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Volume 5602
Part Twenty-Eight
N. C. Wyeth: Return of Tarzan - 26 interior b/w headpieces by St. John (debut)J. Allen St. John: Beasts of Tarzan - wraparound DJ, FP, many b/w line interiors
Woodrow Edgar Nichols, Jr.

Tarzan, Jane, and their infant son have been kidnapped by Rokoff and Paulvitch and taken aboard the tramp steamer Kincaid for some unknown destination. Well, we are assuming that the woman screaming on board the ship at the end of the last chapter was Jane, even though her name was not mentioned. So, full steam ahead.

II: Marooned

As Tarzan and his guide had disappeared into the shadows upon the dark wharf the figure of a heavily veiled woman had hurried down the narrow alley to the entrance of the drinking-place the two men had just quitted.

Here she paused and looked about, and then as though satisfied she had at least reached the place she sought, she pushed bravely into the interior of the vile den.

A score of half-drunken sailors and wharf-rats looked up at the unaccustomed sight of a richly gowned woman in their midst. Rapidly she approached the slovenly barmaid who stared half in envy, half in hate, at her more fortunate sister.

“Have you seen a tall, well-dressed man here, but a minute since?” she asked, “who met another and went away with him?”

The girl answered in the affirmative, but could not tell which way the two had gone. A sailor who had approached to listen to the conversation vouchsafed the information that a moment before as he had been about to enter the “pub” he had seen two men leaving it who walked toward the wharf.

“Show me the direction they went,’ cried the woman, slipping a coin into the man’s hand.

The fellow led her from the place, and together they walked quickly toward the wharf and along it until across the water they saw a small boat just pulling into the shadows of a nearby steamer.

“There they be,” whispered the man.

“Ten pounds if you will find a boat and row me to that steamer,” cried the woman.

“Quick, then,” he replied, “for we gotta go it if we’re goin’ to catch the Kincaid afore she sails. She’s had steam up for three hours an’ jest been a-waitin’ fer that one passenger. I was a-talkin’ to one of her crew ‘arf an hour ago.”

As he spoke he led the way to the end of the wharf where he knew another boat lay moored, and, lowering the woman into it, he jumped in after and pushed off. The two were soon scudding over the water.

At the steamer’s side the man demanded his pay, and, without waiting to count out the exact amount, the woman thrust a handful of bank-notes into his outstretched hand. A single glance at them convinced the fellow that he had been more than well paid. Then he assisted her up the ladder, holding his skiff close to the ship’s side against the chance that this profitable passenger might wish to be taken ashore later.

But presently the sound of the donkey engine and the rattle of steel cable on the hoisting-drum proclaimed the fact that the Kincaid’s anchor was being raised, and a moment later the waiter heard the propellers revolving, and slowly the little steamer moved away from him out into the channel.

As he turned to row back to shore he heard a woman’s shriek from the ship’s deck.

“That’s wot I calls rotten luck,” he soliloquized. “I might jest as well of ‘ad the whole bloomin’ wad.”

When Jane Clayton climbed to the deck of the Kincaid she found the ship apparently deserted. There was no sign of those she sought nor of any other aboard, and so she went about her search for her husband and the child she hoped against hope to find there without interruption.

Quickly she hastened to the cabin, which was half above and half below deck. As she hurried down the short companion-ladder into the main cabin, on either side of which were the smaller rooms occupied by the officers, she failed to note the quick closing of one of the doors before her. She passed the full length of the main room, and then retracing her steps stopped before each door to listen, furtively trying each latch.

All was silence, utter silence there, in which the throbbing of her own frightened heart seemed to her overwrought imagination to fill the ship with its thunderous alarm.

One by one the doors opened before her touch, only to reveal empty interiors. In her absorption she did not note the sudden activity upon the vessel, the purring of the engines, the throbbing of the propeller. She had reached the last door upon the right now, and as she pushed it open she was seized from within by a powerful, dark-visaged man, and drawn hastily into the stuffy, ill-smelling interior.

The sudden shock of fright which the unexpected attack had upon her drew a single piercing scream from her throat; then the man clapped a hand roughly over the mouth.

This is all Jane can expect in the future, to be treated roughly by men. Of course – because of censorship and manly attitudes about the virtue of women and the prevalent cultural idea that once a woman has been raped or had sex outside of marriage, she is damaged goods and no longer a suitable woman for marriage – ERB was careful to keep the extreme violence toward the poor woman mainly nonsexual, though there are some ribald sado-masochistic scenes to come. Of course, we know that in a real world, she would have been repeatedly violated by Rokoff and the villainous crew of the Kincaid.

Though the male imagination might always have pictured Jane as a buxom woman, we have to imagine more so in the instant case, because she has a young child and is likely still breast feeding, meaning that whatever size her breasts were before, we must imagine them even bigger now. Of course, many aristocratic women would have had a nurse maid take care of these duties, but just the same, we must still imagine Jane with ample bosom. Expect a lot of ERB near rape scenes in the future.

“Not until we are farther from land, my dear,” he said. “Then you may yell your pretty head off.”

Lady Greystoke turned to look into the leering, bearded face so close to hers. The man relaxed the pressure of his fingers upon her lips, and with a little moan of terror as she recognized him the girl shrank away from her captor.

“Nikolas Rokoff! M. Thuran!” she exclaimed.

“Your devoted admirer,” replied the Russian, with a low bow.

“My little boy,” she said next, ignoring the terms of endearment – “where is he? Let me have him. How could you be so cruel – even as you – Nikolas Rokoff – cannot be entirely devoid of mercy and compassion? Tell me where he is. Is he aboard this ship? Oh, please, if such a thing as a heart beats within your breast, take me to my baby!”

“If you do as you are bid no harm will befall him,” replied Rokoff. “But remember that it is your own fault that you are here. You came aboard voluntarily, and you may take the consequences. I little thought,” he added to himself, “that any such good luck as this would come to me.”

Those that have the Devil’s Luck rarely feel that they are lucky, they are so hung up on what they perceive are the wrongs that others heap upon them. They are almost always sad and depressed for some unknown reasons, and the only person they ever cry or have compassion for is themselves.

We know from the last book that Rokoff crudely lusted very much for Jane Porter and wrongfully suspected Clayton of having had unlawful sexual intercourse with her, and was angry that Clayton was not sharing her with him. However, it seems that Rokoff’s lust has slackened off – is he really that much of a champion of faithful marriage? – otherwise we should have suspected him of raping her on the spot.

He went on deck then, locking the cabin-door upon his prisoner, and for several days she did not see him. The truth of the matter being that Nikolas Rokoff was so poor a sailor that the heavy seas the Kincaid encountered from the very beginning of her voyage sent the Russian to his berth with a bad attack of sea-sickness.
Ah, so that’s why Rokoff didn’t try to rape her – he felt nauseous. Hehehehe, ERB is very amusing at times. He must keep the danger of rape level high but, because of the times, he can never actually allow Jane to be raped, thus becoming damaged goods.

For those that believe Tarzan and Jane represent the real life ERB and Emma situation – in other words, his stories are just glorified rehashes of family drama – then, the fact that Jane is roughed-up so much in the following story may depict family tensions he was experiencing at the beginning of 1914. If this is true, then perhaps the dedication of this book to his daughter, Joan (pronounced Jo-ann), may reflect this, but I can’t really see how.

During this time her only visitor was an uncouth Swede, the Kincaid’s unsavoury cook, who brought her meals to her. His name was Sven Anderssen, his one pride being that his patronymic was spelt with a double "s."

The man was tall and raw-boned, with a long yellow moustache, and unwholesome complexion, and filthy nails. The very sight of him with one grimy thumb buried deep in the lukewarm stew, that seemed, from the frequency of his repetition, to constitute the pride of his culinary art, was sufficient to take away the girl’s appetite.

His small, blue, close-set eyes never met hers squarely. There was a shiftiness of his whole appearance that even found expression in the cat-like manner of his gait, and to it all a sinister suggestion was added by the long slim knife that always rested at his waist, slipped through the greasy cord that supported his soiled apron. Ostensibly it was but an implement of his calling; but the girl could never free herself of the conviction that it would require little provocation to witness it put to other and less harmless uses.

In other words, she has just as much to worry about being raped by the crew as by Rokoff himself. However, as we shall see, Sven Anderssen ends up being the vaudeville humor in this story, and unexpected hero as well, due to Jane’s charming manner, and Sven’s admiration of motherhood.
His manner toward her was surly, yet she never failed to meet him with a pleasant smile and a word of thanks when he brought her food to her, though more often than not she hurled the bulk of it through the tiny cabin port the moment that the door closed behind him.

During the days of anguish that followed Jane Clayton’s imprisonment, but two questions were uppermost in her mind – the whereabouts of her husband and her son. She fully believed that the baby was aboard the Kincaid, provided that he still lived, but whether Tarzan had been permitted to live after having been lured aboard the evil craft she could not guess.

She knew, of course, the deep hatred that the Russian felt for the Englishman, and she could think of but one reason for having him brought aboard the ship – to dispatch him in comparative safety in revenge for his having thwarted Rokoff’s pet schemes, and for having been at last the means of landing him in a French prison.

Tarzan, on his part, lay in the darkness of his cell, ignorant of the fact that his wife was a prisoner in the cabin almost above his head.

The same Swede that served Jane brought his meals to him, but, though on several occasions Tarzan had tried to draw the man into conversation, he had been unsuccessful.

He had hoped to learn through this fellow whether his little son was aboard the Kincaid, but to every question upon this or kindred subjects the fellow returned but one reply, “Ay tank it blow purty soon purty hard.” So after several attempts Tarzan gave it up.

For weeks that seemed months to the two prisoners the little steamer forged on and they knew not where. Once the Kincaid stopped to coal, only immediately to take up the seemingly interminable voyage.

Rokoff had visited Jane Clayton but once since he had locked her in the tiny cabin. He had come gaunt and hollow-eyed from a long seige of sea-sickness. The object of his visit was to obtain from her her personal cheque for a large sum in return for a guarantee of her personal safety and return to England.

“When you set me down in any civilized port, together with my son and my husband,” she replied, “I will pay you in gold twice the amount you ask; but until then you shall not have a cent, nor the promise of a cent under any other conditions.”

“You will give me the cheque I ask,” he replied with a snarl, “or neither you nor your child nor your husband will ever again set foot within any port, civilized or otherwise.”

“I would not trust you,” she replied. “What guarantee have I that you would not take my money and then do as you pleased with me and mine regardless of your promise?”

Well, at least Jane has more brains that did Lieutenant Gernois, as you will recall in our last story. He put up with Rokoff’s broken promises in a most ungallant fashion, killing himself rather than his tormentor. Another example of the Devil’s Luck.
“I think you will do as I bid,” he said, turning to leave the cabin. “Remember that I have your son – if you chance to hear the agonized wail of a tortured child it may console you to reflect that it is because of your stubbornness that the baby suffers – and that it is your baby.”

“You would not do it!” cried the girl. “You would not – could not be so fiendishly cruel!”

“It is not I that am cruel, but you,” he returned, “for you permit a paltry sum of money to stand between your baby and immunity from suffering.”

Yes, psychopaths always blame their victims for the evil they must do. Look at the elegant reverse guilt trip Rokoff lays on her. And it works. If you know someone like this – and they seem to be everywhere at times – and if you can, stay as far away from them as possible. Remember, they have the Devil’s Luck by divine providence, and rarely are they brought to justice. The only remedy is murdering them, and this is no real remedy at all, since one must sacrifice one’s own life to end theirs, and that is hardly worth the effort. Let’s not forget that, “Vengeance is mine, sayeth YHWH.”

Bargaining with Iran by the current American Administration is just as stupid. We have everything to lose and absolutely nothing to gain. They will stall and stall until they have their nuclear weapon and all the appeasement in the world won’t change it. Radical Islam is psychopathic and always has been, like all religious fanaticism throughout history. They really believe we are the Great Satan and we should take that very seriously when negotiating with them.

The end of it was that Jane Clayton wrote out a cheque of large denomination and handed it to Nikolas Rokoff, who left her cabin with a grin of satisfaction upon his lips.

The following day the hatch was removed from Tarzan’s cell, and as he looked up he saw Paulvitch’s head framed in the square of light above him.

“Come up,” commanded the Russian. “But bear in mind that you will be shot if you make a single move to attack me or any other aboard the ship.”

The ape-man swung himself lightly to the deck. About him, but at a respectful distance, stood a half-dozen sailors armed with rifles and revolvers. Facing him was Paulvitch.

Tarzan looked about for Rokoff, who he felt sure must be aboard, but there was no sign of him.

“Lord Greystoke,” commenced the Russian, “by your continued and wanton interference with M. Rokoff and his plans you have at last brought yourself and your family to this unfortunate extremity. You have only yourself to thank. As you may imagine, it has cost M. Rokoff a large amount of money to finance this expedition, and, as you are the sole cause of it, he naturally looks to you for reimbursement.

“Further, I may say that only by meeting M. Rokoff’s just demands may you avert the most unpleasant consequences to your wife and child, and at the same retain your own life and regain your liberty.”

“What is the amount?” asked Tarzan. “And what assurance have I that you will live up to your end of the agreement? I have little reason to trust two such scoundrels as you and Rokoff, you know.”

The Russian flushed.

“You are in no position to deliver insults,” he said. “You have no assurance that we will live up to our agreement other than my word, but you have before you the assurance that we can make short work of you if you do not write out the cheque we demand.

“Unless you are a greater fool than I imagine, you should know that there is nothing that would give us greater pleasure than to order these men to fire. That we do not is because we have other plans for punishing you that would be entirely upset by your death.”

“Answer one question,” said Tarzan. “Is my son on board this ship?”

“No,” replied Alexis Paulvitch, “your son is quite safe elsewhere; nor will he be killed until you refuse to accede to our fair demands. If it becomes necessary to kill you, there will be no reason for not killing the child, since with you gone the one whom we wish to punish through the boy will be gone, and then he will then be to us only a constant source of danger and embarrassment. You see, therefore, that you may only save the life of your son by saving your own, and you can only save your own by giving us the cheque we ask.”

“Very well,” replied Tarzan, for he knew that he could trust them to carry out any sinister threat that Paulvitch had made, and there was a bare chance that by conceding their demands he might save the boy.

That they would permit him to live after he had appended his name to the cheque never occurred to him as being within the realms of probability. But he was determined to give them such a battle as they would never forget, and possibly to take Paulvitch with him into eternity. He was only sorry that it was not Rokoff.

He took his pocket cheque-book and fountain-pen from his pocket.

“What is the amount?” he asked.

Paulvitch name an enormous sum. Tarzan could scarce restrain a smile.

Their very cupidity was to prove the means of their undoing, in the matter of the ransom at least. Purposely he hesitated and haggled over the amount, but Paulvitch was obdurate. Finally the ape-man wrote out his cheque for a larger sum than stood to his credit at the bank.

As he turned to hand the worthless slip of paper to the Russian his glance chanced to pass across the starboard bow of the Kincaid. To his surprise he saw that the ship lay within a few hundred yards of land. Almost down to the water’s edge ran a dense tropical jungle, and behind was higher land clothed in forest.

Paulvitch noticed the direction of his gaze.

“You are to be set at liberty here,” he said.

Tarzan’s plan for immediate physical revenge upon the Russian vanished. He thought the land before him the mainland of Africa, and he knew that should they liberate him here he could doubtless find his way to civilization with comparative ease.

Paulvitch took the cheque.

“Remove your clothing,” he said to the ape-man. “Here you will need it.”

Tarzan demurred.

Paulvitch pointed to the armed sailors. Then the Englishman slowly divested himself of his clothing.

ERB was no sexist when it came to nudity. His men are often more naked than his women. The human body of both sexes were a marvel to ERB and he displayed them as often – and as censorship allowed – as possible.
A boat was lowered, and, still heavily guarded, the ape-man was rowed ashore. Half an hour later the sailors had returned to the Kincaid, and the steamer was slowly getting under way.

As Tarzan stood upon the narrow strip of beach watching the departure of the vessel he saw a figure appear at the rail and call aloud to attract his attention.

The ape-man had been about to read a note that one of the sailors had handed him as the small boat that bore him to the shore was on the point of returning to the steamer, but at the hail from the vessel’s deck he looked up.

He saw a black-bearded man who laughed at him in derision as he held high above his head the figure of a little child. Tarzan half started as though to rush through the surf and strike out for the already moving steamer; but realizing the futility of so rash an act he halted at the water’s edge.

Thus he stood, his gaze riveted upon the Kincaid until it disappeared beyond a projecting promontory of the coast.

From the jungle at his back fierce bloodshot eyes glared from beneath shaggy overhanging brows upon him.

Little monkeys in the tree-tops chattered and scolded, and from the distance of the inland forest came the scream of a leopard.

But still John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, stood deaf and unseeing, suffering the pangs of keen regret for the opportunity that he had wasted because he had been so gullible as to place credence of a single statement of the first lieutenant of his arch-enemy.

Why did Rokoff have Paulvitch do his dirty work? Was he afraid that Tarzan would irrationally go for his throat in spite of the armed sailors? That is my theory. He knew how crazy the ape-man could get from prior experience, realizing he had a better chance to get a large sum of money from him first if he were to stay out of the way. Oh well, whatever Rokoff’s motives, the irony grows thicker as Tarzan believes that Jane is safe in London.
“I have at least,” he thought, “one consolation – the knowledge that Jane is safe in London. Thank Heaven she, too, did not fall into the clutches of those villains.”

Behind him the hairy thing whose evil eyes had been watching his as a cat watches a mouse was creeping stealthily toward him.

Where were the trained senses of the savage ape-man?

Where the acute hearing?

Where the uncanny sense of scent?

Yes, and this where the chapter ends. We will have to wait until next time to read with Tarzan Rokoff’s diabolical plan of revenge contained in the note. This guy really spends a majority of his time in evil thinking, working like the devil in the details. Remember, evil never sleeps in the heart of darkness.


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