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Volume 5384
Part Fourteen

Woodrow Edgar Nichols, Jr.
Finally, we return to Tarzan where we left him last, overboard in the middle of nowhere, miles of ocean in all directions. For a normal man this is a death sentence, but for Tarzan of the Apes it is just swim time. Remember, as to narrative time, we are a few weeks in the past of the wreck of the Lady Alice, for in the meantime, Hazel and Thuran had steamed down to Cape Town, spent several weeks there, and then returned up the West Coast of Africa on Lord Tennington’s yacht, then sunk by an old derelict ship – soon to make a reappearance – bobbing invisibly in the water. That’s a long time for a cliff-hanger, but who are we to complain?

XIV: Back to the Primitive

As Tarzan struck the water, his first impulse was to swim clear of the ship and possible danger from her propellers. He knew whom to thank for his present predicament, and as he lay in the sea, just supporting himself by a gentle movement of his hands, his chief emotion was one of chagrin that he had been so easily bested by Rokoff.

He lay thus for some time, watching the receding and rapidly diminishing lights of the steamer without it ever once occurring to him to call for help. He never had called for help in his life, and so it is not strange that he did not think of it now. Always he had depended upon his own prowess and resourcefulness, nor had there ever been since the days of Kala any to answer an appeal for succor. When it did occur to him it was too late.

There was, thought Tarzan, a possible one chance in a hundred thousand that he might be picked up, and an even smaller chance that he would reach land, so he determined that to combine what slight chances there were, he would swim slowly in the direction of the coast – the ship might have been closer in than he had known.

His strokes were long and easy – it would be many hours before those giant muscles would commence to feel fatigue. As he swam, guided toward the east by the stars, he noticed that he felt the weight of his shoes, and so he removed them. His trousers went next, and he would have removed his coat at the same time but for the precious papers in its pocket. To reassure himself that he still had them he slipped his hand in to feel, but to his consternation they were gone.

Now he knew that something more than revenge had prompted Rokoff to pitch him overboard – the Russian had managed to obtain possession of the papers Tarzan had wrested from him at Bou Saada. The ape-man swore softly, and let his coat and shirt sink into the Atlantic. Before many hours he had divested himself of his remaining garments, and was swimming easily and unencumbered toward the east.

The first faint evidence of dawn was paling the stars ahead of him when the dim outlines of a low-lying black mass loomed up directly in his track. A few strong strokes brought him to its side – it was the bottom of a wave-washed derelict. Tarzan clambered upon it – he would rest there until daylight at least. He had no intention to remain there inactive – a prey to hunger and thirst. If he must die he preferred dying in action while making some semblance of an attempt to save himself.

The sea was quiet, so that the wreck had only a gently undulating motion, that was soothing to the swimmer who had had no sleep for twenty hours. Tarzan of the Apes curled up upon the slimy timbers, and was soon asleep.

The heat of the sun awoke him early in the forenoon. His first conscious sensation was of thirst, which grew almost to the proportions of suffering with full returning consciousness but a moment later it was forgotten in the joy of almost two almost simultaneous discoveries. The first was a mass of wreckage floating beside the derelict in the midst of which, bottom up, rose and fell an overturned lifeboat; the other was the faint, dim line of a far-distant shore showing on the horizon in the east.

Tarzan dove into the water, and swam around the wreck to the lifeboat. The cool ocean refreshed him almost as much as would a draft of water, so that it was with renewed vigor that he brought the smaller boat alongside the derelict, and, after many herculean efforts, succeeded in dragging it onto the slimy ship’s bottom. There he righted and examined it – the boat was quite sound, and a moment later floated upright alongside the wreck. Then Tarzan selected several pieces of wreckage that might answer him as paddles, and presently was making good headway toward the far-off shore.

It is strange that ERB uses the derelict two distinct times, the first time being in the future of the second time. Like I said, ERB had no formal training in writing and would experiment freely in his fiction with different narrative styles and techniques, basically learning the craft as he went along, but the whole time a serious student as he continued to learn and experiment.
It was late in the afternoon by the time he came close enough to distinguish objects on land, or to make out the contour of the shore line. Before him lay what appeared to be the entrance to a little, landlocked harbor. The wooded point to the north was strangely familiar. Could it be possible that fate had thrown him up at the very threshold of his own beloved jungle! But as the bow of his boat entered the mouth of the harbor the last shred of doubt was cleared away, for there before him upon the farther shore, under the shadows of his primeval forest, stood his own cabin – built before his birth by the hand of his long-dead father, John Clayton, Lord Greystoke.
What are the chances, you ask? ERB readers loved these sort of impossible coincidences and ERB unashamedly gave his readers what they wanted. You must keep in mind at all times that in an ERB story, ERB is the Hand of Fate. It’s the location of the derelict that is important in the story, for since it is the cause of the wreck of the Lady Alice, the fact that the ship’s passengers find themselves so close to Tarzan’s little harbor is not really that great of a coincidence at all.

The point he is making in the current coincidence is this: Tarzan has had his first taste of civilization and is finally returning to his jungle home, in all of its primitive splendor. And take note that he is returning in his naked primitive state.

With long sweeps of his giant muscles Tarzan sent the little craft speeding toward the beach. Its prow had scarcely touched when the ape-man leaped to shore – his heart beat fast in joy and exultation as each long-familiar object came beneath his roving eyes – the cabin, the beach, the little brook, the dense jungle, the black, impenetrable forest. The myriad birds in their brilliant plumage – the gorgeous tropical blooms upon the festooned creepers falling in great loops from the giant trees.

Tarzan of the Apes had come into own again, and that all the world might know it he threw back his young head, and gave voice to the fierce, wild challenge of the tribe. For a moment silence reigned upon the jungle, and then, low and weird, came an answering challenge – it was the deep roar of Numa, the lion; and from a great distance, faintly, the fearsome answering bellow of a bull ape.

Tarzan went to the brook first, and slaked his thirst. Then he approached his cabin. The door was still closed and latched as he and D’Arnot had left it. He raised the latch and entered. Nothing had been disturbed; there were the table, the bed, and the little crib built by his father – the shelves and cupboards just as they had stood for over twenty-three years – just as he had left them nearly two years before.

His eyes satisfied, Tarzan’s stomach began to call aloud for attention – the pangs of hunger suggested a search for food. There was nothing in the cabin, nor had he any weapons; but upon a wall hung one of his old grass ropes. It had been many times broken and spliced, so that he had discarded it for better one long before. Tarzan wished that he had a knife. Well, unless he was mistaken he should have that and a spear and bows and arrows before another sun had set – the rope would take care of that, and in the meantime it must be made to procure food for him. He coiled it carefully, and, throwing it about his shoulder, went out, closing the door behind him.

Close to the cabin the jungle commenced, and into it Tarzan of the Apes plunged, wary and noiseless – once more a savage beast hunting its food. For a time he kept to the ground, but finally, discovering no spoor indicative of nearby meat, he took to the trees.

If you haven’t read the first book, none of this is familiar, especially the fact that Tarzan moves supernaturally through the trees – like the cartoon Tarzan in the Disney animated version. You have to accept this fact if you are truly to enjoy the character of Tarzan. Once the impossibility of it creeps into your mind, the story tends to get spoiled. Reading an ERB novel is pure suspension of disbelief at its max.
With the first dizzy swing from tree to tree all the old joy of living swept over him. Vain regrets and dull heartache were forgotten. Now was the living. Now, indeed, was the true happiness of perfect freedom his. Who would go back to the stifling, wicked cities of civilized man when the mighty reaches of the great jungle offered peace and liberty? Not he.

While it was yet light Tarzan came to a drinking place by the sides of a jungle river. There was a ford there, and for countless ages the beasts of the forest had come down to drink at this spot. Here of a night might always be found either Sabor or Numa crouching in the dense foilage of the surrounding jungle awaiting an antelope or a water buck for their meal. Here came Horta, the boar, to water, and here came Tarzan of the Apes to make a kill, for he was very empty.

On a low branch he squatted above the trail. For an hour he waited. It was growing dark. A little to one side of the ford in the densest thicket he heard the faint sound of padded feet, and the brushing of a huge body against tall grasses and tangled creepers. None other than Tarzan might have heard it, but the ape-man heard and translated – it was Numa, the lion, on the same errand as himself. Tarzan smiled.

Presently he heard an animal approaching warily along the trail toward the drinking place. A moment more and it came into view – it was Horta, the boar. Here was delicious meat – and Tarzan’s mouth watered. The grasses where Numa lay were very still now – ominously still. Horta passed beneath Tarzan – a few more steps and he would be within the radius of Numa’s spring. Tarzan could imagine how old Numa’s eyes were shining – how he was already sucking in his breath for the awful roar which would freeze his prey for the brief instant between the moment of the spring and the sinking of terrible fangs into splintering bones.

But as Numa gathered himself, a slender rope flew through the air from the low branches of a nearby tree. A noose settled about Horta’s neck. There was a frightened grunt, a squeal, and then Numa saw his quarry dragged backward up the trail, and, as he sprang, Horta, the boar, soared upward beyond his clutches into the tree above, and a mocking face looked down and laughed into his own.

Then indeed did Numa roar. Angry, threatening, hungry, he paced back and forth beneath the taunting ape-man. Now he stopped, and, rising on his hind legs against the stem of the tree that held his enemy, sharpened his huge claws upon the bark, tearing out great pieces that laid bare the white wood beneath.

And in the meantime Tarzan had dragged the struggling Horta to the limb beside him. Sinewy fingers completed the work the choking noose had commenced. The ape-man had no knife, but nature had equipped him with the means of tearing his food from the quivering flank of his prey, and gleaming teeth sank into the succulent flesh while the raging lion looked on from below as another enjoyed the dinner that he had thought already his.

It was quite dark by the Tarzan had gorged himself. Ah, but it had been delicious! Never had he quite accustomed himself to the ruined flesh that civilized men had served him, and in the bottom of his savage heart there had constantly been the craving for the warm meat of the fresh kill, and the rich, red blood.

He wiped his bloody hands upon a bunch of leaves, slung the remains of his kill across his shoulder, and swung off through the middle terrace of the forest toward his cabin, and at the same instant Jane Porter and William Cecil Clayton arose from a sumptuous dinner upon the Lady Alice, thousands of miles to the east, in the Indian Ocean.

ERB connects the two narratives to the same time frame here, in case you didn’t notice. In Tarzan’s time, Jane still hasn’t arrived in Cape Town to meet her old friend, Hazel Strong, meaning there is still much to the narrative of Tarzan we must catch up on if we are return to a common time for the whole story.
Beneath Tarzan walked Numa, the lion, and when the ape-man deigned to glance downward he caught occasional glimpses of the baleful green eyes following through the darkness. Numa did not roar now, instead, he moved stealthily, like the shadow of a great cat; but yet he took no step that did not reach the sensitive ears of the ape-man.

Tarzan wondered if he would stalk him to his cabin door. He hoped not, for that would mean a night’s sleep curled in the crotch of a tree, and he much preferred the bed of grasses within his own abode. But he knew just the tree and the most comfortable crotch, if necessity demanded that he sleep out. A hundred times in the past some great jungle cat had followed him home, and compelled him to seek shelter in this same tree, until another mood or the rising sun had sent his enemy away.

But presently Numa gave up the chase, and, with a series of blood-curdling moans and roars, turning angrily back in search of another and an easier dinner. So Tarzan came to his cabin unattended, and a few moments later he was curled up in the mildewed remnants of what had once been a bed of grasses. Thus easily did Monsieur Jean C. Tarzan slough the thin skin of his artificial civilization, and sink happy and contented into the deep sleep of the wild beast that has fed to repletion. Yet a woman’s “yes” would have bound him to that other life forever, and made the thought of this savage existence repulsive.

Tarzan slept late into the following forenoon, for he had been very tired from the labors and exertion of the long night and day upon the ocean, and the jungle jaunt that had brought into play muscles that he had scarce used for nearly two years. When he awoke he ran to the brook first to drink. Then he took a plunge into the sea, swimming about for a quarter of an hour. Afterward he returned to his cabin, and breakfasted off the flesh of Horta. This done, he buried the balance of the carcass in the soft earth outside the cabin, for his evening meal.

Once more he took his rope and vanished into the jungle. This time he hunted a nobler quarry – man; although had you asked him his own opinion he could have named a dozen other denizens of the jungle which he considered far the superiors in nobility of the men he hunted. Today Tarzan was in quest of weapons. He wondered if the women and children had remained in Mbonga’s village after the punitive expedition from the French cruiser had massacred all the warriors in revenge for D’Arnot’s supposed death. He hoped that he should find warriors there, for he knew not how long a quest he should have to make were the village deserted.

Lieutenant D’Arnot had been an officer aboard the French cruiser that had taken the Arrow, the ship that had marooned the Porters, Mr. Philander and Esmeralda in the first book. The Arrow had been a derelict when the French cruiser found her and made a prize of war out of her. I just reread the last half of that book to see if the Arrow had somehow sunk, which would have provided a key coincidence, linking the first two books; but, alas! It appears as if the Arrow remained a war prize and was not the derelict linking Tarzan and the Lady Alice.

As it turned out, Mbonga’s village was exterminated in the same way Kurtz counseled in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Note that there is no judgment in Tarzan’s evaluation.

The ape-man traveled swiftly through the forest, and about noon came to the site of the village, but to his disappointment found that the jungle had overgrown the plantain fields and that the thatched huts had fallen in decay. There was no sign of man. He clambered about among the ruins for half an hour, hoping that he might discover some forgotten weapon, but his search was without fruit, and so he took up his quest once more, following up the stream, which flowed from a southeasterly direction. He knew that near fresh water he would be most likely to find another settlement.

As he traveled he hunted as he had hunted with his ape people in the past, as Kala had taught him to hunt, turning over rotted logs to find some toothsome vermin, running high into the trees to rob a bird’s nest, or pouncing upon a tiny rodent with the quickness of a cat. There were other things that he ate, too, but the less detailed the account of an ape’s diet, the better – and Tarzan was again an ape, the same fierce, brutal anthropoid that Kala had taught him to be, and that he had been for the first twenty years of his life.

Occasionally he smiled as he recalled some friend who might even at the moment be sitting placid and immaculate within the precincts of his select Parisian club – just as Tarzan had sat but a few months before, and then he would stop, as though turned suddenly to stone as the gentle breeze carried to his trained nostrils the scent of some new prey or a formidable enemy.

That night he slept far inland from his cabin, securely wedged into the crotch of a giant tree, swaying a hundred feet above the ground. He had eaten heartily again – this time from the flesh of Bara, the deer, who had fallen prey to his quick noose.

Early the next morning he resumed his journey, always following the course of the stream. For three days he continued his quest, until he had come to a part of the jungle in which he never before had been. Occasionally upon the higher ground the forest was much thinner, and in the far distance through the trees he could see ranges of mighty mountains, with wide plains in the foreground. Here, in the open spaces, were new game – countless antelope and vast herds of zebra. Tarzan was entranced – he would make a long visit to this new world.

On the morning of the fourth day his nostrils were suddenly surprised by a faint new scent. It was the scent of man, but yet a long way off. The ape-man thrilled with pleasure. Every sense was on the alert as with crafty stealth he moved quickly through the trees, up-wind, in the direction of his prey. Presently he came upon it – a lone warrior treading softly through the jungle.

Tarzan followed close above his quarry, waiting for a clearer space in which to hurl his rope. As he stalked the unconscious man, new thoughts presented themselves to the ape-man – thoughts born of the refining influences of civilization, and of its cruelties. It came to him that seldom if ever did civilized man kill a a fellow being without some pretext, however slight. It was true that Tarzan wished this man’s weapons and ornaments, but was it necessary to take his life to obtain them?

The longer he thought about it, the more repugnant became the thought of taking human life needlessly; and thus it happened while he was trying to decide just what to do, they had come to a little clearing, at the far side of which lay a palisaded village of beehive huts.

As the warrior emerged from the forest, Tarzan caught a fleeting glimpse of a tawny hide worming its way through the matted jungle grasses in his wake – it was Numa, the lion. He, too, was stalking the black man. With the instant which Tarzan realized the native’s danger his attitude toward his erstwhile prey altered completely – now he was a fellow man threatened by a common enemy.

Numa was about to charge – there was little time in which to compare various methods or weigh the probable results of any. And then a number of things happened, almost simultaneously – the lion sprang from his ambush toward the retreating black – Tarzan cried out in warning – and the black turned just in time to see Numa halted in mid-flight by a slender strand of grass rope, the noosed end of which had fallen cleanly about his neck.

The ape-man had acted so quickly that he had been unable to prepare himself to withstand the strain and shock of Numa’s great weight upon the rope, and so it was that though the rope stopped the beast before his mighty talons could fasten themselves in the flesh of the black, the strain overbalanced Tarzan, who came tumbling to the ground not six paces from the infuriated animal. Like lightning Numa turned upon this new enemy, and, defenseless as he was, Tarzan of the Apes was nearer to death that instant than he ever before had been. It was the black who saved him. The warrior realized in an instant that he owed his life to this strange white man, and he also saw that only a miracle could save his preserver from those fierce yellow fangs that had been so near to his own flesh.

With the quickness of thought his spear arm flew back, and then shot forward with all the force of the sinewy muscles that rolled beneath the shimmering ebon hide. True to its mark the iron-shod weapon flew, transfixing Numa’s sleek carcass from the right groin to beneath the left shoulder. With a hideous scream of rage and pain the brute turned again upon the black. A dozen paces he had gone when Tarzan’s rope brought him to a stand once more – then he wheeled again upon the ape-man, only to feel the painful prick of a barbed arrow as it sank half in its length in his quivering flesh. Again he stopped, and by this time Tarzan had run twice around the stem of a great tree with his rope, and made the end fast.

The black saw the trick, and grinned, but Tarzan knew that Numa must be quickly finished before those mighty teeth had found and parted the slender cord that held him. It was a matter of but an instant to reach the black’s side and drag his long knife from its scabbard. Then he signed the warrior to continue to shoot arrows into the great beast while he attempted to close in upon him with the knife; so as one tantalized upon one side, the other sneaked cautiously in upon the other. Numa was furious. He raised his voice in a perfect frenzy of shrieks, growls, and hideous moans, the while he reared upon his hind legs in futile attempt to reach the first one and then the other of his tormentors.

But at length the agile ape-man saw his chance, and rushed in upon the beast’s left side behind the mighty shoulder. A giant arm encircled the tawny throat, and a long blade sank once, true as a die, into the fierce heart. Then Tarzan arose, and the black man and the white looked into each other’s eyes across the body of their kill – and the black made the sign of peace, and Tarzan of the Apes answered in kind.

Ah, a happy ending. Can you believe at the beginning of his stalking of the black man, Tarzan was actually contemplating killing him for his weapons and ornaments? His experience with D’Arnot influenced him into thinking that murder was wrong, but let us not forget that ERB meant Tarzan to be a scary, savage beast in civilized clothing.

Gee, what can become of this new friendship between black and white? Thank God the Reverend Al Sharpton isn’t around to stir up racial hatred, eh? See you next time.

ERB's Heart of Darkness

Introductory and Contents Page for All the Edgar Rice Burroughs Articles
By Woodrow Edgar Nichols, Jr.


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