Herland | Page 5

Charlotte Perkins Gilman
readily.
What with that and a really good interpreter we took with us,
I made out quite a few legends and folk myths of these scattered
tribes.

And as we got farther and farther upstream, in a dark tangle
of rivers, lakes, morasses, and dense forests, with here and there
an unexpected long spur running out from the big mountains beyond,
I noticed that more and more of these savages had a story about a
strange and terrible Woman Land in the high distance.

"Up yonder," "Over there," "Way up"--was all the direction
they could offer, but their legends all agreed on the main point
--that there was this strange country where no men lived--only
women and girl children.

None of them had ever seen it. It was dangerous, deadly, they
said, for any man to go there. But there were tales of long ago,
when some brave investigator had seen it--a Big Country, Big
Houses, Plenty People--All Women.

Had no one else gone? Yes--a good many--but they never
came back. It was no place for men--of that they seemed sure.

I told the boys about these stories, and they laughed at them.
Naturally I did myself. I knew the stuff that savage dreams are
made of.

But when we had reached our farthest point, just the day
before we all had to turn around and start for home again, as the
best of expeditions must in time, we three made a discovery.

The main encampment was on a spit of land running out into
the main stream, or what we thought was the main stream. It had
the same muddy color we had been seeing for weeks past, the
same taste.

I happened to speak of that river to our last guide, a rather
superior fellow with quick, bright eyes.

He told me that there was another river--"over there, short
river, sweet water, red and blue."

I was interested in this and anxious to see if I had understood,
so I showed him a red and blue pencil I carried, and asked again.

Yes, he pointed to the river, and then to the southwestward.
"River--good water--red and blue."

Terry was close by and interested in the fellow's pointing.

"What does he say, Van?"

I told him.

Terry blazed up at once.

"Ask him how far it is."

The man indicated a short journey; I judged about two hours,
maybe three.

"Let's go," urged Terry. "Just us three. Maybe we can really
find something. May be cinnabar in it."

"May be indigo," Jeff suggested, with his lazy smile.

It was early yet; we had just breakfasted; and leaving word
that we'd be back before night, we got away quietly, not wishing
to be thought too gullible if we failed, and secretly hoping to
have some nice little discovery all to ourselves.

It was a long two hours, nearer three. I fancy the savage could
have done it alone much quicker. There was a desperate tangle
of wood and water and a swampy patch we never should have
found our way across alone. But there was one, and I could see
Terry, with compass and notebook, marking directions and trying
to place landmarks.

We came after a while to a sort of marshy lake, very big, so
that the circling forest looked quite low and dim across it. Our
guide told us that boats could go from there to our camp--but
"long way--all day."
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