JAN OF THE JUNGLE & Its Sequel, Jan in India. Otis Adelbert Kline
is too much for Borno,” he growled at the mate, and went up on deck.
Chicma, who had been jumping up and down, now turned, and grasping her chain in both front paws, braced her hind feet against the wall and pulled. Jan, who was as quick to see the advantage of this means of leverage as he was to imitate, followed her example. He was stronger and heavier than the ape, and the staple which held the ring pulled out, dropping him on his bloody back on the rough planking.
More amused than perturbed by this incident, Grubb laughed and cut at the boy’s unprotected chest and abdomen with his bloody rope.
But it was only for an instant that Jan remained on the floor. With lightning quickness he rolled out of reach, then leaped to his feet and faced his tormentor. Grubb instantly followed him, and had his rope upraised for another blow when Jan seized the heavy chain which hung from his collar and, imitating his attacker, swung it back in retaliation. It caught the first mate a terrific blow across the face, half stunning him for an instant. But before Jan could swing it a second time the man leaped for him.
Unhampered now by the chain, it would have been easy for the youth to dodge beneath the extended arms. But he had no thought of flight. Instead of attempting to escape, he leaped on the back of his enemy. There flashed to him, at this instant, the memory of the manner in which he had vanquished the alligator. And he did not doubt that this new enemy might be overcome in the same manner. Lightning-quick to act on any impulse, Jan found the two soft vulnerable spots and plunged in gouging fingers.
With a shriek of anguish, Grubb seized the boy and flung him over his head. But swift as his action had been, it was far too slow to save his eyes from torture.
Unhurt by his fall, Jan sprang to his feet to face a totally changed enemy. Instead of menacing him with the cruel rope, the mate was now holding his hands over his face and groaning. But such conduct only added contempt to Jan’s hatred. Again he swung his heavy chain, cutting Grubb across his unprotected middle.
With a shriek of fear, the mate groped for the door, and hastily climbed the ladder. But Jan, his anger unsated, followed him, relentlessly swinging his heavy chain.
When Borno, having sickened at the sight of the cruelty practiced on Jan reached the deck, he found Captain Santos scanning the horizon with his binoculars.
“‘Ave you dress the boy so soon?” Santos asked, as he struck a match on the side of the cabin.
“Non, m’sieu’ le capitain,” replied the Negro respectfully. “I theenk you better stop M’sieu’ Grubb from use zat rope. Zat boy he’s never geeve up until he dead. Borno know.”
Santos laughed nastily. “You lak the young devil pretty well, heh? You don’t lak to see heem hurt. Well, I tal you sometheeng. Thees Grubb knows hees beesiness. He’s ‘andle many men—‘undreds, thousands. He’s ‘andle man or boy wan time, that wan nex’ time ees do what Señor Grubb tal heem.”
They both whirled at a sudden sound.
“Nombre de Dios!” Santos cried. “What ‘as ‘appen to you, señor?”
But Grubb, who had just emerged from the hatchway, blood streaming down his face, neither saw nor heard them. Shrieking his fear and anguish, he ran aimlessly hither and thither across the deck. And following him grimly, relentlessly, was Jan, bloody but unconquered, swinging his heavy chain regularly and effectively.
At each thud of the chain Grubb tripped over a coil of rope and shrieked and ran. Once he fell. But he was on his feet again in an instant, running as if the very devil were after him. Santos and Borno sprang forward to rescue the mate. But they were far too slow. Before they shad taken a dozen steps they saw him blunder against the rail and pitch overboard.
Both men instantly hurried to the rail, Santos hastily snatching a life preserver while he watched the water for the mate’s reappearance. His head bobbed up, and the captain cast the circle of inflated rubber. But the mate could not see it.
Following the ship at a pace that matched its own, several large sail- like fins protruded from the water. The two men saw them converge toward the struggling human figure.
“Maria Madre!” exclaimed Santos. “Sharks! It ees the end!”
One fin, nearer than the others, suddenly disappeared. The bobbing head went down with a final, despairing shriek. There was a flashing and darting hither and thither of other fins and the water was churned to a pink foam.
Both men had, for the time, forgotten the presence of the red-haired youth. They found him lying unconscious beside the rail in a pool of his own blood, the heavy chain still gripped in his fingers.
Borno lifted him as tenderly as if Jan had been his own child.
“Maitresse Ezillee,” he prayed to his Voodoo goddess, “give zis boy hees life, hees health.”
Gathering Jan to his broad black bosom, he carried him down the ladder and gently laid him on his bed of excelsior.
Chapter 6. Hurricane
Weakened by the terrific loss of blood from his many wounds Jan did not recover consciousness for some time. When he did, he noticed that beneath him there was some thing softer and more pleasant to lie upon than he had ever felt in his life before. Borno, who squatted near him watching anxiously, had brought one of his own blankets to throw over the rough excelsior.
As Jan opened his eyes, Borno talked soothingly to the youth, who lay there, too sick to show either resentment or appreciation. Presently the Negro, who knew from experience the thirst that comes to the severely wounded, proffered the pan of water. Jan made a feeble effort to sit up, but his head swam and he sank back.
His huge hand gentle as that of a woman, Borno helped the youth to raise his head and held the pan to his lips. Jan drank eagerly, deeply—then looked his thanks at the big Negro and lay back once more, closing his eyes.
Borno rose and quietly left the room. Mounting the ladder, he met Santos
“Pardon, m’sieu’, but I don’ theenk zat boy need to be chain’,” he said. “He’s ver’ seeck boy.”
“Weeth our own eyes we saw what he did to Señor Grubb,” replied the captain. “Me, I would rather see el tigre loose on my ship.”
As Santos’s native language was Spanish and Borno’s Haitian Creole, the common ground was English, which both understood fairly well, as did the members of the mestizo crew, who were from Jamaica and Trinidad.
“Zat boy ees need planty sunlight—fresh air,” persisted Borne, “or he’s gone die.”
“Maybe you like to make the cage for heem on deck,” suggested Santos. “Then we can take off the chain.”
“I make ze cage, m’sieu’,” promised Borne eagerly.
And so it came about that in a few days, during which the Santa Margarita had sped steadily southward, Jan and Chicma were installed in an airy, sunlit cage on the deck, where they could breathe the fresh salt breeze, uncontaminated by the scent of bilge water, mildewed excelsior, and the lingering ghosts of previous smelly cargoes which haunted the hold.
Borno insisted on not only feeding, but personally attending to the wants of the boy and ape. And both soon became so friendly toward him that he could enter the cage without fear of attack, although if Santos, the steward Audrey, or any of the others approached the bars they met with unmistakable signs of hostility.
From the start, Borno attempted to establish communication with the boy through speech, using broken English rather than his Haitian Creole, as it was the language spoken on the ship. Failing in this, he resorted to simple words and signs. It was not long before he found that Jan only knew four words: his own name, that of Chicma, and “Mother! Kill!”
The big Negro then set out to teach him to speak, and