Neither Mr. Quarrie nor Miss James had yet discovered their Bibles among their possessions, but the elder gentleman stepped forward and asked his friends to bow their heads and pray that God would look over the souls of the two spirits they were delivering into his care.
After that, Van Resen bent low and helped Jacob lift the makeshift shroud into the grave—but the scientist paused before climbing out.
“I have to say this is a dilemma for me,” Van Resen said, looking up at Jacob who stood poised with a shovel full of dirt.
“What is it, doctor?” Mr. Quarrie asked.
“Only one of these poor unfortunates requires a Christian burial,” he scratched his chin. “Yet, knowing what I do of accepted evolutionary theory, neither would be free of original sin.”
Mr. and Mrs. Quarrie frowned into the grave until Jacob spoke up, “The doctor thinks the little bones aren’t human.”
“Well, what are they then?” Mrs. Quarrie asked, indignant.
Van Resen turned and flipped the blanket open to expose the bones and then extracted something as the women gasped and stepped away.
“Doctor!” Mr. Quarrie blurted. “Some civility, please!”
The scientist held up a small round bone the size of a man’s fist. The others grumbled at his outrageous behavior.
“Forgive me,” Van Resen said holding the small thing up and turning it before his eyes. “I suspected yesterday, but had only poor light to make the determination. Since then, I have been too busy, for a proper examination.”
“What are you saying, doctor?” Miss James gasped. “Must you...”
“There is no doubt!” He laughed, squinting at the small skull he held between thumb and index finger. “This skull did not come from a human infant. It is obvious under the light of day and to the trained eye to be that of a baby ape.”
“Apes again!” Mrs. Quarrie snapped, fanning her face with a hand.
“Again, yes, apes,” Van Resen answered. “This is more evidence that we share the jungle with large anthropoids. Important to know, don’t you think?”
“A baby ape?” Mr. Quarrie blurted, passing his unsteady wife to Virginia James. “Was it a pet?”
“A pet, yes, I would hope so.” Van Resen knelt and reached into the shroud to pull out the long bones from the little skeleton’s thighs. He looked past the castaways to scan where the land rose up to meet the line of thick jungle. “Otherwise, we must accept the theory that the apes have had uncontrolled access to the yurt and its occupant.”
“Access? To—to the—yurt!” Mr. Quarrie stammered. “But how?”
“I do no know.” The scientist’s thoughts turned to the large skeleton’s broken leg bones and he suppressed a shudder.
“Are you quite certain it was an ape?” Miss James asked.
“It is unlikely that a deformity from disease or injury could follow such a symmetrical pattern of growth as you see around the eyes and lower jaw.” The scientist turned to her, holding the little skull up for her inspection.
“Deformity?” Lilly asked, her eyes gleaming with keen interest. “I’ve seen illustrations in my schoolbooks, and bones at museums. That looks like a person—a—a human to me.”
“There are many similarities so the comparison is welcome, my dear, though it would disturb those who are close adherents to the Bible, but many of my colleagues say we are of the same family...”
“Not again!” Mrs. Quarrie cried, “Enough, doctor!”
“So, close are we, in fact,” Van Resen said pushing ahead, his cheeks turning a shade purple as his eyes twinkled impishly. “That some believe humans and apes are close enough to...”
“Please, doctor! This is a Christian burial,” Mr. Quarrie thundered.
“An ape is one of God’s creatures anyway,” Jacob interjected. “Some people say the last rights over pet dogs.”
“Jacob, please... If it’s an ape, we can dig another grave...” Mr. Quarrie said quickly, to steer the conversation clear. “Doctor, there are women present!”
“Indeed, there would have to be, my most esteemed, friend,” Van Resen continued mischievously, stepping out of the grave with the little bones in hand. “If Ilya Ivanov’s theories are to be tested.”
“Doctor!” Mr. Quarried boomed.
“What theory?” Miss James asked, blushing.
“Ivanov spoke about his thesis before the World Congress of Zoologists in Graz, and these are only rumors, of course,” Van Resen said, brushing at his jacket, cradling a smile. “He proposed experiments to be undertaken at an African research facility where it is his intention to breed a super-man. Stronger. Faster. Hardier. A man-ape hybrid, if you will.”
“Now see here!” Mr. Quarrie barked, shaking his head, and glancing at his wife. “I do not like what you’re implying...”
“Why would Ivanov do this?” wondered Miss James, her cheeks scarlet.
“To make a super worker for industry—a response to mechanization, perhaps,” Van Resen explained, holding the leg bones under the little ape skull. “Or a soldier. Imagine a willing army of ape-men—slaves without human rights to protect.”
“Impossible!” Mrs. Quarrie said, clutching her mouth.
“It’s evil!” Jacob Raines added, holding his shovel like a shield against the very thought.
“Unholy!” Mr. Quarrie blurted, chafing the back of his wife’s wrist. “Damnation, doctor! Need I remind you that we are marooned in a godforsaken jungle? How are we to sleep with such awful notions in our minds?”
“Please, Clive!” his wife whimpered. “Stop him!”
“Doctor...are you saying this infant?” Miss James cried. “That Ivanov...”
“Not this one, no...” Van Resen continued, gesturing with the bones. “However, Ivanov’s experiments hold some possibility for success if the right conditions can be achieved. In accordance with Professor Darwin’s theory, Ivanov believes that apes and humans are close enough in character and physicality...” The scientist pulled off his glasses to clean them against his shirt. “...to interbreed.”
“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Quarrie screamed, before going white and falling back unconscious in her husband’s arms.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Mr. Quarrie bellowed, and then with Jacob’s help he carried his wife a short distance from the grave where they laid her upon the ground. Virginia and a grinning Lilly knelt by the old woman to massage her wrists.
Jacob returned and picked up the shovel with a strange smile twitching on his black cheeks.
“Curious reaction,” Van Resen breathed, with a shake of his head. “I did not propose that she be part of the experiment.”
The pair filled the grave quickly, and all conversation ceased until Mrs. Quarrie had regained consciousness.
However, every eye watched the surrounding trees.
CHAPTER 11 – A Day of Toil
A busy day followed in which the castaways dragged the rest of their possessions up from the beach for sorting in the shade of the stout trees supporting their strange jungle sanctuary. There they separated items for immediate use and packed non-essentials like wineglasses and the women’s ballroom gowns into crates that were then wrapped in canvas tarps and stored beneath the yurt.
Van Resen was disappointed to find that Manteau’s mutineers had kept his textbooks, and he cursed the ill luck. The texts would have been a valuable resource for the castaways and a rewarding distraction for the scientist. He imagined the books had been overlooked in the Lancet’s baggage hold since it was unlikely such dastards could see any value in the published works.
The discovery fouled the scientist’s mood, and he shared little of the cheer that the others experienced when discovering their own favored possessions among the crates.
Before anything more was moved into the yurt, Virginia led the women in a second and more focused attack upon the filth that yet remained. They swept the hut from fireplace to entrance and back again, and dusted every corner.
The humidity t
hat had greeted the castaways that morning did much to resurrect the various odors haunting the place, while raising the noisome specter of its previous occupant, so there were two concentrated cleanings that culminated in repeated applications of Mrs. Quarrie’s Ambre Antique perfume via gold-tufted atomizer.
The sweet, to some cloying, presence conjured by this was then dispelled when Van Resen propped the door wide to give the place a long-deserved airing out.
With the vines cleared away from the mesh-covered windows, a cross-breeze could be felt, though Mr. Holmes was quick to complain about the insects riding the air currents inside.
The women had petitioned Van Resen to release a small quantity of the drinking water to be used for cleaning but he would not relent until a plentiful new local source was discovered.
He did not bother to suggest they reuse what water he’d already allowed for use in their various daily hygienic rituals for he doubted they could ever attain that level of practicality.
Meanwhile, he and the men had done an inventory of their armament, and came to realize that the mutineers had left them little in the way of weaponry. They had Jacob’s axe, a few kitchen blades including Van Resen’s knife, two shovels and a pick. The previous days’ inspection of the yurt had also produced a short coal shovel, an iron rake and a heavy mallet, hammer and chisels.
Van Resen’s spirits had soared briefly to have found a tinderbox, powder flask, bag of percussion caps and small supply of lead shot caught in the rotten rags that had draped the skeleton of the yurt’s previous tenant.
However, since an anxious search for pistol or musket had failed, the items would be of little use, though the scientist considered building a cannon-like device if a suitable length of metal pipe could be found. Such a thing would be dangerous to use, but the report alone might provide some defense against indigenous animals.
The unpleasant reality left the scientist in a constant state of hypervigilance, worried that their meager weapons would be a poor answer to a lion, since the least of those beasts could stalk and kill a trained rifleman.
Yet, the scientist knew the castaways were better armed than the first men who shared the earth with far more terrifying carnivores, and so like those men, the castaways would have to rely on their wits and keen senses.
It was decided that they would always have a guard stationed on the yurt’s platform where the elevated position would give him the best view of the jungle perimeter and the long grass that surrounded the structure.
If the slightest threat was realized, the guard would whistle or call and the entire camp would retreat to shelter to await an all clear signal—or fight for their lives.
Additionally, every member of the group was encouraged to carry a weapon when outside where they could pray to God they would never have to use it.
Van Resen knew something would have to be done to improve their defensive capabilities, and at afternoon tea, he made diagrams of bow and arrows and spears using a nail to scratch the lines on scraps of board he’d collected while breaking up packing crates.
He was reluctant to use the few blank sheets of paper from the abandoned journal in this way because they would be of great value, vital if he discovered some method of relaying a written message.
Phillip Holmes’ constant pining for rescue forced the creation of a signal fire on the beach. So near the end of the day, Jacob and Van Resen collected wood from the forest perimeter while the other men armed with knives and shovels formed a protective guard.
Van Resen had thought Holmes’ signal fire a senseless distraction when they had yet to find fresh water, but the Englishman had successfully argued his case with the women while avoiding his share of the chores.
The scientist relented finally since the activity could also produce wood for cooking and heating while giving him a peek into the jungle.
His first look at the primordial forest was overwhelming for a vast number of plant species pressed in from all sides, reducing his range to less than three feet. The scientist’s mind reeled at the plethora of leafy organisms, and he yearned to collect specimens of those plants he could not identify—wondering if they were even known to science.
Yet this formidable blind proved terrifying as well, for Van Resen knew those same leaves could hide a myriad of lethal carnivores that had also never been classified.
Such thoughts sharpened his focus on the business at hand, and with the others he built a large signal fire on the beach where a few matches were left in a sealed jar to start it. After that, a quantity of wood was delivered to the yurt for cooking and heating.
As usual, Mr. Holmes paid little attention to the task at hand, and did almost nothing to pull his own weight.
It was no secret that Holmes tended to participate in activities that allowed him to be near Lilly whom he hung about like a fly. While she enjoyed the attention, the man seemed incapable of making a lasting impression on her.
Van Resen thought Holmes should not have taken it to heart since everyone was having difficulty catching and holding the girl’s interest. She seemed constantly distracted, deep in thought, or daydreaming, and had to be constantly prodded to watch and use caution.
Lilly had awakened with little energy that day, but everyone was feeling the heat; so listlessness abounded and tempers flared as thirst and anxiety preyed upon them all.
At one point Lilly slipped into her daydream, standing in place with one arm crossed at her waist and the other hand raised to toy with her scarlet kerchief.
“We must keep an eye on the girl,” Van Resen had cautioned the others, while at the same time dispelling the elder Quarries’ greater concerns for her health saying, “She is adjusting to circumstance, and the loss of Captain Seward.”
Indeed the retired ranger had told the scientist how the girl was like a daughter to him.
“We are all out of our element,” Van Resen added, indicating the dark jungle encircling them.
However, Lilly’s governess was not so easily placated for Miss Virginia James would never rely on the others to guard against the girl’s inattention. Concerned for her charge’s well-being, she drove herself nearly to distraction watching her lest some ravenous beast sneak through the grass and have its way with her. In such an event, Miss James doubted she could rely on Mr. Holmes for protection.
So, she decided to better prove the point by creeping up behind the girl and grabbing her to shout: “Lilly Quarrie!”
“Ginny!” Lilly cried, startled out of her reverie.
“Young lady,” Virginia James stalked in front of her ward and forcefully gripped the girl’s forearms. “You have been told to stop this foolish daydreaming!”
“But Ginny, it’s my dreams,” the girl said wincing, blushing slightly. “I’m afraid I’ll forget them...”
“What nonsense is this?” Virginia snapped.
“You’ll be angry,” Lilly whimpered, with her fingers playing at her kerchief.
“Better me angry than you lion food!” Miss James scowled.
“Well...” the girl hesitated, eyes shifting to their feet. “I have dreamed of my lover, and I won’t forget him!”
“Lilly...” her governess’ voice trailed off as she stared at her ward perplexed. “A young lady should not—this is not the—time...” She glanced around them to see Van Resen and the men stacking firewood beneath the shelter. “Nor is it the place...”
“It’s true, Ginny, it’s true,” Lilly said, her hands sliding down from her throat until they caressed her hips. “He came to me in the dark, in my dreams, and he’s lost, and he can’t find his way back home!”
“You have been reading too many romances,” Ginny said, suddenly thinking of Phillip Holmes and wondering if the young fool had put these notions in her head. She glared across to where Holmes stood loafing by the other men. “Young ladies like yourself are born with a predisposition for fancy, so you shouldn’t feed your imagination with such trite material.”
“It’s not books, Gin
ny. All day I’ve thought—I can’t stop thinking of him!” Lilly said, suddenly cross. “Hasn’t anyone ever looked into your eyes with passion and promised everything?”
Virginia’s stern expression softened before she said, “This man, then. Is he someone you met in England?”
“I haven’t met him at all. He’s from my dream, as I said...” Lilly licked her full lips. “He hasn’t found me, but when he does we shall return to his castle and live happily ever after.”
Virginia frowned. She had met such a man—at least a man who promised passion and a home only to deliver a few brief moments of pleasure, years of waiting, neglect and spinsterhood—wait for me, Q.M.
Still, such a lofty ideal was better than a weak flame like Phillip Holmes. Or was it? The governess no longer knew.
“My goodness, but you prattle. Here we are surrounded by vicious predators,” Virginia said, clicking her tongue. “I’ll keep a closer eye on your reading material when we are back in civilization.” She glanced around at the jungle. “Romance has no place in the wild.”
Lurking fear remained a constant goad to the castaways, and so despite the heat and their meager rations, they managed to finish the day with the basics of the camp set up. Indeed, Van Resen was certain that barring any animal attacks, they might even survive.
He had found a source of fresh water nearby that could be reached via an old trail where a spring burbled in a jumble of stones not far past the jungle perimeter.
They’d discovered the path atop the ridge behind the yurt after being led to it by a species of sweet berries that grew in thick bushes all around it.
The scientist was overjoyed to recognize the plants and deem the fruit safe to eat. Their first indigenous food source had been located—and right on their doorstep!
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