England -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Science fiction
After eating, we set out in search of fuel, leaving Taylor to guard the
launch. For some reason I could not trust Snider alone. I knew that he
looked with disapproval upon my plan to visit England, and I did not
know but what at his first opportunity, he might desert us, taking the
launch with him, and attempt to return to Pan-America.
That he would be fool enough to venture it, I did not doubt.
We had gone inland for a mile or more, and were passing through a
park-like wood, when we came suddenly upon the first human beings we
had seen since we sighted the English coast.
There were a score of men in the party. Hairy, half-naked men they
were, resting in the shade of a great tree. At the first sight of us
they sprang to their feet with wild yells, seizing long spears that had
lain beside them as they rested.
For a matter of fifty yards they ran from us as rapidly as they could,
and then they turned and surveyed us for a moment. Evidently emboldened
by the scarcity of our numbers, they commenced to advance upon us,
brandishing their spears and shouting horribly.
They were short and muscular of build, with long hair and beards
tangled and matted with filth. Their heads, however, were shapely, and
their eyes, though fierce and warlike, were intelligent.
Appreciation of these physical attributes came later, of course, when I
had better opportunity to study the men at close range and under
circumstances less fraught with danger and excitement. At the moment I
saw, and with unmixed wonder, only a score of wild savages charging
down upon us, where I had expected to find a community of civilized and
enlightened people.
Each of us was armed with rifle, revolver, and cutlass, but as we stood
shoulder to shoulder facing the wild men I was loath to give the
command to fire upon them, inflicting death or suffering upon strangers
with whom we had no quarrel, and so I attempted to restrain them for
the moment that we might parley with them.
To this end I raised my left hand above my head with the palm toward
them as the most natural gesture indicative of peaceful intentions
which occurred to me. At the same time I called aloud to them that we
were friends, though, from their appearance, there was nothing to
indicate that they might understand Pan-American, or ancient English,
which are of course practically identical.
At my gesture and words they ceased their shouting and came to a halt a
few paces from us. Then, in deep tones, one who was in advance of the
others and whom I took to be the chief or leader of the party replied
in a tongue which while intelligible to us, was so distorted from the
English language from which it evidently had sprung, that it was with
difficulty that we interpreted it.
“Who are you,” he asked, “and from what country?”
I told him that we were from Pan-America, but he only shook his head
and asked where that was. He had never heard of it, or of the Atlantic
Ocean which I told him separated his country from mine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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