Two hours went by in that fashion.
We were still chatting, while holding hands, when I was thrown to the ground with irresistible force. Sabine was grabbed and carried away like a leaf in a whirlwind. When I got up, the dark athlete was fleeing with Sabine in the direction of the stream.
In order to do that, he had to go around the lake along a path, one of whose edges was a steep drop into the lake while the other was a sheer wall of rock. The child was running after him. The man paused momentarily to round fiercely on the child, telling him to go back. The latter began screaming. I was already going after him, racing along the path.
When he saw that there were two of us, and that the entire lake was in commotion, he stopped again. Our gazes met. In his flat eyes, so different from ours, I read jealous hatred and also the terrible fatality of passion—something simultaneously profound, dolorous and savage.
There was a narrow ledge a few feet above us, which could be reached by an unsteady lump of rock—one of those boulders held in equilibrium by chance, which a vigorous effort would displace. Sabine’s abductor obviously planned to get up on to that ledge, but, burdened by the young woman, he was overtaken by the child, and I was arriving at top speed. He shouted something that I did not understand, and the poor child made a reply in which I could only divine intrepid anger. Then, after a brief struggle, the child was thrown from the path, smashing his head against the rocky wall.
A formidable clamor of hatred was raised, and my heart, slowed down momentarily by the odious murder, swelled up immediately afterwards with an immense rage. I hurled myself upon the redoubtable adversary, followed by the vengeful crowd. Already, though, the Dark Man had leapt up, scaled the unstable rock and deposited Sabine on the ledge. With a prodigious effort of his legs, he launched the huge stone into the air, thus cutting all communication between him and us for a quarter of an hour.
The narrow ledge went up toward the stream. The opening of the tunnel into which the wretch would soon vanish was visible, and I had read in his expression the resolution of desperation, the dishonor and death of Sabine, and any other abomination! I bloodied my hands in vain trying to go after him. As it fell, the stone had left a gap in the path that made it impossible to reach the ledge.
Extremely skilful as they were in using their harpoons under water, no one dared make use of such a weapon here, for fear of an error that would cost Sabine her life. The man was still running, no more than ten paces from the opening now. I was seeing my fiancée for the last time in the light of this world!
Ten arms seized me as I was about to throw myself into the void, gripped by an insane despair; and, as happens in catastrophic moments in which sensation outlasts rational thought, my hearing perceived a singular rumor beside the lake, immediately followed by a rifle-shot, and then another.
Up above, my rival let go of Sabine, simultaneously clinging desperately to a rocky projection—and then I saw him fall on to the rocks, into which his body smashed limply. A glance toward the lake: Jean-Louis Devreuse, the leader of our expedition, was standing there, sternly, and the second-best shot in the party after me, Cachal, had the barrel of his rifle raised.
After returning to the lake of our first friends, we lived there for more than a month, in peace and abundance. The Dark Men did not show themselves again, nor the Men of the Valleys within the caves. Devreuse told us about the role played by our savior in the events I have just described. Sabine and I could not forget the death of our gentle and heroic Water-Child, and we mourn him to this day.
The expedition commanded by Jean-Louis Devreuse returned to Paris in the early days of May 1893 with precious documents that will provide the material of an important work. My marriage to Sabine was celebrated in June.
At present, we are happy in the glory and comfort of old Europe—but often, in the dreamy hours of dusk, as we huddle together against the cold, we miss the admirable countries where our young love was accompanied by the palpitation of a prodigious drama.
THE DEPTHS OF KYAMO
It was evening in the African village of Ouan-Mahlei, on the eastern edge of the Kyamo forest, one of the largest on the mysterious continent.
In the firmament, the waning crescent moon was floating amid scarcely-visible clouds—long and frail clouds in the form of skiffs, all departing, slowly fading away toward the same horizon. The plain extended in leisurely undulations, with palm-trees on the ridges. In that verdant month, the confidence of perfumes, sweet on the whispering breeze, seemed to be the profound and penetrating language of plants, the hymn of their love, their ardor to grow and multiply.
The wind strengthened and died down alternately. It was as sad and gentle as the sky behind its thin covering of clouds. It lifted up the long grass and the lacy foliage in a rhythm of movement and music for the eye and the ear. Insects were humming; at intervals, the roar of a lion was audible, and, more distantly, the roar of a second lion—then screeches and barking sounds, imprecise rumors. All of that, like the breeze, was punctuated by magnificent silences.
The natives were not asleep. Many of them were standing around the central hut—the chief’s hut—where three Europeans were contemplating the night and chatting, between themselves or with the natives. Others were building a large cooking-fire for a celebratory feast, a colossal meal in honor of the gusts. Two of the three travelers—the Austrian, Kamstein, and the Frenchman, Hamel—were fervent explorers, enthusiastic to travel through unknown regions to describe them accurately. Brave to the point of heroism, they preferred the peaceful approach to the conquistadorial methods of Stanley.
Even more so than them, Alglave was a traveler of noble lineage, highly curious, repulsed by useless sacrifices and the inconsiderate murder of animals, an adherent of the system of zoological philosophy that saw animal massacres as both a danger for the future progress of humankind and a diminution of Earthly beauty. He was fervently interrogating one of Ouan-Mahlei’s old men about the forest of Kyamo, and the latter was telling him mysterious, perhaps legendary, things that were infinitely interesting and poetic.
Kyamo was as long as 40 days march across the plain and 20 days broad. It was incredibly old, going back to the dawn of time, and the natives never went into it in large numbers. The lions intimidated them, having been expelled from its surrounds. As far as ancestral memory stretched, in the tales of dead epochs, Kyamo had been the uncontested possession of the grand old man of the woods, the giant black gorilla, who had retained it imperiously and victoriously.
This story excited Alglave. A marvelous and profound epic had swelled in his brain alongside the keen curiosity of the scientist.
“Have you ever seen the man of the woods?”
“I’ve seen him. I’ve been into Kyamo. The man of the woods is taller than we are, and especially stouter. He has the deep chest of a lion; his arms are invincible. More than one warrior has gone into the great forest, alone and without weapons. If he is humble and mild, no harm comes to him…but the wrath of the man of the woods is terrible!”
“Are there large numbers of the men of the woods?”
“Yes, they’re certainly numerous; the forest contains many hundreds of villages.”
“But they don’t live in groups?”
“No, each man lives apart, with his wives, in close proximity to other families. Villages and tribes sometimes gather together, for expeditions. They can choose chiefs then.”
Alglave lowered his head thoughtfully. His dream was heartfelt.
In the hermetic vastness of Kyamo he saw a majestic vestige of the very ancient history of being. In that virgin domain, the intelligence of a species that had been a rival of man had retained traces of a superior estate: rudiments of organization, a strong and considered system of defense, and considerable vital energy. Here was a living analogue of what humankind had been in the Tertiary epoch: an animal which, for mysterious reasons, had been checked in its development while its rival had succeeded. Here was the genesis of humankind befor
e humans were endowed with speech—one of the most moving, if not the most moving, of ready-made epic poems that the human mind could perceive.
Alglave was firmly determined to go into Kyamo, to witness the life of these creatures, to see them going about their business in the intimacy of their refuges.
Meanwhile, a great fire was lit at the edge of the village. Its light blotted out that of the Moon and even outshone the stars. The natives uttered joyful cries.
On the plain, the astonished wild beasts fell silent, and then resumed their clamor of hunting, terror and love. The smoke dissipated the exquisite aroma of the plants. Soon, a buffalo and antelopes were being roasted over the flames.
The pensive Alglave felt that his determination to penetrate into the depths of Kyamo was growing stronger by the minute.
The forest of ages past! More venerable and more virginal than any Amazonian forest or any Australian bush, populated with trees that were thousands of years old, and yet pierced by vague pathways and primitive trails. Alglave had gone into it alone, in accordance with the repeated affirmations of the savages that the men of the woods would unfailingly destroy those bold enough to penetrate in pairs or in groups.
Surprised by the paths that ran through the immense disorder, he marched for four hours. The heavy atmosphere, the semi-darkness, and the overabundant and excessively menacing life all weighed heavily upon his imagination, filling him with anguish. Occasionally, some large animal had fled before his approach, amid the multitude of smaller organisms, which every powerful respiration put on alert.
Nowhere had he perceived the great anthropoid ape, the king of this prodigious arboreal fatherland. There had, however, been traces of digital imprints, and his heart had beaten faster, while his hands went involuntarily toward the revolvers hidden in his pockets. He searched the shadows with a gaze that was too attentive, too feverish. Several times he had had brief hallucinations, thinking that he could see the broad black face, relatively hairless skull and the enormous hairy arms of a gorilla; but in reality, there was none.
Exhausted, he sat down on a giant root and lost himself in thought. In spite of the nervous malaise of the forest, and the sensation of being as far from all help and all humankind as if he were 1000 leagues deep in the heart of a desert, his resolution had not wavered. Quite the contrary, in fact. Being descended from men whose ardor was awakened by every obstacle and whose determination was redoubled by dread, he felt a more indomitable desire, a more extreme curiosity to know the mysterious realms of Kyamo. For the simple plan he had initially formulated of finding and observing a few gorillas in their habitats, a more extensive idea was slowly substituted: to live among them while Kamstein and Hamel went around Kyamo, to be one of them for a season, to admit himself voluntarily to their population.
By what stratagem or by what action he could succeed in doing that he had no idea; he thought about it with his head bowed and his brows contracted. As always, though, with those who, having had many adventures, had experienced their vicissitudes, he finished up hoping for one of those strokes of luck from which only men of determination and flair could take advantage.
While he was thinking about these things, a distant clamor made him shiver. He got up with a start and looked around.
In the uncertain, greenish and tremulous light, among the branches, lianas and boles of centenarian trees, he could scarcely see 200 paces. That narrow horizon added to the impression of hectic vitality and dark and occult power, as if ancient souls were floating in the heavy atmosphere, as if an infinity of organic forces, dead or in formation, were electrifying the Earth where the forest had reproduced itself, perhaps 10,000 times over, since the Tertiary Era.
The clamor continued, vaguely reminiscent of the noise of a human crowd. With his ears pricked, Alglave tried to analyze it. Although he was not without apprehension, some unknown force attracted him irresistibly. Mechanically, he began to walk, muffling his footsteps. As he drew closer, the clamor became louder, less comparable to human chatter. It was more of a bellowing, like that of buffaloes, a baying like that of large dogs. It sometimes died down, only to break out again louder than before, forcefully.
Alglave hesitated momentarily. How could he calculate the peril? Perhaps it was mortal—and how could he escape it, if he got too close? Vain reasoning! His curiosity was becoming excessive, almost morbid. He was certain that he was approaching a mystery, a scene unknown to all the scientists in the world, and which was, moreover, connected with the great anthropoid ape.
He advanced, therefore, in spite of himself, in spite of all reason and all wisdom. Through the branches of a baobab, he saw a company of black, hairy creatures of large size, but still unidentifiable. He had to get closer, he had to see. Abandoning all prudence, his curiosity became an intoxication, an auto-suggestion; nothing could have made him retreat. He looked for a vantage-point. He spotted an enormous tree-trunk, hollow and riven with fissures; his botanist’s eye told him that there were other fissures on the far side, revealed by the effects of light, by means of which he could observe the strange pandemonium.
How could he pass unnoticed? How could he make sure that the anthropoid apes did not pick up his scent, even if their sight and hearing did not perceive his presence?
He dared to hope. He told himself that the very crowd that they had formed, with its strong animal odor, would hide his feeble white man’s scent, further diminished by his clothing. And, without reasoning further, he abandoned himself to the adventure. Creeping from stump to stump, plant to plant and from trunk to trunk, he drew nearer to the hollow tree. He got more than half way there in that fashion. Suddenly, his heart began to beat faster. Silence had fallen.
I’ve given myself away! he thought.
Flat on the ground, he waited resignedly, knowing that he could not get away, but nevertheless hiding himself carefully.
At any rate, there was no further doubt: the large black creatures, crouched down as if holding a meeting, were definitely the giant men of the woods, the terrible gorillas of Kyamo.
Two minutes went by; then a voice roared, and others followed. With a profound joy, Alglave realized that he had not been seen. Their mastery of the forest was sufficient for them not to be easily alarmed. How great their sense of security must be, after so many centuries of domination! Lying motionless, he admired them. They were colossi, superb muscular organisms. Some of them were three times as heavy as a human, although their height scarcely surpassed the human average. Their legs were short, their chests enormous, profound and Herculean. Their arms could have strangled lions and felled rhinoceroses.
Alglave felt a singular pride. He was glad to recognize in these athletic creatures the prototype of primitive human beings; he was glad to tell himself that our ancestors had not, in the beginning, been the weak, naked, helpless animal of the old theories but a redoubtable physical adversary of large wild beasts. Our ancestors, prior to the power of speech, had possessed powerful muscles, formidable in hand-to-hand combat, before dominating the world with their brains. Without affirming that their power of immediate combat was at the same level as their intellectual victory, or that they were sovereign among beasts, they must at least have been among the strongest animals.
While haunted by these reflections, in the midst of his excitement, Alglave had resumed crawling toward the hollow tree. He arrived there without further incident. As he had anticipated, the tree had sufficient fissures for him to be able to see everything that the gorillas were doing. He slid inside it, insinuated himself into a dark corner, and contemplated the extraordinary scene that he would later call “the great council of the men of the woods.”
An extraordinary spectacle indeed. In a clearing some 10 or 12 acres in area, the floor of the forest was almost bare, covered with a few mosses and a few meager plants, and that elliptical space, under the branches of the surrounding trees, which intercepted a considerable fraction of the light, formed a sort of natural auditorium.
A multi
tude of men of the woods was squatting there—about 400, all adult males. A kind of order governed their grouping, and also their attitudes. They made regular gestures one at a time, which all the others followed attentively. These gestures were accompanied by cries, which were evidently significant, either of approval or disapproval. On seeing the play of their features and the repetition of certain movements, Alglave did not doubt that he had before him a kind of council meeting of these singular creatures. During the pauses, there was a visible concentration of thought, and mental contention—all the aspects of a human assembly engaged in some important discussion. The faces were, of course, almost canine, the jaws enormous and prominent, the brow receding and hardly ample—but none of that detracted from the relative intelligence of the assembly; Alglave remembered often having encountered Africans as distant in appearance from the human type as these anthropomorphs.
What were they discussing? What peril had to be avoided, what expedition or communal endeavor undertaken?
Alglave could not form any sort of hypothesis, but the matter in dispute must certainly have been important. The key evidence of that was an indication of direction. In fact, the hands and faces frequently turned the same way, in a vaguely southerly direction. Was it an enemy, a phenomenon…some fortunate or unfortunate occurrence? How he would have liked to know!
In regard to deducing it, however, Alglave soon became convinced that there was little prospect; to acquire an elementary knowledge, the language of the men of the woods would require a long period of study. As to doubt that it was a language, he had none. The naturalist, an expert in the subtleties of life, observed with certainty the recurrence of certain combinations; it was a very simple mathematics of arms and fingers, compared to the sign-language of human deaf-mutes, but savant and complex by comparison with anything observable among the superior mammals.
The World of the Variants Page 8