Chapter Chapter 5 · The White Ape

should be off his guard.

Of late they had quit attacking, or even showing themselves; for every

time they had done so in the past the little stick had roared out its

terrible message of death to some member of the tribe.

Today there was no sign of the man about, and from where they watched

they could see that the cabin door was open. Slowly, cautiously, and

noiselessly they crept through the jungle toward the little cabin.

There were no growls, no fierce screams of rage—the little black stick

had taught them to come quietly lest they awaken it.

On, on they came until Kerchak himself slunk stealthily to the very

door and peered within. Behind him were two males, and then Kala,

closely straining the little dead form to her breast.

Inside the den they saw the strange white ape lying half across a

table, his head buried in his arms; and on the bed lay a figure covered

by a sailcloth, while from a tiny rustic cradle came the plaintive

wailing of a babe.

Noiselessly Kerchak entered, crouching for the charge; and then John

Clayton rose with a sudden start and faced them.

The sight that met his eyes must have frozen him with horror, for

there, within the door, stood three great bull apes, while behind them

crowded many more; how many he never knew, for his revolvers were

hanging on the far wall beside his rifle, and Kerchak was charging.

When the king ape released the limp form which had been John Clayton,

Lord Greystoke, he turned his attention toward the little cradle; but

Kala was there before him, and when he would have grasped the child she

snatched it herself, and before he could intercept her she had bolted

through the door and taken refuge in a high tree.

As she took up the little live baby of Alice Clayton she dropped the

dead body of her own into the empty cradle; for the wail of the living

had answered the call of universal motherhood within her wild breast

which the dead could not still.

High up among the branches of a mighty tree she hugged the shrieking

infant to her bosom, and soon the instinct that was as dominant in this

fierce female as it had been in the breast of his tender and beautiful

mother—the instinct of mother love—reached out to the tiny man-child’s

half-formed understanding, and he became quiet.

Then hunger closed the gap between them, and the son of an English lord

and an English lady nursed at the breast of Kala, the great ape.

In the meantime the beasts within the cabin were warily examining the

contents of this strange lair.

Once satisfied that Clayton was dead, Kerchak turned his attention to

the thing which lay upon the bed, covered by a piece of sailcloth.

Gingerly he lifted one corner of the shroud, but when he saw the body

of the woman beneath he tore the cloth roughly from her form and seized

the still, white throat in his huge, hairy hands.

A moment he let his fingers sink deep into the cold flesh, and then,

realizing that she was already dead, he turned from her, to examine the

contents of the room; nor did he again molest the body of either Lady

Alice or Sir John.

The rifle hanging upon the wall caught his first attention; it was for

this strange, death-dealing thunder-stick that he had yearned for

months; but now that it was within his grasp he scarcely had the

temerity to seize it.

Cautiously he approached the thing, ready to flee precipitately should

it speak in its deep roaring tones, as he had heard it speak before,

the last words to those of his kind who, through ignorance or rashness,

had attacked the wonderful white ape that had borne it.

Deep in the beast’s intelligence was something which assured him that

the thunder-stick was only dangerous when in the hands of one who could

manipulate it, but yet it was several minutes ere he could bring

himself to touch it.

Instead, he walked back and forth along the floor before it, turning

his head so that never once did his eyes leave the object of his

desire.

Using his long arms as a man uses crutches, and rolling his huge

carcass from side to side with each stride, the great king ape paced to

and fro, uttering deep growls, occasionally punctuated with the

ear-piercing scream, than which there is no more terrifying noise in

all the jungle.

Presently he halted before the rifle. Slowly he raised a huge hand

until it almost touched the shining barrel, only to withdraw it once

more and continue his hurried pacing.

It was as though the great brute by this show of fearlessness, and

through the medium of his wild voice, was endeavoring to bolster up his

courage to the point which would permit him to take the rifle in his

hand.

Again he stopped, and this time succeeded in forcing his reluctant hand

to the cold steel, only to snatch it away almost immediately and resume

his restless beat.

Time after time this strange ceremony was repeated, but on each

occasion with increased confidence, until, finally, the rifle was torn

from its hook and lay in the grasp of the great brute.

Finding that it harmed him not, Kerchak began to examine it closely. He

felt of it from end to end, peered down the black depths of the muzzle,

fingered the sights, the breech, the stock, and finally the trigger.

During all these operations the apes who had entered sat huddled near

the door watching their chief, while those outside strained and crowded

to catch a glimpse of what transpired within.

Suddenly Kerchak’s finger closed upon the trigger. There was a

deafening roar in the little room and the apes at and beyond the door

fell over one another in their wild anxiety to escape.

Kerchak was equally frightened, so frightened, in fact, that he quite

forgot to throw aside the author of that fearful noise, but bolted for

the door with it tightly clutched in one hand.

As he passed through the opening, the front sight of the rifle caught

upon the edge of the inswung door with sufficient force to close it

tightly after the fleeing ape.

When Kerchak came to a halt a short distance from the cabin and

discovered that he still held the rifle, he dropped it as he might have

dropped a red hot iron, nor did he again attempt to recover it—the

noise was too much for his brute nerves; but he was now quite convinced

that the terrible stick was quite harmless by itself if left alone.

It was an hour before the apes could again bring themselves to approach

the cabin to continue their investigations, and when they finally did

so, they found to their chagrin that the door was closed and so

securely fastened that they could not force it.

The cleverly constructed latch which Clayton had made for the door had

sprung as Kerchak passed out; nor could the apes find means of ingress

through the heavily barred windows.

After roaming about the vicinity for a short time, they started back

for the deeper forests and the higher land from whence they had come.

Kala had not once come to earth with her little adopted babe, but now

Kerchak called to her to descend with the rest, and as there was no

note of anger in his voice she dropped lightly from branch to branch

and joined the others on their homeward march.

Those of the apes who attempted to examine Kala’s strange baby were

repulsed with bared fangs and low menacing growls, accompanied by words

of warning from Kala.

When they assured her that they meant the child no harm she permitted

them to come close, but would not allow them to touch her charge.

It was as though she knew that her baby was frail and delicate and

feared lest the rough hands of her fellows might injure the little

thing.

Another thing she did, and which made traveling an onerous trial for

her. Remembering the death of her own little one, she clung desperately

to the new babe, with one hand, whenever they were upon the march.

The other young rode upon their mothers’ backs; their little arms

tightly clasping the hairy necks before them, while their legs were

locked beneath their mothers’ armpits.

Not so with Kala; she held the small form of the little Lord Greystoke

tightly to her breast, where the dainty hands clutched the long black

hair which covered that portion of her body. She had seen one child

fall from her back to a terrible death, and she would take no further

chances with this.

CHAPTER 5. The White Ape

Tenderly Kala nursed her little waif, wondering silently why it did not

gain strength and agility as did the little apes of other mothers. It

was nearly a year from the time the little fellow came into her

possession before he would walk alone, and as for climbing—my, but how

stupid he was!

Kala sometimes talked with the older females about her young hopeful,

but none of them could understand how a child could be so slow and

backward in learning to care for itself. Why, it could not even find

food alone, and more than twelve moons had passed since Kala had come

upon it.

Had they known that the child had seen thirteen moons before it had

come into Kala’s possession they would have considered its case as

absolutely hopeless, for the little apes of their own tribe were as far

advanced in two or three moons as was this little stranger after

twenty-five.

Tublat, Kala’s husband, was sorely vexed, and but for the female’s

careful watching would have put the child out of the way.

“He will never be a great ape,” he argued. “Always will you have to

carry him and protect him. What good will he be to the tribe? None;

only a burden.

“Let us leave him quietly sleeping among the tall grasses, that you may

bear other and stronger apes to guard us in our old age.”

“Never, Broken Nose,” replied Kala. “If I must carry him forever, so be

it.”

And then Tublat went to Kerchak to urge him to use his authority with

Kala, and force her to give up little Tarzan, which was the name they

had given to the tiny Lord Greystoke, and which meant “White-Skin.”

But when Kerchak spoke to her about it Kala threatened to run away from

the tribe if they did not leave her in peace with the child; and as

this is one of the inalienable rights of the jungle folk, if they be

dissatisfied among their own people, they bothered her no more, for

Kala was a fine clean-limbed young female, and they did not wish to

lose her.

As Tarzan grew he made more rapid strides, so that by the time he was

ten years old he was an excellent climber, and on the ground could do

many wonderful things which were beyond the powers of his little

brothers and sisters.

In many ways did he differ from them, and they often marveled at his

superior cunning, but in strength and size he was deficient; for at ten

the great anthropoids were fully grown, some of them towering over six

feet in height, while little Tarzan was still but a half-grown boy.

Yet such a boy!

From early childhood he had used his hands to swing from branch to

branch after the manner of his giant mother, and as he grew older he

spent hour upon hour daily speeding through the tree tops with his

brothers and sisters.

He could spring twenty feet across space at the dizzy heights of the

forest top, and grasp with unerring precision, and without apparent

jar, a limb waving wildly in the path of an approaching tornado.

He could drop twenty feet at a stretch from limb to limb in rapid

descent to the ground, or he could gain the utmost pinnacle of the

loftiest tropical giant with the ease and swiftness of a squirrel.

Though but ten years old he was fully as strong as the average man of

thirty, and far more agile than the most practiced athlete ever

becomes. And day by day his strength was increasing.

His life among these fierce apes had been happy; for his recollection

held no other life, nor did he know that there existed within the

universe aught else than his little forest and the wild jungle animals

with which he was familiar.

He was nearly ten before he commenced to realize that a great

difference existed between himself and his fellows. His little body,

burned brown by exposure, suddenly caused him feelings of intense

shame, for he realized that it was entirely hairless, like some low

snake, or other reptile.

He attempted to obviate this by plastering himself from head to foot

with mud, but this dried and fell off. Besides it felt so uncomfortable

that he quickly decided that he preferred the shame to the discomfort.

In the higher land which his tribe frequented was a little lake, and it

was here that Tarzan first saw his face in the clear, still waters of

its bosom.

It was on a sultry day of the dry season that he and one of his cousins

had gone down to the bank to drink. As they leaned over, both little

faces were mirrored on the placid pool; the fierce and terrible

features of the ape beside those of the aristocratic scion of an old

English house.

Tarzan was appalled. It had been bad enough to be hairless, but to own

such a countenance! He wondered that the other apes could look at him

at all.

That tiny slit of a mouth and those puny white teeth! How they looked

beside the mighty lips and powerful fangs of his more fortunate

brothers!

And the little pinched nose of his; so thin was it that it looked half

starved. He turned red as he compared it with the beautiful broad

nostrils of his companion. Such a generous nose! Why it spread half

across his face! It certainly must be fine to be so handsome, thought

poor little Tarzan.

But when he saw his own eyes; ah, that was the final blow—a brown spot,

a gray circle and then blank whiteness! Frightful! not even the snakes

had such hideous eyes as he.

So intent was he upon this personal appraisement of his features that

he did not hear the parting of the tall grass behind him as a great

body pushed itself stealthily through the jungle; nor did his

companion, the ape, hear either, for he was drinking and the noise of

his sucking lips and gurgles of satisfaction drowned the quiet approach

of the intruder.

Not thirty paces behind the two she crouched—Sabor, the huge

lioness—lashing her tail. Cautiously she moved a great padded paw

forward, noiselessly placing it before she lifted the next. Thus she

advanced; her belly low, almost touching the surface of the ground—a

great cat preparing to spring upon its prey.

Now she was within ten feet of the two unsuspecting little

playfellows—carefully she drew her hind feet well up beneath her body,

the great muscles rolling under the beautiful skin.

So low she was crouching now that she seemed flattened to the earth

except for the upward bend of the glossy back as it gathered for the

spring.

No longer the tail lashed—quiet and straight behind her it lay.

An instant she paused thus, as though turned to stone, and then, with

an awful scream, she sprang.

Sabor, the lioness, was a wise hunter. To one less wise the wild alarm

of her fierce cry as she sprang would have seemed a foolish thing, for

could she not more surely have fallen upon her victims had she but

quietly leaped without that loud shriek?

But Sabor knew well the wondrous quickness of the jungle folk and their

almost unbelievable powers of hearing. To them the sudden scraping of

one blade of grass across another was as effectual a warning as her

loudest cry, and Sabor knew that she could not make that mighty leap

without a little noise.

Her wild scream was not a warning. It was voiced to freeze her poor

victims in a paralysis of terror for the tiny fraction of an instant

which would suffice for her mighty claws to sink into their soft flesh

and hold them beyond hope of escape.

So far as the ape was concerned, Sabor reasoned correctly. The little

fellow crouched trembling just an instant, but that instant was quite

long enough to prove his undoing.

Not so, however, with Tarzan, the man-child. His life amidst the

dangers of the jungle had taught him to meet emergencies with

self-confidence, and his higher intelligence resulted in a quickness of

mental action far beyond the powers of the apes.

So the scream of Sabor, the lioness, galvanized the brain and muscles

of little Tarzan into instant action.

Before him lay the deep waters of the little lake, behind him certain

death; a cruel death beneath tearing claws and rending fangs.

Tarzan had always hated water except as a medium for quenching his

thirst. He hated it because he connected it with the chill and

discomfort of the torrential rains, and he feared it for the thunder

and lightning and wind which accompanied them.

The deep waters of the lake he had been taught by his wild mother to

avoid, and further, had he not seen little Neeta sink beneath its quiet

surface only a few short weeks before never to return to the tribe?

But of the two evils his quick mind chose the lesser ere the first note

of Sabor’s scream had scarce broken the quiet of the jungle, and before

the great beast had covered half her leap Tarzan felt the chill waters

close above his head.

He could not swim, and the water was very deep; but still he lost no

particle of that self-confidence and resourcefulness which were the

badges of his superior being.

Rapidly he moved his hands and feet in an attempt to scramble upward,

and, possibly more by chance than design, he fell into the stroke that

a dog uses when swimming, so that within a few seconds his nose was

above water and he found that he could keep it there by continuing his

strokes, and also make progress through the water.

He was much surprised and pleased with this new acquirement which had

been so suddenly thrust upon him, but he had no time for thinking much

upon it.

He was now swimming parallel to the bank and there he saw the cruel

beast that would have seized him crouching upon the still form of his

little playmate.

The lioness was intently watching Tarzan, evidently expecting him to

return to shore, but this the boy had no intention of doing.

Instead he raised his voice in the call of distress common to his

tribe, adding to it the warning which would prevent would-be rescuers

from running into the clutches of Sabor.

Almost immediately there came an answer from the distance, and

presently forty or fifty great apes swung rapidly and majestically

through the trees toward the scene of tragedy.

In the lead was Kala, for she had recognized the tones of her best

beloved, and with her was the mother of the little ape who lay dead

beneath cruel Sabor.

Though more powerful and better equipped for fighting than the apes,

the lioness had no desire to meet these enraged adults, and with a

snarl of hatred she sprang quickly into the brush and disappeared.

Tarzan now swam to shore and clambered quickly upon dry land. The

feeling of freshness and exhilaration which the cool waters had

imparted to him, filled his little being with grateful surprise, and

ever after he lost no opportunity to take a daily plunge in lake or

stream or ocean when it was possible to do so.

For a long time Kala could not accustom herself to the sight; for

though her people could swim when forced to it, they did not like to

enter water, and never did so voluntarily.

The adventure with the lioness gave Tarzan food for pleasurable

memories, for it was such affairs which broke the monotony of his daily

life—otherwise but a dull round of searching for food, eating, and

sleeping.

The tribe to which he belonged roamed a tract extending, roughly,

twenty-five miles along the seacoast and some fifty miles inland. This

they traversed almost continually, occasionally remaining for months in

one locality; but as they moved through the trees with great speed they

often covered the territory in a very few days.

Much depended upon food supply, climatic conditions, and the prevalence

of animals of the more dangerous species; though Kerchak often led them

on long marches for no other reason than that he had tired of remaining

in the same place.

At night they slept where darkness overtook them, lying upon the

ground, and sometimes covering their heads, and more seldom their

bodies, with the great leaves of the elephant’s ear. Two or three might

lie cuddled in each other’s arms for additional warmth if the night

were chill, and thus Tarzan had slept in Kala’s arms nightly for all

these years.

That the huge, fierce brute loved this child of another race is beyond

question, and he, too, gave to the great, hairy beast all the affection

that would have belonged to his fair young mother had she lived.

When he was disobedient she cuffed him, it is true, but she was never

cruel to him, and was more often caressing him than chastising him.

Tublat, her mate, always hated Tarzan, and on several occasions had

come near ending his youthful career.

Tarzan on his part never lost an opportunity to show that he fully

reciprocated his foster father’s sentiments, and whenever he could

safely annoy him or make faces at him or hurl insults upon him from the

safety of his mother’s arms, or the slender branches of the higher

trees, he did so.

His superior intelligence and cunning permitted him to invent a

thousand diabolical tricks to add to the burdens of Tublat’s life.

Early in his boyhood he had learned to form ropes by twisting and tying

long grasses together, and with these he was forever tripping Tublat or

attempting to hang him from some overhanging branch.

By constant playing and experimenting with these he learned to tie rude

knots, and make sliding nooses; and with these he and the younger apes

amused themselves. What Tarzan did they tried to do also, but he alone

originated and became proficient.

One day while playing thus Tarzan had thrown his rope at one of his

fleeing companions, retaining the other end in his grasp. By accident

the noose fell squarely about the running ape’s neck, bringing him to a

sudden and surprising halt.

Ah, here was a new game, a fine game, thought Tarzan, and immediately

he attempted to repeat the trick. And thus, by painstaking and

continued practice, he learned the art of roping.

Now, indeed, was the life of Tublat a living nightmare. In sleep, upon

the march, night or day, he never knew when that quiet noose would slip

about his neck and nearly choke the life out of him.

Kala punished, Tublat swore dire vengeance, and old Kerchak took notice

and warned and threatened; but all to no avail.

Tarzan defied them all, and the thin, strong noose continued to settle

about Tublat’s neck whenever he least expected it.

The other apes derived unlimited amusement from Tublat’s discomfiture,

for Broken Nose was a disagreeable old fellow, whom no one liked,

anyway.

In Tarzan’s clever little mind many thoughts revolved, and back of

these was his divine power of reason.

If he could catch his fellow apes with his long arm of many grasses,

why not Sabor, the lioness?

It was the germ of a thought, which, however, was destined to mull

around in his conscious and subconscious mind until it resulted in

magnificent achievement.

But that came in later years.