yet the man-eaters are strong," Muata said presently.
"They have also guns given by the man-stealers. The great one andthe young lions would be worth many men; but the forest is dark, theway is hard, and not fit for white men."
Mr. Hume grunted.
"When Muata goes on the war-path, he fights his own way, on his ownplan. On the war-path Muata is chief."
The hunter turned his calm eyes on the wild river-man.
"Chief of one."
"Of one or none, it does not matter, great one; since to be chief isto do what is best."
"Your plans are your own. Consider. If we go, we will do nothing tospoil those plans; but, in the end, if you want help to rescue thewise woman--your mother--then we will be ready to help you."
"It is a good word; but consider also, great one, that those whowalk the forest must know the forest, and those who know the forestmust lead, lest there be divided counsels, and wanderings that leadnowhere but to death."
"Am I, then, a boy at this work?"
"Wow! That was not my thought; but the lion hunts in the open land,the tiger in the bush. If the lion roared in the forest, see, theevil ones would hear and prepare a trap for him."
"Well, chief, hear this. In all things I will take your advice. Ifit is good, we will follow it; if bad, you can go your own way."
"It is well," said the chief, slowly. "I and this man will follow onthe trail to find whither it leads. Tomorrow we will return, and ifthe great one is then of the same mind, we will start."
"Good. In the mean time we will find a place where we can leave theboat, with such things as we do not need."
Muata glanced at the old Arab, then said softly, "When you havefound your hiding-place, see that ye three only know of it." Henodded his head. "I would trust no man with the secret. I should notlike to know of it myself, for the things you have would make one ofus rich."
With a little packet of food, his Ghoorka knife, and his jackal,Muata entered the dug-out, and landed again on the clearing. Theywaved their hands to him, and then turned their attention to the oldArab, who was sipping a cup of coffee with every sign ofsatisfaction.
"Old man, we go soon on the trail of the cannibals into the forestwhere you could not follow. What shall we do with you?"
"As Allah wills," was the resigned reply.
"Think. Is there any village where you would be safe until wereturn?"
"Few who enter the forest ever return. A day's journey in a canoethere is a path in the wood that leads to a village. If I couldreach the path, it would do; but----"
The Okapi straightway continued up the dark river, through thesilence of the sombre woods, and the old man drank his coffee, andthen gave himself up to the pleasure of tobacco, with his dull eyesfixed on Compton.
In the afternoon he pointed to a palm-tree. "There is a path," hesaid.
"Is there anything you would like?" asked Compton.
"Coffee is good, and tobacco is a great comforter."
They made him up a packet of these luxuries, and added a blanket.
"Allah is good," he muttered.
"After we have recovered the wise woman, maybe we will search youout, for we look, then, for the Garden of Rest."
"Ay, so he called it. The Garden of Rest, and the gates thereof.Ay, I would see the place again."
"You know it?" Compton said eagerly. "Then you must have known myfather."
"A white man I knew, effendi. The good white man, many years ago;and my old eyes told me that you were of his blood. If the forestgives you up, search for this path and follow it; and if I be alive,I would go to that place in the clouds. Allah be with you."
"And with you."
The Okapi was driven into the bank, and the old man stepped ashore.
"See that you keep your counsel, my friend," Said Mr. Hume. "Wewant no prowlers about our camp."
They turned the Okapi down-stream again, and considered where theyshould hide her, for that was a thing to be done with the utmostcare. It was, however, very difficult to decide; for in the screenof the wood, all along the banks, every spot seemed the same, andthere were many reasons against tying up in some dark retreat andleaving the precious craft to its fate, at the mercy of the risingor falling water, and at the risk of discovery by prowlingfishermen.
"We must get her aground," said Mr. Hume; and they poked into thebanks here and there in search of a likely landing, ultimatelyfinding a spot where a huge tree had fallen bodily into the river,dragging away with its roots a mass of earth. They marked the place,and returned to the clearing to camp for the night. By the light ofa fire and of the lamps they went through the stores, and made upfive packages, one for each man to carry. Sheets of oiled canvaswere left out, rubber boots, and oilskin coverings for their hatsand shoulders. In the morning Compton was left behind in theclearing in charge of the packages, while the other two took theOkapi down to her berth, which was about half a mile down on thesame side. They drove the boat into the little natural dock, thenwith their Ghoorka knives cleared a little place in the forest, andnext, with a small pioneer spade, dug a trench in the soft mouldmore than large enough to hold the boat. Then a foundation was laidof saplings; the walls were also lined with tough wood, and theOkapi, lightened of her cargo and steel deck, was bodily dragged up,and, after a long effort, safely lowered into the dry dock.Everything was made trim, a layer of branches placed over all, thenthe leaf-mould restored, and all leveled down. Working unceasingly,the job took them till well on into the afternoon, when they resteda while; then, with their knives in hand, set off to work their wayback to the clearing. All they had to do was to follow the river. Itwas simple enough in theory, but in practice it was a tough job, asthey had to struggle every
foot of the way, squirming and crawling.When they heard Compton's hail they had come to the conclusion thatthe forest was a trap, its mysteries a delusion, and its generalqualities altogether disgusting.
"You have been a time!" shouted Compton, as the two, hot, red-faced,and tattered, stepped out and straightened themselves up with handsto the small of the back.
"I'm as hungry as three, and have been under a terrific strain tokeep from eating the finest and fattest baked 'possum you ever saw.Come on."
"'Possum?" said Venning, hurrying forward. "There are no 'possums inAfrica."
"Well, it's something."
"Smells nice."
"Sit down--sit down, and we'll find out what it is afterwards."
They sat down with sighs of relief, and the "'possum" disappearedwithout a word being spoken.
"Beggar was eating earth-nuts over there, and I bowled him over witha stick. See, there's his skin--long tail and sharp face."
"Monkey," said Mr. Hume.
"Prehensile tail," muttered Venning, examining that appendage."Anyway, it was good. See anything more?"
"Lots. One crocodile, and about one million ants and insect things.Finished your job?"
"We buried the boat on the bank, and you youngsters had better be atgreat pains to take your bearings, in case anything happens; and fora sign we'll lash that pole and its bit of rag to the top of a tree.Up you go, Venning, and make it fast."
The pole with its dirty flag was lashed to a tall tree, and thenthey waited for Muata. The jackal was the first to make itsappearance, but the chief was not long after, and the river-man, afew minutes later, looking quite exhausted. The chief first ate,then he washed, then at last he condescended to take notice ofthings, and then to give particulars. He had followed the trail ofthe cannibals. It led straight into the forest. They could follow inthe morning.
With the morning came a heavy white mist that made travellingimpossible, and all they could do was to wait in the mugginessuntil, through a window in the sluggish clouds which hung lowoverhead, the sun shot its rays and sucked up the moisture. Thenthey started, and a minute later they were in the silence and thegloom of the most tremendous extent of unbroken wood on the face ofthe earth--a Sahara of leaves, stretching away to the east for fivehundred miles, and reaching over the same extent north and south.Trackless, the forest was, to any one not acquainted with itssecrets; but there were paths through it, and the villagers had madetheir own approaches to the main system of thoroughfares, so thatthe going was not difficult, especially as the direction up to acertain distance had been decided upon by the previous day'stracking.
They had, however, to walk in single file, with much care to theirsteps, for the obstacles were ceaseless in the way of trailingvines, saplings, and fallen trees. The narrow and tortuous avenuethey threaded was gloomy in the extreme, affording scarcely anyglimpse of the sky, and opening out no vistas between the serriedranks of steins, each clothed in a covering of velvet moss, and alllooped together by the parasitical vines, whose boles were often asthick as cables.
As they plunged deeper into the woods over a yielding surface ofleaf-mould, which sent up a warm smell, the silence was as thesilence of a huge cavern, into which is borne the hollow rumbling ofthe waves, the sound in place of that being the continual murmur ofthe sea of leaves moved by a breeze ever so slight, so soft that nochance breath of it found its way below.
Yet the place was not really silent, and by-and-by, as their earsgrew attuned to the new surroundings, the boys detected the soundsmade by living things large and small, far and near--sounds whichseemed a part of the silence, because they were all soft and alittle mysterious, with a pause in between, as if the insect orcreature which made them was listening to find if any enemy hadheard him. They were little detached sounds, as if an insect wouldstart out to sing its song, and then suddenly think better of it;and even when some large animal made its presence known by thesnapping of a branch, or a sudden scurry in the undergrowth, thenoise ceased almost as soon as it began.
"It gives me the creeps," muttered Venning, after a long silence.
"That's just it," said Compton; "everything appears to be creeping."
"Even the trees. They seem to watch and whisper and wait, and thenews of our coming has been carried right away for miles. Shouldn'twonder if the trees were to close in and shut us up."
"Oh, come, now; that's a bit too fanciful."
They shifted their loads to relieve aching shoulders, and kept onthrough the unending avenues in another long spell of silence.
"Reminds me of the reeds again," said Compton; "only this is worse."
"By Jenkins! just imagine the blaze and the scorch if this forestcaught afire like your reeds."
"Couldn't--too damp. We've been tramping for two hours, and I havenot seen a bird, or an animal, or a reptile; nothing but snails andants. Don't see where the game comes in."
"We're not after game; we're after cannibals."
"By Jove! yes, I suppose we are--that is, if they are cannibals. Ithought the species had died out."
"It will be a long time before cannibalism dies out," said Mr. Hume,who was bringing up the rear, "particularly in those parts wherethe people find a difficulty in getting flesh-food; but, at the sametime, scarcity of flesh-food does not always turn a tribe tocannibalism. What does happen is this--that people who live in apoor district become small In the Kalihari you find the bushmen, inthe forest you find the pigmies."
"Then the forest is poor in animals?"
"It has its types, but I should say they must be very few. You see,animals want sun, And where would they find it here? No! whatanimals haunt the forest will not be found on the ground."
"I see," said Compton, with a grin; "they fly."
"I know," interposed Venning, triumphantly; "they live in the tree-tops."
Compton looked up at the matted roof of leaves and branches.
"Well, all I hope is that a tall giraffe will not fall through ontop of me."
"There is one thing that should give you comfort," said Venning,solemnly.
"What is that?"
"It would be the giraffe who would suffer."
"Wait till I have got rid of these parcels, young 'un," saidCompton. "Are you getting tired?"
"Well, I am," said Venning--"tired and stuffy."
"Glad to be back on the boat again--eh? Well, if it's any comfort toyou, I'm tired too. Haven't got my land-legs yet."
Mr. Hume cried a halt, to their great content, and though there weresome hours yet to evening, he set them to work to make the camp. Thework was the same they undertook each evening they were in theforest. First they cleared a circle about twenty feet in diameter,with an outer ring of large trees, and, using the trunks as posts,built a fence with the saplings and young trees. A hole was dug inthe soft ground for the fireplace, and another fence built round toscreen the glare of the fire. Next their waterproof sheets werearranged, the sheet of canvas stretched overhead, and, when all wasshipshape, the three white members of the party went through acourse of massage, which prepared them for the one good meal of theday. Then they overhauled their clothing, repaired any tears, oiledthe rifles, and entered up the log-books. There was always somethingto do, and according to the man-of-war discipline observed, everyman had to do his share of work--a rule which gave the mindemployment, and kept it from dwelling on the monotony and thedepressing silence of the woods. While the camp was springing intoexistence out of the tangled woods, the jackal kept guard, circlingat a distance, like a well-trained collie herding a flock of sheep.
The first night was a repetition of many others. When the night camedown, as it did long before darkness set in on the wide river, wherethe afterglow was reflected from the waters, it was black beyondthought, so black that a few yards from the fire the sharpest pairof eyes could not see a hand held a foot away. And with the darknesscame a sense of mystery, a hollow murmur as of the surf heard a longway off, which intensified the brooding stillness; and at times thegroaning o
f the trees.
"What noise is that?" asked Venning, hearing the sound.
"The trees talk," said Muata, gravely.
"Eh? The trees talk! Wonderful!" muttered Compton, sarcastically;but, nevertheless, he listened with open mouth and staring eyes.
"What do they say, chief?"
"The young ones ask for room; they shove and push to reach up intothe air, to feel the touch of the rain, to enjoy the warmth of thesun."
"And the big trees?"
"They cry out against the young, who come thrusting their branchesup from below, who crowd in upon the old people."
"And the squeaking noise?"
"That is made by one branch rubbing against another. Wow! It isnothing. Hear them talk when a wind is blowing; then it is as if allthe great ones were gathered together roaring to the four comers,with the voice of the storm booming from the skies, and thebellowing of a great herd of bulls, and in between the cries ofwomen in fear and the screaming of tigers. Mawoh! It is then a manwould hide in a hole. Now it is quiet; they but whisper amongthemselves half asleep, but in the morning they will stretch theirlimbs."
"Of course," said Compton, "and yawn!"
"How will a tree grow if it does not stretch? It bends this way andthat, to loosen the bark, to make its body and its arms supple andtough, so that it can bend to the blast and yet spring back straightagain. Tell me what would happen if the young tree were bark-bound.It would die--as these old ones die smothered by the creeping armsaround them. Ow aye, they stretch in the morning and grow."
So they talked in the night, and listened to the strange sounds thatcame mysteriously out of the brooding silence.