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Professor Summerlee Among the Pygmies, by Stephen William Theaker

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Mr Summerlee, Professor of Comparative Anatomy, was at that moment lying behind an upturned rowing boat and attempting to avoid the worryingly well-aimed arrows of the Sh’Amon tribe of darkest Peru. Unfortunately for he and Mr Herando, the last surviving members of the expedition, they had not even the protection of darkness, as the only light in the jungle came from above the river at their backs, where the trees and plants had been gracious enough to leave a small clearing in the green roof that kept everywhere else in bizarrely-coloured twilight.

‘We are experiencing proof positive,’ he told his companion, ‘that the eyesight of this tribe has singularly failed to atrophy.’ He paused to consider the matter as another arrow whistled mere inches over his head. ‘Of course, there remains the possibility that other senses have developed to a higher level to compensate.’ Another arrow passed over, sliding off the top of his beige tropical hat. ‘Hearing, for example.’

Mr Herando seems unusually quiet, he thought to himself, for a man of his notably strong opinions where the biological mechanisms of the South American jungle are concerned. Twisting his head to the left, he noted with sadness that the baritone voice of Mr Herando would never again rumble through the humid corridors of the University of Buenos Aires. An arrow had pierced him though the eye.

Summerlee examined the feathered flight of the arrow with interest. ‘Really,’ he said out loud, ‘this shall have the most interesting consequences for the study of the South American pygmy!’

The sound of his voice evidently aided his assailants in finding their range, as the next arrow pierced the pith helmet and carried it off into the river behind him. Summerlee did his best to burrow down into the mud, but as a virtual rain of arrows began to fall around him, he was forced to recognise that this might very well be the end. He had considered actually crawling under the boat, but it was obvious that to do so would remove all inhibitions of the Sh’Amon, leaving him trapped like a beetle under a chamber pot, whereas at present they preferred to keep their distance, just in case the Englishman revealed himself, under closer examination, to be in possession of certain death-dealing objects of which they were in great awe.

Unfortunately for Professor Summerlee, he was in possession of no such objects, due to their having been kept in the pack carried by the hired hand Santos, who had been the first man to succumb to the less than tender attentions of the pygmies. He had fallen into the river with an arrow through his heart and sweet Amazon had borne him away.

If only, thought Summerlee, I had some means to convey my findings to my colleagues in England. Challenger himself would be forced to admit that I had made quite a find!

But at that moment, as my esteemed companion prepared somewhat prematurely for death (Naples was still some way off) he found himself cast into darkness. A more suggestible man might have suspected that Indian magic was at work, but Professor Summerlee took the more commonsense view that one of the arrows had finally found its target.

Oh well, he thought, here I go.

Within a second the darkness was answered by the screams of the Sh’Amon pygmies, doubtless in jubilation at the death of one they considered their enemy, thought he.

The deductions he made from this thought were twofold. Firstly, that as he did in no wise believe in the continuation of the mind after the death of the body, the body must still be alive. And secondly, that if he was still alive, the darkness of his surroundings must come from a source other than the failing of his own light, so to speak.

From the screams he could hear, the pygmies were dashing in the opposite direction as quickly as their legs could take them. Their eyes, he believed, were probably more attuned to the darkness than his own. What natural cause could effect such darkness? A thundercloud? An erupting volcano? Or had some mighty dinosaur somehow escaped from Maple-White Land? He turned onto his back, visions of flashing teeth and claws running through his mind.

It was none of these things, and yet it did seem alive, spewing steam as it dived towards the river like some terrible iron dragon.

At least, so Summerlee told me, once we had taken him on board.

Once the Rocket had passed below the level of the jungle roof the sunlight was able to pass once more through the gap, and it found a most worthy subject of its illumination in Professor Challenger’s astounding machine.

Summerlee cried out, ‘It is beautiful!’ He got to his feet and tried to clean off the muck in anticipation of being greeted by a gentleman. ‘I was able at once,’ he later told me, ‘to distinguish the fine work of our English foundries.’ Sadly he was to be disappointed in one respect, as after the Rocket came to rest upon the bank of the river (squashing a number of trees as it did so, which bent as if matchsticks under its weight) the door opened to reveal none other than his old rival Professor Challenger.

I fear this came as quite a blow to Professor Summerlee, but he took it on the chin and moved forward to shake Challenger’s hand.

‘Professor Challenger,’ he began, ‘I have made the most remarkable discoveries in the sphere of tribal development.’

‘So I see,’ replied Challenger, examining the remains of the expedition.

Summerlee pursed his lips, then proceeded. ‘I had feared for my success in bringing this information back to England, and...’ He trailed off.

Challenger prompted him. ‘Yes?’

In the face of opposition Summerlee’s strength returned. ‘I am pleasantly surprised to find that I shall, in fact, be able to do so.’

Challenger’s face had begun to turn a deep shade of red, and as I exited from the vessel my concern grew that he might finish the job that the pygmies had abandoned.

‘For crying out loud,’ I told Summerlee, ‘ask him about his precious rocket!’

‘Your arrival was most propitious,’ said the worthy professor after a minuscule pause, ‘and I confess to some scientific interest as to how it was effected.’

That was as far as he would go, but Challenger clearly regarded it as a victory. With a smile he said, ‘Summerlee, you shall be told everything when the time is right! However, firstly I wish to add Lord John Roxton to our party.’

Before we left Peru, Challenger led us in clearing up the destruction left by the pygmy attack. The rowing-boat was turned right way up, and Summerlee and I were assigned to lifting the bodies of the dead into it. One time while Challenger was back inside the vessel, Summerlee leant over to me and whispered, ‘The confounded man is worse than ever!’