Chapter 3
Life and Death
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 she 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 she built but one small room. She constructed her cabin of small logs about six inches in diameter, stopping the chinks with clay which she found at the depth of a few feet beneath the surface soil.
At one end she built a fireplace of small stones from the beach. These also she set in clay and when the house had been entirely completed she applied a coating of the clay to the entire outside surface to the thickness of four inches.
In the window opening she 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 she 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 she 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 she had no means whereby to hang her massive door now that she had built it. After two days' work, however, she succeeded in fashioning two massive hardwood hinges, and with these she 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 woman 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 she 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 her as though to warn her of approaching danger.
At last she 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 her building operations. Grown careless from months of continued safety, during which time she had seen no dangerous animals during the daylight hours, she had left her rifles and revolvers all within the little cabin, and now that she saw the great ape crashing through the underbrush directly toward her, and from a direction which practically cut her off from escape, she felt a vague little shiver play up and down her spine.
She knew that, armed only with an ax, her chances with this ferocious monster were small indeed--and Alister; O God, she thought, what will become of Alister?
There was yet a slight chance of reaching the cabin. She turned and ran toward it, shouting an alarm to her husband to run in and close the great door in case the ape cut off her retreat.
Lady Greystoke had been sitting a little way from the cabin, and when he heard her cry he 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 he sprang toward the cabin, and, as he entered, gave a backward glance which filled his soul with terror, for the brute had intercepted his wife, who now stood at bay grasping her ax with both hands ready to swing it upon the infuriated animal when she should make her final charge.
'Close and bolt the door, Alister,' cried Clayton. 'I can finish this fellow with my ax.'
But she knew she was facing a horrible death, and so did he.
The ape was a great bull, weighing probably three hundred pounds. Her nasty, close-set eyes gleamed hatred from beneath her shaggy brows, while her great canine fangs were bared in a horrid snarl as she paused a moment before her prey.
Over the brute's shoulder Clayton could see the doorway of her cabin, not twenty paces distant, and a great wave of horror and fear swept over her as she saw her young husband emerge, armed with one of her rifles.
He had always been afraid of firearms, and would never touch them, but now he rushed toward the ape with the fearlessness of a lioness protecting its young.
'Back, Alister,' shouted Clayton, 'for God's sake, go back.'
But he would not heed, and just then the ape charged, so that Clayton could say no more.
The woman swung her ax with all her 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 she closed upon her defenseless victim, but ere her fangs had reached the throat they thirsted for, there was a sharp report and a bullet entered the ape's back between her shoulders.
Throwing Clayton to the ground the beast turned upon her new enemy. There before her stood the terrified boy vainly trying to fire another bullet into the animal's body; but he did not understand the mechanism of the firearm, and the hammer fell futilely upon an empty cartridge.
Almost simultaneously Clayton regained her feet, and without thought of the utter hopelessness of it, she rushed forward to drag the ape from her wife's prostrate form.
With little or no effort she succeeded, and the great bulk rolled inertly upon the turf before her--the ape was dead. The bullet had done its work.
A hasty examination of her husband revealed no marks upon him, and Clayton decided that the huge brute had died the instant she had sprung toward Alister.
Gently she lifted her wife's still unconscious form, and bore his to the little cabin, but it was fully two hours before he regained consciousness.
His first words filled Clayton with vague apprehension. For some time after regaining his senses, Alister gazed wonderingly about the interior of the little cabin, and then, with a satisfied sigh, said:
'O, Joan, 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, Alister,' she said, stroking his for
ehead, 'try to sleep again, and do not worry your head about bad dreams.'
That night a little daughter 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 he lived for a year after his baby was born, he was never again outside the cabin, nor did he ever fully realize that he was not in England.
Sometimes he 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 his room, but, though she made no effort to deceive him, never could he grasp the meaning of it all.
In other ways he was quite rational, and the joy and happiness he took in the possession of his little daughter and the constant attentions of his wife made that year a very happy one for him, the happiest of his young life.
That it would have been beset by worries and apprehension had he been in full command of his mental faculties Clayton well knew; so that while she suffered terribly to see his so, there were times when she was almost glad, for his sake, that he could not understand.
Long since had she given up any hope of rescue, except through accident. With unremitting zeal she 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 her 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 her meager assortment of tools she had fashioned lumber to neatly seal the walls and ceiling and lay a smooth floor within the cabin.
That she had been able to turn her hands at all to such unaccustomed labor was a source of mild wonder to her. But she loved the work because it was for his and the tiny life that had come to cheer them, though adding a hundredfold to her 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 she never again ventured outside without both rifle and revolvers she had little fear of the huge beasts.
She had strengthened the window protections and fitted a unique wooden lock to the cabin door, so that when she hunted for game and fruits, as it was constantly necessary for her to do to insure sustenance, she had no fear that any animal could break into the little home.
At first she 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 her rifle.
In her leisure Clayton read, often aloud to her husband, from the store of books she 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 her diary, which she had always been accustomed to keep in French, and in which she recorded the details of their strange life. This book she kept locked in a little metal box.
A year from the day his little daughter was born Sir Alister passed quietly away in the night. So peaceful was his end that it was hours before Clayton could awake to a realization that her husband was dead.
The horror of the situation came to her very slowly, and it is doubtful that she ever fully realized the enormity of her sorrow and the fearful responsibility that had devolved upon her with the care of that wee thing, her daughter, still a nursing babe.
The last entry in her diary was made the morning following his death, and there she 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 daughter is crying for nourishment--O Alister, Alister, what shall I do?
And as Joan Clayton wrote the last words her hand was destined ever to pen, she dropped her head wearily upon her outstretched arms where they rested upon the table she had built for his who lay still and cold in the bed beside her.
For a long time no sound broke the deathlike stillness of the jungle midday save the piteous wailing of the tiny woman-child.