CHAPTER XII "It was Dreadful in the Forest"

Ihavesaid—orperhapsIhavenotsaid,formymemoryplaysmesadtricksthesedays—thatIglowedwithpridewhenthreesuchmenasmycomradesthankedmeforhavingsaved,oratleastgreatlyhelped,thesituation.Astheyoungsteroftheparty,notmerelyinyears,butinexperience,character,knowledge,andallthatgoestomakeaman,Ihadbeenovershadowedfromthefirst.AndnowIwascomingintomyown.Iwarmedatthethought.Alas!forthepridewhichgoesbeforeafall!Thatlittleglowofself-satisfaction,thataddedmeasureofself-confidence,weretoleadmeonthatverynighttothemostdreadfulexperienceofmylife,endingwithashockwhichturnsmyheartsickwhenIthinkofit. Itcameaboutinthisway.Ihadbeenundulyexcitedbytheadventureofthetree,andsleepseemedtobeimpossible.Summerleewasonguard,sittinghunchedoveroursmallfire,aquaint,angularfigure,hisrifleacrosshiskneesandhispointed,goat-likebeardwaggingwitheachwearynodofhishead.LordJohnlaysilent,wrappedintheSouthAmericanponchowhichhewore,whileChallengersnoredwitharollandrattlewhichreverberatedthroughthewoods.Thefullmoonwasshiningbrightly,andtheairwascrisplycold.Whatanightforawalk!Andthensuddenlycamethethought,"Whynot?"SupposeIstolesoftlyaway,supposeImademywaydowntothecentrallake,supposeIwasbackatbreakfastwithsomerecordoftheplace—wouldInotinthatcasebethoughtanevenmoreworthyassociate?Then,ifSummerleecarriedthedayandsomemeansofescapewerefound,weshouldreturntoLondonwithfirst-handknowledgeofthecentralmysteryoftheplateau,towhichIalone,ofallmen,wouldhavepenetrated.IthoughtofGladys,withher"Thereareheroismsallroundus."Iseemedtohearhervoiceasshesaidit.IthoughtalsoofMcArdle.Whatathreecolumnarticleforthepaper!Whatafoundationforacareer!Acorrespondentshipinthenextgreatwarmightbewithinmyreach.Iclutchedatagun—mypocketswerefullofcartridges—and,partingthethornbushesatthegateofourzareba,quicklyslippedout.MylastglanceshowedmetheunconsciousSummerlee,mostfutileofsentinels,stillnoddingawaylikeaqueermechanicaltoyinfrontofthesmoulderingfire. IhadnotgoneahundredyardsbeforeIdeeplyrepentedmyrashness.ImayhavesaidsomewhereinthischroniclethatIamtooimaginativetobeareallycourageousman,butthatIhaveanoverpoweringfearofseemingafraid.Thiswasthepowerwhichnowcarriedmeonwards.Isimplycouldnotslinkbackwithnothingdone.Evenifmycomradesshouldnothavemissedme,andshouldneverknowofmyweakness,therewouldstillremainsomeintolerableself-shameinmyownsoul.AndyetIshudderedatthepositioninwhichIfoundmyself,andwouldhavegivenallIpossessedatthatmomenttohavebeenhonorablyfreeofthewholebusiness. Itwasdreadfulintheforest.ThetreesgrewsothicklyandtheirfoliagespreadsowidelythatIcouldseenothingofthemoon-lightsavethathereandtherethehighbranchesmadeatangledfiligreeagainstthestarrysky.Astheeyesbecamemoreusedtotheobscurityonelearnedthatthereweredifferentdegreesofdarknessamongthetrees—thatsomeweredimlyvisible,whilebetweenandamongthemtherewerecoal-blackshadowedpatches,likethemouthsofcaves,fromwhichIshrankinhorrorasIpassed.Ithoughtofthedespairingyellofthetorturediguanodon—thatdreadfulcrywhichhadechoedthroughthewoods.Ithought,too,oftheglimpseIhadinthelightofLordJohn'storchofthatbloated,warty,blood-slaveringmuzzle.EvennowIwasonitshunting-ground.Atanyinstantitmightspringuponmefromtheshadows—thisnamelessandhorriblemonster.Istopped,and,pickingacartridgefrommypocket,Iopenedthebreechofmygun.AsItouchedthelevermyheartleapedwithinme.Itwastheshot-gun,nottherifle,whichIhadtaken! Againtheimpulsetoreturnsweptoverme.Here,surely,wasamostexcellentreasonformyfailure—oneforwhichnoonewouldthinkthelessofme.Butagainthefoolishpridefoughtagainstthatveryword.Icouldnot—mustnot—fail.Afterall,myriflewouldprobablyhavebeenasuselessasashot-gunagainstsuchdangersasImightmeet.IfIweretogobacktocamptochangemyweaponIcouldhardlyexpecttoenterandtoleaveagainwithoutbeingseen.Inthatcasetherewouldbeexplanations,andmyattemptwouldnolongerbeallmyown.Afteralittlehesitation,then,Iscrewedupmycourageandcontinueduponmyway,myuselessgunundermyarm. Thedarknessoftheforesthadbeenalarming,butevenworsewasthewhite,stillfloodofmoonlightintheopengladeoftheiguanodons.Hidamongthebushes,Ilookedoutatit.Noneofthegreatbruteswereinsight.Perhapsthetragedywhichhadbefallenoneofthemhaddriventhemfromtheirfeeding-ground.Inthemisty,silverynightIcouldseenosignofanylivingthing.Takingcourage,therefore,Islippedrapidlyacrossit,andamongthejungleonthefarthersideIpickeduponceagainthebrookwhichwasmyguide.Itwasacheerycompanion,gurglingandchucklingasitran,likethedearoldtrout-streamintheWestCountrywhereIhavefishedatnightinmyboyhood.SolongasIfolloweditdownImustcometothelake,andsolongasIfolloweditbackImustcometothecamp.OftenIhadtolosesightofitonaccountofthetangledbrush-wood,butIwasalwayswithinearshotofitstinkleandsplash. Asonedescendedtheslopethewoodsbecamethinner,andbushes,withoccasionalhightrees,tooktheplaceoftheforest.Icouldmakegoodprogress,therefore,andIcouldseewithoutbeingseen.Ipassedclosetothepterodactylswamp,andasIdidso,withadry,crisp,leatheryrattleofwings,oneofthesegreatcreatures—itwastwentyfeetatleastfromtiptotip—roseupfromsomewherenearmeandsoaredintotheair.Asitpassedacrossthefaceofthemoonthelightshoneclearl