CHAPTER VI.

Victory was nowhere in sight. Alone, I floated upon the bosom of the

Thames. In that brief instant I believe that I suffered more mental

anguish than I have crowded into all the balance of my life before or

since. A few hours before, I had been wishing that I might be rid of

her, and now that she was gone I would have given my life to have her

back again.

Wearily I turned to swim about the spot where she had disappeared,

hoping that she might rise once at least, and I would be given the

opportunity to save her, and, as I turned, the water boiled before my

face and her head shot up before me. I was on the point of striking out

to seize her, when a happy smile illumined her features.

“You are not dead!” she cried. “I have been searching the bottom for

you. I was sure that the blow she gave you must have disabled you,” and

she glanced about for the lioness.

“She has gone?” she asked.

“Dead,” I replied.

“The blow you struck her with the thing you call rifle stunned her,”

she explained, “and then I swam in close enough to get my knife into

her heart.”

Ah, such a girl! I could not but wonder what one of our own

Pan-American women would have done under like circumstances. But then,

of course, they have not been trained by stern necessity to cope with

the emergencies and dangers of savage primeval life.

Along the bank we had just quitted, a score of lions paced to and fro,

growling menacingly. We could not return, and we struck out for the

opposite shore. I am a strong swimmer, and had no doubt as to my

ability to cross the river, but I was not so sure about Victory, so I

swam close behind her, to be ready to give her assistance should she

need it.

She did not, however, reaching the opposite bank as fresh, apparently,

as when she entered the water. Victory is a wonder. Each day that we

were together brought new proofs of it. Nor was it her courage or

vitality only which amazed me. She had a head on those shapely

shoulders of hers, and dignity! My, but she could be regal when she

chose!

She told me that the lions were fewer upon this side of the river, but

that there were many wolves, running in great packs later in the year.

Now they were north somewhere, and we should have little to fear from

them, though we might meet with a few.

My first concern was to take my weapons apart and dry them, which was

rather difficult in the face of the fact that every rag about me was

drenched. But finally, thanks to the sun and much rubbing, I succeeded,

though I had no oil to lubricate them.

We ate some wild berries and roots that Victory found, and then we set

off again down the river, keeping an eye open for game on one side and

the launch on the other, for I thought that Delcarte, who would be the

natural leader during my absence, might run up the Thames in search of

me.

The balance of that day we sought in vain for game or for the launch,

and when night came we lay down, our stomachs empty, to sleep beneath

the stars. We were entirely unprotected from attack from wild beasts,

and for this reason I remained awake most of the night, on guard. But

nothing approached us, though I could hear the lions roaring across the

river, and once I thought I heard the howl of a beast north of us—it

might have been a wolf.

Altogether, it was a most unpleasant night, and I determined then that

if we were forced to sleep out again that I should provide some sort of

shelter which would protect us from attack while we slept.

Toward morning I dozed, and the sun was well up when Victory aroused me

by gently shaking my shoulder.

“Antelope!” she whispered in my ear, and, as I raised my head, she

pointed up-river. Crawling to my knees, I looked in the direction she

indicated, to see a buck standing upon a little knoll some two hundred

yards from us. There was good cover between the animal and me, and so,

though I might have hit him at two hundred yards, I preferred to crawl

closer to him and make sure of the meat we both so craved.

I had covered about fifty yards of the distance, and the beast was

still feeding peacefully, so I thought that I would make even surer of

a hit by going ahead another fifty yards, when the animal suddenly

raised his head and looked away, up-river. His whole attitude

proclaimed that he was startled by something beyond him that I could

not see.

Realizing that he might break and run and that I should then probably

miss him entirely, I raised my rifle to my shoulder. But even as I did

so the animal leaped into the air, and simultaneously there was a sound

of a shot from beyond the knoll.

For an instant I was dumbfounded. Had the report come from down-river,

I should have instantly thought that one of my own men had fired. But

coming from up-river it puzzled me considerably. Who could there be

with firearms in primitive England other than we of the Coldwater?

Victory was directly behind me, and I motioned for her to lie down, as

I did, behind the bush from which I had been upon the point of firing

at the antelope. We could see that the buck was quite dead, and from

our hiding place we waited to discover the identity of his slayer when

the latter should approach and claim his kill.

We had not long to wait, and when I saw the head and shoulders of a man

appear above the crest of the knoll, I sprang to my feet, with a

heartfelt cry of joy, for it was Delcarte.

At the sound of my voice, Delcarte half raised his rifle in readiness

for the attack of an enemy, but a moment later he recognized me, and

was coming rapidly to meet us. Behind him was Snider. They both were

astounded to see me upon the north bank of the river, and much more so

at the sight of my companion.

Then I introduced them to Victory, and told them that she was queen of

England. They thought, at first, that I was joking. But when I had

recounted my adventures and they realized that I was in earnest, they

believed me.

They told me that they had followed me inshore when I had not returned

from the hunt, that they had met the men of the elephant country, and

had had a short and one-sided battle with the fellows. And that

afterward they had returned to the launch with a prisoner, from whom

they had learned that I had probably been captured by the men of the

lion country.

With the prisoner as a guide they had set off up-river in search of me,

but had been much delayed by motor trouble, and had finally camped

after dark a half mile above the spot where Victory and I had spent the

night. They must have passed us in the dark, and why I did not hear the

sound of the propeller I do not know, unless it passed me at a time

when the lions were making an unusually earsplitting din upon the

opposite side.

Taking the antelope with us, we all returned to the launch, where we

found Taylor as delighted to see me alive again as Delcarte had been. I

cannot say truthfully that Snider evinced much enthusiasm at my rescue.

Taylor had found the ingredients for chemical fuel, and the distilling

of them had, with the motor trouble, accounted for their delay in

setting out after me.

The prisoner that Delcarte and Snider had taken was a powerful young

fellow from the elephant country. Notwithstanding the fact that they

had all assured him to the contrary, he still could not believe that we

would not kill him.

He assured us that his name was Thirty-six, and, as he could not count

above ten, I am sure that he had no conception of the correct meaning

of the word, and that it may have been handed down to him either from

the military number of an ancestor who had served in the English ranks

during the Great War, or that originally it was the number of some

famous regiment with which a forbear fought.

Now that we were reunited, we held a council to determine what course

we should pursue in the immediate future. Snider was still for setting

out to sea and returning to Pan-America, but the better judgment of

Delcarte and Taylor ridiculed the suggestion—we should not have lived a

fortnight.

To remain in England, constantly menaced by wild beasts and men equally

as wild, seemed about as bad. I suggested that we cross the Channel and

ascertain if we could not discover a more enlightened and civilized

people upon the continent. I was sure that some trace of the ancient

culture and greatness of Europe must remain. Germany, probably, would

be much as it was during the twentieth century, for, in common with

most Pan-Americans, I was positive that Germany had been victorious in

the Great War.

Snider demurred at the suggestion. He said that it was bad enough to

have come this far. He did not want to make it worse by going to the

continent. The outcome of it was that I finally lost my patience, and

told him that from then on he would do what I thought best—that I

proposed to assume command of the party, and that they might all

consider themselves under my orders, as much so as though we were still

aboard the Coldwater and in Pan-American waters.

Delcarte and Taylor immediately assured me that they had not for an

instant assumed anything different, and that they were as ready to

follow and obey me here as they would be upon the other side of thirty.

Snider said nothing, but he wore a sullen scowl. And I wished then, as

I had before, and as I did to a much greater extent later, that fate

had not decreed that he should have chanced to be a member of the

launchl’s party upon that memorable day when last we quitted the

Coldwater.

Victory, who was given a voice in our councils, was all for going to

the continent, or anywhere else, in fact, where she might see new

sights and experience new adventures.

“Afterward we can come back to Grabritin,” she said, “and if Buckingham

is not dead and we can catch him away from his men and kill him, then I

can return to my people, and we can all live in peace and happiness.”

She spoke of killing Buckingham with no greater concern than one might

evince in the contemplated destruction of a sheep; yet she was neither

cruel nor vindictive. In fact, Victory is a very sweet and womanly

woman. But human life is of small account beyond thirty—a legacy from

the bloody days when thousands of men perished in the trenches between

the rising and the setting of a sun, when they laid them lengthwise in

these same trenches and sprinkled dirt over them, when the Germans

corded their corpses like wood and set fire to them, when women and

children and old men were butchered, and great passenger ships were

torpedoed without warning.

Thirty-six, finally assured that we did not intend slaying him, was as

keen to accompany us as was Victory.

The crossing to the continent was uneventful, its monotony being

relieved, however, by the childish delight of Victory and Thirty-six in

the novel experience of riding safely upon the bosom of the water, and

of being so far from land.

With the possible exception of Snider, the little party appeared in the

best of spirits, laughing and joking, or interestedly discussing the

possibilities which the future held for us: what we should find upon

the continent, and whether the inhabitants would be civilized or

barbarian peoples.

Victory asked me to explain the difference between the two, and when I

had tried to do so as clearly as possible, she broke into a gay little

laugh.

“Oh,” she cried, “then I am a barbarian!”

I could not but laugh, too, as I admitted that she was, indeed, a

barbarian. She was not offended, taking the matter as a huge joke. But

some time thereafter she sat in silence, apparently deep in thought.

Finally she looked up at me, her strong white teeth gleaming behind her

smiling lips.

“Should you take that thing you call ‘razor,’” she said, “and cut the

hair from the face of Thirty-six, and exchange garments with him, you

would be the barbarian and Thirty-six the civilized man. There is no

other difference between you, except your weapons. Clothe you in a

wolfskin, give you a knife and a spear, and set you down in the woods

of Grabritin—of what service would your civilization be to you?”

Delcarte and Taylor smiled at her reply, but Thirty-six and Snider

laughed uproariously. I was not surprised at Thirty-six, but I thought

that Snider laughed louder than the occasion warranted. As a matter of

fact, Snider, it seemed to me, was taking advantage of every

opportunity, however slight, to show insubordination, and I determined

then that at the first real breach of discipline I should take action

that would remind Snider, ever after, that I was still his commanding

officer.

I could not help but notice that his eyes were much upon Victory, and I

did not like it, for I knew the type of man he was. But as it would not

be necessary ever to leave the girl alone with him I felt no

apprehension for her safety.

After the incident of the discussion of barbarians I thought that

Victoryl’s manner toward me changed perceptibly. She held aloof from

me, and when Snider took his turn at the wheel, sat beside him, upon

the pretext that she wished to learn how to steer the launch. I

wondered if she had guessed the manl’s antipathy for me, and was

seeking his company solely for the purpose of piquing me.

Snider was, too, taking full advantage of his opportunity. Often he

leaned toward the girl to whisper in her ear, and he laughed much,

which was unusual with Snider.

Of course, it was nothing at all to me; yet, for some unaccountable

reason, the sight of the two of them sitting there so close to one

another and seeming to be enjoying each otherl’s society to such a

degree irritated me tremendously, and put me in such a bad humor that I

took no pleasure whatsoever in the last few hours of the crossing.

We aimed to land near the site of ancient Ostend. But when we neared

the coast we discovered no indication of any human habitations

whatever, let alone a city. After we had landed, we found the same

howling wilderness about us that we had discovered on the British Isle.

There was no slightest indication that civilized man had ever set a

foot upon that portion of the continent of Europe.

Although I had feared as much, since our experience in England, I could

not but own to a feeling of marked disappointment, and to the gravest

fears of the future, which induced a mental depression that was in no

way dissipated by the continued familiarity between Victory and Snider.

I was angry with myself that I permitted that matter to affect me as it

had. I did not wish to admit to myself that I was angry with this

uncultured little savage, that it made the slightest difference to me

what she did or what she did not do, or that I could so lower myself as

to feel personal enmity towards a common sailor. And yet, to be honest,

I was doing both.

Finding nothing to detain us about the spot where Ostend once had

stood, we set out up the coast in search of the mouth of the River

Rhine, which I purposed ascending in search of civilized man. It was my

intention to explore the Rhine as far up as the launch would take us.

If we found no civilization there we would return to the North Sea,

continue up the coast to the Elbe, and follow that river and the canals

of Berlin. Here, at least, I was sure that we should find what we

sought—and, if not, then all Europe had reverted to barbarism.

The weather remained fine, and we made excellent progress, but

everywhere along the Rhine we met with the same disappointment—no sign

of civilized man, in fact, no sign of man at all.

I was not enjoying the exploration of modern Europe as I had

anticipated—I was unhappy. Victory seemed changed, too. I had enjoyed

her company at first, but since the trip across the Channel I had held

aloof from her.

Her chin was in the air most of the time, and yet I rather think that

she regretted her friendliness with Snider, for I noticed that she

avoided him entirely. He, on the contrary, emboldened by her former

friendliness, sought every opportunity to be near her. I should have

liked nothing better than a reasonably good excuse to punch his head;

yet, paradoxically, I was ashamed of myself for harboring him any ill

will. I realized that there was something the matter with me, but I did

not know what it was.

Matters remained thus for several days, and we continued our journey up

the Rhine. At Cologne, I had hoped to find some reassuring indications,

but there was no Cologne. And as there had been no other cities along

the river up to that point, the devastation was infinitely greater than

time alone could have wrought. Great guns, bombs, and mines must have

leveled every building that man had raised, and then nature,

unhindered, had covered the ghastly evidence of human depravity with

her beauteous mantle of verdure. Splendid trees reared their stately

tops where splendid cathedrals once had reared their domes, and sweet

wild flowers blossomed in simple serenity in soil that once was

drenched with human blood.

Nature had reclaimed what man had once stolen from her and defiled. A

herd of zebras grazed where once the German kaiser may have reviewed

his troops. An antelope rested peacefully in a bed of daisies where,

perhaps, two hundred years ago a big gun belched its terror-laden

messages of death, of hate, of destruction against the works of man and

God alike.

We were in need of fresh meat, yet I hesitated to shatter the quiet and

peaceful serenity of the view with the crack of a rifle and the death

of one of those beautiful creatures before us. But it had to be done—we

must eat. I left the work to Delcarte, however, and in a moment we had

two antelope and the landscape to ourselves.

After eating, we boarded the launch and continued up the river. For two

days we passed through a primeval wilderness. In the afternoon of the

second day we landed upon the west bank of the river, and, leaving

Snider and Thirty-six to guard Victory and the launch, Delcarte,

Taylor, and I set out after game.

We tramped away from the river for upwards of an hour before

discovering anything, and then only a small red deer, which Taylor

brought down with a neat shot of two hundred yards. It was getting too

late to proceed farther, so we rigged a sling, and the two men carried

the deer back toward the launch while I walked a hundred yards ahead,

in the hope of bagging something further for our larder.

We had covered about half the distance to the river, when I suddenly

came face to face with a man. He was as primitive and uncouth in

appearance as the Grabritins—a shaggy, unkempt savage, clothed in a

shirt of skin cured with the head on, the latter surmounting his own

head to form a bonnet, and giving to him a most fearful and ferocious

aspect.

The fellow was armed with a long spear and a club, the latter dangling

down his back from a leathern thong about his neck. His feet were

incased in hide sandals.

At sight of me, he halted for an instant, then turned and dove into the

forest, and, though I called reassuringly to him in English he did not

return nor did I again see him.

The sight of the wild man raised my hopes once more that elsewhere we

might find men in a higher state of civilization—it was the society of

civilized man that I craved—and so, with a lighter heart, I continued

on toward the river and the launch.

I was still some distance ahead of Delcarte and Taylor, when I came in

sight of the Rhine again. But I came to the waterl’s edge before I

noticed that anything was amiss with the party we had left there a few

hours before.

My first intimation of disaster was the absence of the launch from its

former moorings. And then, a moment later—I discovered the body of a

man lying upon the bank. Running toward it, I saw that it was

Thirty-six, and as I stopped and raised the Grabritinl’s head in my

arms, I heard a faint moan break from his lips. He was not dead, but

that he was badly injured was all too evident.

Delcarte and Taylor came up a moment later, and the three of us worked

over the fellow, hoping to revive him that he might tell us what had

happened, and what had become of the others. My first thought was

prompted by the sight I had recently had of the savage native. The

little party had evidently been surprised, and in the attack Thirty-six

had been wounded and the others taken prisoners. The thought was almost

like a physical blow in the face—it stunned me. Victory in the hands of

these abysmal brutes! It was frightful. I almost shook poor Thirty-six

in my efforts to revive him.

I explained my theory to the others, and then Delcarte shattered it by

a single movement of the hand. He drew aside the lionl’s skin that

covered half of the Grabritinl’s breast, revealing a neat, round hole

in Thirty-sixl’s chest—a hole that could have been made by no other

weapon than a rifle.

“Snider!” I exclaimed. Delcarte nodded. At about the same time the

eyelids of the wounded man fluttered, and raised. He looked up at us,

and very slowly the light of consciousness returned to his eyes.

“What happened, Thirty-six?” I asked him.

He tried to reply, but the effort caused him to cough, bringing about a

hemorrhage of the lungs and again he fell back exhausted. For several

long minutes he lay as one dead, then in an almost inaudible whisper he

spoke.

“Snider—” He paused, tried to speak again, raised a hand, and pointed

down-river. “They—went—back,” and then he shuddered convulsively and

died.

None of us voiced his belief. But I think they were all alike: Victory

and Snider had stolen the launch, and deserted us.