Tarzan of the Apes
On the placid waters of the landlocked harbor floated a great ship, and
on the beach a small boat was drawn up.
But, most wonderful of all, a number of white men like himself were
moving about between the beach and his cabin.
Tarzan saw that in many ways they were like the men of his picture
books. He crept closer through the trees until he was quite close above
them.
There were ten men, swarthy, sun-tanned, villainous looking fellows.
Now they had congregated by the boat and were talking in loud, angry
tones, with much gesticulating and shaking of fists.
Presently one of them, a little, mean-faced, black-bearded fellow with
a countenance which reminded Tarzan of Pamba, the rat, laid his hand
upon the shoulder of a giant who stood next him, and with whom all the
others had been arguing and quarreling.
The little man pointed inland, so that the giant was forced to turn
away from the others to look in the direction indicated. As he turned,
the little, mean-faced man drew a revolver from his belt and shot the
giant in the back.
The big fellow threw his hands above his head, his knees bent beneath
him, and without a sound he tumbled forward upon the beach, dead.
The report of the weapon, the first that Tarzan had ever heard, filled
him with wonderment, but even this unaccustomed sound could not startle
his healthy nerves into even a semblance of panic.
The conduct of the white strangers it was that caused him the greatest
perturbation. He puckered his brows into a frown of deep thought. It
was well, thought he, that he had not given way to his first impulse to
rush forward and greet these white men as brothers.
They were evidently no different from the black men—no more civilized
than the apes—no less cruel than Sabor.
For a moment the others stood looking at the little, mean-faced man and
the giant lying dead upon the beach.
Then one of them laughed and slapped the little man upon the back.
There was much more talk and gesticulating, but less quarreling.
Presently they launched the boat and all jumped into it and rowed away
toward the great ship, where Tarzan could see other figures moving
about upon the deck.
When they had clambered aboard, Tarzan dropped to earth behind a great
tree and crept to his cabin, keeping it always between himself and the
ship.
Slipping in at the door he found that everything had been ransacked.
His books and pencils strewed the floor. His weapons and shields and
other little store of treasures were littered about.
As he saw what had been done a great wave of anger surged through him,
and the new made scar upon his forehead stood suddenly out, a bar of
inflamed crimson against his tawny hide.
Quickly he ran to the cupboard and searched in the far recess of the
lower shelf. Ah! He breathed a sigh of relief as he drew out the little
tin box, and, opening it, found his greatest treasures undisturbed.
The photograph of the smiling, strong-faced young man, and the little
black puzzle book were safe.
What was that?
His quick ear had caught a faint but unfamiliar sound.
Running to the window Tarzan looked toward the harbor, and there he saw
that a boat was being lowered from the great ship beside the one
already in the water. Soon he saw many people clambering over the sides
of the larger vessel and dropping into the boats. They were coming back
in full force.
For a moment longer Tarzan watched while a number of boxes and bundles
were lowered into the waiting boats, then, as they shoved off from the
ship’s side, the ape-man snatched up a piece of paper, and with a
pencil printed on it for a few moments until it bore several lines of
strong, well-made, almost letter-perfect characters.
This notice he stuck upon the door with a small sharp splinter of wood.
Then gathering up his precious tin box, his arrows, and as many bows
and spears as he could carry, he hastened through the door and
disappeared into the forest.
When the two boats were beached upon the silvery sand it was a strange
assortment of humanity that clambered ashore.
Some twenty souls in all there were, fifteen of them rough and
villainous appearing seamen.
The others of the party were of different stamp.
One was an elderly man, with white hair and large rimmed spectacles.
His slightly stooped shoulders were draped in an ill-fitting, though
immaculate, frock coat, and a shiny silk hat added to the incongruity
of his garb in an African jungle.
The second member of the party to land was a tall young man in white
ducks, while directly behind came another elderly man with a very high
forehead and a fussy, excitable manner.
After these came a huge Negress clothed like Solomon as to colors. Her
great eyes rolled in evident terror, first toward the jungle and then
toward the cursing band of sailors who were removing the bales and
boxes from the boats.
The last member of the party to disembark was a girl of about nineteen,
and it was the young man who stood at the boat’s prow to lift her high
and dry upon land. She gave him a brave and pretty smile of thanks, but
no words passed between them.
In silence the party advanced toward the cabin. It was evident that
whatever their intentions, all had been decided upon before they left
the ship; and so they came to the door, the sailors carrying the boxes
and bales, followed by the five who were of so different a class. The
men put down their burdens, and then one caught sight of the notice
which Tarzan had posted.
“Ho, mates!” he cried. “What’s here? This sign was not posted an hour
ago or I’ll eat the cook.”
The others gathered about, craning their necks over the shoulders of
those before them, but as few of them could read at all, and then only
after the most laborious fashion, one finally turned to the little old
man of the top hat and frock coat.
“Hi, perfesser,” he called, “step for’rd and read the bloomin’ notis.”
Thus addressed, the old man came slowly to where the sailors stood,
followed by the other members of his party. Adjusting his spectacles he
looked for a moment at the placard and then, turning away, strolled off
muttering to himself: “Most remarkable—most remarkable!”
“Hi, old fossil,” cried the man who had first called on him for
assistance, “did je think we wanted of you to read the bloomin’ notis
to yourself? Come back here and read it out loud, you old barnacle.”
The old man stopped and, turning back, said: “Oh, yes, my dear sir, a
thousand pardons. It was quite thoughtless of me, yes—very thoughtless.
Most remarkable—most remarkable!”
Again he faced the notice and read it through, and doubtless would have
turned off again to ruminate upon it had not the sailor grasped him
roughly by the collar and howled into his ear.
“Read it out loud, you blithering old idiot.”
“Ah, yes indeed, yes indeed,” replied the professor softly, and
adjusting his spectacles once more he read aloud:
THIS IS THE HOUSE OF TARZAN, THE
KILLER OF BEASTS AND MANY BLACK
MEN. DO NOT HARM THE THINGS WHICH
ARE TARZAN’S. TARZAN WATCHES.
TARZAN OF THE APES.
“Who the devil is Tarzan?” cried the sailor who had before spoken.
“He evidently speaks English,” said the young man.
“But what does ‘Tarzan of the Apes’ mean?” cried the girl.
“I do not know, Miss Porter,” replied the young man, “unless we have
discovered a runaway simian from the London Zoo who has brought back a
European education to his jungle home. What do you make of it,
Professor Porter?” he added, turning to the old man.
Professor Archimedes Q. Porter adjusted his spectacles.
“Ah, yes, indeed; yes indeed—most remarkable, most remarkable!” said
the professor; “but I can add nothing further to what I have already
remarked in elucidation of this truly momentous occurrence,” and the
professor turned slowly in the direction of the jungle.
“But, papa,” cried the girl, “you haven’t said anything about it yet.”
“Tut, tut, child; tut, tut,” responded Professor Porter, in a kindly
and indulgent tone, “do not trouble your pretty head with such weighty
and abstruse problems,” and again he wandered slowly off in still
another direction, his eyes bent upon the ground at his feet, his hands
clasped behind him beneath the flowing tails of his coat.
“I reckon the daffy old bounder don’t know no more’n we do about it,”
growled the rat-faced sailor.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” cried the young man, his face
paling in anger, at the insulting tone of the sailor. “You’ve murdered
our officers and robbed us. We are absolutely in your power, but you’ll
treat Professor Porter and Miss Porter with respect or I’ll break that
vile neck of yours with my bare hands—guns or no guns,” and the young
fellow stepped so close to the rat-faced sailor that the latter, though
he bore two revolvers and a villainous looking knife in his belt, slunk
back abashed.
“You damned coward,” cried the young man. “You’d never dare shoot a man
until his back was turned. You don’t dare shoot me even then,” and he
deliberately turned his back full upon the sailor and walked
nonchalantly away as if to put him to the test.
The sailor’s hand crept slyly to the butt of one of his revolvers; his
wicked eyes glared vengefully at the retreating form of the young
Englishman. The gaze of his fellows was upon him, but still he
hesitated. At heart he was even a greater coward than Mr. William Cecil
Clayton had imagined.
Two keen eyes had watched every move of the party from the foliage of a
nearby tree. Tarzan had seen the surprise caused by his notice, and
while he could understand nothing of the spoken language of these
strange people their gestures and facial expressions told him much.
The act of the little rat-faced sailor in killing one of his comrades
had aroused a strong dislike in Tarzan, and now that he saw him
quarreling with the fine-looking young man his animosity was still
further stirred.
Tarzan had never seen the effects of a firearm before, though his books
had taught him something of them, but when he saw the rat-faced one
fingering the butt of his revolver he thought of the scene he had
witnessed so short a time before, and naturally expected to see the
young man murdered as had been the huge sailor earlier in the day.
So Tarzan fitted a poisoned arrow to his bow and drew a bead upon the
rat-faced sailor, but the foliage was so thick that he soon saw the
arrow would be deflected by the leaves or some small branch, and
instead he launched a heavy spear from his lofty perch.
Clayton had taken but a dozen steps. The rat-faced sailor had half
drawn his revolver; the other sailors stood watching the scene
intently.
Professor Porter had already disappeared into the jungle, whither he
was being followed by the fussy Samuel T. Philander, his secretary and
assistant.
Esmeralda, the Negress, was busy sorting her mistress’ baggage from the
pile of bales and boxes beside the cabin, and Miss Porter had turned
away to follow Clayton, when something caused her to turn again toward
the sailor.
And then three things happened almost simultaneously. The sailor jerked
out his weapon and leveled it at Clayton’s back, Miss Porter screamed a
warning, and a long, metal-shod spear shot like a bolt from above and
passed entirely through the right shoulder of the rat-faced man.
The revolver exploded harmlessly in the air, and the seaman crumpled up
with a scream of pain and terror.
Clayton turned and rushed back toward the scene. The sailors stood in a
frightened group, with drawn weapons, peering into the jungle. The
wounded man writhed and shrieked upon the ground.
Clayton, unseen by any, picked up the fallen revolver and slipped it
inside his shirt, then he joined the sailors in gazing, mystified, into
the jungle.