Morning found them but little,
if at all refreshed, though it
was with a feeling of intense
relief that they saw the day
dawn.
As soon as they had made their
meager breakfast of salt pork,
coffee and biscuit, Clayton commenced
work upon their house, for he
realized that they could hope
for no safety and no peace of
mind at night until four strong
walls effectually barred the
jungle life from them.
The task was an arduous one
and required the better part
of a month, though he built but
one small room. He constructed
his cabin of small logs about
six inches in diameter, stopping
the chinks with clay which he
found at the depth of a few feet
beneath the surface soil.
At one end he built a fireplace
of small stones from the beach.
These also he set in clay and
when the house had been entirely
completed he applied a coating
of the clay to the entire outside
surface to the thickness of four
inches.
In the window opening he set
small branches about an inch
in diameter both vertically and
horizontally, and so woven that
they formed a substantial grating
that could withstand the strength
of a powerful animal. Thus they
obtained air and proper ventilation
without fear of lessening the
safety of their cabin.
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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