The view was charming in the extreme, and as no man or beast was to be
seen that might threaten my new-found liberty, I slid over the edge of
the bluff, and half sliding, half falling, dropped into the delightful
valley, the very aspect of which seemed to offer a haven of peace and
security.
The gently sloping beach along which I walked was thickly strewn with
strangely shaped, colored shells; some empty, others still housing as
varied a multitude of mollusks as ever might have drawn out their
sluggish lives along the silent shores of the antediluvian seas of the
outer crust. As I walked I could not but compare myself with the first
man of that other world, so complete the solitude which surrounded me,
so primal and untouched the virgin wonders and beauties of adolescent
nature. I felt myself a second Adam wending my lonely way through the
childhood of a world, searching for my Eve, and at the thought there
rose before my mind’s eye the exquisite outlines of a perfect face
surmounted by a loose pile of wondrous, raven hair.
As I walked, my eyes were bent upon the beach so that it was not until
I had come quite upon it that I discovered that which shattered all my
beautiful dream of solitude and safety and peace and primal
overlordship. The thing was a hollowed log drawn upon the sands, and in
the bottom of it lay a crude paddle.
The rude shock of awakening to what doubtless might prove some new form
of danger was still upon me when I heard a rattling of loose stones
from the direction of the bluff, and turning my eyes in that direction
I beheld the author of the disturbance, a great copper-colored man,
running rapidly toward me.
There was that in the haste with which he came which seemed quite
sufficiently menacing, so that I did not need the added evidence of
brandishing spear and scowling face to warn me that I was in no safe
position, but whither to flee was indeed a momentous question.
The speed of the fellow seemed to preclude the possibility of escaping
him upon the open beach. There was but a single alternative—the rude
skiff—and with a celerity which equaled his, I pushed the thing into
the sea and as it floated gave a final shove and clambered in over the
end.
A cry of rage rose from the owner of the primitive craft, and an
instant later his heavy, stone-tipped spear grazed my shoulder and
buried itself in the bow of the boat beyond. Then I grasped the paddle,
and with feverish haste urged the awkward, wobbly thing out upon the
surface of the sea.
A glance over my shoulder showed me that the copper-colored one had
plunged in after me and was swimming rapidly in pursuit. His mighty
strokes bade fair to close up the distance between us in short order,
for at best I could make but slow progress with my unfamiliar craft,
which nosed stubbornly in every direction but that which I desired to
follow, so that fully half my energy was expended in turning its blunt
prow back into the course.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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