Tarzan of the Apes Chapter 18 by Edgar Rice Burroughs


the jungle toll

EARLY the following morning Tarzan awoke, and the first thought of the new day, as the last of yesterday, was of the wonderful writing which lay hidden in his quiver.


At the first glance he suffered the bitterest disappointment of his whole life; never before had he so yearned for anything as now he did for the ability to interpret a message from that golden-haired divinity who had come so suddenly and so unexpectedly into his life.

What if the message were not intended for him? It was an expression of her thoughts, and that was all sufficient for Tarzan of the Apes.



For twenty minutes he poured over them, when suddenly they commenced to take familiar though distorted shapes. Ah, they were his old friends, but badly crippled.

Then he began to make out a word here and a word there. His heart leaped for joy. He could read it, and he would.


Here is what he read:

West Coast of Africa, About 10° Degrees South Latitude. (So Mr. Clayton says.)

February 3(?), 1909.

Dearest Hazel:

















His letter described the island minutely, as well as the location of the treasure, and was accompanied by the crudest, funniest little old map you ever saw; with trees and rocks all marked by scrawly X’s to show the exact spot where the treasure had been buried.

When papa explained the real nature of the expedition, my heart sank, for I know so well how visionary and impractical the poor dear has always been that I feared that he had again been duped; especially when he told me that he had paid a thousand dollars for the letter and map.



We all tried to look on the bright side of things, but Mr. Philander, and Mr. Clayton—he joined us in London just for the adventure—both felt as skeptical as I.

Well, to make a long story short, we found the island and the treasure—a great iron bound oak chest, wrapped in many layers of oiled sail cloth, and as strong and firm as when it had been buried nearly two hundred years ago.

It was simply filled with gold coin, and was so heavy that four men bent beneath its weight.

The horrid thing seems to bring nothing but murder and misfortune to those who have to do with it, for three days after we sailed from the Cape Verde Islands our own crew mutinied and killed every one of their officers.


They were going to kill us too, but one of them, the leader, a man named King, would not let them, and so they sailed south along the coast to a lonely spot where they found a good harbor, and here they landed and have left us.




But it isn’t his fault, poor fellow, and in everything except birth he would do credit to my darling old country, and that is the greatest compliment I know how to pay any man.


Mr. Clayton lost, and attacked twice by wild beasts. Esmeralda and I cornered in an old cabin by a perfectly awful man-eating lioness. Oh, it was simply “terrifical,” as Esmeralda would say.

But the strangest part of it all is the wonderful creature who rescued us. I have not seen him, but Mr. Clayton and papa and Mr. Philander have, and they say that he is a perfectly god-like white man tanned to a dusky brown; with the strength of a wild elephant, the agility of a monkey, and the bravery of a lion.







Jane Porter.

To Hazel Strong, Baltimore, Md.




He took one, and beneath Jane Porter’s signature he wrote:

I am Tarzan of the Apes.



The next morning Jane Porter found her missing letter in the exact spot from which it had disappeared two nights before. She was mystified; but when she saw the printed words beneath her signature, she felt a cold, clammy chill run up her spine. She showed the letter, or rather the last sheet with the signature, to Clayton.







The party in the camp, emboldened by familiarity, wandered further and yet further into the jungle in search of nuts and fruit.



It was early afternoon. Clayton had wandered to the point at the harbor’s mouth to look for passing vessels. Here he kept a great mass of wood, high piled, ready to be ignited as a signal should a steamer or a sail top the far horizon.


The others gone, Jane Porter and Esmeralda had wandered into the jungle to gather fruit, and in their search were led further and further from the cabin.




I am Tarzan of the Apes. I want you. I am yours. You are mine. We will live here together always in my house. I will bring you the best fruits, the tenderest deer, the finest meats that roam the jungle. I will hunt for you. I am the greatest of the jungle hunters. I will fight for you. I am the mightiest of the jungle fighters. You are Jane Porter, I saw it in your letter. When you see this you will know that it is for you and that Tarzan of the Apes loves you.




Jane Porter and Esmeralda were not there.

Instantly, Clayton, followed by the two old men, plunged into the jungle, calling the girl’s name aloud. For half an hour they stumbled on, until Clayton, by merest chance, came upon the prostrate form of Esmeralda.

He stooped beside her, feeling for her pulse and then listening for her heart beats. She lived. He shook her.

“Esmeralda!” he shrieked in her ear. “Esmeralda! For God’s sake, where is Miss Porter? What has happened? Esmeralda!”

Slowly the black opened her eyes. She saw Clayton. She saw the jungle about her.



“What shall we do, Mr. Clayton?” asked the old professor. “Where shall we look? God could not have been so cruel as to take my little girl away from me now.”


“O Gaberelle, Ah wants to die!” cried the poor woman, but with eyes fast closed. “Lemme die, deah Lawd, but doan lemme see dat awrful face again. Whafer yo’ sen de devil ‘roun’ after po ole Esmeralda? She ain’t done nuffin’ to nobody, Lawd; hones’ she ain’t. She’s puffickly indecent, Lawd; yas’m, deed she is.”

“Come, come, Esmeralda,” cried Clayton.

“The Lord isn’t here; it’s Mr. Clayton. Open your eyes.”

Esmeralda did as she was bade.

“O Gaberelle! T’ank de Lawd,” she said.

“Where’s Miss Porter? What happened?” questioned Clayton.

“Ain’ Miss Jane here?” cried Esmeralda, sitting up with wonderful celerity for one of her bulk. “Oh, Lawd, now Ah ‘members! It done must have tooked her away,” and the negress commenced to sob, and wail her lamentations.

“What took her away?” cried Professor Porter.

“A great big gi’nt all covered with hair.”


“Ah done thought it was de devil; but Ah guess it mus’ a-been one of dem gorilephants. Oh, my po baby, my po li’l honey,” and again Esmeralda broke into uncontrollable sobbing.

Clayton immediately began to look about for tracks, but he could find nothing save a confusion of trampled grasses in the close vicinity, and his woodcraft was too meagre for the translation of what he did see.




“I shall lie down now,” said the old man, “and try to sleep. Early tomorrow, so soon as it is light, I shall take what food I can carry and continue the search until I have found Jane. I will not return without her.”


At length Clayton arose and laid his hand gently upon Professor Porter’s bent old shoulder.

“I shall go with you, of course,” he said. “Do not tell me that I need even have said so.”

“I knew that you would offer—that you would wish to go, Mr. Clayton; but you must not. Jane is beyond human assistance now. I simply go that I may face my Maker with her, and know, too, that what was once my dear little girl lies not alone and friendless in the awful jungle.



“I shall go with you,” said Clayton simply.



“As you wish,” he said.



“There be enough dead things in the cruel forest as it is. Come—let us try to sleep a little.”

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