Tarzan and The Lost Tribes

Tarzan swam the teeming jungle river, all to save the boy—the son of the tribal leader—who was slipping beneath the water. Every dive brought him closer and closer to a horrible death.

Grasping him by the arms, Tarzan swam with him downriver, to the embankment. Soon, the King of the Jungle—mighty, legendary Lord of the Apes, Earl Jonathan Greystoke—was standing exultant on the sandy shore, the boy at his feet, barely winded from his exertion but soaking wet.

And it was all drawn with ravishing, glorious detail by one Burne Hogarth (born Spinoza Bernard Ginsburg on Christmas of 1911), who was actually there, man, when Tarzan was swinging through the trees, Manu the Monkey on his shoulder. He went down into the bowels of the Earth, to the underworld kingdom of N'ani, the evil White Queen of Terror, whose minions clothed their skin in glowing vestments to frighten and control the superstitious tribesmen—who thought they must surely be battling evil spirits. Tarzan's dear Jane was a prisoner of N'ani (a beautiful quasi-Martian pulp fiction princess in a cloak and headdress, and not much else) and the evil English explorer-turncoat Marlowe, and held court far below, in the opulence of cavern tunnels beneath the jungle's sweating, stinking maw.

Jane was forced upon the great stone altar of the hideous, forgotten god as Tarzan ascended to free her. Positioning his body between the stone and the cave wall behind it, he pushed the breaking rock with all of his mighty might and saw the god plummet—as all gods eventually must—into the water below, as a roaring torrent jettisoned forth. Reunited with his Jane, Tarzan proceeded to his next adventure. Mr. Hogarth following, with a sketchpad and a vision, close behind.

Tarzan’s father, Edgar Rice Burroughs, had prepared the Lord of the Jungle for a great many things. However, he had not prepared him to be taken prisoner aboard the submarine of the mad atomic scientist McRae, whose own daughter protested, “Father! Tarzan saved your lives! And you repay him by locking him in a cell!” (Not an exact quote, but Mr. Hogarth could only get so close, as he was taking transcription.)

A battle with a giant octopus still did not stave off their eventual capture by pirates of the Lahtians, the men of the lost Tibetan kingdom of Mua-Ao, where the corpulent, sinister King Ruzur held court over a blood-soaked arena, where combatants were pitted, in the manner of the Roman gladiatorial combats, against each other. Tarzan, who was so condemned for interfering with the whipping of a slave, soon escaped with Soros and other slaves into the jungle, where, in the swirling sands of time consumed by the heat-soaking jungle days, there is no accounting for where one adventure ends, and another begins.

It is not long before the mighty Earl of Greystoke encounters the ape-like half-men Tree Men and their leader Wolo, who at first imprisons Tarzan in a thatched hut in the branches, gloating that he will be consumed later. Tarzan, who has escaped headhunters, battled lions, and been stalked by the Striped Death, escapes the Tree Men—who refer to him, a full human, as "Tarmangani"—and then must battle—horror of horrors!—THE ONONOES.

But, one may ask: What exactly is an "Ononoe"?

There are hideous, nightmare horrors hidden in dark, reeking places. In the creeping vines and monkey-haunted tendrils of the deep jungle reaches are beings that defy the imagination and chill the blood. We do not speak merely of wild boars, lions and leopards, monkeys, gorilla, or bone-adorned tribesmen. No! We speak of the freakish descendants of ancient, alien civilizations—come down to us from other worlds—to build their vast, hidden cities, lost to the mists of antiquity.

The Ononoes are one such race. Living balls of flesh with long arms, no legs, and giant, mad faces that leer and grimace menacingly. And all colored in that deep, resplendent scarlet and purple that Mr. Hogarth splashed all over the world for Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle.

They roll along the ground—propelled forward by their long, clawed, wiry, and grasping arms. They live in a hidden city—and it is here, aided by the Tree Men (who have decided to aid "Tarmangani" because he so graciously saved the life of Wolo, their leader), that the Ononoes are defeated, making their last stand before Tarzan drifts away, his next adventure already seamlessly taking form.

And Mr. Hogarth followed, busily sketching each adventure, to publish as his Sunday newspaper comic strip—a classic that ran for many years. We've covered the time frame from December of 1947 to October of 1949. The Axis had been defeated years earlier; heroes were milling about everywhere, and legends lived on.

And you can hear his mighty lungs blast forth, his iron-clad thews running through the jungle night, before taking—hand over fist, like a monkey—through the trees, conveyed by his courage and the wild, animal passion for justice and heroism that burned within.

All in color for a dime.

Excelsior.

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