The King of the Monkey Men Read online

  There was little difficulty in finding the place. About two miles away the silvery flash of the column of water could be seen, and from there I could follow the river's course to the spot where Tinana had killed the Waupona.

  Still following the course of the stream with my eyes, I was surprised to find that it apparently ended in a second towering cliff at the further end of the valley, while, on the side opposite to where I sat, a rock wall rose sheer for fully a thousand feet.

  The valley was completely surrounded by insurmountable barriers and its inhabitants were effectually cut off from the rest of the world. No wonder, I thought, that they had remained so primitive, so distinct from all other races and had developed such unique characteristics. For all I knew, the beings might have been isolated here since their ancestors evolved from apes. But my speculations on such matters soon gave way to more practical things. I noted that the ledge descended towards the valley, becoming narrower and narrower and forming a mere trail or fissure in its course. As I studied it, I became certain that it would be possible to follow along it to the earth far beneath me. I determined to try it. It was a precarious pathway, and I picked my way cautiously and gingerly. Several times I found small gulleys or fissures which seemed to lead to the valley, but each turned out to be a blind lead or were too steep for human feet to descend. Still keeping to the main ledge I continued downwards, until at last I came to a spot where I could go no farther. Then, for the first time, I noticed something which had escaped me before. The tree from which the monkey-men had leaped to the ledge was several feet higher than the spot on which they had landed. They might leap from the tree to the ledge, but even the ape-like beings could not, I felt certain, leap up and across twenty feet of space. There must be another means of reaching the valley, and as I realized this, I heard voices from beneath me. Very cautiously I peered over the cliff. Almost directly beneath the spot where I stood, a monkey-woman was moving about, picking up fruits from beneath a low tree.

  As I watched her, she half turned towards the cliff and uttered a shout as if calling to someone. In answer there was a low cry, and the next instant a monkey-man issued from a fissure in the rock, scrambled down a few yards of broken stone and joined the woman. After him followed another and another, until half a dozen of the beings stood under the tree. As I watched them, they wrapped the fruits in leaves, secured the bundles with vines, and began clamboring up the rock-strewn slope to vanish at last in the fissure. My suspicions were confirmed; there was another exit, and I determined to find it. My plan was simple. No doubt, I thought, the fruits would be carried to the main cabin, and, provided I could reach there first, I could see by which passage the fruit-gatherers entered. Hurrying back up the ledge as rapidly as possible I reached the tunnel, dashed along this, and emerged in the main cave just in time. Two men were crossing the floor carrying leaf-wrapped burdens, and a moment later, a woman and several men appeared from a small opening in the wall. There was no doubt about the exit, but the cave was well filled with people and I hesitated about attempting to make my way out. Better leave it until tomorrow when there are few about, I decided. However, I was afraid that I might forget which hole led to the valley, and the idea of making a rough sketch of the cavern with the location of the various openings occurred to me. Seating myself on a fallen piece of stalactite, I drew out my note-book and pencil and began to draw a rough plan of the cave. At first the savages cast frightened sidelong glances at me, as if fearing I was about to produce some magic, but as nothing happened, they regained confidence, and drawn by the savage's insatiable curiosity, came closer and closer to me. Having completed my hurried sketch of the cavern, I commenced sketching the men and women, and had just completed a drawing of a woman roasting a piece of meat over the fire, when one of the men glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of what I was doing. Instantly he uttered a shrill cry, leaped back and poured out a perfect torrent of excited words. Everyone rushed to him, and jabbering and gesticulating, they crowded about me, craning their necks, peering at the page of my book. All were tremendously excited. I had worked another miracle.

  Tearing out the leaf with the drawing, I handed it to the nearest monkey-man. Never had artist a more appreciative or enthusiastic audience, and the cries of admiration and wonder mingled with roars of laughter as the paper was passed from hand to hand. The noise evidently attracted the attention of those in the nearby caves, for men and women appeared from every side and from each dark hole in the cavern walls. Then, in the midst of the hubbub, I glanced up to see the king himself approaching. So thoroughly engrossed were the people that they gave no heed to their monarch. They did not even bother to kow-tow before him. For an instant he glowered, as if about to pronounce dire punishment on all, and then, as one of the men handed him the sketch, his expression underwent a most remarkable change, and incredulity and amazement spread over his hideous face.

  For a time he studied it intently, and then, approaching me, he made it quite clear by signs that he wished me to make a picture of himself.

  Quite willingly, and smiling at the thought of attempting to reproduce his ugliness adequately, I commenced sketching, while an awed silence fell upon the assembled throng. No doubt it was a very inferior likeness and of no artistic merit, for I lay no claims to being a portrait artist. Still, if not flattering, it was unmistakably the king—long beard, bristling hair, feather crown and all. As I completed the rapid sketch, I tore the page from my note book and handed it to the monarch. The expression upon his face, when he saw the likeness, was so ludicrous that I shook with laughter despite my efforts to control my amusement.

  The king examined the sketch carefully, lifted his hand and touched his crown, felt his hair, stroked his beard and seemed mightily puzzled to find them all in their proper places. For a moment he thought that they had been transferred bodily to the paper. Then he turned the sheet over, looked on the blank side and, utterly unable to solve the mystery, his grim, awed features broke into a smile of self-satisfaction. He ran to his throne and placed the paper upright on the seat. Then, squatting before it, he gave himself up to admiring his own portrait. It was the first time he had ever seen himself as others saw him.

  That I had risen tremendously in the estimation of the monkey-men was evident, for my ability as an artist apparently, seemed fully as wonderful and supernatural to these beings, as the exploding cartridge had been, though it lacked its terrifying qualities. So, from being feared and regarded with a rather awed respect, I found I had been transformed to a popular idol. My popularity, however, had its drawbacks, for wherever I went the monkey-people crowded at my heels and followed me about like a throng of small boys in the wake of a famous baseball player. I was convinced, however, that I had no further cause to fear death or ill treatment, for as long as I could perform such miraculous feats and could please the crusty old king, or could impress him and his subjects by transferring their likenesses to paper, I was perfectly safe. I felt very much as Mark Twain's Yankee hero must have felt at King Arthur's Court, except that the king of the monkey-men was several thousand years behind King Arthur.

  I was amazed to find how exceedingly primitive these beings were, because the fact that they used blowguns had at first conveyed the idea that they were not much behind other South American tribes. But I had seen no signs of stone implements, no pottery, not a weapon of any sort—not even bows and arrows—and the people had not learned to trace even the crudest of pictures with a burnt stick. Here were men and women who were practically in the same condition as the ape-like ancestors of man who dwelt in the rude caves of Europe countless ages ago. Had I been among them of my own free will, and had I been free to leave when I desired, I would have welcomed my opportunity to study mankind in the making, as it were. But all my thoughts were centered upon getting away from that red valley, so I hadn't the least ethnological interest in my hosts. But it was evident that I was quite free to wander about wherever I saw fit. I entered the various tunnels and explored them,
visited innumerable rooms or smaller caves and passages, and I discovered that the entire mountain was fairly honeycombed with caverns which provided chambers, passages and residences for this strange cave-dwelling race. Every room was inhabited, and I estimated that there must be fully one thousand of the monkey-people dwelling there. Their life was of the simplest sort. The furnishings of their rooms consisted of piles of palm leaves, fires which were never permitted to die out, calabashes for utensils, rough, river-worn cobbles and pieces of broken stone for pounders and knives. For a time I was puzzled to know how these people kindled their fires, but the riddle was solved when I found one woman using a spindle of wood which she twirled in her hands against a bit of dry and semi-rotten wood. To me the strangest thing was the fact that while these people had discovered the blowgun, they had not learned to make bows and arrows, I decided that in all probability the former was discovered by accident, for the monkey-men seemed far too stupid to have actually invented or reasoned out anything, and since bows and arrows were not needed they had never hit upon them. However, I mentally decided that I would amuse myself and kill no little time by teaching the fellows to use bows, and I foresaw a lot of fun and the passing of dreary times in educating the savages along various lines.

  As I thought of this and walked idly about, I entered a room where a man was skinning and cutting up a cavy by means of a jaggard sliver of stone, which served more after the fashion of a dull saw than a knife. For a time I watched, wondering what he would say if I showed him my pocket knife, and I was on the point of taking it from my pocket when I thought better of it. Unquestionably the fellow would be terribly impressed, but also unquestionably the king would be told of it and would demand the knife for his own use. I had no intention of losing the sole edged tool I possessed. But the sight of the savage laboring with his bit of stone gave me another idea. I desired to show the monkey-men how to make really decent stone implements. The only trouble was, of course, that I had never made any myself, but I had a vague idea of how they were formed. I had seen Indians make arrow heads by both the chipping and fire flaking methods, and I decided to try my hand at this primitive art.

  Moreover, my idea of showing the people bows and arrows had made me realize suddenly that I might need such weapons myself, if I ever got away from the valley, and a knowledge of making stone arrow heads would serve my own purposes as well.

  Also, the sight of the fellow dressing his game had reminded me that I was hungry, and, wondering a bit if I would be provided with food or would be expected to forage for myself, I retraced my way to the main cave and thence to my own cave. There was no food there, but in a few moments Mumba appeared with a meal of fruit, some roasted roots and a piece of scorched, half-raw meat.

  He was in high spirits and chatted and gesticulated excitedly, but it was some time before I grasped the fact that he was trying to tell me that he had heard of my drawing. Come to think of it, I had not seen him in the crowd, and I realized that the fellow felt a bit slighted at not having seen his master working miracles. Anxious to make him a firm friend and alley, I drew out my note book and sketched the big chap as he squatted before me. He fairly danced with delight when I handed him the paper with the drawing, and he fawned upon me like a grateful puppy. To him, of course, the sketch was wealth untold, and to receive such a gift from the superior being whom he served was an honor equal to that bestowed upon the king. He could scarcely wait for me to finish my meal before scampering off to exhibit his prize to his fellows, and if the mind of a monkey-man could hold such a thing as gratitude I felt sure that Mumba would now be my firm friend for life.

  Presently he came running back and by gestures made me understand that I was to follow him. Wondering what was up, I obeyed and, as I had surmised, I found I had been summoned by His Majesty, who was seated on his throne, surrounded by a crowd of men and women. It was soon clear that the king desired me to repeat my drawing exhibition, and for the next hour or more I was kept busy sketching monkey-people, birds, animals, insects, trees and anything and everything that came to my mind. Each time a sketch was finished, it was handed first to the king and then passed around. Their wonder increased as they studied each new and familiar thing depicted, until they were almost ready to worship me. But I soon realized that this sort of entertainment could not go on indefinitely. My supply of paper was getting perilously low and would soon be exhausted, and I knew that once I had used the last sheet and failed to produce the pictures, my status would be at an end and, in all probability I would be at an end also. So, closing my note book, I slipped it within my pocket and started to leave the cavern. This did not at all suit the king. He wanted to be entertained, and in peremptory tones, he made it quite clear that I was to continue drawing. I was in a serious position. If I obeyed, the monarch would realize that I felt I was in his power and would no doubt insist on frequent and prolonged drawing exhibitions. Moreover, if I showed fear of His Majesty, I would lose my prestige in the eyes of the people, perhaps with dire results. On the other hand, if I defied the king, his anger might be aroused and without stopping to consider the consequences, he or his people might fall upon me and destroy me at once.

  All this flashed through my mind in a moment as I hesitated. Then I decided upon a piece of bluff to establish my status-quo forever. Stepping towards the fire, I drew myself up, faced the king and slowly raising my arm pointed towards the spot where the Waupona had been placed. Instantly a wild howl of fear rose from the assembled throng; many threw themselves face down on the floor, and the king, leaping from his throne, cried out in alarm and by gestures and tones besought me not to produce a second explosion in the fire.

  I had won my point. The monkey-men had no desire for another demonstration of my terrifying magic, and without hindrance, I left the cavern and reached my own room. I was quite tired, and throwing myself upon my pile of palm leaves, I did not awaken until Mumba arrived with my evening meal. I slept well that night and, after a good breakfast and another lesson in the monkey-man tongue with Mumba, I started out, determined to explore the passage to the valley.

  Few people were in the main cavern and those greeted me in rather friendly fashion. I crossed the huge room without trouble and entered the dark tunnel, whence I had seen the people come with their loads of fruit from the valley.

  It was narrow and inky black, and in many places sloped steeply down, but there were no side passages to confuse me. At last I saw light ahead and in a moment more looked from the outlet of the passageway across the sunlit valley. Before me was a steep pile of broken debris that sloped for fifty feet or more to the brush below, and scrambling down this, I stood at the base of the lofty cliff and under the nearest of the scarlet trees. Elated at being out of the caves and in the open once more, and feeling sure I was not a prisoner under restraint, I stepped forward to explore the valley.

  But before I had gone a dozen yards there was a rustle in the foliage above me, and glancing up, I saw a black face peering at me. The next moment a huge monkey-man dropped to the ground before me, barring my way and signed that I was to go no farther. Anxious to see if he was determined to stop me, I turned and started in another direction, but instantly the savage again halted me. It was no use. I was a prisoner after all and would not be permitted to wander more than a dozen yards from the tunnel opening.

  Discouraged, I turned back, and I noticed that the brute appeared satisfied and once more leaped into the tree to resume his vigil. But even the restricted liberty allowed me was most welcome. Throwing myself upon the grass under the trees, I gave myself up to enjoyment of the fresh air and soft breeze, listening to the chirping of insects and the notes of birds, and striving to be as cheerful and contented as I could under the circumstances. I had only been in the valley two days, yet it seemed like weeks or months, and I realized that it behooved me to keep some sort of record of time.

  I could, of course, have written down each day in my note book, but the paper was far too valuable for sketching to permit
me to do that and I busied my brain in an endeavor to think out some sort of calendar that would serve my purpose. At last I decided upon knotted strings. Each day I could tie a knot in a bit of fibre and at the end of seven days tie a knot twice the size of the others. Then, as long as I remembered that I had arrived on Wednesday the sixteenth, I could keep track of time without trouble. Having started my tally with a strip of flexible bark fibre by tying two knots in it, I decided to hunt for stone suitable for experimenting at arrowhead making.

  Searching among the fallen rocks soon convinced me that the material was not to be found there, as it was mainly soft limestone, or in some places a granitic rock. A little to one side, however, I found some pieces of a jasper-like material, which I judged would serve my purpose, and with these in my pocket, I started back for my quarters, anxious to keep mind and hands busy. Selecting a good sized piece of the rock, I placed it in the fire, turning it over and over with a stick until it was evenly heated. Then, raking the rock from the coals, I dipped a stick in my calabash of water and carefully let a drop fall upon one edge of the hot stone. Instantly there was a sharp click and a tiny flake of stone flew off. Drop after drop was placed along the edges of the rock and as each touched the hot surface and flakes snapped off, the pebble began to assume definite form. Over and over again I heated the stone and dropped water upon it, until at last I had the intense satisfaction of having fashioned a crude trowel-shaped object which might have served as a spear-head. The edges, however, were irregular and dull, but this was soon remedied by flaking first from one side and then the other until a keen cutting edge resulted. And then, when I was congratulating myself upon my success, a drop of water fell too far from the edge and with a sharp snap the stone broke squarely in two. It was a depressing accident. Then suddenly I broke into laughter to think how seriously I had taken the whole matter. Had my life depended upon it, I could not have lost myself more completely in the task.