The Best Adventure and Exploration Stories Ever Told

by Stephen Brennan

  His education progressed; but his greatest finds were in the inexhaustible storehouse of the huge illustrated dictionary, for he learned more through the medium of pictures than text, even after he had grasped the significance of the bugs.

  When he discovered the arrangement of words in alphabetical order he delighted in searching for and finding the combinations with which he was familiar, and the words which followed them, their definitions, led him still further into the mazes of erudition.

  By the time he was seventeen he had learned to read the simple, child’s primer and had fully realized the true and wonderful purpose of the little bugs.

  No longer did he feel shame for his hairless body or his human features, for now his reason told him that he was of a different race from his wild and hairy companions. He was a M-A-N, they were A-P-E-S, and the little apes which scurried through the forest top were M-O-N-K-E-Y. He knew, too, that old Sabor was a L-I-O-N-E-S-S, and Histah a S-N-A-K-E, and Tantor an E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T. And so he learned to read.

  From then on his progress was rapid. With the help of the great dictionary and the active intelligence of a healthy mind endowed by inheritance with more than ordinary reasoning powers he shrewdly guessed at much which he could not really understand, and more often than not his guesses were close to the mark of truth.

  There were many breaks in his education, caused by the migratory habits of his tribe, but even when removed from recourse to his books his active brain continued to search out the mysteries of his fascinating avocation.

  Pieces of bark and flat leaves and even smooth stretches of bare earth provided him with copy books whereon to scratch with the point of his hunting knife the lessons he was learning.

  Nor did he neglect the sterner duties of life while following the bent of his inclination toward the solving of the mystery of his library.

  He practiced with his rope and played with his sharp knife, which he had learned to keep keen by whetting upon flat stones.

  The tribe had grown larger since Tarzan had come among them, for under the leadership of Kerchak they had been able to frighten the other tribes from their part of the jungle so that they had plenty to eat and little or no loss from predatory incursions of neighbors.

  Hence the younger males as they became adult found it more comfortable to take wives from their own tribe, or if they captured one of another tribe to bring her back to Kerchak’s band and live in amity with him rather than attempt to set up a new establishment of their own, or fight with the redoubtable Kerchak for supremacy at home.

  Occasionally one more ferocious than his fellows would attempt this latter alternative, but none had come yet who could wrest the palm of victory from the fierce and brutal ape.

  Tarzan held a peculiar position in the tribe. They seemed to consider him one of them and yet in some way different. The older males either ignored him entirely or else hated him so vindictively that but for his wondrous agility and speed and the fierce protection of the huge Kala he would have been dispatched at an early age.

  Tublat was his most consistent enemy, but it was through Tublat that, when he was about thirteen, the persecution of his enemies suddenly ceased and he was left severely alone, except on the occasions when one of them ran amuck in the throes of one of those strange, wild fits of insane rage which attacks the males of many of the fiercer animals of the jungle. Then none was safe.

  On the day that Tarzan established his right to respect, the tribe was gathered about a small natural amphitheater which the jungle had left free from its entangling vines and creepers in a hollow amongst some low hills.

  The open space was almost circular in shape. Upon every hand rose the mighty giants of the untouched forest, with the matted undergrowth banked so closely between the huge trunks that the only opening into the little, level arena was through the upper branches of the trees.

  Here, safe from interruption, the tribe often gathered. In the center of the amphitheater was one of those strange earthen drums which the anthropoids build for the queer rites the sounds of which men have heard in the fastnesses of the jungle, but which none has ever witnessed.

  Many travelers have seen the drums of the great apes, and some have heard the sounds of their beating and the noise of the wild, weird revelry of these first lords of the jungle, but Tarzan, Lord Greystoke, is, doubtless, the only human being who ever joined in the fierce, mad, intoxicating revel of the Dum-Dum.

  From this primitive function has arisen, unquestionably, all the forms and ceremonials of modern church and state, for through all the countless ages, back beyond the last, uttermost ramparts of a dawning humanity our fierce, hairy forebears danced out the rites of the Dum-Dum to the sound of their earthen drums, beneath the bright light of a tropical moon in the depth of a mighty jungle which stands unchanged to-day as it stood on that long forgotten night in the dim, unthinkable vistas of the long dead past when our first shaggy ancestor swung from a swaying bough and dropped lightly upon the soft turf of the first meeting place.

  On the day that Tarzan won his emancipation from the persecution that had followed him remorselessly for twelve of his thirteen years of life, the tribe, now a full hundred strong, trooped silently through the lower terrace of the jungle trees and dropped noiselessly upon the floor of the amphitheater. The rites of the Dum-Dum marked important events in the life of the tribe—a victory, the capture of a prisoner, the killing of some large fierce denizen of the jungle, the death or accession of a king, and were conducted with set ceremonialism.

  To-day it was the killing of a giant ape, a member of another tribe, and as the people of Kerchak entered the arena two mighty bulls might have been seen bearing the body of the vanquished between them.

  They laid their burden before the earthen drum and then squatted there beside it as guards, while the other members of the community curled themselves in grassy nooks to sleep until the rising moon should give the signal for the commencement of their savage orgy.

  For hours absolute quiet reigned in the little clearing, except as it was broken by the discordant notes of brilliantly feathered parrots, or the screeching and twittering of the thousand jungle birds flitting ceaselessly amongst the vivid orchids and flamboyant blossoms which festooned the myriad, moss-covered branches of the forest kings.

  At length as darkness settled upon the jungle the apes commenced to bestir themselves, and soon they formed a great circle about the earthen drum.

  The females and young squatted in a thin line at the outer periphery of the circle, while just in front of them ranged the adult males. Before the drum sat three old females, each armed with a knotted branch fifteen or eighteen inches in length.

  Slowly and softly they began tapping upon the resounding surface of the drum as the first faint rays of the ascending moon silvered the encircling tree tops.

  As the light in the amphitheater increased the females augmented the frequency and force of their blows until presently a wild, rhythmic din pervaded the great jungle for miles in every direction. Huge, fierce brutes stopped in their hunting, with up-pricked ears and raised heads, to listen to the dull booming that betokened the Dum-Dum of the apes.

  Occasionally one would raise his shrill scream or thunderous roar in answering challenge to the savage din of the anthropoids, but none came near to investigate or attack, for the great apes, assembled in all the power of their numbers filled the breasts of their jungle neighbors with deep respect.

  As the din of the drum rose to almost deafening volume Keerchak sprang into the open space between the squatting males and the drummers.

  Standing erect he threw his head far back and looking full into the eye of the rising moon he beat upon his breast with his great hairy paws and emitted his tearful roaring shriek.

  One—twice—thrice that terrifying cry rang out across the teaming solitude of that unspeakable quick, yet unthinkably dead, world.

  Then, crouching, Kerchak slunk noiselessly around the open circle, veering far away from the dead
body lying before the altar-drum, but, as he passed, keeping his little, fierce, wicked, red eyes upon the corpse.

  Another male then sprang into the arena, and, repeating the horrid cries of the king, followed stealthily in his wake. Another and another followed in quick succession until the jungle reverberated with the now almost ceaseless notes of their bloodthirsty screams.

  It was the challenge and the hunt.

  When all the adult males had joined in the thin line of circling dancers the attack commenced.

  Kerchak, seizing a huge club from the pile which lay at hand for the purpose, rushed furiously upon the dead ape, dealing the corpse a terrific blow, at the same time emitting the growls and snarls of combat. The din of the drum was now increased, as well as the frequency of the blows, and the warriors, as each approached the victim of the hunt and delivered his bludgeon blow, joined in the mad whirl of the Death Dance.

  Tarzan was one of the wild, leaping horde. His brown, sweat-streaked, muscular body, glistening in the moonlight, shone supple and graceful among the uncouth, awkward, hairy brutes about him.

  None more craftily stealthy in the mimic hunt, none more ferocious than he in the wild ferocity of the attack, nor none who leaped so high into the air in the Dance of Death.

  As the noise and rapidity of the drum beats increased the dancers apparently became intoxicated with the wild rhythm and the savage yells. Their leaps and bounds increased, their bared fangs dripped saliva, and their lips and breasts were flecked with foam.

  For half an hour the weird dance went on, until, at a sign from Kerchak, the noise of the drums ceased, the female drummers scampering hurriedly through the line of dancers toward the outer rim of squatting spectators. Then, as one man, the males rushed headlong upon the thing which their terrific blows and reduced to a mass of hairy pulp.

  Flesh seldom came to their jaws in satisfying quantities, so a fit finale their wild revel was a taste of fresh killed meat, and it was to the purpose of devouring their late enemy that they now turned their attention.

  Great fangs sunk into the carcass tearing away huge hunks, the mightiest of the apes obtaining the choicest morsels, while the weaker circled the outer edge of the fighting, snarling pack awaiting their chance to dodge in and snatch a dropped titbit or filch a remaining bone before all was gone.

  Tarzan, more than the apes, craved and needed flesh. Descended from a race of meat eaters, never in his life he thought, had he once satisfied his appetite for animal food, and so now his agile little body wormed its way far into the mass of struggling, rending apes in an endeavor to obtain a share which his strength would have been unequal to the task of winning for him.

  At his side hung the hunting knife of his unknown father in a sheath self-fashioned in copy of one he had seen among the pictures of his treasure-books.

  At last he reached the fast disappearing feast and with his sharp knife slashed off a more generous portion than he had hoped for, an entire hairy forearm, where it protruded from beneath the feet of the mighty Kerchak, who was so busily engaged in perpetuating the royal prerogative of hogging that he failed to note the act of lèse-majesté.

  So little Tarzan wriggled out from beneath the struggling mass, clutching his grisly prize close to his breast.

  Among those circling futilely the outskirts of the banqueters was old Tublat. He had been among the first at the feast, but had retreated with a goodly share to eat in quiet, and was now forcing his way back for more.

  So it was that he spied Tarzan as the boy emerged from the clawing, pushing throng with that hairy forearm hugged firmly to his body.

  Tublat’s little, close-set, bloodshot, pig eyes shot wicked gleams of hate as they fell upon the object of his loathing. In them, too, was greed for the tooth dainty the boy carried.

  But Tarzan saw his arch enemy as quickly, and divining what the great beast would do he leaped nimbly was toward the women and children, hoping to hide himself among them. Tublat, however, was close upon his heels, so that he had no opportunity to seek a place of concealment, but saw that he would be put to it to escape at all.

  Swiftly he sped toward the surrounding trees and with an agile bound gained a lower limb with one hand, and then, transferring his burden to his teeth, he climbed rapidly upward, closely followed by Tublat.

  Up, up he went to the waving pinnacle of a lofty monarch of the forest where his heavy pursuer dared not followed him. There he perched, hurling taunts and insults at the raging, foaming beast fifty feet below him.

  And then Tublat went mad.

  With horrifying screams and roars he rushed to the ground, among the females and young, sinking his great fangs into a dozen tiny necks and tearing great pieces from the backs and breasts of the females who fell into his clutches.

  In the brilliant moonlight Tarzan witnessed the whole mad carnival of rage. He saw the females and the young scamper to the safety of the trees. Then the great bulls in the center of the arena felt the mighty fangs of their demented fellow, and with one accord they melted into the black shadows of the overhanging forest.

  There was but one in the amphitheater beside Tublat, a belated female running swiftly toward the tree where Tarzan perched, and close behind her came the awful Tublat.

  It was Kala, and as quickly as Tarzans saw the Tublat was gaining on her dropped with the rapidity of a falling stone, from branch to branch, toward his foster mother.

  Now she was beneath the overhanging limbs and close above her crouched Tarzan, waiting the outcome of the race.

  She leaped into the air grasping a low-hanging branch, but almost over the head of Tublat, so nearly had he distanced her. She should have been safe now but there was a rending, tearing sound, the branch broke and precipitated her full upon the head of Tublat, knocking him to the ground.

  Both were up in an instant, but as quick as they had been Tarzan had been quicker, so that the infuriated bull found himself facing the man-child who stood between him and Kala.

  Nothing could have suited the fierce beast better and with a roar of triumph he leaped upon the little Lord Greystoke. But his fangs never closed in that nut brown flesh.

  A muscular hand shot out and grasped the hairy throat, and another plunged a keen hunting knife a dozen times into the broad breast. Like lightning the blows fell, and only ceased when Tarzan felt the limp form crumple beneath him.

  As the body rolled to the ground Tarzan of the Apes placed his foot upon the neck of his lifelong enemy and raising his eyes to the full moon threw back his fierce young head and voiced the wild and terrible cry of his people.

  One by one of the tribe swung down from their arboreal retreats and formed a circle about Tarzan and his vanquished foe. When they had all come Tarzan turned toward them.

  “I am Tarzan,” he cried. “I am a great killer. Let all respect Tarzan of the Apes and Kala his mother. There be none among you as mighty as Tarzan. Let his enemies beware.”

  Looking full into the wicked, red eyes of Kerchak, the young Lord Greystoke beat upon his mighty breast and screamed out once more his shrill cry of defiance.

  CHARLES DARWIN AND THE GALÁPAGOS

  V. W. VON HAGEN

  “Darwin est venu.”

  And he found himself among the clinkers on islands which appeared as he had imagined the “cultivated parts of the infernal regions to be”—lava, bare, naked, still smoldering in parts from the volcanic bowels, sharp, black lava with the ring of metal when dislodged, lava cones, fumaroles, and chimneys. “The comparison would be more exact,” Darwin wrote in his journal, “if I had said the islands looked like ‘the iron furnaces near Wolverhampton.’”

  Darwin walked with his shipmates over the lava-studded land filled with the strange reptiles, birds, and animals unafraid of man and curious to come to look at this tall, young, serious-faced man who some day, with his Pan-like face, would be the precocious child of the zoological world, the kindly, curious man who would be denounced for his zoological theories by half the world. This yo
ung man would initiate an epoch in science. And the Galápagos were to be its crucible.

  Darwin had joined the Beagle in 1831 on an official voyage to carry out an oceanic survey around South America. After a violent scene at his home in Shrewsbury, his father, Dr. Robert Waring Darwin, discouraged by his mediocre school marks and his failure in the medical curriculum at Edinburgh, was not in the humor to accept his serving as a “naturalist” to H.M.S. Beagle. At last Dr. Darwin was prevailed upon to allow him to go and, armed with the accoutrements of a collector—bottles, net, twelve shirts, slippers, alcohol, note books, Spanish textbooks, and a brace of pistols—he left for Devonport to board the ship. The Beagle was to become a science-training ship for Charles Darwin. As he looked back on it in his old age, he could write with conviction, “The Voyage of the Beagle has been far the most important event in my life, and has determined my whole career.”

  On the twenty-eighth of December, 1831, the Beagle, its sails bellied by an east wind, cleared the British Isles and shaped its course for the Canary Islands. Darwin, although he was, by training and instinct, a diffident young man with no particular attainments, was to have his whole future shaped by this voyage. And so to understand what the Galápagos meant to him and subsequently to science, one must understand the position of science in that post-Napoleonic time. The earth then was conceived to be of recent origin. Only lately had Professor Charles Lyell written his Principles of Geology, which ended, as far as science was concerned, the ecclesiastically accepted date of October 4, 4404 B.C. as the date of the genesis of the earth. Lyell insisted that millions of years were involved in the earth’s creation and growth: and he ended, too, Baron Cuvier’s hypothesis of catastrophic hypotheses, in which this French savant explained with great eloquence how fossils had their origin. Fossils, to Cuvier, were the remains of animals which once peopled the earth, animals which had been overwhelmed by successive geological catastrophes, and God, not in the least discouraged by their destruction, would, after each destruction, create another complete set of species to replace those whelmed by “earth-catastrophe.” This is how Cuvier explained “extinct species.”