" 'Oh yes,' he said, this time with a real snarl. 'They is somethin' that see you. You don' notice much in the day time, jus' now an then. But aftah dark, then it get bad. You look to me Sah like a man what's done a bit of huntin', right?' At my grunt of assent, he went on. 'Then maybe you have feel this thing too. All huntah have. But, lookee, Cap'n, did you evah have this feelin', that a smaht tigre watch you, one that don' like you and can think about it, like a man think?'
"When he'd finished that particular comment, there was silence between us, broken only by creaking timbers and our breathing. His next comment anticipated my next question but was quite logical in so doing. 'I nevah find any tracks, not a one. But I do fin' where a place where something heavy, maybe man size, squat down. An in sof' groun' close by, I find where a branch been use to rub out track. Jus' like you or me would if we don' wanna be seen or notice we been theyah at all.'
"Again there was a brief pause and again he went on, but doing no thought reading this time. 'Theah was also a stink. Vurry light and not one I evah smell. If it were people, then they got a very nasty smell to 'em. They got that smell, like somethin' that live in the woods, some wil' animal, d'you see an' they got a lot of weight, more than us and they like the dahk, jus' like a cat do.'
"Once more there was silence and I noticed the engine was off and that we were heeling a little, obviously under sail. He pulled his thought-reading trick again. 'I speak pretty fayuh Maya, Cap'n. They tell me I mus' be part Maya and mebbe so. I don' look like the Hooper men and that help, not lookin' so much like a Bayman, wit' this thin nose and mouth and all. Anyhow, they talk to me, some of 'em do. I ask a lot about these Maya Mountains and the things I notice. Man, do they freeze up! That's bad country in the inside, fulla devils! They are bad devils and they steal Maya girls mebbe to eat. They ain't nevah seen again, not evah! They's a vurry few ol' men, who can remembah times they was told of befoh the whites come here. Any whites at all, Spanish, English or any and that mean any black men too, cause they had black men as slaves. An' these ol' mens, onect in a while, but rare, they would tell me a few things they been tol' by their ol' men when they little kids. This place we headed now was always the bad place! Them ol' injuns they always stay out too even back when they was the bossmen of this whole country and the other countries round about like Guatemala an' Mexico too. So what do that tell us, Cap'n?' He was silent and waiting and my answer was obvious, as obvious as it must be now to you fellows. 'Old,' I said, 'very old. Whatever makes them afraid of that country has been there a long time indeed, Lucas.' His grunt of assent was loud and clear.
"At this point, a bolted hatch on the foredeck was slid open and we both took deep breaths of the gust of fresh air. Whatever the Hooper clan had carried in that little ship, including partly-cured hides, it didn't make for easy breathing with the hatches shut.
"Young George Hooper's head appeared and he hailed us with a smile and told us to come up and relax. We were well out of the river now and sailing South under a gentle breeze, with not another craft of any sort in sight, not even a canoe. So we climbed out and went aft in the sun to the after cockpit. There we settled down with Captain Hooper and the two other cousins ran the boat. We began to plan our own moves and coordinate them.
"It was obvious that we could not plan too much, since there were so many unknowns in the whole thing. But we did the best we could and as carefully as possible. Then, we simply ran South, aiming for the area where the strange message had been thrown aboard ship in the steaming night.
"For two days and nights we dawdled on, following the coastline and well inside the fringing reefs that lie up to ten miles off that same coast. It was work for experts only, since there were plenty of local obstacles, from bars of mud and sand to clumps of local coral heads, floating logs out of the forest and occasional fishing boats without lights, the latter probably smuggling something. The Hoopers had done this trip many many times before though and laughed uproariously when I joshed them about their varied cargoes and His Majesty's Revenue Inspectors.
"As a cruise for honeymooners, I would fault it. The breeze was erratic and never strong and we were close enough to shore for sand flies and mosquitoes to pick us up with ease. We slapped, swore and smoked steadily. There was nothing else to do.
"Eventually at dawn, we arrived, having passed Stann Creek in the night where there's a small port whose lights we could see at a distance. When the Windsor was anchored, close to where the older man said the message had come, young George Hooper, Lucas Peyrefitte and I collected our gear, prepared a spare dinghy which we'd towed for this purpose, and went ashore if you call a healthy mangrove swamp 'shore', which I don't. The skipper and the other two were to call back at this point in two days and then in two more days, a job to be repeated until they saw us or a signal from us. Very simple arrangement compared to jobs I had during the war, off the Norwegian coast, say, but it was the best we could do.
"We got the dinghy as far up a muddy creek as we could and then had to slog through a lot more mud, plus clouds of stinging bugs, until we finally hit solid ground and collapsed. We had blazed mangrove trees with our machetes as a backtrail guide. Now we spit out bugs, wiped the worst mud off with leaves and looked at each other ruefully.
"We all had Winchester carbines slung on our shoulders and ammo, in pouches, plus oil and cleaning stuff. All three also had Webley .455 revolvers in flap holsters and full belts as well plus heavy hunting knives and the local machetes. We had full canteens as well and light packs, also shoulder-slung. In the packs were mosquito nets and food, charqui which is dried beef and crude tortillas baked to iron hardness. Most folk who know nothing of the tropics think being lost is the problem. It's one, but the least thought-of is more dangerous yet. Quite simply, thirst. Just because you have tons of greenery, that doesn't always mean water, reachable water. In this country, a mixture of sand, dirt limestone and granite, it was even more chancy. Little streams and brooks are there and lots of them. But they take finding. Rain is common and heavy as well but it can hold off for weeks at the wrong season, always when you most want it.
"I looked at my team and felt pretty good. George, to my delight had once done a short term in the local 'Territorials', a mob we raised during the war for local defense. Lucas was a hunter and a 'bushman'. We were all in tough khaki trousers and shirts, commandeered from the Belize cops by Inspector Plover, my 'link' to the Crown. He had got Army laced boots for us too, just now soaking wet but we had grease to reproof 'em and keep them from cracking. I had a slouch hat. my own shikari hat from India, but the other two didn't want any or ever wear them. We all had compasses and they could read theirs as well as I. I had what local maps the Crown had had done, but these were vague and not much use.
"Looking at mine, I found that we were, or thought we were, south of a maze of creeks, the largest of which was labelled 'Jenkins,' named after God knows who. I discussed our position with the others and we set off, bearing West by NW.
"There were no trails in this country and Lucas went first me next and George last. It was up-and-down trekking, with lots of low ridges, some with bare rock spines protruding. The trees, Waha palms, tropical pines and a few mahoganys, weren't too tall, except for a rare one but there was lots of low stuff under many of them and a lot was spiny and nasty. Lucas, who knew this stuff best was simply to hold course and pick the clearest path possible.
"We soon ran into another blight, one they had warned me of many times. It was tick country and several sizes and types were plentiful, from big black ones to minute red pests. We ignored them mostly, and when we stopped for breaks, scraped them off or held lit smokes to the most bloated until they popped bloodily. Mosquitoes were rare, save near water in the low bits, that is, rare by our standards here only. To reinforce them came a nasty group of large, biting flies. I was the chief sufferer, since the two young men seemed to ignore the damn things. Still, I've been in a lot of tropical bush and/or jungle and some was worse. There were at least no le
eches.
"Actually, had we not been pressing on fast, the country was lovely. On top of sandy ridges, where the pines predominated, one could see a lot, especially as we were climbing steadily as we went inland in our torturous, up-and-down path. We saw few animals, save for a rare glimpse of an armadillo and once a tapir clumping away up a wet ravine. Birds were everywhere though, vultures or zopilotes sailing over us and lots of little things warbling and chirping below, some with very bright colors, other as drab as sparrows.
"On one of these ridges, Lucas called a halt and pointed. Far down a series of tangled ridges we could see patches of small corn fields spread over flat country and out of the heavy bush. This was to the North.
"Then, he whirled and we looked West. Here the summits of much higher, though rounded hills capped the view. 'Maya Mountains', he growled. 'None of these Injun live any closer than those field we jus' look over. We in the bad country right now, the land where no one go except to hunt and for not long even then. We mus' be careful from now on, Cap'n. Already we might be seen.' He paused then and added, 'by sump'n, sump'n bad.'
"When night came, which meant less heat but only a different variety of biting bugs, we camped in a little gully, having found a niche on one side where three smooth rock walls twenty feet high gave us some feeling of protection. There was a tiny stream trickling down the ravine bed so we had water. We grilled our charaqui, very good but tough, over one of the cans of American Sterno, a thought of mine to bring. It weighed little and though there was a smell of meat perceptible, there was no fire and no woodsmoke. The latter can be detected miles away by sensitive noses.
"We picked off all the ticks we could find and George and I spread our one-man mosquito nets. We were keeping what the navy calls 'watch on watch' and Lucas had the first round. Then, after four hours, he'd wake me and after my four, I'd get George up. None of us wanted there to be no sentry at any time.
"Next day, after a quick meal, varied by an anti-scorbutic, what you men pay for as 'Heart of Palm salad,' or the little growing heads of some small palm trees, we set off West again. It was much the same going, into ravines and up tangled slopes, with breaks only where the pines, now getting fewer, dominated on the sandy ridge tops. Lucas used his machete with great skill and also his experience, and we seldom had to cut any tangles away from in front. He was a real bushman, with a keen eye for selecting the best track both for footing and also for the fewest tangles of vegetation.
"All day we went on in our usual way, which might be described as being alternate verticals or half verticals, mixed with spirals and right angle shifts. The only constant in the whole mess was the gradual but never-ceasing upward slant. In one way and another, we climbed steadily to higher ground. As we paused in the later afternoon for some de-ticking and a rest on a lofty ridge, I was amazed by a Westward glance. Through the taller and heavier trees, I could see rounded summits, little higher than our own position, though far larger and looking quite close. I mentioned it to the others and they seemed surprised I had just noticed.
"Lucas did not look elated and he continually darted his sharp eyes in every direction, up, down and sideways. 'We is deep in the bad country now, Suh, and well in it. We keep a good lookout or we never come out. Now we be real quiet and we look for a good place to camp, some kin' of place we can't be jump on by dem thing what live here.' His voice had lost all of the growl and was now a low, hissing purr. George Hooper, usually a cheery lad, quick to laugh and talk, was also suddenly silent and his seaman's eyes were as wary as the hunter's.
"Lucas shortly found the place he wanted, but he told me he had been on the watch for such a site for two hours past I checked my compass and got rough bearings, using the map, the setting sun and my own skill. We were about 16-1/2 degrees North and maybe 88-2/3 West. This certainly put us in the Maya Mountains, all totally unmarked territory.
"Lucas' find for a campsite was another notch in a cliff, with bare or mossy rock behind and no big trees close. It was only a gap and about ten feet square. The rock walls for it arced out on each side, went up into darkness and there were no vines running down them. In front we had a clear view in daylight of 30 feet of open space, being rock slabs and shale with nothing higher than low bunches of grass. It made us all feel better when we got in and faced out.
"If any of you know the Tropics, you know there is no real 'evening'. The dark fell like a cloud and we could hardly see one another save with our flashes, which we were careful not to use at more than three feet.
"The usual night noises rang out as we quietly used our Sterno and did not talk as we ate. Lots of bird calls, an insect vibrato and now and then the cry of some mammal. I heard a distant scream once and nudged Lucas. He nudged back and muttered Tigre under his breath. It had been a jaguar after all. There must have been a stream in the gully below us and to our left for the chorus of frog voices grew steadily louder during our meal, until it had almost blanketed the birds and the bugs through sheer volume.
"Suddenly, as we sat silent and listening, the batrachian calls stopped. It was an instant cut-off. So did the birds and even the insects seemed muted. In this silence came a new sound. It was not near or seemed not near but, oh how it carried! It was a strange cross between a moan and a roar. It gave the impression of immense volume somehow and more, for intermingled was a savagery, a terrible wild and forsaken anger, which rather chilled the blood. Quite unconsciously, I found myself huddling close to young Hooper, who sat to my left. His great body was trembling like a leaf and I could smell his sweat as no doubt he could smell mine.
"Finally that appalling sound died away in a series of rumbling grunts whose volume was not lessened much from that of the roaring wail which had begun the whole thing. There was silence and then the frogs took up their chorus again, with new members joining in until the night was once more echoing with croaks and trills in which insect stridulation was mixed again.
"The voice of Lucas Peyrefitte struck George and myself, though it was soft, so that we started and almost jumped away from one another. 'Not too clost,' it came. 'Jus' set still now an' don't talk nor move.' He said no more for a second, and then continued. 'Someone far off, he think that that noise come from them Howly Monkey. But it don', not that. This come from somethin' much bigger and meaner.'
"I had forgot, d'you fellows know, that Howler Monkeys were found in these parts. Never heard a Howler and I understand they can make a good, loud racket but I never thought they'd give one a chill to the marrow.
"Mind you, as some of you know, I'm not exactly inexperienced in living in the Tropics. I've heard leopards cough and grunt many times and the same with tigers and lions roaring. I'd picked up that jaguar scream back earlier and identified it by an educated guess. This was something I'd never heard before or wanted to hear again.
"Then Lucas spoke once more before falling silent. 'Set still and use your ear an' your nose till I say it OK. And keep you pistol handy too.' I got my Webley cautiously in my grip and could feel George Hooper doing the same. Then we simply obeyed orders and sat listening. I'd forgot part of the order until I heard George sniffing deeply at intervals. I did the same without even thinking about it. And, deep in my subconscious memory, an alarm was triggered. Had there not been something about 'smells' or 'stinks' in that weird report signed by the man I call 'Jones'? In fact, in the very report that had got me here in this wilderness in the first place?
"Well, gentlemen, God knows how long we three sat there, as relaxed as possible but more than alert. I checked my luminous watch hand at intervals and at least one hour had passed when something else began to happen.
"I'd given up sniffing the jungle air which was lovely but so full of bugs that I'd inhaled several gnats without meaning to. But the other two were tougher and they had not I heard and almost felt my neighbor George increase his sniffs and I started to do so too. One deep breath was enough.
"It was a most unpleasant odor that now wafted our way. It was wild, feral if you like,
but mainly a sort of concentrated garbage sort of reek. There was none of the ammonia smell of the big cats; what you can get in any zoo, though I've had it close to in the bush myself. Oh no, this was another new one for me. Mix a filthy athletic locker room with the stench of uncleaned dog kennels and add rotten garbage. That's the best I can do to describe it.
"And with this foul effluvium there was something else. This was more of a feeling than anything else. We were under intent and malign observation, that was it. Someone or something was looking at us and it was the look of a predator. You'll recall that Lucas and I'd had a conversation on this point before we started. Well, as any real hunter knows, one can feel this sort of thing, if one's lucky that is. Not very pleasant in that hot, damp dark, to feel that some 'presence', something deadly and predatory had one under observation!
"It was Lucas's voice that broke the dead hush. And it was no whisper but a shout 'Look up,' he yelled, almost in my ear. 'That stink come from up, down the rock behin' us!'
"Well, the three of us whirled as one man and young Hooper, God bless him, flicked on his torch as he did. And so we weren't taken too much by surprise." The Brigadier paused for thought but there wasn't a breath expelled in the Club library. We were all rivetted by the imagined horror of his tale and all mentally in that black, steaming forest, long ago in an unknown land, holding our breath and with racing pulses, all desperate to find out what followed.
The Curious Quests of Brigadier Ffellowes Page 20