In 1888 young Lord Greystoke and his bride of three months sailed from Dover on their way to Africa. He had been commissioned to investigate alleged atrocities on black subjects in a British West Coast African colony. Lord Greystoke never made the investigation; in fact, he never reached his destination.

Arrived at Freetown, they chartered the Fuwalda, which was to bear them to their final destination. And here, Lord and Lady Greystoke mysteriously vanished forever from the eyes and from the knowledge of man. Two months later, six British war vessels were scouring the South Atlantic for trace of them.

Beyond sight of land, the Fuwalda's captain, with a terrific blow, felled an old sailor who had accidentally tripped him. The swarthy bully's brutality caused big Black Michael to crush the captain to his knees. This was mutiny. The enraged captain suddenly whipped a revolver from his pocket and fired.

Lord Greystoke struck down the captain's arm, saving Black Michael's life, and thus forged the first link of what was destined to form a chain of amazing circumstances ending in a life for one then unborn such as has probably never been paralleled in the history of man.

With suspicion of organized mutiny confirmed, they hurried to their quarters. Even their beds had been torn to pieces. A thorough search revealed the fact that only Lord Greystoke's revolvers and ammunition were gone. An undefinable something presaged bloody disaster!

Lord Greystoke, unfolding the scrap of paper that had been pushed in under the cabin door, found it was a message printed in uncouth letters, warning him to refrain from reporting the theft of his revolvers, on pain of death. Lady Greystoke paled, wondering what her fate might be.

The sight that met Lord Greystoke's eyes, as he emerged on deck the next morning, confirmed his worst fears. A shot rang out, and then another and another. Facing the little knot of five officers was the entire motley crew of the Fuwalda, and at their head stood Black Michael.

Enraged, the blood-thirsty ruffians charged the officers representing the hated authority of the ship. Most of them were armed with boathooks, axes, and crowbars. The officers retreated before the infuriated rush of their men. An axe cleft the captain from forehead to chin.

Both sides were cursing and swearing in a frightful manner, which, together with the reports of the firearms and the screams and groans of the wounded, turned the deck of the Fuwalda to the likeness of a madhouse. Short and grisly had been the work of the mutineers.

Though outwardly calm, Lord Greystoke was inwardly apprehensive, for he feared for the safety of his wife, and the little unborn Greystoke, at the hands of the ignorant half-brutes. "Here's two more for the fishes," snarled one of the crew, as he rushed toward them with uplifted axe.

Black Michael was even quicker than the brute who had attacked Lord and Lady Greystoke with an axe, and the sailor went down with a bullet in his back. "I'm captain of this ship now, an' what I says goes," said the mutineers' leader, looking threateningly on his fellows. "These here are my friends. Don't touch 'em."

Following the murder of the officers, land was sighted, and they learned they were to be put ashore with their belongings. Remonstrance against the inhumanity of landing them upon an unknown shore, to be left to the mercies of the savage beasts, and possibly still more savage men, was absolutely useless.

Before dark, the barkentine lay peacefully at anchor in a land-locked harbor. The surrounding shores were beautiful with semi-tropical verdure, while in the distance the country rolled from the ocean in hill and table-land, almost uniformly clothed in primeval forest. No signs of habitation were to be seen.

No pleas, threats, or promises of reward could move Black Michael. "I'm the only man on board who would not rather see you both dead; but you saved my life once, and in return I'm going to spare yours. We put you ashore to-morrow." The deep roar of a lion came from the dark shadows of the distant jungle!

As darkness settled upon the earth, the woman shrank closer to the man in terror-stricken anticipation of the horrors lying in wait for them in the awful blackness of the nights to come, when they too should be alone upon that wild and lonely shore. What treachery awaited them in that dark, mysterious tropical forest?

Early next morning Lord and Lady Greystoke's chests and boxes were hoisted on deck and lowered to waiting small boats for transportation to shore. There was a great quantity and variety of stock, arms, and ammunition, as they had expected a possible five years' residence in their new West Coast African home.

The man shuddered as he meditated upon the awful gravity, the fearful helplessness of their situation. But it was a merciful providence that prevented him from seeing the hideous reality that awaited them in the grim depth of that dense jungle. They silently sat, each wrapped in gloomy forebodings, wondering.

They had escaped death at the hands of the mutineers; but were faced with far graver dangers. Alone, he might hope to survive for years. But what of his wife, and that other little life so soon to be launched amid the hardships and grave dangers of a primeval world? His heart sunk in despair, considering their future.

Having filled the ship's casks with fresh water, the small boats moved slowly over the water to the ship. As the Fuwalda passed out of sight behind a projecting point, Lord Greystoke and his wife—in the breasts of both, a feeling of impending disaster and utter helplessness—bravely stood, silently watching.

And behind them, over the edge of a low ridge, other eyes WATCHED THEM—close-set wicked eyes, gleaming beneath shaggy brows!

Now that the horror of absolute solitude was upon them, Lady Greystoke's overwrought nerves gave way, and the reaction came. "Oh, John, the horror of it. What are we to do? If it were only you and I," she sobbed, "we could endure it, I know; but, the baby—" His great heart yearned to comfort her.

After calming her, he opened the box containing the rifles and ammunition, that they might both be armed against possible attack. His first thought was to arrange a sleeping shelter for the night; something that might serve to protect them from prowling beasts. Together they sought a favorable location.

Four trees were selected that formed a rectangle, and, cutting long branches from other trees, he constructed a framework around them, fastening the ends of the branches securely to the trees by means of rope, a quantity of which Black Michael fortunately had furnished him from the hold of the Fuwalda.

During the day the forest about them had been filled with excited birds of brilliant plumage, and dancing, chattering monkeys, who watched these new arrivals and their wonderful nest-building operations with every mark of keenest interest and fascination. By dusk the snug shelter was completed.

A sharp lookout was kept while they worked, and once they saw their little simian neighbors come screaming over the near-by ridge, and casting affrighted glances over their shoulders, evincing as plainly as though by speech that they were fleeing some terrible thing that lay concealed there. What was it?

In the comparative safety of their aërial chamber, Lady Greystoke suddenly grasped her husband's arm. "Look!" she whispered. "What is it? A man?" Silhouetted dimly against the shadows, a great figure stood upright, as though listening, then turned slowly and melted into the shadows of the jungle.

"What was it?" she whispered. "I do not know," he answered, gravely. "It is too dark to see so far, perhaps only a shadow cast by the rising moon." "No, John, if it was not a man, it was some huge and grotesque mockery of man. Oh, I am afraid." He could feel her heart beat as she clung to him, trembling and terrified.

The night noises of a great jungle teeming with myriad animal life kept their overwrought nerves on edge; many times they were startled by the stealthy movement of great bodies beneath them. He lay facing the opening at the front of their aerie, a rifle and revolvers at his hand.

Scarcely had they closed their eyes than the terrifying cry of a panther rang out from the jungle. Closer and closer it came until they could hear the great beast directly beneath them. For an hour or more it sniffed and clawed at the trees that supported their platform.

At last it roamed away across the beach, where Lord Greystoke could see it clearly in the brilliant moonlight—a great handsome beast; the largest he had ever seen. From the dark shadows of the mighty forest came the wild call of savage beasts—the deep roar of a lion.

They soon realized they could hope for no safety or peace of mind until four strong walls effectually barred the jungle life from them. Next morning, after their meager breakfast, Lord Greystoke commenced work upon their house. The task was an arduous one, though he built but one small room.

Two months after, they were well settled and, but for the constant dread of attack by wild beasts and the ever-increasing loneliness, they were not uncomfortable or unhappy. At night great beasts snarled and roared around their tiny cabin, but they soon became accustomed to these oft-repeated, weird noises.

Thrice had they caught fleeting glimpses of great man-like figures, but never at sufficiently close range to know whether these forms were men or brutes. One afternoon while Greystoke was working upon an addition to their cabin, a number of little frightened monkeys came shrieking and scolding through the trees.

Even as they fled, they cast fearful glances back of them and finally they stopped near Greystoke, jabbering excitedly as if to warn him of approaching danger. At last he saw it—the thing the little monkeys so feared—the horrible man-brute of which the Greystokes had caught occasional fleeting glimpses.

It was approaching through the jungle—a great anthropoid ape—and as it advanced it emitted deep guttural growls and an occasional low barking sound. Greystoke, who was at some distance from the cabin, was armed only with an axe, and the ferocious monster cut him off from escape to his retreat.

Lord Greystoke knew his chances with this ferocious monster were small. He thought of his wife—what would become of her? There was yet a slight chance of reaching the cabin. He ran, shouting to his wife to close the great door should the enraged ape cut off his retreat.

The brute succeeded in intercepting Greystoke. He stood at bay, grasping his axe with both hands, ready to swing it upon the infuriated animal when it made its final charge. "Close and bolt the door, Alice," cried Greystoke. He knew he was facing a horrible death—and so did she!

Over the brute's shoulder Greystoke saw with horror and fear his young wife come through the cabin door, armed with one of his rifles. Always before she was afraid of firearms, never touching them. Now she rushed toward the ape with the fearlessness of a lioness protecting its young.

"Alice," shouted Greystoke, "for God's sake—go back!" The ape charged—the man swung his axe with mighty strength, but the powerful brute tore it from Greystoke's hands, hurled it far to one side and with an angry snarl closed upon its defenseless victim.

Came a sharp report and a bullet entered the ape's back! The beast turned upon its new enemy. Lady Greystoke, terrified, tried to fire another bullet. Greystoke, regaining his feet, rushed to drag the ape from his wife's prostrate form. The bullet had done its work! The ape was dead.

A hasty examination of his wife revealed no marks upon her, and Lord Greystoke decided the huge brute had died the instant he had sprung toward her. Gently he lifted his wife's still unconscious form and bore her to the little cabin. Fully two hours later she regained consciousness.

Her first words filled Greystoke with vague apprehension. For some time after regaining her senses she gazed wonderingly about the interior of the little cabin, and then, with an satisfied sigh, said: "Oh, John, it is so good to be REALLY home. I have had an awful dream, dear."

"There, there, Alice," he said, stroking her forehead. "Try to sleep again and don't worry." That night, while a leopard screamed before the door and the deep notes of a lion's roar sounded from beyond the ridge, a little son was born in the tiny cabin beside the primeval jungle forest.

Lady Greystoke never recovered from the shock of the great ape's attack. She was never again outside the cabin nor did she ever realize that she was not in England. But she took joy and happiness in the possession of her little son and the constant attentions of her husband.

So that year was a very happy one. Greystoke had long since given up all hope of rescue. With unremitting zeal he had worked to beautify the cabin. The tiny life that had come to cheer them little knew what amazing experiences lay ahead of it in the depths of the African jungle.

During the first year, Greystoke was several times attacked by the great apes. But he never again ventured outside without both rifle and revolvers. He had strengthened the cabin and fitted locks to the door, so he had little fear of the huge beasts now continually infesting the vicinity.

In his leisure, Greystoke read, often aloud, to his wife from the store of books he had brought. Among these were many for little children. Also he wrote in his diary recording the details of their strange life and this book he kept locked in a little metal box. It was written in French.

A year from the day her little son was born, Lady Greystoke passed quietly away in the night. Her end was peaceful and the horror of the situation came to him very slowly—the fearful responsibility that had devolved upon him with the care of his nursing infant son.

The last entry in his diary was made the morning following her death and there he recites the sad details in a matter-of-fact way that adds to the pathos, sorrow, and hopelessness of this cruel blow: "My little son is crying for nourishment—O Alice, Alice—what shall I do?"

And as Lord Greystoke wrote the last words his hand was destined ever to pen, he dropped his head wearily into his arms upon the table. For a long time no sound broke the death-like stillness of the jungle save the piteous wailings of the tiny, hungry man-child. Then came the apes!

In the forest of the table-land a mile back from the ocean old Kerchak the Ape King was on a rampage of rage among his people. The younger and lighter members of his tribe all scattered to the higher tree branches, risking their lives to escape his uncontrolled anger.

The other males scattered in all directions, but not before Kerchak had crushed one between his great foaming jaws. A luckless young female slipped from an insecure hold. With a wild scream he was upon her, striking her viciously with a broken tree limb until her skull was crushed.

Then he spied Kala, returning from a search for food, with her young babe. Ignorant of the state of the King's temper, the shrill warning of her fellows caused her to scamper madly for safety. But Kerchak was close upon her—so close that he had almost grasped her ankle.

She made a furious leap far into space—from one tree to another—made it successfully. But as she grasped the limb of the further tree, the sudden jar loosed the hold of the tiny babe. She saw the little thing hurled—turning, twisting—to the ground thirty feet below.

With a low cry of dismay, Kala rushed to her baby's side, thoughtless now of danger. When she gathered the wee, mangled form to her bosom, life had left it. Nor did Kerchak attempt to molest her. His fit of demoniac rage passed as suddenly as it had seized him.

When the tribe saw Kerchak's rage had ceased, they came slowly down from their arboreal retreats. They had passed an hour or so pursuing again their various occupations when Kerchak called them together and with a word of command to them to follow him, set off toward the sea.

And all the way Kala carried her little dead baby hugged closely to her breast. Shortly after noon they reached a ridge overlooking the beach where below them lay the tiny cottage which was Kerchak's goal. He had made up his mind to explore the interior of that mysterious den.

He wanted very, very much to own that little black stick that had often roared out its terrible message of death to some member of the tribe. To-day there was no sign of the man about. Slowly, cautiously and noiselessly they crept through the jungle toward the little cabin.

Kerchak himself slunk slowly to the very door and peered within. Behind him were two males and then Kala clasping her dead babe. They saw the strange white ape lying half across a table and a figure covered by a sail cloth. A plaintive wailing came from a tiny cradle.

Kerchak entered. Greystoke rose with a sudden start and faced them. The sight that met his eyes must have frozen him with horror! His revolvers and rifle hung on the far wall. Within the door stood three great bull apes. Behind them crowded many more—HOW MANY HE NEVER KNEW!

When the king-ape released the limp form that had been Lord Greystoke, he turned his attention toward the little cradle. Kala was there before him and, ere he could intercept her, snatched the child herself, dropping her own dead babe in the cradle, and bolted through the door.

High up among the branches of a mighty tree she took refuge, hugging the shrieking infant to her bosom. Then hunger closed the gap between them and soon he became quiet. The son of an English Lord and an English Lady nursed at the breast of Kala, the great ape!

Meanwhile the beasts within the cabin were warily examining its strange contents. Once satisfied they were dead, Kerchak did not again molest the body of either Lady or Lord Greystoke. Presently he halted before the rifle hanging upon the wall. Finally he tore it down and examined it closely.

The other apes sat huddled together watching their chief. Suddenly Kerchak's finger closed upon the trigger. There was a deafening roar! The apes fell over one another in their wild anxiety to escape. Kerchak, equally frightened, but still clutching the rifle, sprang through the door, which shut tightly after him.

The rifle sight had caught upon the door's edge and the latch had sprung as Kerchak passed out. When the apes again brought themselves to approach the cabin, they found it securely fastened. After roaming about for a while, they began their homeward march. And Kala joined them with the man-child.

Kala would not allow the other apes to touch her adopted baby. She held the small form of the little Lord Greystoke tightly to her breast, repulsing with bared fangs and low, menacing growls the apes who attempted to examine this strange baby. Tenderly, Kala nursed her little waif.

It was nearly a year from the time the little fellow came into her possession before he would walk alone. He couldn't climb nor even find food alone like the little apes of their tribe. Tublat, Kala's mate, was sorely vexed, wanting to put the child out of the way.

Tublat argued with Kala until she grew furious and would not listen to him. Then Tublat went to Kerchak, urging him to use his authority with Kala and force her to give up the little TARZAN, which was the name they had given little Lord Greystoke, and which meant "White-Skin."

But when Kerchak spoke to her about it, Kala threatened to run away from the tribe. They did not wish to lose her, and so they bothered her no more. By the time Tarzan was ten years old he was an excellent climber and could do many wonderful things.

Tarzan was fully as strong as the average man of thirty, and far more agile. Day by day his strength was increasing. His life among these fierce apes had been happy. He was nearly ten before he began to realize that a great difference existed between himself and his fellows.

In the higher land that the tribe frequented was a little lake. Here it was that Tarzan first saw his face in the clear, still waters of its bosom. He was appalled! He turned red with shame as he compared his face and naked body with his more fortunate brother's.

So intent was he upon this personal appraisement of his features that he did not hear the parting of the tall grass behind him as a great body pushed itself stealthily through the jungle. Not thirty paces behind the two she crouched—Sabor, the huge lioness—lashing her tail.

Cautiously she moved a great padded paw forward, noiselessly placing it before she lifted the next. Thus she advanced—a great cat preparing to spring upon its prey. An instant she paused. Then with an awful scream—voiced to freeze her victim in a paralysis of terror—she sprang!

The little ape crouched tremblingly. Not so Tarzan, the man-child. Before him lay the deep waters of the little lake—behind him certain death! Tarzan had always hated water. He could not swim. But before the great beast had covered half her leap, Tarzan felt the chill waters close above him.

Rapidly he moved his hands and feet. Soon his nose was above water. Sabor was intently watching. Tarzan raised his voice in the tribal call of distress. Presently fifty great apes swung rapidly toward the scene. Then Sabor disappeared quickly into the brush and Tarzan was assisted to dry land by some of his ape friends.

Tarzan had early learned to form ropes by twisting and tying long grasses together. By constant experimenting, he learned to tie rude knots and make sliding nooses. Then, with painstaking practice, he learned the art of roping. He would catch some playfellow thus, to the other apes' unlimited amusement.

To Tarzan the closed and silent cabin was always a source of never-ending mystery and pleasure. His own connection with the cabin had never been told him. Kala had explained vaguely that his father had been a strange white ape. He didn't know that Kala was not his own mother.

The apes avoided the deserted abode. Only too well they remembered its deadly thunder-stick! One day Tarzan found the door, spending hours examining it and fussing with the hinges, the knob, and latch. Finally he stumbled upon the right combination—the door swung creakingly open before his astonished eyes.

Tarzan slowly and cautiously entered. He saw three skeletons, giving but passing heed. The other contents riveted his attention! He opened chests, examining minutely strange tools, weapons, books, and clothing. Finding a sharp hunting-knife, he immediately cut his finger. A child's illustrated alphabet interested him greatly. Dusk was approaching.

Tarzan departed, taking the hunting-knife to show his fellows. Suddenly a great form rose up—it was Bolgani, the huge gorilla! Tarzan knew he must stand and fight for his life. He met the brute mid-way in its charge. They rolled upon the ground in the fierce frenzy of combat.

Tarzan in one hand still clutched the knife he had found in his father's cabin. Accidentally he turned its point toward the hairy breast. As it sank into its body the gorilla shrieked in pain and rage. Then Tarzan plunged the blade repeatedly and to the hilt into Bolgani's breast.

The gorilla tore the flesh at the boy's throat and chest with its mighty tusks. More and more weakly the torn and bleeding arm struck home with the long, sharp blade. Then the little figure stiffened with a spasmodic jerk, and Tarzan, the young Lord Greystoke, rolled lifeless upon the ground.

Far off the tribe heard the fierce challenge of the gorilla. It was soon discovered that Tarzan was missing. Kerchak, the king-ape, was strongly opposed to sending assistance. He had no liking for the strange little waif. But Kala was of a different mind. She fairly flew through the matted branches!

Presently she came upon them under the brilliant moonlight—little Tarzan's torn and bloody form and beside it a great bull gorilla—stone dead. Rushing to Tarzan's side, Kala listened for a sign of life. Faintly she heard it. Tenderly she carried him through the inky jungle, back to the tribe.

Many days and nights Kala sat guard beside Tarzan, bringing food and water in her mouth. She licked his wounds, thus keeping them clean. After what seemed an eternity to the little sufferer, he was able to walk once more. In another month he was as strong and active as ever.

Tarzan was anxious to return to the cabin and continue his investigations of its wondrous contents. So early one morning he set forth alone. He found the knife, beside the bones of the gorilla. Entering, he closed and locked the door and then turned his attention to the picture books.

The pictures caught his fancy most. One, of a little ape similar to himself, fascinated him mightily. It had a strange colored fur, for such he thought the coat and trousers were. Beneath the picture were these little bugs—B-O-Y. Under another picture the "bugs" appeared again—A B-O-Y AND A D-O-G.

Long he puzzled; but slowly, very slowly, he learned. By the time he was fifteen he knew the various combinations of letters that stood for every picture in the little primer and in one or two of the picture books. He persevered for months—each time he came to the cabin.

One day he found a number of lead pencils in a drawer. Scratching upon the table top with one of them, he was delighted to find the black line it left behind it. He attempted to reproduce some of the little "bugs" of his books. It was a difficult task.

Repeated experiments taught him how to hold a pencil. Thus he made a beginning at writing. From then on his progress was rapid. His reason now told him he was of a different race from his companions. He was a M-A-N. He didn't know he could not speak man's language.

On the day Tarzan established his right to respect, the tribe was gathered in a small natural amphitheater. Here, safe from interruptions, they celebrated victories. In the center was one of those strange earthen drums the anthropoids build for their queer rites, which men have sometimes heard but never witnessed.

Tarzan, Lord Greystoke, is doubtless the only human being who ever joined in the fierce, mad, intoxicating revel of the Dum-Dum. This day the grisly rites marked the killing of a giant ape—a member of another tribe. Two mighty bulls laid the body before the earthen drum.

They squatted there beside it as guards. The other apes curled themselves up to sleep until the rising moon should give the signal for the commencement of the savage orgy. For hours absolute quiet reigned. At length, as darkness settled upon the jungle, the apes commenced to bestir themselves.

They formed a great circle around three old females, who, armed with knotted branches, began softly tapping upon the resounding surfaces of the drum, as the ascending moon silvered the treetops. Presently a wild rhythmic din pervaded the jungle for miles around. It rose to almost deafening volume.

Kerchak sprang into the open space, threw his head far back and, beating his breast, emitted thrice his fearful roaring shriek. Other males repeated the horrid, blood-thirsty screams. Then began the mad whirl of the death dance. And Tarzan, sweat-streaked, muscular, glistening, was one of the wild leaping horde!

The weird dance went on. Then at a signal from Kerchak the drums ceased. The males rushed headlong upon the thing which their terrific blows had reduced to a mass of hairy pulp. They now turned their attention to devouring their late enemy. The mightiest apes obtained the choicest morsels.

Tarzan with his sharp knife slashed off a more generous portion than he had hoped for. Old Tublat spied Tarzan with the prize and wicked gleams of hate shot from his little eyes. Tarzan saw the great beast's purpose and leaped nimbly away—Tublat, however, close upon his heels.

Swiftly he sprang. Gaining a lower limb, he climbed rapidly, followed closely by Tublat. Up, up he went to the highest branches, where his heavy pursuer dared not follow. There he perched, hurling taunts and insults at the raging, foaming beast fifty feet below him. And then Tublat went mad!

With horrifying screams and roars, he rushed to the ground among the females and young, sinking his great fangs into a dozen tiny necks. Tarzan witnessed the whole mad carnival of rage. Now he saw Tublat dash toward Kala, his foster-mother. Tarzan dropped swiftly and faced the infuriated brute.

With a roar of triumph, Tublat leaped. Tarzan plunged a keen hunting-knife a dozen times into him. The ape rolled to the ground. Tarzan, his foot upon the neck of his enemy, threw back his head and, beating his mighty breast, screamed out the fierce ape cry of defiance.