Chapter 9
Chivalry or Villainy
From her cabin port upon the Kincaid, Jane Clayton had seen her
husband rowed to the verdure-clad shore of Jungle Island, and then
the ship once more proceeded upon its way.
For several days she saw no one other than Sven Anderssen, the
Kincaid's taciturn and repellent cook. She asked him the name of
the shore upon which her husband had been set.
"Ay tank it blow purty soon purty hard," replied the Swede, and
that was all that she could get out of him.
She had come to the conclusion that he spoke no other English, and
so she ceased to importune him for information; but never did she
forget to greet him pleasantly or to thank him for the hideous,
nauseating meals he brought her.
Three days from the spot where Tarzan had been marooned the Kincaid
came to anchor in the mouth of a great river, and presently Rokoff
came to Jane Clayton's cabin.
"We have arrived, my dear," he said, with a sickening leer. "I
have come to offer you safety, liberty, and ease. My heart has been
softened toward you in your suffering, and I would make amends as
best I may.
"Your husband was a brute--you know that best who found him naked
in his native jungle, roaming wild with the savage beasts that were
his fellows. Now I am a gentleman, not only born of noble blood,
but raised gently as befits a man of quality.
"To you, dear Jane, I offer the love of a cultured man and association
with one of culture and refinement, which you must have sorely
missed in your relations with the poor ape that through your
girlish infatuation you married so thoughtlessly. I love you,
Jane. You have but to say the word and no further sorrows shall
afflict you--even your baby shall be returned to you unharmed."
Outside the door Sven Anderssen paused with the noonday meal he
had been carrying to Lady Greystoke. Upon the end of his long,
stringy neck his little head was cocked to one side, his close-set
eyes were half closed, his ears, so expressive was his whole attitude
of stealthy eavesdropping, seemed truly to be cocked forward--even
his long, yellow, straggly moustache appeared to assume a sly droop.
As Rokoff closed his appeal, awaiting the reply he invited, the
look of surprise upon Jane Clayton's face turned to one of disgust.
She fairly shuddered in the fellow's face.
"I would not have been surprised, M. Rokoff," she said, "had you
attempted to force me to submit to your evil desires, but that you
should be so fatuous as to believe that I, wife of John Clayton,
would come to you willingly, even to save my life, I should never
have imagined. I have known you for a scoundrel, M. Rokoff; but
until now I had not taken you for a fool."
Rokoff's eyes narrowed, and the red of mortification flushed out
the pallor of his face. He took a step toward the girl, threateningly.
"We shall see who is the fool at last," he hissed, "when I have
broken you to my will and your plebeian Yankee stubbornness has
cost you all that you hold dear--even the life of your baby--for,
by the bones of St. Peter, I'll forego all that I had planned
for the brat and cut its heart out before your very eyes. You'll
learn what it means to insult Nikolas Rokoff."
Jane Clayton turned wearily away.
"What is the use," she said, "of expatiating upon the depths to
which your vengeful nature can sink? You cannot move me either by
threats or deeds. My baby cannot judge yet for himself, but I, his
mother, can foresee that should it have been given him to survive
to man's estate he would willingly sacrifice his life for the honour
of his mother. Love him as I do, I would not purchase his life
at such a price. Did I, he would execrate my memory to the day
of his death."
Rokoff was now thoroughly angered because of his failure to reduce
the girl to terror. He felt only hate for her, but it had come
to his diseased mind that if he could force her to accede to his
demands as the price of her life and her child's, the cup of his
revenge would be filled to brimming when he could flaunt the wife
of Lord Greystoke in the capitals of Europe as his mistress.
Again he stepped closer to her. His evil face was convulsed with
rage and desire. Like a wild beast he sprang upon her, and with
his strong fingers at her throat forced her backward upon the berth.
At the same instant the door of the cabin opened noisily. Rokoff
leaped to his feet, and, turning, faced the Swede cook.
Into the fellow's usually foxy eyes had come an expression of utter
stupidity. His lower jaw drooped in vacuous harmony. He busied
himself in arranging Lady Greystoke's meal upon the tiny table at
one side of her cabin.
The Russian glared at him.
"What do you mean," he cried, "by entering here without permission?
Get out!"
The cook turned his watery blue eyes upon Rokoff and smiled vacuously.
"Ay tank it blow purty soon purty hard," he said, and then he began
rearranging the few dishes upon the little table.
"Get out of here, or I'll throw you out, you miserable blockhead!"
roared Rokoff, taking a threatening step toward the Swede.
Anderssen continued to smile foolishly in his direction, but one
ham-like paw slid stealthily to the handle of the long, slim knife
that protruded from the greasy cord supporting his soiled apron.
Rokoff saw the move and stopped short in his advance. Then he
turned toward Jane Clayton.
"I will give you until tomorrow," he said, "to reconsider your answer
to my offer. All will be sent ashore upon one pretext or another
except you and the child, Paulvitch and myself. Then without
interruption you will be able to witness the death of the baby."
He spoke in French that the cook might not understand the sinister
portent of his words. When he had done he banged out of the cabin
without another look at the man who had interrupted him in his
sorry work.
When he had gone, Sven Anderssen turned toward Lady Greystoke--the
idiotic expression that had masked his thoughts had fallen away,
and in its place was one of craft and cunning.
"Hay tank Ay ban a fool," he said. "Hay ben the fool. Ay savvy
Franch."
Jane Clayton looked at him in surprise.
"You understood all that he said, then?"
Anderssen grinned.
"You bat," he said.
"And you heard what was going on in here and came to protect me?"
"You bane good to me," explained the Swede. "Hay treat me like
darty dog. Ay help you, lady. You yust vait--Ay help you. Ay
ban Vast Coast lots times."
"But how can you help me, Sven," she asked, "when all these men
will be against us?"
"Ay tank," said Sven Anderssen, "it blow purty soon purty hard,"
and then he turned and left the cabin.
Though Jane Clayton doubted the cook's ability to be of any material
service to her, she was nevertheless deeply grateful to him for
what he already had done. The feeling that among these enemies
she had one friend brought the first ray of comfort that had come
to lighten the burden of her miserable apprehensions throughout
the long voyage of the Kincaid.
She saw no more of Rokoff that day, nor of any other until Sven
came with her evening meal. She tried to draw him into conversation
relative to his plans to aid her, but all that she could get from
him was his stereotyped prophecy as to the future state of the
wind. He seemed suddenly to have relapsed into his wonted state
of dense stupidity.
However, when he was leaving her cabin a little later with the empty
dishes he whispered very low, "Leave on your clothes an' roll up
your blankets. Ay come back after you purty soon."
He would have slipped from the room at once, but Jane laid her hand
upon his sleeve.
"My baby?" she asked. "I cannot go without him."
"You do wot Ay tal you," said Anderssen, scowling. "Ay ban halpin'
you, so don't you gat too fonny."
When he had gone Jane Clayton sank down upon her berth in utter
bewilderment. What was she to do? Suspicions as to the intentions
of the Swede swarmed her brain. Might she not be infinitely worse
off if she gave herself into his power than she already was?
No, she could be no worse off in company with the devil himself than
with Nikolas Rokoff, for the devil at least bore the reputation of
being a gentleman.
She swore a dozen times that she would not leave the Kincaid without
her baby, and yet she remained clothed long past her usual hour
for retiring, and her blankets were neatly rolled and bound with
stout cord, when about midnight there came a stealthy scratching
upon the panels of her door.
Swiftly she crossed the room and drew the bolt. Softly the door
swung open to admit the muffled figure of the Swede. On one arm
he carried a bundle, evidently his blankets. His other hand was
raised in a gesture commanding silence, a grimy forefinger upon
his lips.
He came quite close to her.
"Carry this," he said. "Do not make some noise when you see it.
It ban you kid."
Quick hands snatched the bundle from the cook, and hungry mother
arms folded the sleeping infant to her breast, while hot tears of
joy ran down her cheeks and her whole frame shook with the emotion
of the moment.
"Come!" said Anderssen. "We got no time to vaste."
He snatched up her bundle of blankets, and outside the cabin door
his own as well. Then he led her to the ship's side, steadied
her descent of the monkey-ladder, holding the child for her as she
climbed to the waiting boat below. A moment later he had cut the
rope that held the small boat to the steamer's side, and, bending
silently to the muffled oars, was pulling toward the black shadows
up the Ugambi River.
Anderssen rowed on as though quite sure of his ground, and when after
half an hour the moon broke through the clouds there was revealed
upon their left the mouth of a tributary running into the Ugambi.
Up this narrow channel the Swede turned the prow of the small boat.
Jane Clayton wondered if the man knew where he was bound. She did
not know that in his capacity as cook he had that day been rowed
up this very stream to a little village where he had bartered with
the natives for such provisions as they had for sale, and that he
had there arranged the details of his plan for the adventure upon
which they were now setting forth.
Even though the moon was full, the surface of the small river was
quite dark. The giant trees overhung its narrow banks, meeting in
a great arch above the centre of the river. Spanish moss dropped
from the gracefully bending limbs, and enormous creepers clambered
in riotous profusion from the ground to the loftiest branch, falling
in curving loops almost to the water's placid breast.
Now and then the river's surface would be suddenly broken ahead of
them by a huge crocodile, startled by the splashing of the oars,
or, snorting and blowing, a family of hippos would dive from a
sandy bar to the cool, safe depths of the bottom.
From the dense jungles upon either side came the weird night cries
of the carnivora--the maniacal voice of the hyena, the coughing
grunt of the panther, the deep and awful roar of the lion. And
with them strange, uncanny notes that the girl could not ascribe to
any particular night prowler--more terrible because of their mystery.
Huddled in the stern of the boat she sat with her baby strained
close to her bosom, and because of that little tender, helpless thing
she was happier tonight than she had been for many a sorrow-ridden
day.
Even though she knew not to what fate she was going, or how soon
that fate might overtake her, still was she happy and thankful for
the moment, however brief, that she might press her baby tightly
in her arms. She could scarce wait for the coming of the day that
she might look again upon the bright face of her little, black-eyed
Jack.
Again and again she tried to strain her eyes through the blackness
of the jungle night to have but a tiny peep at those beloved
features, but only the dim outline of the baby face rewarded her
efforts. Then once more she would cuddle the warm, little bundle
close to her throbbing heart.
It must have been close to three o'clock in the morning that
Anderssen brought the boat's nose to the shore before a clearing
where could be dimly seen in the waning moonlight a cluster of
native huts encircled by a thorn boma.
At the village gate they were admitted by a native woman, the wife
of the chief whom Anderssen had paid to assist him. She took
them to the chief's hut, but Anderssen said that they would sleep
without upon the ground, and so, her duty having been completed,
she left them to their own devices.
The Swede, after explaining in his gruff way that the huts were
doubtless filthy and vermin-ridden, spread Jane's blankets on the
ground for her, and at a little distance unrolled his own and lay
down to sleep.
It was some time before the girl could find a comfortable position
upon the hard ground, but at last, the baby in the hollow of her
arm, she dropped asleep from utter exhaustion. When she awoke it
was broad daylight.
About her were clustered a score of curious natives--mostly men,
for among the aborigines it is the male who owns this characteristic
in its most exaggerated form. Instinctively Jane Clayton drew
the baby more closely to her, though she soon saw that the blacks
were far from intending her or the child any harm.
In fact, one of them offered her a gourd of milk--a filthy,
smoke-begrimed gourd, with the ancient rind of long-curdled milk
caked in layers within its neck; but the spirit of the giver touched
her deeply, and her face lightened for a moment with one of those
almost forgotten smiles of radiance that had helped to make her
beauty famous both in Baltimore and London.
She took the gourd in one hand, and rather than cause the giver
pain raised it to her lips, though for the life of her she could
scarce restrain the qualm of nausea that surged through her as the
malodorous thing approached her nostrils.
It was Anderssen who came to her rescue, and taking the gourd from
her, drank a portion himself, and then returned it to the native
with a gift of blue beads.
The sun was shining brightly now, and though the baby still slept,
Jane could scarce restrain her impatient desire to have at least
a brief glance at the beloved face. The natives had withdrawn at
a command from their chief, who now stood talking with Anderssen,
a little apart from her.
As she debated the wisdom of risking disturbing the child's slumber
by lifting the blanket that now protected its face from the sun,
she noted that the cook conversed with the chief in the language
of the Negro.
What a remarkable man the fellow was, indeed! She had thought him
ignorant and stupid but a short day before, and now, within the past
twenty-four hours, she had learned that he spoke not only English
but French as well, and the primitive dialect of the West Coast.
She had thought him shifty, cruel, and untrustworthy, yet in so
far as she had reason to believe he had proved himself in every
way the contrary since the day before. It scarce seemed credible
that he could be serving her from motives purely chivalrous. There
must be something deeper in his intentions and plans than he had
yet disclosed.
She wondered, and when she looked at him--at his close-set, shifty
eyes and repulsive features, she shuddered, for she was convinced
that no lofty characteristics could be hid behind so foul an
exterior.
As she was thinking of these things the while she debated the wisdom
of uncovering the baby's face, there came a little grunt from the
wee bundle in her lap, and then a gurgling coo that set her heart
in raptures.
The baby was awake! Now she might feast her eyes upon him.
Quickly she snatched the blanket from before the infant's face;
Anderssen was looking at her as she did so.
He saw her stagger to her feet, holding the baby at arm's length
from her, her eyes glued in horror upon the little chubby face and
twinkling eyes.
Then he heard her piteous cry as her knees gave beneath her, and
she sank to the ground in a swoon.
