The Adventures of Piang the Moro Jungle Boy | Page 8

freedom thrilled Piang; the intimacy with nature and its
mysteries stirred within him a desire to know more, feel more, and he
gazed at the distant peak where his fortune awaited him, wondering if
the old hermit, Ganassi, was in reality watching for his coming.
Toward afternoon Piang became conscious of a heavy steam-like vapor
rising from the undergrowth at the edge of the jungle; the atmosphere
grew suddenly sticky and sultry. Almost within a moment the brilliant
sunshine was blotted out, and a gray twilight settled over the lake.
Frightened birds, squawking and screaming, hurried by; a fawn,
drinking at the water's edge, darted off through the jungle. A slight
frown rippled across the water; the breeze chilled Piang. Trees in the
distance seemed to bend nearly double with no apparent cause, but the
rush of wind finally swept the whole valley, and the jungle shuddered
and swayed before it. The storm seemed an animate thing, seemed to
come upon the peacefulness of the lake like an evil genius, hurling its
fury upon nature and her creatures.
Piang had never been alone in a typhoon. In bewilderment he looked
about, wondering where he could find shelter. He watched the birds,
the animals; his boat brought up against something with a thud. An
island had bumped into him, and he realized in dismay what a menace
the pretty toys might become in a typhoon. Struggling with the tempest,
Piang fought past the islands, reached the shore, turned his banco

bottom side up, and crept underneath.
The violent wind began to dash loose objects about, tearing limbs off
trees and hurling them aloft as if they were mere splinters. A cocoanut
crashed down, striking the ground near Piang; another fell, and yet
another. Then the rain came in torrents. It fell unevenly as if poured by
mighty giants from huge buckets. The ground beneath Piang was
swaying, undulating. A tree crashed to the ground, tearing away vines
and ferns. As he began to experience the motion of a boat, Piang
became thoroughly alarmed and, dashing aside the banco, sprang to his
feet.
Terror flashed into his heart. What was happening? He had landed on
the mainland and put his banco under a big tree, and now this tree was
pitching and swaying, its branches sweeping the ground. The tree was
being uprooted, and the earth at Piang's feet was plowed up as roots
tore through the surface. The next tree was being felled in the same
manner, and as his eyes darted about, he beheld everywhere the same
terrifying picture. These mighty monuments of time, trees older than
man, were being torn from their beds and thrown to the ground or left
standing against each other for support. It seemed to be only the trees in
Piang's vicinity that were doomed to destruction, and, although it was a
dangerous thing to attempt, Piang decided to seek another shelter. He
took a few difficult steps forward and was almost stunned by the
immense fall of water. It dashed into his face, beat upon his head in a
stinging, hissing mass; it ran in streams down his arms and legs,
making him heavy and clumsy. As he caught at a tree for support, it
groaned under his weight and crashed to earth; the ground was giving
way, and he felt himself sinking. With a scream, he freed himself, and,
jumping to a fallen tree, clung desperately, hoping to escape flying
missiles. Just as he gathered himself for another advance his heart gave
a jump. Through the mad rage of the typhoon, he could hear quick
breathing! The ground tipped and swayed alarmingly, tossing trees
about like masts on a ship in distress.
"Linug!" ("Earthquake!") moaned Piang. Bravely the boy crept forward,
knife in hand. Whatever it was, hiding under that log, Piang must take

his chances; if he remained where he was he would certainly be killed
by falling trees. His feet made a sucking sound; a vivid flash of
lightning blinded him, and it was all he could do to force his way
through the wall of water that was pounding down upon him. With a
desperate effort, he pulled himself along by vines, hoping to pass the
unknown animal before it could leap; but the branches stirred, and he
sprang back with a cry.
"Babui!" ("Wild boar!") he gasped. The creature's head shook with fury;
its teeth were bared, and the tiny red eyes flamed with anger. The babui
had the largest tusks Piang had ever seen, and he grasped his bolo
firmly to meet the rush. One second, two seconds--the suspense was
fearful, and Piang wondered why the boar did not attack. Strained
almost beyond his endurance, he stood, rigid and cold, waiting. The
wind sucked at his breath; the torrents of