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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69925 ***</div>

<div  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p><span class='small'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c000' />
</div>
<div id='frontis'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/frontis.jpg' alt='frontispiece some uniformed men with guns and batons enter a room from a dark corridor' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE POLICE FOLLOW RIDDLE’S CUE</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c001' />
</div>
<div>
  <h1 class='c002'>THE NEW<br />NORTHLAND</h1>
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c003'>
    <div><span class='c004'>BY</span></div>
    <div><span class='c004'>L. P. GRATACAP</span></div>
    <div class='c005'>WITH 16 DESIGNS</div>
    <div>BY</div>
    <div>ALBERT OPERTI</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/publogo.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
    <div><span class='c006'>NEW YORK</span></div>
    <div><span class='c006'>THOMAS BENTON</span></div>
    <div><span class='c006'>1915</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
    <div>COPYRIGHT 1915</div>
    <div>BY</div>
    <div>L. P. GRATACAP</div>
    <div class='c001'><span class='c007'>PRINTED BY</span></div>
    <div><span class='c007'>THE EDDY PRESS CORPORATION, CUMBERLAND, MD.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c001' />
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><span class='c008'>KROCKER LAND</span></div>
    <div class='c003'><span class='c009'>A ROMANCE OF</span></div>
    <div><span class='c009'>DISCOVERY</span></div>
    <div class='c003'>BY</div>
    <div><span class='c010'>ALFRED ERICKSON</span></div>
    <div><span class='c010'>PROF. HLMATH BJORNSEN</span></div>
    <div><span class='c010'>ANTOINE GORITZ</span></div>
    <div><span class='c010'>SPRUCE HOPKINS</span></div>
    <div class='c003'><span class='c006'>THE NARRATIVE BY</span></div>
    <div><span class='c006'>ALFRED ERICKSON</span></div>
    <div class='c011'><span class='c006'>EDITED BY</span></div>
    <div><span class='c006'>AZAZIEL LINK</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c012'>CONTENTS</h2>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='85%' />
<col width='14%' />
</colgroup>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>&nbsp;</td>
    <td class='c014'><span class='small'><i>Page</i></span></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Preface (Editorial Note)</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_7'>7</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter   I The Fiord</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_39'>39</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter   II Point Barrow</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_63'>63</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter  III On the Ice Pack</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_89'>89</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter   IV Krocker Land Rim</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_116'>116</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter    V The Perpetual Nimbus</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_141'>141</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter   VI The Crocodilo-Python</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_162'>162</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter  VII The Deer Fels</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_184'>184</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter VIII The Pine Tree Gredin</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_203'>203</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter   IX The Valley of Rasselas</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_228'>228</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter    X Radiumopolis</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_246'>246</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter   XI The Crater of Everlasting Light</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_271'>271</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter  XII The Pool of Oblation</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_288'>288</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter XIII Love and Liberty</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_308'>308</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter  XIV Goritz’s Death and the Gold Makers</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_332'>332</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter   XV My Escape</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_348'>348</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Chapter  XVI The Sequel</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#Page_376'>376</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c012'>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='85%' />
<col width='14%' />
</colgroup>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>&nbsp;</td>
    <td class='c014'><span class='small'><i>Page</i></span></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Police Follow Riddles’ Cue (Frontispiece)</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#frontis'>28</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Fiord</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p0382'>39</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Professor and the Pribylof Seals</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p0682'>69</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>On the Ice Pack</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p0981'>98</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Krocker Land Rim</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p1302'>131</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Perpetual Nimbus</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p1581'>158</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Crocodilo-Python and the Wild Pig</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p1801'>180</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Deer Fels</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p1881'>190</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Pine Tree Gredin</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p2142'>215</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Meeting the Radiumopolites</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p2261'>226</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Valley of Rasselas</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p2382'>239</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Ziliah and Her Father</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p2921'>292</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>The Pool of Oblation</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p3001'>300</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Goritz’s Death</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p3341'>334</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Erickson’s Escape</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p3742'>375</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c013'>Erickson’s Rescue</td>
    <td class='c014'><a href='#p3821'>382</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>EDITORIAL NOTE</h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>This remarkable narrative of Arctic exploration
is itself a remarkable confirmation of the wisdom of
that tireless hunt for NEWS which has become
second nature to the newspaper man, and while
distinctively a mark of his calling, has attached to
his profession the opprobrium of “yellowness.”
The appropriation of this color—so intimately
associated in nature with the golden illumination
of the noon, the royal charm of lilies, and the
enduring lure of gold—to designate an irresponsible
and shameless sensationalism has never been adequately
explained. The “yellowness” of the live
journalist, turning with an instinctive scent to
follow to its end every new trail of incident,
sniffing in each passing rumor the presence of
hidden and serviceable scandal, and ruthlessly
breaking through the sham obstruction of modesty
to snatch the culprit or to free the victim, cannot
certainly be referred to the torpor marked by the
<i>jaundice</i> of the invalid, nor to the weakness of the
last stages of an emaciating fever. Perhaps if the
reproach is to be made, or can be made, intelligible,
the yellow color finds its subtle analogue in a mustard
plaster.</p>

<p class='c016'>That popular cataplasm has a dignified and
ancient history, and is gratefully recorded in literature
for nearly two thousand years as a <i>contrarient</i>
of value, allaying hidden aches through the excoriation
of the uninjured and painless surfaces. The
<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>process seems to involve an injustice in principle,
but it is, in spite of abstractions, a beneficent
practice. The “yellowness” of newspapers may
amaze modesty, startle discretion, and afflict innocence,
but it cures interior disorders, and the unpleasantness
of an ulcerated or inflamed skin should
be condoned or forgotten for the benefit of a regulated
stomach or a renovated joint.</p>

<p class='c016'>However, this all <i>en passant</i>, as only remotely,
and yet diffidently, related to the manner of my
obtaining the circumstances and facts of the following
adventure. I have attributed my success
to the pertinacity of instinct and the olfactory
sense of mischief. It is true. Without one or the
other—though the combination of both rendered
failure impossible—I might not now be in the
enviable position of proclaiming a “beat” on my
professional rivals which no amount of editorial
venom, aspersion, contempt and innuendo will
ever obliterate from the annals of journalism, as
unprecedented.</p>

<p class='c016'>I am indeed afflicted at moments with a sort of
discomfiture over my own modesty in not having
ransacked to better advantage the commercial
possibilities of my tenacity and acumen. Incredible
and hypnotizing as is this story of Mr. Alfred
Erickson, as a foil to its romantic daring and its
transcendent interest, the brief relation of the
episode—and its development—that led to its
publication, has a delightful thrill of excitement,
and an up-to-date volubility, so to speak, of incident,
that frames the story in the most exhilarating
contrasts.</p>

<p class='c016'>An office boy, a temporary expedient for a
messenger and page, Jack Riddles, mercurial,
vagarious, and quick-witted, a sandy haired, long-limbed,
peaked-nosed and weazel-eyed creation,
with flattened cheeks, whose jackets were always
<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>short, and whose trousers despised any intimacy
with the tops of his shoes, got me the story.</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack is destined for great things in our metropolitan
annals. In the mission of the Progressive
party, with its millennial attachments, Jack and his
sort would be progressively eliminated. Crime
exists for detection, and detection is Life at its <i>n</i>th
power for such as he. Jack is endowed with a rare
intuition of ways and means when the center of a
reportorial mystery is to be perforated, and the
process of “getting there” to <i>him</i> is as inevitable
as the first half of the alphabet. Riddle’s only
counterpart was Octavius Guy, alias Gooseberry,
Lawyer Bruff’s boy in Wilkie Collin’s story of the
Moonstone.</p>

<p class='c016'>He began his exploit on the top of a Fifth Avenue
’bus, and it was about the middle of September,
1912. Jack has a Hogarthian sense for the multitudinous,
the psychological, the junction of circumstance
and expression in revealing a plot or
betraying a criminal. To hang over the railing of a
Fifth Avenue ’bus and watch the crowds, the motor
cars, each vibratory shock, as the behemoth shivers
and plunges, bringing your interpretative eye
unexpectedly into a new relation with the faces of
that ceremonious throng, was intoxication for Jack.
It evoked exuberantly the passion of espionage.
There was indeed concealment here, in the packed
and methodical progression of people and people,
and yet more people. Yet with an average dumbness
or dullness, or just the homogeneous stare of
business, or the vapid contentment of contiguity to
riches and fashion, Jack caught glimpses, direct,
profound, of dismay or discontent; of the pallid,
revolting grimace of suffering, the snarl of envy, or
the deeper placidity of crime.</p>

<p class='c016'>They were rare, but Jack watched for them; his
precocity ran that way and he was rewarded. It
<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>used up his dimes, it widened the solutions of continuity
in his nether garments and brought his feet
more familiarly in contact with the hard flagging.
Some supersensual instinct urged him. The succeeding
story attests the splendor of the revelation
he uncovered. Jack may have been about eighteen
years of age.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was opposite the Public Library, just below
Forty-second Street on Fifth Avenue and on the
west side of that thoroughfare that Jack’s eyes,
after a long stop which held up an endless phalanx
of automobiles, fell upon a man and woman who
conveyed to his thought a hint of crime. The
woman was beautiful too, a Spanish siren, full in
form, with developed curves that yielded so slightly
to the sway of her tight fitting mauve dress as to
start the conjecture that she did not belong to the
more rarified types of Venuses. A light feather
boa, deliciously pearly gray in tone, heightened the
carnation of her cheeks. These in turn yielded to
the orbed splendor of her eyes, and that to the
wealth of black hair darkly globed underneath a
maroon velvet turban-like cap, in whose folds
twinkled a firmament of greenish stars. Jack
literally devoured her radiance, so near was he to
her as she descended with her companion the last
terrace to the sidewalk between the amorphous
lions of the Public Library.</p>

<p class='c016'>The man with her was inordinately, insolently
handsome, dark and tall, dressed a little beyond the
form of reticence, as was the woman. Herein
perhaps lurked the confession of their mutual depravity
to Jack, an untutored psychologist; to
all besides it appealed as a momentary sensation, to
some as barely an infringement of good taste.</p>

<p class='c016'>The man wore a light fedora hat that suited the
bravado of his curled and graceful moustache, the
ovate outlines of his face, his liquid, voluptuous
<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>eyes, the sensuous thickness of his lips. Observation
stopped short at his face where he intended it
should. Its arrest was made imperative by a blue
and ormolu tie, relieved against a softly-tinted
yellow shirt, carrying a horseshoe of demantoid
garnets in a wreath of little diamonds. His feet
were encased in tan gaiters, a permissible distraction.
For an instant only the spectator was rewarded
with an appreciation of their admirable
<i>tournure</i>. Otherwise he was in black, relieved by
the white lining at the lapels of his coat, and he
carried a cane in his gloved hand.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a few instants after Jack’s ravished eyes
had fastened on this entrancing couple, that the
cane was raised sharply in the air to descend
abruptly on the woman’s head. The attack
involved the man’s slight retreat—a backward
gesture—and his turning aside, whereby his profile
cut keenly across the sunlit stone behind him, and
Jack was shocked into a delighted recognition of
the same profile in a print in the show window of
Krauschaar’s gallery. He remembered the title;
it was “Mephistopheles, A Modern Guise of an Old
Offender”; a smiling, swarthy beau at the feet of a
remonstrating and beautiful <i>ingenue</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>The explosion was evidently the climax of an
altercation. Jack recalled the previous animated
demeanor of the couple. Explanatory reflections
were cut short by the velocity of the woman’s
defense. She flung herself on the man, caught his
arms with her outstretched hands, and kicked him
viciously. Infuriated, he tore himself away, raised
the cane and the next moment would have inflicted
a harsher insult on the defiant Amazon, into whose
face, so Jack thought, had sprung a tigerish fury,
when, from the stupified and expectant crowd before
them, half shrinking and half jubilant, shot a tall figure,
whose interposition transfixed both contestants.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>This meteoric stranger was remarkable for his
broad shoulders, and a peculiar taper in his frame
downward to his feet, that made him figuratively a
human top, the impression of any actual deformity
arising from his immense chest, on which, by a
connection scarcely deserving consideration as a
neck, sat his squat, contracted head. Prodigious
whiskers covered his face, invading his high cheeks
almost to the outer limits of his sunken eyes.</p>

<p class='c016'>This hirsute prodigality contrasted with his
cropped cranium and his closely shaven lips. The
latter were long and thin-compressed, they seemed
to separate his chin from the rest of his face by a
red seam. His forehead was low and his head was
covered with a steamer-tourist’s cap. His clothes
were of plaid.</p>

<p class='c016'>As he rushed between the wranglers he caught
each by the shoulder, and he pushed them apart.
He had turned toward the avenue, facing the wondering
throng, and Jack heard him speak quickly
and sharply, but in a guttural, obscured way that
suggested something that was not English or, if it
was, it was hopelessly incoherent to Jack’s ears
from its imperfect articulation.</p>

<p class='c016'>The man and woman seemed stunned into immobility,
and then obeying his gesture, followed
him on the sidewalk, jostled and pressed by the
crowd which at first, inquisitive but timorous, had
recoiled a little from the enigmatical encounter and
then, almost obstreperous and decidedly interested
engulfed the trio, who however pushed their way
through, energetically piloted by the stranger.
How quickly a drama evolves!</p>

<p class='c016'>All three had almost simultaneously stepped into
the little <i>scenario</i>, and yet by the illusion of an
assumed sequence the last actor seemed a novelty,
related as unexpected, to the other two, as more
familiar and apparent. None of the three spoke,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>nor did they heed the interruption of the spectators
who tardily parted to let them pass. The moment
Forty-second Street was reached the leader turned
toward Sixth Avenue. Jack standing on the roof of
the ’bus, which slowly swung off into the restored
movement northward as the obstruction somewhere
ahead disappeared, saw them enter an automobile
opposite the northern entrance to the
library and dash westward.</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack did not argue the matter with himself. He
had no compunctions. He jumped straight for the
to him (as perhaps to anyone) tangible certainty
that he had struck a trail of iniquity. But how to
follow it? His ruminations were cut short by the
loud honk of an automobile and there, returning to
Fifth Avenue at Fiftieth Street, he saw the yellow
limousine which contained the suspects wheeling
into the procession and, forced by the unrelieved
pressure to relax its impatience, moving with the
limping concourse at the same pace.</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack watched it eagerly. His eyes never left it.
It swayed a little to the right and to the left as the
driver, probably under threats or persuasion, endeavored
to insert his vehicle into the chance
spaces that opened before him. This irregular and
tentative progress brought the automobile at length
directly alongside of the ’bus which had on it the
Nemesis of its (the automobile’s) occupants. It
was underneath Jack’s very eyes; he could have
dropped on its roof almost unnoticed. Jack’s
heart beat with trip-hammer throbs, and his mind
rehearsed the possibilities of murder, arson, burglary,
brigandage, kidnapping, etc., gathering headway
in that uncanny conference going on there
below under that burnished but impenetrable roof.
But he was exulting too with the steel-clad certainty
of having a “case,” and that a little intensive
use of his wits would promote him from the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>office floor to a reserved seat in the Reporters’
Sanctum.</p>

<p class='c016'>A jolt, a lurching swing, the vituperative shriek
of an ungreased axle, and the ’bus followed a
meandering lane that brought it into an unimpeded
headway. Jack sprang to his feet and watched
behind him the still imprisoned limousine—it too
shot ahead; noiselessly as a speeding bird it overtook
the ’bus and then with a graceful curve,
almost as if in mockery of his impotence, it vanished
into east Fifty-eighth Street.</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack had a message for the Director of the Metropolitan
Art Museum. It was from myself in response
to an inquiry as to what space we could
afford for a description of a new Morgan exhibit.
Jack was a safe messenger, unmistakably accurate,
but we always discounted his celerity, because of his
preferences for a ride on a Fifth avenue ’bus and the
little delinquencies of delay his observational
powers tempted him to perpetrate. He was an
hour later than the most generous allowance of
time would justify. Jack was to bring back “copy”
for the next day’s issue. I lectured him. He
was sullenly respectful, indifferently contrite, and
showed a taciturn preoccupation that impressed
my reportorial instinct as significant.</p>

<p class='c016'>As a matter of fact the missing hour was used in
traversing Fifty-eighth Street. The fruit of Jack’s
search was diminutive but it was conclusive. On
the pavement in front of No. — east Fifty-eighth
Street, Jack picked up a microscopic green glass
star. He knew where it belonged—the spangled
turban on top of the massed hair of that afternoon’s
<i>debutante</i>; <i>debutante</i> to Jack’s official criticism.</p>

<p class='c016'>This minute betrayal had dropped from her hat,
from nowhere else, and the belligerent cane of her
escort had dislodged it. It had lain somewhere in
the folds and creases of the soft velvet, to fall just
<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>there, unsuspectedly at the entrance of her retreat—a
frail enamel bead releasing to the world a
marvelous secret. For Jack Riddles intended to
watch that house; he would enter it; if it concealed
some half consummated plot of SIN, if
indeed the plot was over, its victims disposed of,
and the conspirators were there enjoying the harvest
of their guilt, he would know it, and—the
eventuality of failure never entered his head. He
felt, in every fibre, a certainty of wrong-doing,
something shadowy, perhaps darkly cruel in these
people. His prescience was involuntary; he never
explained it, he never himself understood it.</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack lived in Brooklyn, with his wifeless father.
That night as he left the office he dropped a postal
at a lamp post and took a car north. He was following
the trail. A little transposed I submit
Jack’s story as he gave it to me the next morning.</p>

<p class='c016'>He came to the office a little late, and knocked at
my door. On entering I saw instantly that he was
in an advanced stage of nervous excitement. He
was pale, and a fluttering involuntary movement of
his hands, one over the other, as he stood before me,
with a glitter in his peculiarly shaped and small
eyes betrayed his mental agitation. He was quite
wet, had probably been drenched, and the first
symptoms of a chill showed that precautions were
necessary to avert a possible collapse. I told him
to sit down, opened a cellarette, which had its professional
and commercial uses, and poured out a
rather stiff jorum of the best whisky I owned.</p>

<p class='c016'>As he swallowed in a gulping manner the
proffered contents of the glass, he was rather a
ludicrous and yet pitiful and heart-moving object.
His disordered hair, shabby clothes and a certain
forlorn wistfulness in his glance upward to me, combined
with his lean and disjointed anatomy gave
him an expression that was at once tender and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>laughable. Only a Cruikshank could have done
it justice. His spirits revived, animal heat reasserted
itself, and back with it, as if it had stood
somewhere aside until invited to return, came
boastingly his invincible pugnacity and confidence.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Mr. Link,” his speech was customarily hesitating
with a deprecatory manner as if forestalling
interruption or correction, and impeded by a
slight stutter, but now, in the tide and torrent of
his thoughts, under the sway of the elation over his
first bit of detective work, it was rapid but coherent,
and oddly picturesque. “Mr. Link, I’ve nipped a
pretty piece of mischief in the bud—seems so to me.
Of course I’m just on the trail, and fetching up to
the big game that I think is in sight, barring the
trees—may take more work than I think. But the
proposition is as clear as glass that there’s a crooked
game being pulled off at — east Fifty-eighth Street,
and I’m convinced that ‘the deceits of the world,
the flesh and the devil,’ as it goes in the prayer book,
are behind it. Now here’s the evidence—not much
you may say, but I’ll hang up my reputation on
it—you know, Mr. Link, I have a little hereabouts
at finding out things, and I’m just convinced <i>it</i>—won’t
drop.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I was on the ’bus, stalled just below Forty-second
Street, opposite the Library. I saw a
couple of people, a man and a woman, coming down
the steps to the street. The woman—Well, I
couldn’t begin to tell you how stunning she was.
Beauty was just all over her, thick too, from her
feet to her head. I remember now the thought
struck me as I looked at her that she’d make a brass
man turn round to see her when she’d passed. And
the goods on her were as sweet and gay as herself—a
picture, Mr. Link, a real picture, if ever a woman
made one. The man was with her, good-looking
and cruel; neat, too, and Hell painted on him so
<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>plain it would make an angel throw a fit—if an
angel could, supposin’.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Now Mr. Link I hadn’t looked that long,” Jack
snapped his fingers, “before I felt, sir, that they
were <i>rotten</i>, not four flushers, but the <i>real bad</i>, like
those the Sunday School man told us of, who ‘build
a town with blood, and establish a city by iniquity.’”
The pause Jack interpolated here was as oracular
as the quotation. I did him a great injustice to
seem indifferent and impatient. Really I felt the
thrill of an inevitable sensation approaching, and—I
saw beyond it hypnotizing <i>copy</i>. Jack desiderated
encouragement, approval—I looked at the
clock over my desk and yawned. Surely it was
deliberate malice.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Like that, sir!” Jack clapped his hands
loudly; the ruse broke through my affectation,
and startled me into attention that he was
keen enough to see was as intense as he wished it
to be.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Like that, sir, they hit out at each other, and
there was a fight on! Then a husky— Well, a—white-hope
you might have called him—bounced
in; they knew him, he knew them, and the three
chased off in an automobile. I lost ’em, found ’em,
and tracked ’em down east Fifty-eighth Street.
She had green stars in her hat—things you could
hardly see—but they <i>shone</i>! I found one on a doorstep—and
last night <i>I watched the house</i>!”</p>

<p class='c016'>The typical story teller who at such a juncture
lights a cigar, finishes an unsmoked pipe, empties a
glass of grog, or rises with unconcealed surprise
over his neglect to fulfill an engagement <i>elsewhere</i>,
could not have surpassed the self-control with
which Jack, for the same purpose, intimated his own
retirement. He rose, crushing in his thin fingers
his poor bleached blue cap, his small sparkling eyes
raised to the clock, which a moment before I had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>invoked so heartlessly to aid the hypocrisy of my
assumed exemption from common weaknesses.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I think, Mr. Link, it’s time for me to see Mr.
Force.” Mr. Force was an assistant in the press-room.</p>

<p class='c016'>The rebellious spirit of honesty which I had
shamelessly essayed to crush, got decidedly the best
of the situation now; behind it was the pressure of
my own exorbitant curiosity.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I think Jack, you’ll sit down and finish your
story.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack sat down.</p>

<p class='c016'>“There was a vacant or closed house opposite.
I perched on the top step of the porch and glued my
eyes on No. —. I think, sir, that if any man or
woman inside had winked an eye at me from across
the street, I’d have seen it. But it wasn’t light
enough for long to watch trifles, and I just kept
looking at the front door and the windows. It was
right funny how the lights changed. They broke
out first on the second floor, then they dropped to
the basement, then they climbed to the third story,
down again to the first, but they ended in the attic
windows and they stayed there. Everything else
was as black as the tomb.</p>

<p class='c016'>“The wind hustled about a little, splashes of rain
hurried along with it, and it grew dark in the street.
Once or twice the shades lifted and, Mr. Link”—Jack
was a picture of poignant eagerness—“I saw
the big peach and her man, the two of the Library
steps, just the same as I see you. They’d open the
window too and look out together down into the
street. I knew why, sir. They expected that
limousine—and it came.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The constraint of any position more repressive
than sitting to Jack, now on the edge of his exposure
could not be imagined. He stood up, moved
towards me, the color mounting in his pale cheeks,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>his body bent a little forward, and his eyes lighting
up with an interior brilliancy that suddenly made
me realize Jack might become a good-looking man.</p>

<p class='c016'>“After that they’d go away from the window
farther back; I think they carried a lamp with
them for the light would fade away, or else they
turned the gas off. At eleven o’clock—I could
hear the clock bells from the steeples—the wind
was racing and it began to rain hard. I got some
shelter under the doorway; the light never left the
attic across the street. I felt it all over me, sir, that
IT was coming. I’m not sure, I may have fallen
asleep, but I came to with a bounce. Lightning
was chasing through the sky and the thunder was
booming and—the door of No. — was open; the
light from the hall flickered over the wet sidewalk,
but the shower had passed. The man and the
woman both stood there for an instant, then they
went in and the door shut with a slam. I thought,
sir, I had lost the trail. I never felt worse. I
hated them, Mr. Link. Good reason, too.” His
hands suddenly searched his vest, they were unrewarded;
his face grew blank and he dropped his
hands helplessly, while a piteous look of consternation
and utter despondency shot from his eyes to
mine, by this time fully sympathetic and as lustrous
as his own.</p>

<p class='c016'>His glance fell on his hat that lay at his feet on
the floor, a flood of revived remembrances followed;
he snatched it up, fumbled in its lining and pulled
out a scrap of wrinkled paper. The returning sunshine
of confidence renewed again the handsome
look I had noticed before. He certainly was
working up his effects with a remarkable melodramatic
insight that was captivating.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I ran down the steps into the street, I had
heard a distant croak of an auto-horn, and on top
of it came the toll of one o’clock from a tower. I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>had been asleep over an hour. There was no light
in No. — except upstairs, as before, in the attic.
Then the croak seemed to come from towards the
East River, and I saw two balls of light rushing at
me. IT WAS THE LIMOUSINE. I started
back, and stumbled over a small cobble stone. It
looked like an intervention—a message, Mr.
Link—who knows? I picked it up, and I pulled
out a jack knife I had in my pants. Why? I
didn’t know, but, sir, they both came in handy.</p>

<p class='c016'>“The auto sneaked up quiet enough, wheeled
round facing East River, and crept in a little to one
side of No. —. Mine wasn’t the only pair of eyes
watching for it. It had hardly grazed the curb
when the front door opened and there stood
Mephistopheles, behind the beautiful woman, both
in the half dark. I knew them, alright. The man
came down the steps bareheaded, he carried a short
something in his right hand. The sprinkle started
again, and a smash of thunder roared overhead,
and a clot-like gloom came out of it. Under that
cover I dashed over the street like a hare, and crept
tight up to the back of the car. In it sat Husky—the
peg-top fellow that met ’em in Fifth Avenue—and
another man, smaller, and sort of muffled up.
The chauffeur in front never stirred from first to last.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Meph. opened the door; Husky stepped out; he
shook the little man. I heard him mutter ‘Come
out here. Be fly, but quiet, or by God, I’ll stick
yer through and no compunctions, mind yer.’
The bundle inside stirred; I peeped in from behind,
a little higher; he was in a black bag or something
like it, and as he stooped under the door and
stumbled out, the two caught him, lifted him and
started up the steps, where the woman leaned
forward—it seemed to me she kept clapping her
hands together softly as if she couldn’t hold in for
delight. Then, sir—”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>Jack straightened himself, bent back, relaxed,
pitched forward with one outstretched arm, projected
like a catapult, in front of him, “then, sir,
I let fly—not at them—I didn’t know who I might
hit and anyhow, hit or miss, they’d slipped off
through that door quicker’n snakes. That was no
use. The cobble stone slammed through the glass
side of the limousine, it went through that and split
the window opposite. I haven’t pitched for the
Bogotas for nothing, sir. Before they had time to
think, I jabbed my jack knife through the tire and
off it went like a mortar. Everything was quiet
then up above and the crash and the explosion had
the center of the stage, as you people say. I guess
it made their hearts jump. They looked around,
the woman screamed, and—I screamed—and that
chauffeur didn’t even turn about. For nerve or
sheer fright he had the record. Perhaps at such
times, sir, you can’t distinguish. Eh?</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well, they lost their grip on the bundle, for it
was a pretty uneasy load to carry now; the interruption
perhaps gave the fellow inside some hope.
He rolled down the steps onto the pavement like a
bag of beans, moving slightly like a strangled dog.
I heard Husky’s voice, ‘Inside, inside with him!
Don’t stop, swat him,’ and then the black scoundrel
raised his cudgel and beat the poor creature
insensible. I heard him groan where I stood. I
was crazy with rage; I felt myself suffocating. I
had been shouting, ‘Help! Help!’ but my voice
left me; I discovered that I was very wet, and then
a strange vertigo came over me, a pain crossed
my chest, and a fire seemed to rage in my throat.
I was sick, sir. I am—”</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack tottered. I caught him, poor fellow;
exposure and overstrained emotions had prostrated
him. And he was still damp; perhaps breakfast-less.
I had been thoughtless, but no time was to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>be lost. There was an emergency room in the building,
and there Jack was hurried. Strengthened
with nourishment, and warmed again into animation
with stimulants, revived by sleep—he hardly
stirred for sixteen hours, so deathlike was his
slumber—he just escaped a serious illness. Recuperation
was instantaneous; his own mental
energy worked wonders and when two days later he
returned to the theme of his story hardly a trace of
his weakness was betrayed. He was keen to engage
in the solution of the midnight mystery and he
implored me not to share his discovery with anyone
else except the police to whom indeed I had already
related Jack’s experience. Jack realized that their
co-operation was indispensable. It was then he
showed me the wrinkled scrap of paper which he
had secreted in the lining of his cap, and afterwards
stuck in his trousers’ pocket, and which I had
forgotten.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was printed on it in pencil, “I am a prisoner.
My life is in danger. A. E.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The paper was of the thin and excellent quality
used in engineers’ pocket tables and handbooks.</p>

<p class='c016'>It appeared that Jack upon feeling the sudden
desertion of his strength had stolen again to the doorway
of the empty house opposite No. — and must
have drowsed away there the rest of the night,
urged apparently by his ineradicable hope of further
disclosures. His persistency was rewarded by
finding this puzzling and startling bit of evidence.
He found it, most remarkably, on the floor of the
abandoned limousine.</p>

<p class='c016'>The car had remained undisturbed all night in the
street, and this strange neglect on the part of its
previous users could only be explained by the supposition
that they feared some unpleasant complications,
involving disagreeable explanations with
its actual owners, unless they were the owners of it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>themselves. Jack crawled over to the car in the
earliest hour of the morning before the dawn had
yet grown strong enough to make its outlines
visible, while night practically covered the street.
No. — was dark from basement to attic, not a light
shone in it anywhere. He remembered that very
distinctly.</p>

<p class='c016'>He had had an indefinite premonition or fancy
that something left behind in the car might be
found; clues like that figured in all the romances of
detection. He explored with his hands the corners,
the cushions, and the floor, when, passing his hand
along the edge of the carpet mat covering the floor,
it encountered a bit of paper rolled up into a pellet.
After the discovery of the writing he went to an
owl wagon restaurant, and then hastened to the
newspaper office.</p>

<p class='c016'>But two hours later, when the daylight swept
through the city, he returned to Fifty-eighth Street,
from a restless feeling of suspicion, and agonized too
with the thought of the abused and helpless
prisoner. <i>The auto was gone</i>, and the mysterious
house revealed nothing, with its shades drawn
down and its immobile identity with the other
sandstone fronts hopelessly complete. If murder
dwelt behind its expressionless stories, or some
dastardly drama of persecution, extortion, torture,
effrontery and crime had been enacted there, no
telltale signal betrayed it. And yet to Jack’s inflamed
imagination it confessed its guilt; somehow
to his obsessed eye he saw the meanness of its
degradation, as if it shrank away from its orderly
and decent neighbors; as if indeed its neighbors
frowned upon it. He returned to the office and
told me his story.</p>

<p class='c016'>A newspaper man has the keenest sort of scent
for sensation—especially the <i>yellow</i> newspaper man,
and I fail to recoil from making the confession of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>my personal <i>yellowness</i> in that respect. He is seldom
bewildered by scruples, seldom daunted by
danger; he doesn’t think of them. He starts the
engines of exposure and arrest, and records the
result. Half an hour after Jack’s story was told
Captain B— of the — precinct was closeted
with me, and I repeated Jack’s adventure.</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack’s description of the three principals in this
suspicious criminal alliance was insufficient or
inadequate to enable Captain B. to recognize
them among the notables of both the under and the
upper worlds with whom he was acquainted. I
had not then seen the paper Jack found.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Mr. Link,” Captain B. finally said, after a
short silence following my communication, “you
feel pretty sure of this young fellow, Jack Riddles?
The name suggests an equivocal character.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“I feel a good deal surer of him, perhaps, than I
do of myself—if you can understand.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh I catch that. Well No. — will be watched
night and day for a short time. Your young
friend’s rather violent exploit may have scared its
tenants off. The auto went. Perhaps they went
with it. It won’t do to break in at once. We
must have some evidence of occupation and a line
on the occupants that runs straight with Riddles’
description.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“But that wretched man? Suppose they kill him.
A little less carefulness, Captain, might save him
and, under the circumstances, I don’t think I’d be
squeamish over precedents.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh, that team isn’t ready for murder yet—they’re
not thinking of it. They’ve kidnapped
someone for one reason or another. Bagging him
that way showed they wanted something out of
him. I’ll place them in twelve hours or so, and if
they cover the same size Riddles gave I’ll take the
risk and search the house.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>“Of course you’ll let us in, Captain, on the ground
floor so to speak?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Sure! I’ll tip you on the first peep we hear.
But get that boy on his legs; we’ll need him.”</p>

<p class='c016'>It was just a day and a half later that a policeman
brought me a sealed envelope. Of course I
knew who had sent it. There was no answer the
policeman said, and left. I opened the missive
expectantly. I was not disappointed. Its contents
were more rapturously thrilling to my journalistic
hunger for marvels and mysteries, and those
labyrinthine prodigies of subterranean deviltry that
Cobb, or Ainsworth, or George Sand revelled in,
than any mess of crime I had tumbled on <i>or in</i>, since
Joe Horner, our chief city reporter, went through a
hatchway in the Bronx and dropped into a hogshead
of claret (Zinfandel) with two dead bodies in
it!</p>

<p class='c016'>Captain B.’s note ran: “Riddles corroborated.
They’re there; three of them and a squeegee. Up
to mischief—perhaps forgery—something like it.
Pounce on them tomorrow. We’ve moved like
mice, and the trap has been set quietly. Nothing
more simple. Guess you might like to be in at the
death. Bring Riddles. We break cover at 11 p.m.
Meet at the police station * * *”</p>

<p class='c016'>Riddles was then on the mend, and when I told
him how matters stood, the boy smiled grimly,
caught my hand and exclaimed: “Good medicine
for me, Mr. Link. I feel it to the end of my toes.
That’s the tonic I need. Trust me, I’ll be with
you, strong and hearty.” He was.</p>

<p class='c016'>Captain B. had arranged the affair tactfully. He
had conveyed his suspicions to the householder on
the west side of No. — and had secured his permission
to admit three plain-clothes men through his
backyard to the backyard of No. —; also his own
party of six, with Riddles and myself as press agents,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>onto the roof, whence we expected to effect an
entrance through the roof door or skylight, while a
few men on the street would intercept flight in that
direction. Riddles was radiant; it was a beautiful
tribute to his sagacity; all this had come about
through his quick insight, his instantaneous sense of
obliquity, alias crookedness, when he saw the
quarreling pair on the Public Library steps. As
we cautiously climbed over the low parapet separating
the two roofs, with only the light of the stars to
guide us, not altogether appropriately I recalled
Jonathan Wild’s chase of Thomas Dauell over the
housetops, and also the burglary at Dollis Hill in
Jack Shepard. There were more apposite occurrences
in fiction to compare our maneuvers with,
but I thought of these.</p>

<p class='c016'>I had shown to the Captain the pathetic call for
rescue scrawled on the paper scrap. It was palpably
written by a foreigner, perhaps a German,
certainly someone of Teutonic origin, and the paper
had been torn from a book, some such technical
guide for engineers as I had suggested. It did not
interest Captain B. greatly. He told me, before we
started out, that the “peg-top” man—a Hercules—the
beautiful woman and “Mephistopheles” had all
been seen, and no one else, but that dark ruby glass,
identical he thought with that used by photographers,
had been inserted in the front attic windows,
where he suspected the imprisoned man was
kept at work in some nefarious trade, from which
the trio derived support or profit. As to the
criminal character of “the bunch” he had no
doubts. The two men almost invariably carried
bundles into the house, but none out.</p>

<p class='c016'>We were at the doorway of a little triangular
erection which covered the stairway leading from
the roof to the attic and our approach, in rubbers,
had been almost noiseless. The door was shut, but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>only locked; the precautions against invasion had
been forgotten or overlooked. It was not even
bolted. Evidently the conspirators or counterfeiters,
or whatever they were, apprehended nothing;
we might catch them red handed. A stout
chisel enabled us to force the door inward, and a
dark lantern revealed a dilapidated stairway below,
ending in a kind of storage room, cluttered up with
the refuse of successive occupancies, a dangerously
inflammable chaos of rubbish, in which a feebly
sputtering match could create a conflagration
before it was suspected. It required some discrimination
to cross this <i>debris</i> without starting
some crumbling avalanche of fragments in the
boxes, baby carriages, stoves, chairs, trunks,
picture frames, racks and easels. As it was, with
our best efforts slides occurred, and the mastodon-like
tread of the detectives sank noisily through an
occasional bandbox. We paused anxiously—I did, at
least—at such moments, but the crash, so it sounded
to me, brought no response. I reasoned the house
must be vacant, and that our quarry had escaped.</p>

<p class='c016'>We found that a closed door opened upon a narrow
hallway, and as we softly drew it back loud
voices most unexpectedly became audible, certainly
proceeding from the front rooms of that very floor;
from that front room wherein Jack had noticed the
light, and where the detectives reported the insertion
of the ruby panes. A hoarse dominant swelled
up in the excited conversation. Jack leaned towards
me and whispered “That’s Husky”; Captain
raised a warning finger, and we filed out, one by one,
gingerly tiptoeing toward the room which now
unquestionably contained the objects of our search.
The familiar scare or thrill which submerges all
lesser emotions, as the danger point in an encounter
is approached, decidedly manifested itself somewhere
in my anatomy, or probably all over it.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>Any mental analysis of my feelings was abruptly
halted by the threats or altercation now heard very
clearly in the room before us.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had reached the door, beneath which a
streak of light gave a penumbral illumination to
the end of the little hallway. Below, in the house
itself, absolute silence reigned, and apparently
as complete darkness. Our approach was unnoticed.
The excitement or rage that overpowered
the speaker, breaking out in threats that now
became intelligible and startled us into a fierce impatience
to interfere, had certainly stopped his
ears. The suffocation of anger had made him
deaf.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Damn you—you’ll show us the trick, or else
your starved and scorched body will take the consequences.
We know well enough you can do it.
You’ve led us on with blind promises, but now
we’ve got you where we want you. You can’t get
out of this, remember, until we get what we want.
Can you understand?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“And then you’ll kill, I suppose?” The voice
was strained, thick, foreign in accent, and low.</p>

<p class='c016'>Riddles stretched himself up to my ear again and
whispered “A. E.?” I nodded assent.</p>

<p class='c016'>“No! No! Oh, no; but—you must not stay here.”
The voice was a woman’s. “We’ll take care of you.
Nicely too, Diaz, I guess. We’ll keep you where
you won’t tell tales.” A mean, cynical laugh followed,
a muttered corroboration from a third
person, who had evidently crossed the room. It
was this last voice that continued the harangue of
the prisoner in a smooth, polished, plausible manner
that thinly veiled its heartlessness; its crafty insinuation
betrayed a designing selfishness, but it
seemed welcome after the barking hoarseness and
ferocity of its predecessor, and the cruelty of that
feminine sneer. Its climax came at the close with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>a threat of fiendish wickedness that broke the tension
of our restraint.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Alfred Erickson, perhaps you can understand
your predicament a little better, if you will stop to
think it over. You are a stranger here, and you are
in our power. That, you probably realize pretty
well by this time. There is something else you may
not so clearly comprehend, and that is, we are not
afraid of consequences, because in your case, so far
as we are concerned, there will be no consequences!
You can extricate yourself easily enough if you will
be sensible. Obstinacy has its merits under some
circumstances; your perseverance in your Arctic
experiences was rewarded—and we know exactly
how—but obstinacy is of no avail just now, and no
rescuing party from Norway, or even from the New
York police will save you from, perhaps, an unfortunate
calamity.”</p>

<p class='c016'>This allusion appealed facetiously to the others,
and there arose a musical outburst of laughter from
the lady, with an accompaniment of harsh bass
grunts from the first speaker. The voice continued:</p>

<p class='c016'>“You possess a secret that the whole world has
been hunting for, and we propose that the world will
go on hunting for it before you will ever be
able to tell it. Share with us and, under reservations,
you will be well cared for. Refuse and,
as we have gone so far, we will find—and you
too—the rest of the way very simple. You’re not
at this moment likely to be able to help yourself.
That little incident outside,” Riddles nudged me
again, “meant nothing. You’re as much buried
alive in this attic in the first city of the world, as if
you occupied a tomb of the Pharaohs. We’re not
as self-controlled as you seem to be. We may get
restless. Then, sir”—we heard him step forward;
I imagined him leaning close to his victim, for it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>was evident the man was in some way confined—“then,
sir, up you go—you and your secret—in
smoke.”</p>

<p class='c016'>His smothered rage broke out then, and we heard
him strike the man and curse him. There was the
remonstrance of a cry—that was all. The next
instant we would have forced our way through a
stone wall had we been against it, but Captain B.
raised his hand. His trained endurance amazed
me. The voice resumed:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Now what do you propose to do?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes, what?” from the first ruffian.</p>

<p class='c016'>We held our breaths and listened with all our
ears.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Let me get up. Let me talk this over with you.
You are driving me crazy! I can’t think. I will
forget what you say I know. You—”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Hell with your parleying. I’ll untie your tongue.
I guess your memory will work quick enough
after this”; it was Husky threatening.</p>

<p class='c016'>Then succeeded the jeering encouragement of the
woman and, strange paradox, the voice was rich,
enticing, but mocking.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh, yes; just a little stimulation will hurry up
matters. Diaz we can’t wait much longer and,”
the menad fury broke loose, “if this miserable
creature holds out much longer we shall be ruined.
Burn him—burn him—scald it out of him, Huerta;
the dolt, simpleton, idiot—”</p>

<p class='c016'>There was a shuffling movement inside, the sudden
bristling, rushing sound of an airblast (Could
it be a naphtha lamp?) and then a raving, rending,
terrifying cry, something that meant fear and rage
and madness, the awful, marrow-chilling shriek of
insanity.</p>

<p class='c016'>Quicker than thought a man behind me shoved
us aside. He raised an iron mallet; it struck the
door with a splintering crash—another and another—the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>door burst inwards, torn from its lock, torn
from its hinges, and we all rushed forward. I heard
a shot, then another; the group in front of me
parted and an extraordinary scene was revealed,
one I can never forget. A huge broad-shouldered
man was crumpled upon the floor. There had
fallen from his hand a thick, long soldering iron;
it had been red or white hot; fallen on the floor it
was burning into the boards, and little swinging
flames encircled it. Near at hand was the large
form of a plumber’s furnace with the blue whistling
flame still shooting from it. Huddled in a corner,
cowering behind a menacing man—quickly subdued,
however, by a pointed revolver—was the
beautiful woman, a half dishevelled creature in a
deep yellow wrap, fastened a little distance below
her peerless throat by a big turquoise brooch. Her
abundant hair had become loosened, and it poured
over her shoulders in a raven tide.</p>

<p class='c016'>The man in front of her was Riddles’ Mephistopheles.
He was pale, and the pallor hardly became
him. Although strikingly handsome it gave
a peculiar expression to his face, of craven hate and
sinister fear, if that can be understood. In both
his and the woman’s eyes shone a horrible surprise.
But the overpowering object in the room was the
half-naked figure of a man with extended arms and
divergent legs, strapped to a narrow table by iron
bands. These latter passed over his wrists and
ankles, and were actually screwed to the table.
His face was not readily deciphered; whiskers
covered his chin, a high forehead beneath overhanging
light hair and a large mouth formed together
the suggestion of a very dignified and intelligent
face. His condition was heart-rending;
bruises covered his body, one eye seemed swollen
and shut, and scars—I shuddered at the thought of
their having been caused by the iron in the hands of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>the prostrate fiend—marked the white but
defaced skin of his shoulders and arms.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was little furniture in the room—the tortured
man had probably been kept on the table at
night—a few chairs, a second table, and towards the
front of the room a long table covered with a confusion
of physical apparatus. It was the work of a
minute to search the criminals, and to handcuff
them; though the woman cried bitterly at the
degradation Captain B. was taking no chances, and
then the liberation of the pitiable victim of these
inhuman miscreants was effected. The stiffness of
his limbs almost forbade movement, and he cried
with pain—and for that matter I am sure with joy
too—as we tenderly raised him, lifted him into a
chair, and tried to relax the rigid muscles. His
agony, crucified so on his back, must have been
incalculable; evidently his resolute refusal had
driven his tormentors furious, and made them
incarnate demons. But what was it—the
SECRET? Reader, you are not to know, except
as you find it out yourself, by reading this almost
incredible story.</p>

<p class='c016'>With our prisoners—the Hercules was carried
out; his femur had been split by the Captain’s
bullet and he was in desperate pain—we made our
way down through the house. There seemed to be
only two rooms showing any signs of habitation,
two rooms on the second floor used as bedrooms,
and their furnishment was a droll mixture of bareness
and luxury. Shreddy and hanging wallpaper,
a superb rug or so, a sumptuous easy chair, and then
wooden kitchen chairs, plain bedsteads, but a
bureau or toilet table covered with jewel boxes, and
in a corner odds and ends of silver utensils, heaped
up into quite a noticeable hillock. Was it these
that the men had been seen carrying so constantly
into the house? Our prying about uncovered some
<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>decanters of wine incongruously stowed away in a
pantry below a washbasin. Their contents helped
Erickson, and some of the rest helped themselves.</p>

<p class='c016'>Riddles had been gloating over the capture of his
game; his eyes never left the sullen, downcast face
of Mephistopheles, distorted too at moments with
angry scowls, nor the disturbed shadowed splendor
of the woman’s countenance. At an unguarded
instant Mephistopheles sprang out of the hold of his
captors, and brought his clenched, handcuffed
wrists down on the head of Jack, who promptly
dropped.</p>

<p class='c016'>“You dirty little fox, you did this. I know now.
I’ve seen you hanging about here. I’ll mark you!
I’ll mark you! I’ll tear your liver and heart out yet.
Oh, I don’t forget. Diaz never forgets.”</p>

<p class='c016'>He was jerked back into decorum and silence, and
somewhat injuriously rebuked as well, but a little
scar, bare of hair, was to remain as a memento of his
regard for Jack Riddles for many a long year afterwards.</p>

<p class='c016'>I bargained successfully with Captain B. for the
possession of Erickson, and I took him home in a
taxi, greatly to my journalistic bliss. He was
pretty dangerously ill for days; the nervous breakdown
was dreadful. He raved and shouted and
was almost maniacal in his outbreaks. It was the
natural reaction of a powerful mind and nature
against the circumstances of his degradation and
insult. But he finally came round all right, the
glow of health covered his cheeks, and his earnest
eyes welcomed me with sanity and gratitude.
Then he told me his story, in two parts. The first
part explained the predicament in which we found
him here in New York, the second— Well, the
reader has it before him in this volume, exactly as
it appeared in the daily issue of the <i>New York
Truth Getter</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>A few words more to explain Mr. Erickson’s
equivocal, abject position in New York, as we found
him, and this Editorial Note will no longer restrain
the puzzled and vexed subscriber. These words
will be very few indeed, and may indeed prove very
unsatisfactory. Yet they will conveniently make
a skeleton framework or outline for deductions,
with which the reader may fill its expressionless
and yawning blanks, after the gift of his imagination
or the bias of his temperament, upon reading
the ensuing narrative.</p>

<p class='c016'>Alfred Erickson reached San Francisco from the
Arctic Exploration, herein circumstantially described.
In San Francisco he formed, rather
rapidly, the acquaintance of Angelica Sigurda
Tabasco, and Diaz Ilario Aguadiente. There were
mutual prepossessions. Mr. Erickson also fascinated
his new friends by certain wonderful claims,
which were however partially supported by ocular
demonstration. They all came to New York. In
New York Mr. Erickson came to grief. He had
come too far from the base of his operations, and he
suffered from a complicated treatment. We rescued
him from its worst effects. I think that is all.
I will not trust myself to say more for fear of my
own remorse over misleading statements. Angelica
and Diaz were never prosecuted. Erickson was
afraid to tell his story before he wrote his book (this
book), and we all agreed he acted wisely from a
commercial standpoint, and the police so impressed
Angelica and Diaz with their—the police’s—contiguity
under any and all circumstances, in this
country anywhere, anyhow, that they left it. And
Jack’s “Husky” turned out to be a hardened
photographed and historic criminal, who had
played the heavy villain in the little mystery under
the same impelling motive that animated the minds
and tongues of Angelica and Diaz. He had also
<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>captivated this captivating pair by blandishments
less peculiar than beauty, and he had wound up
Alfred Erickson into the tightest kind of a knot of
physical embarrassments, from whose Gordian
embrace Erickson had been delivered through the
intervention of the very humble instrument of
Fate, Jack Riddles.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Husky’s” name eluded determination for a
while, but was revived through his own inadvertence
in talking in his sleep, wherein the confession
transpired of his having “done up” Blue Brigsy at
a time when he himself carried the soubriquet of
“Monitor Dick.” The clue was slight; it proved
sufficient, and landed him in Sing Sing for a quarter
of a century.</p>

<p class='c016'>Jack Riddles was “lifted.” He was taken out of
the proletariat, the pages, office boys and messengers,
and placed among the police reporters, where
he was duly taken in hand under instruction to
acquire the current cursorial gait and speed of the
slam-bang reportorial style. He will get it. This
relieves the situation created by Riddles’ opportune
circumspection from the top of the Fifth Avenue
’bus.</p>

<p class='c016'>The reader, albeit he may demur at the jejune
skipping around the explanation of the mystery at
No. — east Fifty-eighth Street, has hereby had the
situation sufficiently cleared to feel himself ready to
enjoy Erickson’s story, and I assure him, he may
look forward with expectancy to find the residue, or
the heart, of that mystery resolved at, let me say,
page 400 or thereabouts, assuming that by that
time he cares any more about it. So that, pleasantly
impelled by the spur of curiosity, as regards a
secret yet undivulged, let him accept our editorial
invitation— Does he not see our obeisance, and the
sweep of our hand pointing to a door opening upon
unimaginable wonders?—to peruse the history of a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>voyage more marvelous than that of Marco Polo,
of Father Huc, of Mandeville, of Munchausen, of
Sinbad, the Aethiopics of Heliodorus, of Ariosto, of
Gulliver, of Ulysses, of Peter Wilkins, of Camoens,
of Pomponius Mela.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><i>Sive per Syrtes iter aestuosas,</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>Sive facturus per inhospitalem</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>Caucasum, vel quae loca fabulosa</i></div>
      <div class='line in2'><i>Lambit Hydaspes</i></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>His unappeased wonder over a bit of unraveled
criminality will vanish in the excitement of discovery,
of adventure, of revelation, but at the other
end, as the book drops from his hand, finished and
admired, he will approve our reticence at this end,
for then he will know HOW Erickson got into his
difficulty, and WHY.</p>

<p class='c016'>Erickson’s story was published in the <i>New York
Truth Getter</i>—of course the reader never saw it
there—prepared from his verbal narrative, his
notes, and memoranda, and so expressed in English
as to retain the glow, enthusiasm, amazement,
and graphic delineation of the original. It
was told to me in my library overlooking the sunlit
tides around Throg’s Neck; in the short winter
afternoons at times, at times through the long winter
evenings, with Erickson hanging over the hearth
where, as Max Beerbohm puts it, “gradually the
red-gold caverns are revealed, gorgeous, mysterious,
with inmost recesses of white heat.” Past all
dreams of wizardry, more remote from thought
than any visions of magic, stranger than the hallucinations
of invention, was this picture of the
unreal and terraced world descending in titanic
steps to the heated regions of the earth’s mass,
peopled with an impossible people, alive with
animal abundance and clothed in the vestal glory
of innumerable plants. In it were enacted those
<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>transmutations which Science predicts as the last
triumph of human knowledge, and in it a wealth
transcending the maddest hopes of Avarice had
accumulated in an Acropolis of SOLID GOLD!</p>

<p class='c016'>There in the frozen north, walled in by ice,
hidden in fogs, almost impenetrably concealed or
protected by storm, lay this incredible continent
of wonders, unsuspected by the world of one thousand
million people around it, the goal of whose
ambition it had already reached, the course of
whose evolution it illustrates, and who had, in these
latest years, begun to grope blindly for its guessed at
shores.</p>

<div class='c019'><span class='sc'>Azaziel Link.</span></div>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div id='p0382'  class='figcenter id001'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>
<img src='images/p0382.jpg' alt='men, sitting on a veranda, watch a boat sailing on a fjord' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE FIORD</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER I<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Fiord</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>How well I remember it! The solemn, beautiful
fiord, framed within the pine tressed walls, flecked
with patches of sunlight, where its waters glistened
with beryl hues. Shaded in the recesses of the
cliffs where the lustreless flood softly murmured
with the faintest rhythmic cadence against the
rocky rims, immobile and caressed as they had been
for hundreds of thousands of years, and in a few
places yielding slowly to decay in shingled beaches.
And the music of nature united with the appeal to
the eyes of color and form, to entrance the visitor.</p>

<p class='c016'>A rushing brook singing like a girl hurrying to
some holiday joy, broke from the highlands, a silvery
thread, then a braid of pearls, then a sloping
cataract of splintered and rainbowed waves, then
in silence for a while, catching its breath, as the girl
might catch it, for a new descent, and then the
renewed song, through a tiny gorge, its jubilation
softened to a murmur, and then the flash and
chorus of its outspread ripples as it leaped into the
fiord. And that was the light soprano of the music
around us, and under it rolled the bass notes, muted
and <i>sfuggendo</i>, of the distant waterfall—<i>foss</i>—at
the inland head of the fiord, and towards which
were even then starting the pleasure boats, launches
and steam yachts of the tourists.</p>

<p class='c016'>The sense of smell contributed its intoxication to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>the charmed surrender of eye and ear, for there was
flung down from the tree-crowned cliffs the scent of
wild flowers and the clean, resinous odors of the
spruce. The wind singing, too, like a chord accompaniment
to the cheerful ballad of the brook, and
the heavy recitative of the waterfall, brought this
fragrance to us, even as it swept in capricious rushes
outward over the fiord to its gateway, through
which the distant sea lay motionless like a blazoned
shield, beyond the <i>Skargaard</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>A shelf of land, dropping off in a slope to the
waters of the fiord and pierced by a roadway whose
climbing curves led at last to the summit of the
cliffs, and which ended on the shore in a dock, then
gay with the summer glories of young girls and men,
held the picturesque red houses of a few farmers,
and the wandering walls of the comfortable hotel.
The brilliant green of the cut lawn, like an enameled
sheath, covered the little tableland, and venturesome
tongues and ribbons ran flame-wise up
crannies, ledges and narrow glades, to be lost in the
shadows of the firs and the sprayed and silken
birches high above.</p>

<p class='c016'>Round a table on the broad piazza of the hotel, in
an angle where we looked straight through the eyelet
of the rocks to the sleeping ocean, a gold-backed
monster like a leviathan covering the earth, slumberously
heaving in the sun, I was sitting with three
companions.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was my best friend, Antoine Goritz, a man
thickly bearded, with a broad, unwrinkled brow
sparingly topped by light wisps of straggling hair,
with a straight Teutonic nose, deep-set blue eyes
under carven ivory lids, beneath eyebrows deeper
tinted than his hair, and with a physical frame,
strong, massive, large, effective, perhaps a trifle
overdrawn in its suggestion of muscular power.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a titan mould, but the face above it was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>humorously still and observant. I often compared
him to Sverdrup, Nansen’s captain, but he was a
bigger man. Like him he possessed the docility of
a child, the energy of a giant. Slow of speech
ordinarily, as he was slow of movement, but in stress
and excitement convulsed with his rapid, headlong
utterance, and rising to a momentum of action that
was irresistible and swift. He sat upright in a thick
brown plaid with a blue sailor’s scarf around his
broad neck and a straw hat like a coracle on his head.</p>

<p class='c016'>Next to him sat Professor Hlmath Bjornsen, a
very tidy man of ordinary build and stature, but
oddly distinguishable by his abundant red hair, the
crab-like protuberance of his eyes (he wore no
glasses), his indented lips, which looked as if
stitched up in sections, also undisguised by any
covering of hair, his patulous, projecting ears. His
homeliness was saved by the merit of cheerfulness
at least, by a pug nose, a rosy complexion and a
demure, winning sort of smile that was generally <i>a
propos</i> of nothing, but was retained habitually as
nature’s protective grace against the premature
prejudices of first acquaintances. Professor Bjornsen
was a man learned in rocks, minerals, mines,
geology, the hard and motionless properties of the
earth. He was scrupulously neat, and his frequent
inspection of himself, especially his hands, was
equally disconcerting and amusing.</p>

<p class='c016'>Spruce Hopkins was the next man, alongside of
myself, and probably he would have been the first
man whom an approaching stranger would have
looked at the longest, and concerned himself with
knowing the most. He was a Yankee, an American
of Americans, but of that Grecian phase which
rejects <i>toto-coelo</i>, the newspaper type, the Brother
Jonathan caricature, the cheap idiosyncracies of the
paragraph writer, unassimilable even with the
more credible picture,</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'><span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>of one who wisely schemed</div>
      <div class='line'>And hostage from the future took,</div>
      <div class='line'>In trained thought and lore of book.</div>
      <div class='line'>Large-brained, clear-eyed—of such as he</div>
      <div class='line'>Shall Freedom’s young apostles be.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>Spruce Hopkins boasted no particular thrills.
His thoughts followed really a rather narrow gauge,
and he could weigh with premature or precocious
carefulness the two sides of a practical question
when his decision would have halted perhaps at
alternatives involving the emotions.</p>

<p class='c016'>He had a superb figure, graceful, plastic, and
eloquent of strength. His face leaned, so to speak,
a little to the Brahmin type, but any introspection
it might have accompanied or suggested was lost in
the radiance of the eyes, the tempting sweetness of
his smile, the full-blown glory of his infectious
laughter, the spiced offerings of his genial tongue,
the crisp charm of his wavy, glossy, chestnut-tinted
hair, and that slight but irreducible <i>soupcon</i> of
swagger which gave him distinction.</p>

<p class='c016'>And then there was myself; you see me, a hardy
man (a blush rose to Erickson’s cheeks; he could
not overcome some apprehension of my recalling his
recent humiliation), a sailor man with a little land
schooling, loving yarns, telling yarns, and—believing
’em.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Why, yes, Erickson,” I interrupted, “I suppose
you have been quite willing to believe some gilded
tales that those friends, your late companions here
in New York, told you, but even a captivating
gullibility hardly explains how a young giant like
you were found on your back, strapped to a table,
and about to be skewered like a spitted pig.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Ah, sir, patience. You shall know all, but—at
the end, at the end; even if I could resist a plausible
story, I could not always resist what goes with a
good story.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>“SCHNAPPS?” I interjected.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Please, sir, patience. It is worth while. I have
seen what no living man— Perhaps I shall never see
again my fellow travelers, the three who sat with
me on the hotel porch three years ago.” He bent
his head, his bruised, rough hand was passed over
his face, and I thought a flare of flame, shot from a
cleaving coal, showed on it the glistening trail of
moisture. “—what no living man has ever seen, a
country more wonderful than dreams or legends or
fairy stories have described or painted. Oh, sir, in
that new world in the north, something of the
imagery of the mythology of my forefathers seems
repeated; very vaguely indeed. There I have seen
Nilfheim, I have seen Hwergelmer and Muspelheim,
the world of fire and light, but different, yes
very different, and perhaps— Well, no, not Valhalla,
but something like Yggdrasill, and if it was
not Gladsheim, what was it?”</p>

<p class='c016'>He resumed.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was Professor Bjornsen speaking, with his big
hands clutching his head on either side, buried
indeed in the luxuriant wealth of his ruddy hair,
with his staring eyes fixed on the table as if he saw
through it, looking at the land of his prophecies,
while we all listened, with our eyes measuring the
cliffs up to the green fringes that ran, a dark zone
against the sky, on their sun-blazed peaks.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Signs, signals, came to the explorers of Europe
long before Columbus set his face westward; long
before, standing at the peak of his little caravel, he
dared the perils and the powers of the bewitched
western ocean, the woods and weeds of Cipango
floated to the shores of Europe. There are signs
and signals now, gentlemen”; the Professor
brought his long fingers down with a smart, startling
slap on the table that brought our own hands
nervously to the sides of the unsupported glasses,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>lest they capsize in his assault of enthusiasm, while
his disordered hair flamed aureole-like over his
bulging forehead, beneath which smiled exultantly
his piercing green eyes.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Signs that an untouched continent is hidden in
the uncharted wastes of the western Arctic Sea.
A vast area of waters, a blank space on the map
lies there, but that is simply the refuge, for
cartographic lucidity, of our ignorance. What
really lies there is reciprocal on the west of Greenland
on the east, of the Franz Josef Archipelago and
Spitzbergen north of us. There is there another
large fragment of that original circumpolar continent
that Science, in a moment of intuitional certainty,
points to as the source of the world’s animal
and vegetable life. And the signs? You ask me,
your faces do, what they are. They are negative
indeed but they are convincing. Payer reached
82°5´ North Latitude, on an island, Crown Prince
Rudolf’s Land, and still further north he thought he
could see an extensive tract of land in 83°. He
called it Petermann’s Land. Driftwood on the east
of Greenland comes from Siberia, circuitously
perhaps around the pole, not across it, since the
‘Fram’ drifted from the north of Cape Chelyuskin
in 1893 to north of Spitzbergen in 1896. The wood
is Siberian larch and alder and poplar. Articles
from the American ship ‘Jeannette,’ which foundered
near Bennett Island, had taken the same
course, being picked up on the east coast of Greenland.
Professor Mohr held that they drifted over
the pole. Why did not the ‘Fram’ drift over the
pole? The set of the waters that way is obstructed,
and that obstruction is a continental mass. Nothing
surer.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Dr. Rink has reported a throwing stick, used by
the Eskimos in hurling their bird darts, not like
those used by the Eskimos of Greenland, and attributed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>by him to the natives of Alaska. The path
traversed by this erratic could not have been
directly eastward from Alaska, threading an impenetrable
and devious outlet in the Canadian
archipelago, neither was it over the pole, as any
pathway there would, constructively, have reached
northern and not eastern Greenland. Again that
invisible obstruction, as patent, as real, as the
influence of the undiscovered Neptune in the perturbations
of Uranus, which led Leverrier and
Adams to make their prophetic directions for its
detection.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Sir Allen Young, appreciating the nucleal density
of the land towards the pole, and speaking of
Nansen’s promised attempt to drift over it, said,
‘I think the great danger to contend with will be the
land in nearly every direction near the pole. Most
previous navigators seem to have continued to see
land, again and again farther and farther north.’</p>

<p class='c016'>“Peary has seen Krocker Land. Over the western
verge of the horizon its peaks rose temptingly
to invite him to new conquests. That was a segment,
a tiny fraction, a mere hint of the unknown
vastnesses beyond. But the most convincing
symptoms—Ah, a feeble word to designate a fact—of
this continent are the observations of the United
States’ meteorologists. Dr. R. A. Harris, a competent
authority, has shown that the tides, mute
but eloquent witnesses, testify to its existence.
The diurnal tides along the Asiatic and North
American coasts are not what they would be if an
uninterrupted sweep over the Arctic Sea prevailed.
Their progress is delayed and along narrow channels
is accelerated or heightened, as past the shores of
Grant Land. Why? Again that undiscovered
country.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Harris, a clever fellow. Met him in Washington
just two years ago this autumn—a crackerjack
<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>at mathematical guessing. The way he can figure
and run off a reel of equations on anything from the
rate sawdust makes in a wood mill to a mensuration
of the average dimensions of turnips is surprising.
If he says Krocker Land is there—why, then I guess
IT IS,” was Spruce Hopkins’ comment, while
we all turned our eyes from the cliffs to catch
the Professor’s rejoinder, and Goritz leaned towards
him, fixing him with those luminous orbs
of his that betrayed his suppressed excitement.</p>

<p class='c016'>“What does this man Harris say?” asked Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>“He says,” answered Bjornsen, thrusting his
hands in his pockets after he had looked them over
in his habitual manner of inspection, “he says this.
The diurnal tide occurs earlier at Point Barrow than
at Flaxman Island; the diurnal tide or wave does
not have approximately its theoretical value; at
Bennett Island, north of Siberia, and at Teplitz
Bay, Franz Josef Land, the range of the diurnal
wave has about one-half of the magnitude which the
tidal forces acting over an uninterrupted Arctic
basin would produce; the average rise and fall at
Bennett Island is 2.5 feet, but the rise and fall of
the semi-daily tide is 0.4 at Point Barrow, and 0.5
feet at Flaxman Island. And he makes this point.”
The Professor drew a red chalk from his vest pocket,
stood up, and pushing our glasses aside, drew a
squarish outline, broader on one side, with a tail
standing out at its lower right-hand corner. He
drew a circle a little above its long side, and
scribbled Pole within it, then a jagged scrawl to
either side, representing the coasts of Asia and
America, with an indentation like a funnel for
Behring Straits.</p>

<p class='c016'>“He points out that the ‘Jeannette’, an American
ship sent out by the proprietors of the <i>New
York Herald</i>, stuck in the ice here”, he jabbed his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>crayon, which crumbled into grains under his pressure,
to one side of a projecting point of the outline,
“and that the ice drift carried her eastward”;
he made a flourish under the fascinating trapezoid
that we now understood embodied the suggested
continent; “while the ‘Fram’ stuck here,” again a
red splotch above the diagram, “and was carried
westward toward Greenland. Again why? Because
at a critical point between their two positions
the ice current is divided by the influence of a
terminal promontory of Krocker Land. It splits,
so to speak, the trend over the pole of the ice drift,
turning one arm of it eastward, the other westward.
His creative vision goes farther. A point of this
new land lies just north of Point Barrow in Alaska,
that causes the westward tide at the point; and he
thinks it is distant from Point Barrow five or six
degrees of latitude, 350 to 420 miles. Harris
claims the ice in Beaufort Sea, north of Canada,
here—” Another flaming signal was scrawled on the
white tablecloth below the right-hand corner of the
fascinating outline that now, assuming a magical
premonition of some great geographical reality,
kept our eyes fastened on it almost as if it might
sprout before us with mimic mountains and ice
fields.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Harris says that the ice in Beaufort Sea does not
drift freely northward, and is remarkable for its
thickness and its age. He says the ice does not
move eastward, for you see,” the Professor flung his
hands over the cryptogram on the tablecloth like an
exorcising magician, “you see Beaufort Sea is a sea,
land-locked by Krocker Land, that here approaches
Banks Island. Are you convinced?”</p>

<p class='c016'>We looked at each other a trifle slyly and disconcertedly,
and Goritz laughed, but it was Spruce
Hopkins who suddenly turned to the Professor,
caught his arm and held him for a moment without
<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>speaking but with his face yielding slowly to some
growing impression of wonder within him until he
became quite grave.</p>

<p class='c016'>“You see, Professor, I feel about this thing this
way. I guess you’re not far wrong about this new
land; it’s exciting enough to think of it. I calculated
there was room up there for a little more
glory after I heard your lecture before the Philosophical
Society at Christiania last November;
glory for some of us, such as Peary and Amundsen,
Scott, Shackleton, Nansen, Stefansson, have won,
and I thought it over. I fell in with Erickson and
Goritz at Stockholm and we canvassed the matter,
sort o’ stuck our heads together and thought it out;
then we sent for you, and the demonstration seems
straight enough. Some rigmarole! Don’t get
angry Professor, that’s my way and, anyhow, I’m
not going back on you, not so much as the thickness
of a flea’s ear, and I think you’ll allow that can’t
count; but the more I looked at the matter the
more I wondered if there was anything about it the
least bit more substantial than glory.</p>

<p class='c016'>“And that wasn’t all, either. I think I’d like to
get back again.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes, Professor,” it was Goritz speaking, with
his head tilted back, as he followed the scurrying
flight of sparrows amid the tasseled larches of the
opposite <i>gaard</i>, “dead bodies are rather indifferent
to glory. If we are great enough to get there, we
must be great enough to get back. It would be
no consolation for us to have our relatives and
friends sing;</p>

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      <div class='line'>‘<i>Sa vandra vara stora man</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>Fran ljuset ned til skuggan.</i>’”<a id='r1' /><a href='#f1' class='c020'><sup>[1]</sup></a></div>
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<div class='fn'>

<div class='footnote c000' id='f1'>
<p class='c021'><span class='label'><a href='#r1'>1</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>Thus our great men wander from the light down into the shades.</p>
</div>

</div>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins smiled; he was neither hurt nor confused.
He shook his head assentingly, and his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>faint drawl prolonged itself somewhat in his mocking
rejoinder:</p>

<p class='c016'>“That’s all right, Goritz. As a corpse you probably
would attract a little more notice than either
Erickson or myself, but buried fathoms deep in an
Arctic sea, or just rolled over by a nameless glacier
in this nameless land, your own chances for a newspaper
obituary might shrink to very small proportions.
You might not even have your dimensions
mentioned.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz looked approvingly at the American, and
benignantly raised his hat and bowed.</p>

<p class='c016'>But the impatient Professor was in his chair, his
hands spread out before him; his smile had
vanished, his encroaching eyes had retreated, his
serrated lips were puckered, his eyebrows frowned,
and altogether he assumed such a sudden portentousness
of suppressed eagerness and concealed
thought that we rocked with delight and the
momentary restraint was forgotten. And with our
laughter there stole back into the Professor’s face
its usual smile, but it had enigmatically deepened
into a sort of mute expostulation.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Listen,” he said, and he waved his hands, inviting
us to a closer attention; his voice fell; I
thought his peering eyes glanced to either side to
avert the proximity of eavesdroppers. “There is
good reason to believe that this new world of the
north is neither inclement nor barren. I believe it
is a place of wonders; in it rest secrets, REVELATIONS.”
There was now a sorcery in the Professor’s
voice that made us lean toward him, drawing
the circle a little closer, like conspirators over
an incantation. “What they are no once can tell.
You ask, Why? I believe this. I can hardly
explain; my faith in this is a growth, a coalescence
of many strands of feeling and many lines of study.
My conviction is complete. I admit that extrinsically,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>as I may say, it is unreasonable; intrinsically
it is now as inexpugnable as a theorem from Euclid,
or the evidence of my own senses.</p>

<p class='c016'>“That there is a new world south of the pole is
maintained by Science; it is the unalterable belief
of the explorers, the hydrographers, the geographers.
But what may that world be like?
What was it like? Long millions and millions of
years before our time the Arctic north was the
procreant cradle of ALL LIFE! From it streamed
the currents of animal and vegetable creation; it
was warm; forests of palms flourished along river
and lake-side, and within them roamed the creatures
of tropical or semi-tropical climates. Paleontologists
from Saporta to Wieland, from Keerl to
Heer have pointed this out, with an emphasis that
has varied with temperament or knowledge, from
conviction to surmise. G. Hilton Scribner, a clever
American <i>litterateur</i> says”—the Professor ludicrously
grasped for something in an inner coat
pocket and revealed a little book, exquisitely
bound, of scraps and extracts, and read from a
page whose smoothness he had marred by folding
a leaf—“he says, ‘thus the Arctic zone, which
was earliest in cooling down to the first and
highest heat degree in the great life-gamut was
also the first to become fertile, first to bear life,
and first to send forth her progeny over the
earth.’</p>

<p class='c016'>“And Wieland, a remarkable Yale scholar, an
authority on fossil cycads and Chelonia, the latest
to speculate authoritatively along this line, writes”—another
creased page was turned to—“‘in a word,
that the great evolutionary <i>Schauplatz</i> was boreal
is possible from the astronomical relations, probable
from physical facts, and rendered an established
certainty by the unheralded synchronous appearance
of the main groups of animals and plants on
<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>both sides of the great oceans throughout post-Paleozoic
time.’”</p>

<p class='c016'>“But Professor,” it was my remonstrance that
now interrupted him, “that was millions of years
ago. It’s a dead world up there. Surely you don’t
think—”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor broke in with a deprecatory
gesture of regret at his own impatience. “I know.
True, true, for the most part, but perhaps not for
all—not for all. It’s a deep matter.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Professor Bjornsen’s eyes were glistening with
enthusiasm; his manner became extravagantly
mysterious, and his words boiled out feverishly
from his scarred lips. “The north, to whose
enchantment the whole world bows; a strange,
magical region, lit by the supernal splendors of
heavenly lights, and wrapped in eternal snows, was
the Eden of our race. It was that <i>navel</i> of the
world related in all mythologies from India to
Greece, from Japan to Scandinavia; it was the
Paradisaic earth center, the fecund source of every
manner of life, endowed by the Creator with
original unrestrained powers of exuberance. Here
man originated; here was his primal home, here
his first estate, dressed as he was in every faculty
of mind, and enriched by all the gifts of nature.
As President Warren, another American, eloquently
wrote twenty-six years ago—”</p>

<p class='c016'>Again the Professor dove into his pocket, produced
his amazing little scrapbook, while we all
gazed at the excited gentleman with a new fascination
and astonishment. Here was the man of
crystals and mensuration, of ores, adits, drifts and
strata, riding the high horse of mystical and religious
analogy, and somehow we felt ourselves drawn
into the vortex of his cerebral excitement! We
were quite dazed in a way, and yet felt an elation
that kept us spellbound.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>“Ah, here it is. He wrote, President Warren,
‘the pole symbolizes Cardo, Atlas, Meru, Hara-berezaiti,
Kharsak-Kurra, every fabulous mountain
on whose top the sky pivots itself, and around
which all the heavenly bodies ceaselessly revolve.’</p>

<p class='c016'>“Assume this; assume that here the finger of
God first impressed this insensate whirling globe of
unconscious matter with the touch and promise of
life and Mind. Is it likely that all vestiges, all
signs, all remainders of that consecrated first endowment
should have quite disappeared, succumbed
ingloriously to the stiffening embrace of
cold, congealed in an eternal sleep beneath the
glaciers and the snows? I think not, my friends,
<i>I think not</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“But,” it was the protesting voice of Goritz who
now voiced our incredulity, “haven’t the expeditionists,
the geographers, the explorers—hasn’t
everything we have been told, everything we have
read, all we know about it, and that’s a good deal,
from Franklin to Peary made it clear that at the
pole there is nothing but death, desolation, and
ice?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Antoine!” Here the Professor turned abruptly
to the big Dane, thrusting his umbrageous
crown of red hair almost into the thin locks of his
friend, and whispered hoarsely, “Ah! Antoine, the
secrets are hidden in that uncharted land beyond
the ice packs north of Point Barrow. The reservations
of life are there. You have all heard,” the
rufous glory now moved towards Hopkins and myself,
“of Symmes Hole? Of course you shrug your
shoulders; it was preternatural simplicity you say,
the mad dream of a fool, uproariously derided.
Yes! Symmes was not a fool; he was a brave man, a
soldier, chasing a reality through the distortions of
an hallucination. There is <i>no</i> hole; the earth is
not hollow, but—there is a depression; there must
<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>be. The depression is at the North Pole somewhere.
It has not been found, and the Arctic seas
have been <i>parcourired</i> by explorers, as you notice,
Goritz. The depression is Krocker Land. If profound
its climate is temperate. Life, the remnants
of its first evolutionary phases, may be there—but
mark me!” The Professor positively dilated,
everything in him enlarged as if his bounding heart
sent fuller currents of blood to all its outposts; his
eyes were refulgent; I thought they were an
emerald green; his hair rose in the thrill of his
vaticination and his mouth opened into a vast
exclamatory <i>rictus</i>, in which flashed his big white
incisors like diminutive tusks. “Mark me, there
too will be found the last evolutionary phases of
the human race!”</p>

<p class='c016'>Here was a climax, and the mental stupefaction
of the Professor’s audience was exactly reflected in
the prolonged silence that ensued. It was entertaining,
however, to watch Spruce Hopkins’ fixed,
expressionless perusal of the Professor’s face, and
the immobile glory in the Professor’s answering
stare. Hopkins spoke first:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well! I like your certainty about that depression,
Prof. Can’t see it noway. You’re making
things interesting enough, but surely that depression
isn’t the gospel truth. Is it?”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor relaxed; he laughed, and his
laugh was the most curious blend of a chuckle and
a whistle, utterly impossible to describe except by
reproduction. It always affected Hopkins hilariously;
he said the two elements in the Professor’s
laugh were satisfaction and astonishment; the
chuckle meant the first, the whistle the second, and
the state of the Professor’s mind could be well
gauged from the predominance of one or the
other. Just then the chuckle had the best of it.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Mr. Hopkins,” he said, “you are a very intelligent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>man. Don’t you see that a rotating and
solidifying viscosity cannot become solid without
forming a pitted polar extremity?”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins withstood this assault with admirable
stolidity; he even looked injured.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My dear Professor; really your statement is
too simply put to appeal to the complicated convolutions
of my gray matter. Your manner is
juvenile. Such a subject should be treated in a
becoming obscurity of terms.”</p>

<p class='c016'>After our amusement had subsided, Bjornsen
explained his view. It was easily understood.
The earth had cooled down from some initial
gaseous or lava-like stage, and, if the congelation
had not progressed far or fast enough at the poles,
centrifugal force at the equator would have withdrawn
enough matter to effect a depletion at one
pole or the other, with the consequent result (I recall
how particular the Professor was over this
point) of forming a graduated, evenly rounded and
smoothish concavity, if the polar areas were not
too rigidly fixed; or a broken, step-like succession
of terraces if they were. Later we were triumphantly
reminded by the Professor of this prediction.
Then too he involved his theory with demonstrations
of the vertical effect of rotation, producing
inverted cones or funnels in liquids, as is familiarly
seen in the discharging contents of a washbasin.
We were not convinced, and our evident apathy or
dissidence chilled the Professor into a taciturnity
from which he was scarcely aroused when cries from
the water’s edge of the fiord announced the return
of a fishing fleet, a phalanx of <i>jaegts</i>, the single
masted, square sailed, sturdy boats familiar to
tourists in sea journeys along the fair Norwegian
shores. It was welcomed with shouts and salutations,
and the waving of flags and handkerchiefs, in
which we joined.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>But the hidden springs of wonderment, the
latent impulse in young, strong men for adventure,
discovery, perhaps some marvelous realization of
the unknown, had been stirred within us. The
Professor would have been gratified if he had
known how restlessly Goritz and myself rolled
about in our beds that night, or how with sleepless
eyes, flat on our backs, we rehearsed his strange
statements, or in dreams encountered polar bears,
threading our way through devious leads to the
wintry coasts of a NEW CONTINENT. The
imagery of the north was familiar to us. We had
both visited Spitzbergen and the Franz Josef
Archipelago. As Hopkins had said, we had met
him at Stockholm and discussed together the sensation
of the hour, Bjornsen’s lecture at Christiania.
We were all three of us idlers—I by compulsion—but
firm in body, ambitious in spirit, and
half exasperated at our uselessness in the world’s
affairs. Goritz was a rich man, an only son, heir to
the fortune of a successful fish merchant in Stockholm;
I had a bare competency, and Spruce Hopkins,
a vagabond American, seeing the world but
yearning for sterner work, had already gained in
Europe an unenviable reputation for reckless
extravagance. It was at Hopkins’ suggestion that
we had invited the Professor to meet us at the
fiord, and we were all wondering how far we might
go in this strange experiment of finding Krocker
Land. Should we go at all?</p>

<p class='c016'>Whatever satisfaction the Professor might have
felt over Goritz’s and my own agitation, his most
sanguine hopes of producing an impression would
have been inflamed to exultation had he known
that the Yankee had not slept a wink, had not taken
off his clothes, but had just, as he characterized it,
“stalled on everything,” until he got his bearings
on this “new stunt.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>The Professor’s equanimity was restored when
we met him in the diningroom at breakfast the
following morning, and he most good-naturedly
accepted professions of contrition at our mental
obduracy. But it was the American who confounded
him by his sudden determination and a
precipitant proposition to “<i>get away on the first
tide</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Prof.,” he exclaimed clapping the smaller man
on the shoulder with a cordial gaiety that shocked
Goritz, “I’m willing to take the chance. It’s a
big stake to win, though,” his whimsical smile propitiated
the Professor completely. “I’m not
buffaloed on all your talk about the tropical climate
we’re likely to meet. Of course, I’ve looked into
the matter a little, on my own hook, and just now
the plan of action is something like this. These
two good friends,” he waved his hands genially
toward Goritz and myself, “know a good deal about
zero temperatures, polar bears, walrus, starvation
and ice floes; you have surveyed Spitzbergen, and
as for myself—Well, honestly, I’m a tenderfoot
but young, hardy, sound as a steel rail, a good shot,
a prize rower, and once Prof., take it from me, I
strangled a mad dog with these hands.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins never looked handsomer than at that
moment, his face burning with an expectant eagerness,
the color rising to his temples beneath the
waves of chestnut hair, his frame and figure like
an Achilles.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor nodded his approval and assent.</p>

<p class='c016'>“We’ll make a strong quartette; quite enough for
the jaunt. These big outfits are a blunder. I’ve
always thought that was the mistake the English
made. Plenty of dogs, rations and a few mouths
go farther, with less strain and less risk. And
another thing, friends,” he wheeled round from
the Professor, and addressed us, “no big ship, no
<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>‘Fram’, no ‘Roosevelt.’ We’ll get the stiffest and
most flexible and biggest wooden naphtha launch
that can be made; stock her; carry her up on a
hired whaler from San Francisco, bunk at Point
Barrow, pick our best chance through the leads in
the open weather, and then with dogs, sleds, and
kayaks, take to the main ice and scoot for the happy
land of—Krocker! Eh?”</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz and I heard the extraordinary daredevil
plan with consternation. It seemed the limit of
foolishness, and absurdly ignorant. We waited for
the inevitable crushing denunciation of such folly
from the informed lips of the Professor. To our
amazement the Professor grew radiant, seized
Hopkins’ hands, shaking them vigorously, his pop-eyes
starting out with the most amiable encouragement,
while his beaming smile endorsed Hopkins’
lunacy with mad enthusiasm.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Right, Mr. Hopkins! Right—the very thing.
No reserve, no retreat, no store ship is necessary.
I had convinced myself of the absolute propriety of
just such a course of action, but I expected to find
it a hopeless task to persuade anyone to believe me.
Krocker Land will supply us with everything, and
the ice course will be far more simple and easy than
Nansen’s trip from 86° to Franz Josef Land, or
Peary’s over North Greenland; a straight-away
run with a few water breaks. No great hardships.
At least,” and the Professor in a burst of audacious
nonchalance knocked over a few glasses and a water
carafe in his swinging ambulations, “none greater
than the ordinary experiences of an Arctic traveler.
I congratulate you, Mr. Hopkins, on your perspicacity—American
shrewdness. Ah! American—what
you call GAMENESS. Eh? Let me
assure you that had you been a hardened, experienced
North Pole explorer you would never have
hit on this; NEVER. You’d have stuck to the old
<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>plans. And the only reason you are right now is
that Krocker Land is an exceptional proposition,
to be negotiated by exceptional methods. I
promise you exceptional results.”</p>

<p class='c016'>For a few moments Goritz and I were dumb with
astonishment, and I think Goritz was almost
choking with indignation. Somehow he suppressed
his threatening outbreak and only muttered, “I
suppose we will never want to come back—never
need to?”</p>

<p class='c016'>A ripple of comic commiseration crossed Hopkins’
face:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Come now, Goritz. WHERE I COME BACK
is just <i>here</i>,</p>

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<p class='c018'>The situation was so funny, with that tantalizingly
humorous face of the Professor looking on in
perplexity, that Goritz burst into laughter, in which
I joined, and his evanescent rage was swept away.</p>

<p class='c016'>But the Professor answered his implied sarcasm
quite literally.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Antoine,” he said, both hands raised imploringly,
“trust me; we shall find food in Krocker
Land, an abundance; the launch can return to
Point Barrow with a small crew, and when we want
it on our return—why—”</p>

<p class='c016'>His indecision or uncertainty or the blankness
of his mind about it was quickly relieved by Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>“We’ll send a telegram ordering it over, and
<i>wait</i>—for it?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh it’s no joke Goritz”—Goritz admitted
<i>sotto voce</i> that it certainly was not. “We can get
back without it, our kayaks will answer. And you
forget the People of Krocker Land.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Why Professor,” I protested, “we haven’t
heard of them before.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>The Professor assumed a surprised air, became
portentously solemn, and then—I never felt quite
certain whether he actually winked at Hopkins or
not—gravely answered.</p>

<p class='c016'>“The people of Krocker Land, Erickson, are an
assured certainty. An unpeopled continent is as
much a <i>lusus naturae</i> as an unfilled vacuum.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Certainly, Erickson. Didn’t you know that?
Somebody must be provided to pocket the revenues
from whale blubber and walrus ivory, not to mention
the conservation bureau for glaciers, the output
of icebergs, and the meteorological corps for the
standardization of blizzards,” and Hopkins hid his
face in his hands to stifle his screaming mirth.</p>

<p class='c016'>But the Professor was neither ruffled nor amused;
he went on oracularly:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Erickson, the expectation is a little discouraging.
Well I’ll say from your point of view it is
almost impossible of belief that an unknown people
exists in an unknown land near the North Pole.
Now Stefansson’s discovery of the so-called Blond
Eskimos has nothing to do with my confidence in
this matter. It rests upon a broad deduction, an
<i>a priori</i> necessary assumption. If the original
Eden, the primitive center of dispersion, on the
basis of the unity of the human race—if—”</p>

<p class='c016'>Behind the Professor, whose labyrinthine locution,
sounding higher and higher, was attracting
some general attention among the guests of the
hotel, stood Hopkins with two tumblers of water in
his hands. He raised them suddenly above his
head and dropped them. The crash was startling,
and it was followed by an equally unexpected yell
of pain from Hopkins, who apparently slipped, fell,
seized the tablecloth and dragged to the floor a
varied array of glassware and cutlery in a clatter
that was deafening.</p>

<p class='c016'>Confusion, explanations, reparation and a tumult
<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>of amusement followed, and in it disappeared the
Professor’s voluminous harangue. It was never
resumed.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins recovered his seriousness, and we
attacked the novel project he had suggested,
critically. All that next day we argued over it,
thrashing it out with the illuminative references
Goritz, the Professor and myself could make to our
own experiences, Hopkins listening and pertinaciously
sticking to his original suggestions. His
plan grew more and more attractive; its reasonableness
developed more and more under examination.
Of course all four of us were now thoroughly
excited; the lure of discovery almost maddened us,
and the necromantic charm of the Professor’s amazing
predictions, which we actually were unwilling to
resist, instilled in us the wayward and fantastic
hope that we were on the verge of a world-convulsing
disclosure. We have not been disappointed.</p>

<p class='c016'>The project finally took this shape: Hopkins and
Goritz volunteered to bear all the expenses connected
with the expedition; Hopkins would go to
America, consult naval architects, and have a
naphtha-propelled launch devised, combining, as
to its hull, features of the “Fram” and “Roosevelt”
in a diminutive way. Goritz would follow
and buy the supplies, clothing and equipment.
Then would come the Professor with instruments
and books, and finally myself with three chosen
men—Hopkins demanded they should be selected
in America—who would be the captain, engineer
and crew of the launch on its return to Point
Barrow, and who would look for us the next summer.
How preposterously sure we were that we
would find land and game! But how ineffectually
paltry after all were our expectations compared to
the reality.</p>

<p class='c016'>When everything was ready—the end of a year’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>time was fixed for the date of our departure—we
would have the launch set amidships on a whaler,
and sail for Point Barrow, our prospective headquarters
on the North American continent.</p>

<p class='c016'>The last question Hopkins put to the Professor
before we parted was about the mineral wealth of
the new land, which had now incorporated its
actuality with every sleeping and waking moment,
seeming as certain as any other unvisited realm of
Earth which we had seen on maps, but never
visited.</p>

<p class='c016'>Of course the Professor was quite equal to this
demand upon his imagination.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Mineral wealth? Probably immense. The
mother lodes of the gold of Alaska have never been
found. They lie north of Alaska; the geological
extension of the mineral deposits of Alaska is
naturally in that direction, and the enrichment of
the primary crystallines with the precious metals
can be reasonably asserted to surpass the mythical
values of Golconda or California.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“That suits <i>me</i>,” was Hopkins’ laconic comment.</p>

<p class='c016'>At last the whole scheme was pretty thoroughly
worked out, down to its details. Correspondence
would be maintained during the summer. The
Professor left for Christiania, Goritz and myself for
Stockholm, and Hopkins steamed away to Hull on
the English ship “North Cape.” Our conference
had lasted just a week.</p>

<p class='c016'>How wonderfully lovely was the day and scene
when he left us that June morning three years ago.
If portents of our success could be discerned in its
delicious, enveloping glory of light and beauty,
then surely we might be hopeful. The great gulls
were sweeping with deep undulations through the
upper sky, exulting in their splendid power, the
summer wind faintly stirred the dark spruces,
whose gentle expostulation at its intrusion reached
<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>us with a sound like the washing of waves on a faraway
shore. The granite rocks of peak and cliff
flashed back the unchecked sunlight; the road,
like a white ribbon, spun its loops to and fro over
the hillside, through meads where the glistening red
farm houses stood, that seemed like rubies set in an
emerald shield while the waters of the fiord
slumbered at our feet, a liquid mass of beryl.</p>

<p class='c016'>It now seems to me as if a quarter of a century
had passed since then. And, if events are the
measure of duration to the subjective sense, it
might seem even farther away. I recall Spruce
Hopkins, radiant and handsome, amid a throng of
new acquaintances—he gathered friends about him
as frankly and quickly as roses attract bees—among
whom not a few young women offered him their
mute but eloquent admiration; I remember him
leaning over the rail of the steamer’s deck and reciting
in a rollicking drawl:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“When the sea rolled its fathomless billows</div>
      <div class='line'>Across the broad plains of Nebraska;</div>
      <div class='line'>When around the North Pole grew bananas and willows,</div>
      <div class='line'>And mastodons fought with the great armadillos,</div>
      <div class='line'>For the pine-apples grown in Alaska.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>(Editorial Apology. The foregoing chapter in
its diction and in certain studied phases of construction
will disturb the reader’s sense of congruity,
perhaps. He will be inclined to doubt its
authenticity as the exact narrative of Alfred Erickson.
The suspicion is partly creditable to his
literary acumen. The editor admits substantial
emendations useful for the purpose of imparting a
literary atmosphere.)</p>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER II<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>Point Barrow</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>We were all aboard the steam whaler “Astrum”
in the spring of the next year, and with us a marvel
of compact maritime construction, our naphtha
launch “<i>Pluto</i>”. Hopkins suggested the name on
the satisfactory ground that we were likely to have
“a hell of a time.” We had worked ourselves up
to the most supreme height of confidence and
enthusiasm. The Professor was in a sort of
demented state of expectation; Hopkins furiously
asserted the name of Christopher Columbus would
now be forgotten in the new fame to be allotted to
us, “the Arctic Argonauts,” and finally Goritz and
myself succumbed to a peculiar feeling of predestination.</p>

<p class='c016'>Captain Coogan of the “Astrum” knew nothing
of our proposed destination. It was a stipulation
made by Hopkins that nothing on that point was to
be discussed, until we reached Point Barrow—if we
were to reach it—and the services of Captain Coogan
and his selected crew—not the usual polyglot
assemblage of ethnic odds and ends—were unconditionally
ours up to that moment. The temptations
of whaling were to be absolutely eschewed
until we had vanished into the fogs and wilderness
of the ice pack, beyond whose trackless waste lay
Krocker Land. Of course a sea dog like Captain
Coogan, a clever and hardy mate like Isaac
<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>Stanwix, a pertinacious thinker like the engineer
Bell Phillips, and such an experienced and avaricious
reader as the carpenter Jack Spent (he had
made ten trips to Point Barrow) could make pretty
shrewd guesses as to our intentions. The stores
and supplies, the sledges and kayaks, splendid
vehicles of travel made under Goritz’s supervision,
were informing enough, had it not been for the
disconcerting secrecy of the actors in this strange
new ice-drama. I think we were regarded as a
“parcel of wild devils or fools,” though I think too,
with the exception of perhaps the Professor, our
physical constants were impressive.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our departure did not escape public notice. We
were besieged by reporters, but we were impenetrable,
and yet we were genially communicative
too. It was the Arctic or bowhead whale we were
interested in; we were naturalists, the Professor
was hoping to introduce the bowhead whale into
European waters; just now a preliminary study of
its habits, habitat, food, breeding grounds, and
commercial availability was indispensable. That
fiction sufficed. The remarkable launch prepared for
us was made into a skillful adjunct to our investigations.
We were honored by several columns of
interviews in the dailies, and the splash of our
adventure spread its circle of disturbance even to
Washington, whence official offers of assistance
and participation were received which—were never
answered. Among our visitors, for we did not
escape the invasion of sightseers, was that Goliah,
Carlos Huerta, from whose branding iron you
saved me.</p>

<p class='c016'>(Erickson spoke this measuredly and calmly to
be sure, but his hands covered his face, and I saw
his body sway, convulsed by his emotion.)</p>

<p class='c016'>“This man somehow appealed to me; perhaps
it was his herculean dimensions. He was familiar
<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>with launches and machinery, and was very intelligent;
forceful, too. His suavity disarmed suspicion,
and his robust, seemingly ingenuous interest
pleased me. Almost his last words, before we
sailed, invited me to come to see him—he handed
me his card—and to tell him “all about it.” It
was a curious, inexplicable divination on his part
that I should have much to tell. That man, Mr.
Link, was the most ruthless scoundrel I ever met;
he was my first scoundrel; because I had never met
a scoundrel before I fell into his net.</p>

<p class='c016'>(Again a pause. It lasted so long that I feared
some complication of feeling had robbed him of his
memory. I said “And Mr. Erickson, you left San
Francisco?” His consciousness returned, and he
turned to me smiling.)</p>

<p class='c016'>Yes, we left San Francisco about the end of
April, a dull day with fog banks lifting and falling
over the Golden Gate, while a rising storm outside
was turning the ocean into water alps, smiting the
clouds. Our course was almost a direct line to
Behring Straits; we were to pass through the
channel between Unalaska and Uninak Islands,
then coast the Pribylof Islands for the benefit of the
Professor, reach Indian Point, on the Siberian side
of the strait where some of the natives, Masinkers
(<i>Tchouktchis</i>), could be seen, then cross to Port
Clarence on the Alaskan shore for an inspection of
the Nakooruks (<i>Innuits</i>); then two stops for the
benefit of Hopkins and Goritz. We also intended
to secure at the latter place dogs for our dash over
the ice to the Krocker Land shore from Point
Barrow. Captain Coogan recommended a stop at
Cape Prince of Wales where further ethnological
notes might be gathered, but this was overruled as
both the Professor and Hopkins expected to visit
the coal beds beyond Point Hope, and Cape
Lisburne in the Arctic Ocean.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>We came abreast of Pribylof about May sixth,
stalled off St. Paul’s Island in a still sea, light southwest
winds and rising tide. The Professor was
pulled off to the island in the morning; his eagerness
to visit these famous fur-seal rookeries being
irrepressible. He had talked of little else, in the
intervals when we were not discussing our momentous
enterprise, but the marvelous stories which
old navigators, Captain Scammon and Captain
Bryant had told, and the fascinating studies of
Elliot. He told us that formerly, in the middle of
the nineteenth century and later, these pelagic
mammals had swarmed in millions up to these
islands, rising from the ocean like a veritable mammal
inundation. He told us about the bull seals,
how they fought, their tenacity, their endurance,
how a bull will fight fifty or sixty battles for the
possession of his ample harem of twelve or fifteen
cows, and last out to the end of the season, three
months perhaps without food, living on his own fat,
covered with scars, eyes gouged out, striped with
blood; and how the jovial bachelors, not so disconsolate
as might be imagined, the “hollus-chickies,”
congregate to one side. He said the noise from
these monstrous breeding grounds, where thousands
of seals are roaring, bleating, calling—mothers,
fathers and pups—could be heard, with
the wind right, five or six miles to sea. He didn’t
expect to see the households developed then—it
was too early—but he might have an opportunity
to find a few advance bulls on their stations. He
found the bulls, and he found an adventure, and
<i>we found him</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was almost four or five hours after the Professor
had left the ship in a yawl rowed by two
sailors, that Hopkins, Goritz, and myself followed
him in another boat. We saw the yawl on a short
beach of sand, with the men sunning themselves
<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>and asleep on the black rocks which hemmed in the
little cove. We ran our boat on the sands, the
men came strolling toward us, rubbing their eyes
and recovering from the inertia of what had been
an uninterrupted snooze. When we asked for the
Professor they told us he had disappeared, and had
ordered them to stay where they were while he
pursued his investigations. He certainly was nowhere
in sight and a little anxious over his long
absence we moved up to the broken rim of rocks
which probably separated this retreat from some
similar beach on either side.</p>

<p class='c016'>The elevated cones and ridges of the island could
be seen towering up toward the interior in gaunt
gray surfaces, on which rested extensive patches of
snow. We surmounted the inconsiderable elevation
and found it was a broader barrier than we had
anticipated, a platform of jagged projecting crests
with intervening rocky basins or tables, the whole
an extended spur from a black wall of rock, on
whose summit were the clustering huts of a native
village. On the edges of the rocks hung a few large
cakes of ice, and the receding tide had left broken,
hummocky masses tilted at various angles over the
inclined faces of stone. The scene was chilly and
desolate and to add to its lugubrious desolation a
fog had slowly drifted in from the sea and was now
tortuously rolling down from the highland on the
opposite shore to the island. Our search for the
missing Professor would have to be hastened.</p>

<p class='c016'>“The Professor must be found,” said Hopkins.
“We shan’t know how to deal with the native
Krockerans when we meet ’em, without the Professor.
At present he is the only man alive who
understands their peculiarities, and as an interpreter
he’s bound to prove useful.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Of course,” said Goritz, “you don’t think the
seals can eat him?”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>“They might,” answered Hopkins, “but they
could never digest him. It would certainly be a
death potion to the venturesome bull who mistook
him for food. Likely as not he is now engaged in
explaining to an interesting family his plans for the
preservation and increase of them and their
kindred.”</p>

<p class='c016'>During this irrelevant badinage I had crossed the
rocky flat and reached another cove or gully,
headed towards the land by a slope of broken
boulders, and floored with sand. We had as yet
encountered no seals. Looking beyond this bay I
saw on a promontory bounding the distant edge of
the beach what seemed like a human figure, or
indeed like a group of figures. Watching the objects
for a short time I could more clearly distinguish
them, and to my astonishment determined that one
was a man and the rest some erect animal forms,
doubtless seals. The group was at an extreme
point on the rocks, and, if the solitary human was
the Professor, his only possible retreat from the
beleaguering seals would be the water.</p>

<p class='c016'>I hallooed to my companions, pointing to the distant
objects, and hastened forward onto the rock-strewn
beach. Goritz and Hopkins struggled over
the rough patch of rocks and overtook me.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes, by the lives of all the saints!” cried
Hopkins, who had stopped a moment and with
shaded eyes was studying the enigmatical figures
silhouetted against sea and sky. “It’s the Professor
and three <i>beachmasters</i> apparently bent on his
capture, or else drinking in wisdom from his lips.
It might just be they’re competing for his services
in teaching their prospective families.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“I can see him waving his hands, it seems to me,
and now he’s shooing them with his hat,” exclaimed
Goritz. “He’s in something of a fix. Hurry.”</p>

<div id='p0682'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p0682.jpg' alt='armed men approach a boy surrounded by seals' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE PROFESSOR AND THE PRIBYLOF SEALS</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>We bounded forward, and over the beaten sand
<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>raced together, taking quick glances ahead at the
now certain embarrassment of our friend. It was
indeed the Professor, and his predicament was unmistakable.
Amusement however mingled with
our anxiety, for as we drew near we could plainly
make out that he had taken his hat between his
teeth and was violently wagging his head, the
absurd appendage of his cap flying up and down
producing a very ludicrous effect. It was a serviceable
device, however, for the amazed seals had
stopped their approaches; their barking or snarling,
at first quite audible, had ceased, and they were
now attentively regarding the Professor with
almost immobile heads.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Guess,” called out Hopkins between breaths,
“they think the Professor is a little dippy, and are
reconsidering his engagement as a domestic
instructor.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We were now near enough to attract the Professor’s
sight; he hailed us with swinging arms but did
not venture to desist from his mandarin-like wig-wagging.
The approach to his position was a little
difficult, and we suffered some falls. Our advent
had attracted the notice of the bulls and they
swerved about to receive us, humping their backs,
leaping forward on their flippers, and renewing
their truculent miauling or barking. We attacked
them with stones but their defiance was unchanged,
and they lunged and rushed, quite unappalled by
our onset. They would retreat almost immediately
to their former positions, holding the poor Professor
in chancery with an apparent unanimity that kept
Goritz laughing, for with every retreat, the Professor
would renew his violent gesticulations.</p>

<p class='c016'>At length Goritz and Hopkins armed with an
armful of stones drove in on the biggest of the bulls,
and assailed him with such a shower of missiles that
his reserve was overcome, and he plunged forward,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>following them for twenty feet or more. I ran to
the Professor and caught his arm, and we got out of
the zone of danger, while the momentarily allied
<i>beachmasters</i>, frustrated from their imprisonment of
him, suddenly resented each other’s proximity and
after a miscellaneous “mix-up,” as Hopkins called
it, shuffled and loped away to their former stations,
the chosen spots for their future <i>seraglios</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>With the liberated Professor we sat down on some
stool-like fragments inserted in the sand of the
beach and heard his story. It was laughable
enough and added an unusual trait to the recorded
conduct of the big bull seals, usually indifferent to
the approach of men. These three indolent, unoccupied
forerunners of the great herds that might
soon be expected, had actually chased the Professor
and, having cornered him on the promontory, had
hopelessly besieged him. The Professor had been
too much interested or too imprudent. His amiability
perhaps had brought him into this unexpected
dilemma, for he had gathered up seaweed
from the rocks at the edge of the water, and
attempted to feed the bulls. They followed him,
and their disappointed expectations developed
later into the pugnacity that had made him a
prisoner.</p>

<p class='c016'>While he was talking a few more seals emerged
from the ocean, lazily hauling themselves on the
rocks with that ill-assured clumsiness of motion so
strikingly replaced in the water by the greatest
grace, agility and speed.</p>

<p class='c016'>“But Professor,” interrupted Goritz, “what were
you doing with your hat?”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor, who had been much ruffled and
excited over his encounter, welcomed this inquiry
with a restored equanimity.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Ah! Goritz, that is a contribution to science.
On our return I shall call the attention of Lloyd
<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>Morgan and other animal psychologists to this
novel observation. Antoine, it has long been
known that the rhythmical oscillation of a flexible
substance, a rag, hat, towel, banner, exercises a
peculiar influence on animals. It will allay the
ferocity of a mad dog or alarm him. Color has
something to do with it, as instance the red rag
which irritates the bull. Now—” here the Professor
looked critically at his steamer cap, and may
have mentally noted that it was a green and brown
Scotch plaid. “Now this influence seems curiously
reinforced if the substance or garment is taken in
the mouth and shaken.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The incorrigible Hopkins had again buried his
face in his cupped palms.</p>

<p class='c016'>“No reason that is incontrovertible has been
assigned for this, but I assume that it is an appeal to
a latent <i>demonism</i> in animals, which in its later
evolution appears as <i>devil-worship</i> in aboriginal
people. I most fortunately recalled this, and at a
critical moment, when I was threatened with the
necessity of retreating into the sea—” The poorly
repressed vibrations in Hopkins’ body might have
been referred to sympathy or—something else. “A
quite unnecessary ablution, let us say,” and the
Professor smiled benignantly at me, as perhaps the
one most gravely interested in his narrative. “I
thought of this remarkable device, which I believe
has something of the nature of an incantation.
The effect was miraculous. This simple gesture
held the seals at bay; I think it is quite demonstrable
also that there is a physiological basis for
their evident stupefaction—the optic nerve. These
animals you know have very poor sight—the optic
nerve is disturbed and a cerebral vertigo is induced
which, like—”</p>

<p class='c016'>“That settles it,” cried Hopkins, stumbling to his
feet with a very red face and hurrying across the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>sands. “Professor, there’s something worse than
seals on this island; there are the U. S. officials,
and—I guess they are charmproof.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Exactly,” assented the Professor in an absent-minded
way, “exactly, but had you gentlemen
restrained yourselves a little, I believe I could have
advanced an interesting corroboration to a hitherto
dimly—”</p>

<p class='c016'>A gun shot was heard. It evidently came from
our men in the adjoining cove and we smothered
the Professor’s scientific homily with a shout, and
accelerated our departure.</p>

<p class='c016'>When we reached the boat we found some natives
and two resident officials surrounding our men, the
former somewhat excited and demonstrative. The
officials questioned us and were informed of our
purely accidental visit, and with that explanation,
as the fog had increased and there were threatening
symptoms of a blow, we manned our boats and got
away.</p>

<p class='c016'>Captain Coogan resumed our course, making
northwest for Indian Point, amid heavy ice,
whose leads were carefully followed until they
liberated us in open water, and the immediate danger
of being nipped was past. The next morning I
was awakened—my room adjoined Hopkins’—by
hearing the American reciting in a voice loud
enough to justify forcible remonstrance:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<i>I met my mates in the morning (and Oh, but I am old),</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>Where roaring on the ledges the summer groundswell rolled,</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>I heard them lift the chorus that dropped the breakers’ song,</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>The beaches of Lucannon—two million voices strong,</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons,</i></div>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span><i>The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>The song of midnight dances that charmed the sea to flame</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>The beaches of Lucannon—before the sealers came!</i>”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>We made Indian Point, or Chaplin, as the settlement
is called, in five days, held back by floes and
fogs, narrowly escaping a collision with an adventuresome
and premature whaler making its way to
the same destination. These sailors often get
caught in the ice, when they are helpless, and if the
pack tightens on them, they are likely to come to
grief with a cut stem or a stoved side. We assisted
one poor fellow out of such a plight. His vessel was
shipping water fast, and we helped shift his load,
giving the boat a stern list that lifted its broken
nose and allowed him to make repairs.</p>

<p class='c016'>Chaplin is a small settlement of natives on the
Siberian coast, the largest along the line to Behring
Straits. There may be some forty huts there, and
the whale men find it a convenient place to do a
stroke of trade. Indeed, if it were not for their
visits the unfortunate Masinkers might resign the
job of trying to live at all, as the whales are more
scarce than formerly, or more cautious, and walrus
and seal scarcely turn in closer than St. Lawrence
Island. The village is on a projecting tooth of
land—a mere sandpit—and back from the village
along the foothills is the curious, disconsolate looking
graveyard where the dead are buried in rudely
excavated holes and covered with stones and earth,
some with deer antlers stuck about as gravestones.</p>

<p class='c016'>The natives were not slow in coming aboard, and
as we had outrun the whalers who are annually
expected, their reception of us was, so to speak,
enthusiastically hearty. I thought it was a trifle
overdone. The entire population tried to get
<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>aboard, and assumed possession of everything with
such unsophisticated satisfaction that it strained
the limits of our hospitality and tired our patience
somewhat. They were a jocular, spontaneous and
chattering crowd, of all ages, many hues, and some
diversity of dress. Each canoe had received from
Captain Coogan a bucket of bread, but their appetite
for tobacco would have made a tremendous
contribution to the income of the United Cigar
Company. Everyone wanted it—men, women
and children, and it stood first in the commercial
schedule of trade. We rejected their whalebone
ivory and foxskins, but boots, skin shirts and coats
were acceptable.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our very generous demeanor towards their needs
elicited the stormiest approval, but we regretfully
learned that it prolonged their occupation of the
ship which, so far as fragrance was considered, had
seriously declined from its former estate of habitability.
Articles of all sorts come handy to these
people, but as we were not prepared for their
omnivorous demands, tobacco formed the staple of
our barter.</p>

<p class='c016'>Now in our little library, whose usefulness the
sustained succession of long days of suspense or
idleness had fully demonstrated, we had read in a
small light blue book by Herbert L. Aldrich, called
“Arctic Alaska and Siberia,” of the author’s visit to
this very place. In the book a man, Gohara by
name, was designated as “<i>the Masinker of the
Masinkers</i>,” a man forty years of age, tall, commanding,
and “by far the best specimen mentally
and physically of his people.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We discovered him. He was yet vigorous,
though approaching seventy and his remarkable
spouse—his third wife then—<i>Siwurka</i>, maintained
a supreme position in his household, which the
advent, since Aldrich’s visit, of two younger women
<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>had not disturbed. One of these later accessions
to Gohara’s domestic felicity was a person of becoming
rotundity, with a distracting tousle of hair
that almost covered her eyes. The inexpugnable
scientific curiosity of the Professor led him into his
second predicament with this young person, which,
for a moment, promised to be more serious than his
inquisitional visit to the fur seals.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was the last day of our stay at Indian Point
which had been prolonged by the viewless stretches
of ice moving out of the Arctic into Behring Sea,
and we were all ashore. As usual the Professor
deserted us, following out some preconcerted
scheme of observation or experiment in which our
participation was unnecessary or even resented.
It was some hours after we had missed him, and our
inspection of the <i>tupicks</i>, the dogs, the children,
and the industrial products of the Masinkers was
completed, that a large boy, prodigiously magnified
by his big boots, rushed upon our trailing group
crying:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Doghter! Doghter! He out of head. Hoopla!”</p>

<p class='c016'>The fellow was excited and out of breath with
running, and his excitement became reflected in the
faces of the natives around us, who were helplessly
bewildered and looked so.</p>

<p class='c016'>“It’s the Professor—another row. Hold back
the crowd. I’ll go with this screaming lunatic and
extricate our distinguished friend. Some scientific
escapade, you can bet your hat on it,” whispered
Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>To inquiries of his acquaintances the boy kept up
an unintelligible jabber and pointed to the farther
side of the village. Apparently the assemblage
were on the point of bolting for the spot, in deference
to the boy’s ejaculations. Hopkins handed us
a package which he had been reserving for some sort
of a valedictory to Chaplin and its unsavory population.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>It was a liberal assortment of quids,
smoking tobacco, cigars and snuff, and its exhibition
and immediate distribution quelled the flight
of the rabble around us, whose inclination to stay
where they were instantly hardened like adamant.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins seized the boy, turned him around, and
the two vanished in the direction the boy had indicated.
In about half an hour, or less, they returned
with the Professor between them, much upset but
calm, and apparently indifferent to the objurgations
and imprecations, delivered in unvarnished and
vigorous <i>Tchoukchi</i>, hurled at him by no less a man
than Gohara, followed by his five wives, whose
voices querulously mingled and reinforced their
master’s denunciations. The situation was unquestionably
very amusing, very curious, and,
except for the fortunate intervention of Hopkins’
miscellaneous propitiations, might have become
very annoying. We hurried the Professor to the
beach, got into our boats, Hopkins making a stern-wise
address to the multitude on the shore, a most
grotesque and tumultuous bunch of long, short,
thin, fat, smiling, frowning, dark and light figures in
skins and fur, and reached the “Astrum,” which
that very evening left the offing, and, over a clear,
moon-lit sea was directed toward Port Clarence in
Alaska. A hard blow was on, and the ice packs
had been scattered or driven eastward.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins’ story that night, after the Professor had
retired, which he did unusually early and with a
complete resumption of his smile and his good
humor, entertained us until after midnight. I
abbreviate its windings and prolixity, interspersed
with Hopkins’ incommunicable reflexions.</p>

<p class='c016'>The boy, conveniently named Oolah, led Hopkins
some way back of the settlement to a <i>tupick</i> of
considerable size, and covered with canvas (usually
walrus hide or skins form these roofings) which was,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>it so happened, Gohara’s storehouse, stocked with
trading material. Hopkins restrained his guide’s
impatience, and finding a convenient aperture for
the inspection of the interior peered within. To
his delighted astonishment there was the Professor,
with notebook and pencil, and near him in placid
wonderment, which occasionally broke in smiles or
deepened into terror, was the last and, with reservations
for taste, most attractive wife of the head
trader of Indian Point, <i>Ting-wah</i> by name. The
Professor’s performances were immoderately extravagant.
Seen in their incongruous environment,
combined with their novelty, they compelled
Hopkins to retire at intervals and roll on the
ground, in order to control the violence of his merriment,
another proceeding which strengthened
Oolah’s conviction in the immanence of the devil
among these strangers.</p>

<p class='c016'>When Hopkins first descried the Professor, he
was standing erect with his arms raised high above
his head, close together, the hands in contact,
flapping and clapping them in an indescribably
funny way, while at intervals he shrank and
cowered over as if seized with the insupportable
pains of colic. To these antics the woman returned
a perplexed stare, as the Professor resumed
his normal manner, took up his pad
and pencil, and waited apparently for her response,
while she, equally expectant, stood
stock still and waited for more explicit communications.</p>

<p class='c016'>Then the Professor suddenly extended his arms
in front of him, and wheeled round on his heels,
with such commendable agility, that as he spun,
his expansive ears seemed almost obliterated. It
was then that Hopkins resorted to the refuge of the
ground to conceal his feelings. Still the woman
was mute, but her face showed a rising fear, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>her hands rose to her neck as if to seize something
from the skin pouch made in her upper garment.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor left off his physical maneuvers
and began a series of grimaces which, as Hopkins
expressed it, “would have dimmed the luster of the
best vaudeville star he had ever seen.” They
expressed almost everything, beginning with something
that might be called suffering, to a terrible
excruciation of joy, when the Professor exerted his
features to a degree that Hopkins called “the limit
of facial agony.” And yet the girl was silent, but
her eyes never left the Professor, and Hopkins, and
Oolah too, saw her quietly draw a knife from her
“bread basket.” Hopkins might not have observed
this if Oolah had not grunted, “<i>Stick ’im</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>He felt then it was time to intervene, but his
interest and curiosity—“better’n a show” he repeated
over and over again—had up to this point
prevented him.</p>

<p class='c016'>Suddenly the Professor desisted from his rapid
play of expression, and began to moan diabolically,
rolling towards the woman with supplicating arms.
The knife flashed, it was upraised, and the girl
crouched, her face darkening with either rage or
terror. The next moment she had sprung at the
now observant and terror-stricken Professor, who
executed a flank movement—“side-stepped” Hopkins
put it—and was out of the door and—into the
protecting embrace of Hopkins’ arms, while Oolah
with precocious intelligence intercepted Ting-wah.
The girl’s pent-up emotions spent themselves in
screams and fervent but barbarous complaints that
brought Gohara and his other spouses to her rescue.
Hopkins, utterly mystified by the Professor’s exhibition,
resorted to the very plausible explanation,
suggested by Oolah in the first place, that the Professor
had gone crazy, which indeed he most apostolically
believed himself. This answered the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>purpose, though it did not repress Gohara and his
family from uttering a string of uncomplimentary
epithets which might have provoked a serious disturbance
had it not been for Hopkins’ tact and the
celerity of our retreat. Gohara’s rage followed our
boat with stridulous recriminations.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor was noticeably crestfallen and
almost sullenly indifferent to our questions as to
what had happened. It was only a few days later,
when his spirits had become thoroughly restored,
that he spoke about it, with a sudden assumption of
confidence that delighted us.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My friends,” the Professor began one cold,
radiant afternoon as we were ranged round the
naphtha launch admiring its adaptation, strength,
the happy conception of structural ice runners let
into her keel, the easily unshipped tiller and screw;
“My friends, the theories of the origin of language
have been various; there are the views of Geiger
as to its inception in movement and action, those
of Noire as to the importance of sound, onomatopoetic
or imitative, and the value of expression, as
with Darwin.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“You see,” he continued with a fine indirection of
reference, which we appreciated, “I was before an
untutored child of nature. I attempted, along
these various lines of non-verbal intercourse to
secure an illuminative response that might throw
some light upon theory. Under the circumstances,
the subject, vitiated I think by contact with
European culture—Ah—”</p>

<p class='c016'>“<i>Shied</i>” suggested Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well,” the Professor smilingly concluded,
“there was certainly an <i>hiatus</i>. Her aboriginal
powers of interpretation were dulled—dulled—perhaps
extinguished.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“But Professor, you woke up a good deal of oratory.
In fact, Professor, you’re nervy and—if
<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>I may be permitted the vulgarity of quotation—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>‘You would joke with hyenas, returning their stare</div>
      <div class='line'>With an impudent wag of your head,</div>
      <div class='line'>And you went to walk, paw-in-paw, with a bear,</div>
      <div class='line'>“Just to keep up its spirits,” you said.</div>
      <div class='line'>Without rest or pause—while those frumious jaws</div>
      <div class='line'>Went savagely snapping around—</div>
      <div class='line'>You skipped and you hopped and you floundered and flopped</div>
      <div class='line'>Till fainting you fell to the ground.’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>The Professor passed his hand approvingly over
the side of the launch, ignoring the jibe. We
dropped the subject, indeed forgot it, listening to
Goritz’s animated and assuring praise of the little
craft that would introduce us to a new continent,
and the incident was never again heard of.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our next haven was Port Clarence in Alaska, and
we had a lot of trouble making it. The ice streaming
out of Behring Straits was thick, and, as the
Yankee put it, “<i>numerous</i>.” The captain and
mates were keen to watch their chances, and we
often found ourselves surrounded by blocks that
the wind threatened to pack together to our imminent
peril. It was very early, and whereas the
whalers make Port Clarence about midsummer we
expected or hoped to get to Point Barrow about
that time. A northwest wind came up and scattered
the ice and gave us an open sea, though we
were compelled to make some long detours around
white meadows of snow-covered ice, that slipped
off into the recesses of low, cold fogs and suggested
illimitable barriers ahead of us.</p>

<p class='c016'>The distant rattling or caking sound of grinding
ice was sometimes constantly heard for hours, and
again vast fields, looking almost motionless, loomed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>up with the sun shimmering their surfaces into an
endless complexity of mirrors. Along the indented
or hummocky edges of these little continents we
would steam serenely and exult courageously in the
thought of crossing just such white ways to the
hidden wonders of a hidden world. We often fell
into fits of dreaming, buoyed up by the calm and
glowing vaticinations of the Professor.</p>

<p class='c016'>We finally brought up at the port and received a
tumultuous reception, having outrun the whaling
fleet. The natives, <i>Nakooruks</i>, crowded aboard,
and were intently watched but quite passively
shunned by the Professor. Water and wood were
taken on here, and about one hundred selected
dogs, whose points were minutely inspected or determined
by Goritz and myself. It was June, and
already flowers spun their colored webs over the
inhospitable shores, compensating for their brief
life here in the north by a marvelous abundance.
Yellow, white and blue, the bewitching patches
of moss-blue flowering hepatica, forget-me-not,
anemone, phlox and daisy charmed us, and for a
moment brought back such a flood of memories
that a surge of homesickness swept over us, the
last tug of the pleasant world we had turned our
backs on before the portals of a stranger world
opened and closed on us, perhaps forever.</p>

<p class='c016'>We bought fish and furs from the natives who
had traveled hither with their pelts and offerings
from Norton Sound, Cape Prince of Wales, and
King’s Island. There was confusion and bustle on
shore, and on board the barking of dogs, guttural
controversies among the Eskimos, wailing of babies,
orders, the shriek of the donkey engine hauling on
cargo, produced a pleasant excitement which
attained its climax on the arrival of the United
States revenue cutter. Visiting of the captains,
exchange of news followed, and we were told that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>the season was unprecedented; the ice in the
Arctic had broken up early, there was a clear passage
in the straits and an audacious whaler had
attempted the passage and “skinned” through to
Point Hope. We were sanguine of reaching Point
Barrow early in July.</p>

<p class='c016'>On the fourth of July we were under Cape Lisburne,
encountering the rush of the wind that seems
harbored by that lofty cliff, and which like a physical
avalanche pushed us over until the water rippled
over the lee rail. Along the shores everywhere
there was a broad avenue of open water, stretching
from the skirt of shore ice to the heavy packs,
sheeted with fogs and murmurously moaning,
inimitably flooring that mysterious ocean whose
furthest waters beat on the shores of Krocker Land.</p>

<p class='c016'>From Cape Lisburne the shore line strikes at a
right angle to the Corwin coal fields, the low shores,
except for a few occasional interruptions, as with
Cape Lisburne itself, marking the margins of the
higher uplands in the interior. Salt lagoons,
crescent shaped beaches, sandpits, shoal basins,
furnish a monotonous succession of flattened, uninteresting
features, which practically reaches to
Point Barrow. At the Corwin coal beds slate,
sandstone and conglomerate overlie each other,
and the Mesozoic age of the beds themselves is
established. Here the Professor emerged from the
mental coma which had suspended his pedagogic
enthusiasms since we left Indian Point, and a few
fern leaf fossils unlocked again the storehouse of his
learning and loosened his tongue with eloquent
predictions.</p>

<p class='c016'>Standing up at our mess table with a beautifully
preserved fern leaf, sketched in black interlacings,
reticulations and frondy leaflets on an ashen-colored
slate, the Professor spoke to us, and indeed we ourselves
felt the thrill of a reconstructed world in this
<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>bleak land, as we saw this silent token of former
warmth.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My friends,” he held up the fossil leaf, “here is
a vestige of the past, a leaf of a fern. It tells us of
hot, moist, heat-oppressed cycles of years, when
marshes densely thicketed with tree fern, swollen
with hot rains, drenched in a perspiration of mists,
covered these now arid snow-blanketed flats; when
a reptilian life, the consonant faunal response to
these climatic conditions flourished here also, when,
dropping into the bayous and ponds, leaf upon leaf,
branches, spores and trunks of an expanded filicine
flora built up the masses of vegetable debris in
later ages, to become consolidated and transformed
into coal and—” the Professor’s eyes
started, his inherent smile became a portentous
stare, and the wide ears seemed almost to converge
to catch his own words of promise; “and—<i>we shall
rediscover a warm or temperate climate here at the
North Pole. WHY?</i>”</p>

<p class='c016'>His voice spoke this interrogation in something
like a squeal, so that the answer, in its unaffected
profundity, produced a really dramatic climax.</p>

<p class='c016'>“<i>Because we shall be nearer the center of the earth.</i>”</p>

<p class='c016'>We took on coal at the Corwin mines and
resumed our progress northward in the still unimpeded
lane of open water, with porridge ice
forming fast along the outer pack but the shore rim
intact, and bucking against a strong northeast current
setting along shore. We passed Point Lay and
Icy Cape the second day, and reached Point Barrow
on the tenth of July.</p>

<p class='c016'>How well I recall our landing on the low beach of
this tip-top point of the continent, and wondering,
in a dreary dream of coming hardships and dangers,
at its desolation, a low barren sandbank forty to
one hundred yards across. At Cape Smythe
a small promontory raises a faint remonstrance
<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>against the encroachments of the sea in a bluff of
about thirty feet elevation, and here we found the
village of Uglaamie, a cluster of twenty or more
huts, inhabited by a boreal tribe, the <i>Nuwukmeun</i>.
Life however, in the plants and animals revived
our feelings, and the Professor’s exultation over the
traces of old beach lines inspirited us. Here on the
land, in propitious spots, sprang up buttercups,
dandelions and a peculiar poppy; over our heads
flew flocks of eider ducks, a butterfly danced gayly
in its wavering flight by our side, and Captain
Coogan reported a school of whale running to the
northeast, “<i>in a hurry</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We found some standing portions of the United
States meteorological station placed here in 1902,
and Goritz stumbled upon a dismantled graveyard
where saint and sinner, rich and poor had promiscuously
suffered from the inroads of the Eskimo
dog. It offered a mournful commentary upon the
transitoriness of human greatness.</p>

<p class='c016'>But reflections were out of place; we had reached
the point of departure, and the Great Unknown
sternly invited us to begin our quest. Under such
circumstances the long subdued instincts of the
primal man reassert themselves, and an augury of
good fortune befell us that was droll enough, unrelieved
by the nervous solemnity of our feelings, but
which so connected itself with these as to give it an
absurd stateliness of meaning.</p>

<p class='c016'>An angora goat was the queer and unexpected
waif we found here, left by an unlucky whaler the
previous year; a long haired, pugnacious billy goat,
whose property or power as a mascot had failed to
save the “Siren” from being “nipped, pooped and
swamped,” and lost in the remorseless ice. The
resident Eskimos in Uglaamie had imbibed respect
for the goat (which had been somewhat summarily
abandoned by its former devotees) and its influence
<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>with the unseen agencies that control destiny.
But they were logical enough to conclude that its
intimacy was with bad—<i>tuna</i>—rather than with
good spirits. This omnivorous beast furnished us
with a favorable omen, all the more auspicious
because he embodied the very genius of destruction.</p>

<p class='c016'>Now this expatriated goat rejected the prostrations
and worship of the Nuwukmeun, like a
capricious deity, and perversely clung to us with
embarrassing insistence. The launch had been
put in the water; it seemed almost ideal in its
qualities, it shot through the water, it turned at a
suggestion; its mobility, its steadiness, its comfortable
size, its ample deck room, the large capacity
of its storage tanks, its strength and sinewy
stiffness delighted us. With this, and with propitious
chances, we could follow leads, narrow and
crooked, mount the ice, and make of it a giant sled,
to resume at an instant’s notice its natural home
and so circumvent all treacheries of ice or water,
with protean ease sailing on each.</p>

<p class='c016'>Lost in his admiration of his creation, as it rose
and rocked in a low swell at the side of the whaler,
Goritz stood on the shore and forgot his priceless
chronometer which, wrapped in a red flannel rag,
he had for a moment placed on the sand. The
rest of us were not far from him, but might have
failed to detect the imminent danger, when suddenly
the Professor clapping his hands together in
vigorous whacks, shouted,</p>

<p class='c016'>“Antoine! Antoine! The goat, the goat; the
chronom—”</p>

<p class='c016'>The sentence remained incomplete. Like a flash
Goritz had wheeled about, to see his hircine holiness,
with insufferable assurance, pick up in his
tremulous lips the precious watch. If Goritz
turned like lightning, his attack on the offender was
even a trifle quicker. He caught the beast by the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>throat, determined to intercept the descent of the
timekeeper into the intricate passages of the god’s
intestines. There was a struggle, the goat falling
over on its back and kicking with might and main,
while Goritz inexorably tightened his constricting
grip on the animal’s wind-pipe. There could be
but one of two results—a dead goat or the recovered
chronometer, and, of course, it was the latter.</p>

<p class='c016'>The choking mascot, with an expiring effort,
gagged, and shot the uninjured instrument, still
swathed in its red envelope, from his mouth. The
fallen god’s subjects were at hand also, a little
bewildered over their deity’s predicament. When
the reparation, on the part of the goat, was made,
Goritz released him, kicked him, and the humiliated
tuna turned tail and incontinently bolted for
the nearest igloo, and—tell it not in Gath—the
affair was construed as a “<i>good sign</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>It was the eve of the day appointed for our northward
advance. Captain Coogan invited the
officers of another recently arrived whaler aboard,
and spread a generous banquet for us, which
involved the last resources of his larder and pantry,
and really seemed sumptuous. I think we all felt
a little overawed, or indeed a good deal so, by the
tremendous exploit we were embarking on. That
night the midnight sun shone strangely along the
horizon upon the waste of northern ice, illimitable,
roseate, inscrutable, the white cerement of a dead
continent, and that dead continent the one we
hoped to reach alive! Would we?</p>

<p class='c016'>There were speeches, toasts, stories, impromptu
songs (Goritz played well on a mandolin and sang
some courage-inspiring ballads of Scandinavia, and
Hopkins could “warble” as he called it, quite
pleasingly) and we were wished “good luck” a
thousand times. Still we felt the restraint of an
overhanging mysterious fate, and all that Coogan
<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>or Isaac Stanwix, or Bell Phillips, or Jack Spent, or
the newly arrived friends from Alaska, could contrive
to express of cheer and encouragement—and
the verbal part of the contrivance was rather
limited and monotonous—failed to dispel our
solemnity or the inner sense of serious misgiving.
We laughed indeed when Hopkins told the story
of the goat, the chronometer and the goat’s abrupt
contrition under Goritz’s forcible persuasion.
Hopkins concluded that it reminded him of an
incident “at home” narrated as follows in verse:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“There was a man named Joseph Cable</div>
      <div class='line'>Who bought a goat just for his stable,</div>
      <div class='line'>One day the goat, prone to dine,</div>
      <div class='line'>Ate a red shirt right off the line.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Then Cable to the goat did say:</div>
      <div class='line'>‘Your time has come; you’ll die this day’</div>
      <div class='line'>And took him to the railroad track,</div>
      <div class='line'>And bound him there upon his back.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“The train then came; the whistle blew,</div>
      <div class='line'>And the goat knew well his time was due;</div>
      <div class='line'>But with a mighty shriek of pain</div>
      <div class='line'>Coughed up the shirt and flagged the train.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>When all was over, and everyone had gone to bed
or bunk, and dreams, I stole out alone on the deck
of the “Astrum” and “thought it over.” The Arctic
silence weighed upon me like an ominous portent;
the dusky sun rolling its flaming orb along the
western horizon (it was two o’clock past midnight)
sent shafts of bronzy light over the rubbled ice
fields that returned a twilight glow, and along the
horizon on either side of the sun, low down, burned
a spectral conflagration. It was clear, the wind
blew, and chafing sounds, that may have been
roars from where they emanated, but came to me as
<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>hoarse whispers, rose northward, as if spirits spoke.</p>

<p class='c016'>I remembered how Oolah, the Eskimo, explained
Peary’s success in reaching the pole; he said “<i>the
devil is asleep or having trouble with his wife, or we
should never have come back so easily</i>.” I devoutly
prayed that domestic turmoil in the household of
his satanic majesty might again prove distracting.</p>

<p class='c016'>But to penetrate that vast icy solidity with a
naphtha launch! It seemed like trying to break
one’s way through a glacier with an ice pick. I
recalled the fable of the Pied Piper when at the
“mighty top” of Koppelberg Hill:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“A wondrous portal opened wide</div>
      <div class='line'>As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed,”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c022'>and I remembered too, to a more practical purpose,
that Amundsen navigated the tiny “<i>Gjea</i>,” a sailing
sloop with a gasoline engine, from the Atlantic to
the Pacific.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER III<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>On The Ice Pack</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>Our task was before us and it was to be entered
upon at once. Perhaps you are thinking that we
were hopelessly amateurish, inconsiderate, improvident
and foolish. BUT WE SUCCEEDED.
Nor were we forgetful or ignorant. Everything
had been read. The elaborate preparations for
polar exploration in the great expeditions had been
studied. Two of us had been in the north before.
The apparent simplicity of our outfit arose from a
peculiar circumstance, and that was an imbedded
conviction, perhaps only in me shaken by recurrent
fits of alarm, that Krocker Land was a reality, and
that it was habitable. And that meant life and living.</p>

<p class='c016'>Then too we had fallen under a spell of imagination,
we had become hopelessly enthralled in the
visions of a new order of things. It was as if we
had drunk draughts of some Medean drug that had
stolen away our common sense and immersed us in
a flood of fantasies. I don’t think we confessed
anything concretely to one another; we talked together
about Krocker Land just as men might talk
about some portion of the earth that they had never
seen, but which as a geographical certainty was on
the maps and was known to possess an unusual interest.
Perhaps, after all, the Professor was responsible
for the orientation of thought that made
us clairvoyant and credulous.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>Still our plans had been fixed with a dry precision,
as those of other explorers had been, and our supplies
comprised just the things that stock the most
prosaic and methodically arranged scientific expeditions.
We had our tins of pemmican, of biscuit, of
sugar, of coffee, condensed milk, our oil and our oil
stoves. We were each provided with a rifle, a shotgun
and ammunition. There were matches, hatchets,
can openers, salt, needles and thread,
bandages, quinine, astringents, liniments, sledges
and kayaks, dogs and harness, tents, furs, alcohol,
rugs, snowshoes, pickaxes, saw-knives, <i>kamiks</i>,
certainly more things than Nansen and Johannsen
had had when they left the “Fram” and scooted for
the pole over the paleocrystic sea; and we were not
looking for the pole, we were engaged in a trip to a
continent, most certainly impingeable, because it
stretched over 90 or 100 degrees of longitude, and
20 or 30 degrees of latitude.</p>

<p class='c016'>And then—Ah, here our minds, <i>irised</i>, so to
speak, like cracked crystals, furnished us a journey
into fairy land—once there, we were to be entertained
by wonders and comforts, then more
wonders and comforts! Had we ever said that to
each other consciously in our waking moments, we
would have forlornly concluded that <i>piblokto</i>, the
Eskimo hysteria, had carried us into the seventh
heaven of affectation and madness. No; it was
not fairy land indeed, but something more marvelous,
a miracle of realities that to recall even now
makes my head spin with the vertigo of a confessed
self-delusion. LISTEN!</p>

<p class='c016'>We had staked everything on the naphtha
launch. As an invention it was ideal. We
expected to drive it over the ice floes, and to sail it
across the leads. It would hold all we needed, and
our team of dogs, forty or fifty in number, would be
able to pull it over the ice. If it was too heavy in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>the snows it could be lightened of its load on the
sledges, or on the sledge teams which we expected
would accompany it. The project appeared a little
cumbersome but safe. We had noticed the striking
absence from the western polar sea of icebergs, and
we concluded that the sea north of Point Barrow,
like the sea generally north of Cape Columbia or
Cape Sheridan was a frozen water, smooth or interrupted
only by the pressure ridges which scarred
its surface with cyclopean walls of massed ice. We
had indeed gone further in our inferences, and
assumed that no mountainous elevations, with their
chasms, intervening valleys and gorges made up the
coasts of Krocker Land, for if they had, as in Greenland
or Grant Land or as usually in the eastern
archipelago, the discharge of the ice streams that
filled them would have produced icebergs. Or was
the annual snowfall inadequate?</p>

<p class='c016'>Certainly the spectacular processions of the icebergs
every spring and summer in the east were
absent in the west. The conditions presented
seemed to be a convincing assurance that our
naphtha launch and ice boat, in its composite
adaptation to land or water, would successfully
traverse the flat ice sheet. Not indeed that it
would actually be a plane table, but the obstacles
of hummocks, piled up ice floes, ridges, mounds
and walls could be circumvented, avoided, and the
launch bodily driven over the pack. Such maneuvers
might add much to the distance, but the resources
were sufficient for a long journey, and, were
we made to feel that the launch offered insurmountable
difficulties, we would abandon it, increase the
loads of our sledges with its distributed freight, and
go on.</p>

<p class='c016'>The naphtha launch was a simple and interesting
vessel. It was a long, narrow, strong wooden raft
with curving sides, and a broad, smooth sloping
<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>bow, reinforced by steel binders, bolts and rivets,
set on runners, with a short tiller, easily unshipped,
and a peculiar slanting propeller which was simply
one rotating blade of alternating plates of wood and
steel, allowing a shifting attachment to the engine,
so that its stem could be shortened or lengthened,
or withdrawn altogether, and the propeller
disk sheathed in a pocket in the body of the
vessel.</p>

<p class='c016'>The upper works were a watertight box and
nothing more, about six feet in height, made up of
two skins, between which was packed asbestos,
built strongly, with no doors or windows. A few
covered eyelets allowed a poor sort of ventilation
which could be improved by opening the manhole
on top, through which entrance to the inside was
to be made. Through this manhole everything we
carried was introduced; the sledges and kayaks
were placed on its roof. This box-cabin covered
three-fourths of the length of the boat. The bow
admitted the socket and step for a mast and a small
sail. It had no beauty, no speed, but we believed
it was adaptable to the vicissitudes of travel before
us, because of its amphibious properties. If fairly
caught in an ice jam it would be crushed like a
peanut shell, but it was intended to rise on the ice,
and we expected to save it from the contingency of
any ice chancery by keeping it on open fields of ice.</p>

<p class='c016'>The conditions before us welcomed this treatment,
or at least we thought so. We could give it
a load of two tons, which affords an equivalent of
one ton in traction force to haul, so that forty dogs,
pulling fifty pounds each, would draw it, and this
was a very lenient exaction. Circumstances vary,
and the phases of Arctic mutability are almost
incalculable, but once on the ice we anticipated
success. The weak feature of our plan was the
late start. If nothing could be negotiated, in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>slang parlance of exploration, we would return to
Point Barrow and wait until later.</p>

<p class='c016'>The long days invited us and the calculable
chance of escaping the awful winter storms. What
we probably could not cross were the large pressure
ridges which are perhaps twenty feet high, a fourth
of a mile in width, and which contain individual
masses of ice as big as a small house, all in a <i>gallimaufry</i>
of confusion. But we would flank them
somehow; that was our purpose. The summer
might give us good leads, winding, penetrating
lanes of water drifting through labyrinthine courses
to the “promised land.” <i>It</i> was there, and it grew
in our thoughts every day as more and more desirable.
We did not care at what point we hit it.
Four hundred miles ahead of us somewhere lay
<i>terra firma</i>, and the conception grew in magnitude,
not as another Greenland buried under thousands
of feet of snow, a monstrous, appalling desert of
ice scoured by hurricanes and chilled in death with
a temperature half a hundred below zero. No! By
an incomprehensible infatuation (the Professor had
warped our judgments by his indefatigable promises)
we were convinced that Krocker Land contained
the resources of life.</p>

<p class='c016'>Had not Peary at Independence Bay, on the very
northern edge of Greenland, found flowers, grass
and musk oxen? Had he not, when driving for the
pole, “repeatedly passed fresh tracks of bear and
hare together with numerous fox tracks”? And
then those uncovered veins of gold seaming the
primal rocks, how they swam before our eyes in
yellow reticulations over square miles of quartz!
We had become decidedly crazy about it all, for,
unexpressed, but cherished in our deepest hearts
were fantastic hopes of some indescribable faunal,
floral, <i>human</i> remnant, like Conan Doyle’s “Lost
World” or the Kosekin in De Mille’s “Strange <i>MS</i>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>in a Copper Cylinder” in the Antarctic, and that
romantic and sufficing Paradise that Paine depicted
in “The Great White Way,” or even the nightmare
trances and inventions, the megalithic splendors
and horrific glories of Atvatabar, or the mythic
creatures in Etidorhpa. And yet our extravagancies
of imagination were all finally obliterated, even
to memory, in the grandeur and miracle of Reality.</p>

<p class='c016'>In one respect we altered our first plan. Hopkins
had wished to have three Americans selected
to bring back our launch, and to pick us up again
the next summer. We changed that. We would
never come back, or if there were disappointments
(“Inconceivable,” said the Professor) we would get
back our own way unaided, and—</p>

<p class='c016'>(Erickson looked at me solemnly, and his voice
struck a sepulchral tone that would have done
credit to Paris at the tomb of the Capulets.)</p>

<p class='c016'>“And Mr. Link, I am the only one that <i>did</i> come
back. The Professor and Hopkins are in Krocker
Land today; Goritz is dead.”</p>

<p class='c016'>(He resumed his narration.)</p>

<p class='c016'>Captain Coogan steamed over to the ice pack
which lay beyond the shore channels of open water,
towing our launch, which certainly now seemed to
dwindle into an inconsiderable implement of insertion
in that trackless ocean of ice. He pushed his
way through the “slob” ice, and jammed the nose
of the “Astrum” upon the bulwarks of a great floe,
whose uneven, rumpled and snow encumbered surface
receded into a measureless distance, veiled,
gray, dismal. We disembarked with the dogs,
the launch came alongside, Goritz started the
engine and she bucked the ice hopelessly. Then
we windlassed her <i>onto</i> the pack, harnessed the dogs
to her in five teams, one pack from the bow, two
amidships and two at the stern, and started.
Goritz and I were good teamsters, and Hopkins
<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>made a fair try at it, with promiscuous difficulties.
The rudder and tiller were unshipped. It
looked as if she would “go.” We did not make fifty
feet in our trial, but the dogs certainly could pull her
easily on her bone runners. Then came the unloading
of our supplies from the steamer.</p>

<p class='c016'>The day was most favorable, clear, cold and still.
The wind with its usual aptitude for mischief in
these northern asylums of meteorological chaos, was
waiting to catch us later. We packed the supplies,
sledges, two kayaks, guns, ammunition, stoves,
oil, pemmican, and the assorted constituents of the
regular provisioning of an Arctic expedition, into
and on the launch, which made a very original and
unique picture. The Eskimos who came offshore
with the steamer and the dogs themselves seemed
quite thoroughly perplexed, and doubtless entertained
unspoken and unfavorable opinions as to our
final success, and the dogs were perhaps dubious as
to their own fate.</p>

<p class='c016'>The closing hour of the day, scarcely separable
now from the night, with the sun always above the
horizon, found us ready. The dogs were an
anxiety. We hoped to feed them on fresh meat in
a large measure. Seals, the flipper, the bearded,
and the hooded, were common. Goritz and I were
good hunters, and a better shot than Hopkins never
lived. Our formal relations and duties were pretty
quickly arranged. Goritz was commander, with
especial charge of the dogs, Hopkins was engineer,
I was steward, and the Professor combined, very
happily, the services of cook and scientific observer.
We started with one hundred dogs, double perhaps
our actual needs, but the sometimes sudden and
unaccountable mortality among these animals
justified our precaution.</p>

<p class='c016'>Then came the leave taking and, for the first
time, an explicit avowal of our intentions, with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>Krocker Land pictured as our destination, and
also with the renewed stipulation, enforced by a
signed agreement and the additional security of
prepayment, that Coogan should return the following
year and look for us. I have said we did not
intend to return. We did not, but then that reservation
was a hidden, peculiarly communal feeling,
unspoken and realized between ourselves, as a
psychological dithyramb which we didn’t confess or
particularize, but which coerced us insensibly, as a
mission does a prophet, an ambition a conqueror,
or a dream a poet. Externally our demeanor was
of the ordinary rational type. Coogan should
come back for us—OF COURSE.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was picturesque and unprecedented, that
leave taking. The Arctic scene, the outlandish and
piled up “Pluto,” the waiting, serviceable dogs,
alert and incredulous, the swarthy, grimy, wrinkled,
heterogeneous natives, ourselves on one side of the
pictorial composition, Coogan, Stanwix, Phillips,
Spent on the other, with the crew in an amazement
of disgust hanging over the steamer’s taffrail,
perched in the rigging, or sauntering near us, and
that illimitable ice-packed sea, imperturbably
plotting our destruction. Hopkins delivered the
valedictory.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My friends,” he said with a profound sweep of
his cap, and a big obeisance that made the Eskimos
shout with glee, “we’re off for parts unknown.
You probably entertain a rather hopeful feeling
that we’ll never come back. May be. You never
can tell. At this end of the earth the unusual
usually happens. However, we’re not worrying.
Not in the least. To miss the resumption of your
acquaintance would distress us, and might hurt
your feelings, but it’s a case of taking what comes,
and kicking don’t go <i>up here</i>. You’re all aware of
that. No, you mustn’t put us in a class by ourselves.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>We are just part of the bunch, that for the
last one hundred years or more has been leaving
cards at the door of Our Lady of Snows, with an
occasional intimation on the part of her ladyship
that the visitors were welcome, but generally with
a bolted and barred entrance, and an upset of snow,
ice, wind and zeros from the upper stories of her
palatial residence, that compelled an inglorious
departure, or left the gentlemen in question dead
on the doorstep. Well, we’re ready to join the
previous company.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Only I don’t think so. I’m not in the least
nutty—I hope you catch me—and there are
scientific reasons—” Hopkins patted the back of
the Professor—“scientific reasons for banking on a
safe return, with the goods, for all of us. When
that happens, my friends, you’ll be very glad to see
us. Nothing will be too good for us, nothing too
handsome. The ordinary brand of explorer won’t
be in it with us, for if that kind gets back with his
clothes on, and the breath in his body, he gets in
the picture supplements, is put up for sale to the
highest bidder for receptions, cornerstone laying,
and memorial exercises; he can put the whole
country to sleep listening to his talk at one hundred
per—minute!—and is never known to disappear
from the public eye until he crosses the Styx on
another kind of expedition from which there
certainly is no ‘come back.’</p>

<p class='c016'>“That won’t be our way. When next we reach
New York, and the land of the free and the home of
the brave, our suit cases will be so full of boodle that
you won’t be able to shut them with a steam compressor,
and we can give you cross references to all
the original sources of all the gold that the world
ever had or can have. The trusts won’t be in it,
John Rockefeller will dwindle into invisibility, and
the bunko lords and potentates on the other side of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>the big pond, always fishing for <i>big</i> money will just
scramble to get in first to sell their junk crowns to
us. JUST WAIT. If there’s an income tax on
our return, we’ll undertake single handed to run the
government and, what’s more expensive, buy up the
politicians. Fact, Captain Coogan; fact, Mate
Stanwix; fact, Engineer Phillips; fact, Jack Spent;
fact, all of you!” And Hopkins executed another
inclusive gyration, “And now, Good-bye.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I don’t think his audience took him in, or else
their previous convictions were only somewhat
strengthened by this nondescript allocution. The
Professor smiled benignly. Goritz grunted approval,
I felt queerly elated. Coogan came forward,
hoped it would all turn out right, promised
to look for us next summer, told us to stack up all
the spare meat we could when the winter set in and
shook hands. There was no more speech making;
the rest came forward and shook hands too, as did
all the Eskimos. Jack Spent, the carpenter, with
his spectacles on his nose, and his brushy whiskers
stiffened out like a privet hedge, tried to sing a song,
which by reason of its quavering falsetto brought
howls from the Nuwukmeun. Its import ran:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Good Luck to you my trusty mates,</div>
      <div class='line'>Good Luck and Fortune brave,</div>
      <div class='line'>May God and all the kindly Fates</div>
      <div class='line'>Your souls and bodies save.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>The groups turned back, the grave Eskimos
climbing in last, over the “Astrum’s” rail. The
steamer backed out of the “porridge,” and we,
impatient to be off, trimmed up the dogs, tightened
the ropes over the pyramidal freight, and cheering
as we heard the parting whistles from the
“Astrum,” soon hazily obscured in a rising evening
dusk, went northward over the great ice field before
us.</p>

<div id='p0981'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p0981.jpg' alt='men in parkas hiking along a rough, snowy path, accompanied by a small boat on skis' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>ON THE ICE PACK</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c018'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>The dogs were alert, the yacht-sledge went along
well, the ice was sloppy but fairly smooth, and the
floe had apparently escaped the contusions, bumps
and collisions, which heap up these Arctic rafts
with mounds, faults and pressure ridges, over which
our unusual equipage never could have made its
way. As it was, we at times traveled slowly enough,
avoiding inequalities and dodging obstreperous
humps. Towards evening of that first day
the thermometer fell, an easterly wind came out of
the sullen eastern sky, the snow flakes floated
thickly in the air, and the sun glared like a gigantic
ruby in the west, across which scurried veils from
snow banks, eclipsing and revealing it at inconstant
intervals—an augury of a storm.</p>

<p class='c016'>We camped; that is we unharnessed the dogs,
who proceeded, accordingly to the conventional
style, immemorially recorded, to tie themselves up
into yelping snarls of fur and harness; we lit our
stove, partook of tea and pemmican, biscuit and
marmalade (Yes, Mr. Link, <i>marmalade</i>) and slipped
into protected nooks, amid the boxes on our diminutive
ark. As the wind was rising we turned her
lengthwise to the wind to prevent a capsize,
wedged her forward and, under warning to jump to
the ice if anything happened—a generalized warning
for almost every sort of disturbance—tried to
sleep.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a long time before dreams came to me, and
when they did come they were unwelcome, for I
seemed to be helplessly struggling up an inclined plain
of ice over which flowed a sheet of icy water. I woke
with a start. A roaring sound, almost stunning in
its loudness, came through the snowladen air. The
snowfall had increased and might have deadened
the distant report had it not been for the hissing
wind which brought the sound sharply to our ears,
mingling it menacingly with its own sibilant fury.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>Another and another! We all tumbled out on the
ice. The floe shook. We distinctly felt its tremors
under our feet, and, as it were, subterranean cracking
and splitting noises developed underneath us, as
if the floe might break. It was an anxious moment.
But the floe was some eight feet thick, a
resistant mass that might easily, however, succumb
to cleavage surfaces. The booming sound ceased,
but a prolonged crushing and rattling followed.
Goritz clapped his hands. It seemed an unaccountable
exhibition of spirits.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well,” exclaimed Hopkins, “what do you make
of it?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“The best thing for us. We’ve got another
length laid out for us on the straight track to
Krocker Land. This floe probably ended off there
somewhere,” he pointed northeast, “and now
another has struck it, crumpling the edges. We’re
not making such progress as we thought. The
whole sea is in motion, but pretty nearly due east,
so that as long as we go forward the easting does
not hold us back on the northing, or very little.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“What do you say to breaking up camp now.
Let’s see what’s happened,” suggested Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Certainly,” chimed in the Professor, “Krocker
Land has a long coast of course. The nearer we get
to it the greater likelihood of eddies, conflicting
currents, flood tides and even favoring winds
driving us ashore. I’m for the advance.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“And I,” I concurred. We dug out the dogs,
who were not very deeply covered, fed them, had
tea and biscuit and some potted beef stew, and
were off. Goritz calculated we had covered eight
miles in northing, though our speculative way
around obstacles had made the actual stretch
spanned much longer.</p>

<p class='c016'>Curiosity and suspense conflictingly urged us to
make haste. The snow died away with the wind,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>and the sun, running its cartwheel course along the
horizon, again watched us from the east in a clear
sky. It was a “gorgeous Arctic day.” The summer
heat had not yet too strongly prevailed, and the
air almost sparkled over the dazzling splendor of
the ice, undulating where it was seen in spaces
somewhat cleared of snow, or spread with the deep
ermine of the snow itself, which again, in rifts,
drifts or circular heaps, reflected the sun like a
firmament of pinpoint stars. The snow, melting,
became compressed, and at length a duller lustre
relieved our eyes of the strain of the almost insupportable
brilliancy of the morning hours.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had made sluggish headway, the wet snow
clogging and detaining us; indeed we lightened the
load on the yacht-sledge, and used the sledges and
extra dogs to improve our progress. About noon
we saw the results of the night’s collision. A
toppling but not very high pressure ridge had
soared upward between our floe and another, presumably
larger, for it had overtaken the one we
were on. On that floe we must ourselves continue
our advance, for already to the north and west we
saw the broad leads of open water, indicated to
Goritz’s experienced eyes by the dark “water blink”
seen, as he told us, the day before.</p>

<p class='c016'>But how to surmount the barrier of ice blocks?
Goritz and Hopkins went forward to investigate,
the Professor and myself watching the dogs whose
sudden alternations of obedience and mutiny kept
us perpetually active. Hopkins found a less
prominent section of the ridge, where the slanting
and unevenly disposed blocks might be flattened to
aid our progress, or be shattered into fragments,
with dynamite. We adopted Peary’s expedient in
shaking the “Roosevelt” free of ice at Lincoln Bay.
Dynamite sticks attached to poles were stuck
among the blocks, and connected by wires to our
<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>battery. Then we turned on the current. The
explosion seemed to stop our hearts and breath, but
if it did we were conscious enough to wonder at the
fountain of splintered ice that rose like a geyser in
the air, shimmering too with ten thousand irises
against the sun, as it subsided with clatter and
tinkling to the floe.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had cleared our way and to our exultation the
avenue opened showed us a wonderfully level and
unencumbered field of ice. This obstruction might
have been circumvented by taking to the water,
but too late we realized the danger of being crushed
in the battling floes that swirled together with the
current or were driven by the winds. It was a
prudent measure to keep to the ice at present. Our
launch was flat, rounded and intended, like the
“Fram,” to rise over the squeezing ice blocks. But
would it? It seemed a trifle top-heavy, with its
varied load. An upset would have been fatal; the
dogs would be lost.</p>

<p class='c016'>And now joy ruled, hope rose, the promise seemed
granted. Oh, the incurable madness of human
dreams. A gleam of light betokens the full day;
it may be only a ray from a lantern, or the quiet
before the storm gives assurance of eternal peace;
it may be but the presage of the tempest.</p>

<p class='c016'>We drove in triumph through the dismantled
gateway, pierced by the convulsion of those yellow
sticks of doom. Out on the white field, on which
perhaps only the wind had left its imprint, which no
eye but that all-seeing orb of day had ever scanned,
whose silence only the winds, the waves, the storming
ice had ever broken, and which now, the first
time since Eternity began its reign there, was
rudely assailed—we imagined it as an astonished
deity—by yelping dogs and four hurrahing mortals!</p>

<p class='c016'>The snow was deep and melting, but our dogs
(Goritz had harnessed all the dogs and they were
<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>still in good condition) dragged the strange bulk of
our ice-yacht with its rocking cargo at a topping
speed. Exhilaration reigned, we were hilarious
with confidence. It was not long before Hopkins,
in spite of the heavy trudging, indulged in some
characteristic musical levity, and his baritone notes
finely contrasted with the silence of that void, in
which we alone seemed sentient and animated.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a college reminder, and I just recall that
the refrain had a most freakish incongruity:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘’Twas on the Arctic polar pack</div>
      <div class='line'>I smoked my last cigar.’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>Well, the merriment did not last long. In about
an hour we saw before us a rising hillside, the snow
sloping up to an elevation of twenty feet or more
and having drifted in thick mounds above and
below it. We halted. Goritz plunged forward
and struggled to the top of the eminence. We
noticed him turning from side to side, leaning forward,
looking backward too over our heads, tramping
up and down like a dog on a lost scent. Then
he waved his arms. We understood his summons.
I watched the dogs, and Hopkins and the Professor
ran on, tumbling into the white heaps, apparently
hitting slippery surfaces below, which sent them
sprawling in a splutter of white dust. The three
men at length stood together and their gesticulations
made black strokes against a white-gray sky.
There was rain coming. I knew we had struck a
break; there was a bad hole ahead with a poor
chance of getting over it. Slowly the three
returned, and it was Hopkins who gave the first
intimation of the difficulty.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Mr. Erickson, we’ve been a little ‘previous’ in
our expectations. I think perhaps that psalm of
joy was a mistaken indulgence on my part, or else
I unconsciously hit the nail on the head and—our
<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>last cigar <i>will</i> be smoked here and a few other last
things may happen along with it. Go up and look
at the scenery.”</p>

<p class='c016'>He motioned to the snowhill. I did not need the
invitation, I was already on my way, noticing
Goritz’s gravity and the absence of the Professor’s
static grin. And in the interval that may be
allowed between my first step and my surmounting
the snow bank covering the topsy-turvy <i>abattis</i> of
ice blocks, a paragraph of explanation may be
wisely inserted.</p>

<p class='c016'>Anyone familiar with experiences of Arctic
voyagers in this western Arctic sea, as for instance
the thrilling pages of DeLong’s diary in the disastrous
“Jeannette” expedition, will recall the fact
of the broken condition of the polar pack in the
summer, and its hitherto almost invariably pictured
confusion of peaks, ridges and pits. Such a person
would question the truthfulness of the few previous
pages and note incredulously the absence of any
remonstrance on the part of the “Astrum’s”
officers at our foolhardy undertaking. There was
remonstrance enough however. We were told we
could not live in the broken, smashing, surging ice;
that there was no even ice floor; that everything
was uneasy, perilous, shifting, open; that we should
wait until winter had solidified the mass, and then
“just hike it north.”</p>

<p class='c016'>And we knew pretty well ourselves just what
everyone else had seen and recorded. But we took
the chance, and by a perfect miracle of opportunity
found there was, outside of Point Barrow a marvelous
field of ice suited for our <i>progress</i>. (The real
word turned out to be <i>occupancy</i>.)</p>

<p class='c016'>Well, I got to the top of the snow pile, and my
heart beat a rapid retreat to my boots at the sight
before me. Ice, ice, ice, but everywhere in blocks
smiting each other, rolling, rocking, jamming, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>all together crying aloud in a jargon of groans,
shivers, reports, grumbles, growls, like packs of
quarreling dogs or wolves. It was a disconcerting,
discouraging spectacle, and it stretched endlessly
away on every side. And in the middle distance,
looming larger each instant, rose a floeberg that
came on, shoving to the right and left the ice
shards about it, resistlessly, as the steel prow of a
cruiser or battleship might sweep a flotilla of boats
and barges from the path of its imperious progress.</p>

<p class='c016'>Its pinnacle blazed in the sun; its prow, a pointed
ice foot, pierced the obstacles before it with a rattling
discharge of rending and splitting; then
came an ominous silence and the powerful ice ram
rushed down upon us through softer or smaller
particles that brushed to each side in parting waves.
A few minutes more and its collision with our floe
would follow, and then—? I saw too quickly we
could make no headway in that hurly-burly of disorder,
and then the thought flashed on me that in
the pathway of this rushing dreadnought of the
north lay death and destruction.</p>

<p class='c016'>I leaped down the pressure ridge and regaining
my feet at its base ran on shouting to the others,
who were arrested by my sudden return, “Back!
Back! Back!” waving to them to get away.
Goritz understood, the rest followed him. The
dogs were wheeled round, the crack of the long
whips sounded in their ears, and the sting of the
lash tingled on their backs. The lumbering
“Pluto” swept in a half circle, and was shot along
the trail we had just made towards the south.
Perhaps we had gained a hundred yards, when the
jolt came. It threw us on our faces and upset the
dogs. It came with a queer, smothered roar that
sharpened into a long, rending shriek; the ice
beneath shook with the blow, and then—parted!
A seam opened below the “Pluto,” and water
<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>spouting from underneath covered the rearward
dogs. The Professor and Hopkins were on the
separated section. They sprang forward, while
Goritz jumped to his feet in a flash, and played his
whip like a demon on the dogs who seemed, to my
eyes, tied up in its rapid convolutions.</p>

<p class='c016'>The yacht-sledge crossed the chasm, and I, a
short distance behind, on the “calf” made by the
impact, pitched into the gap. I came up like a cork
and instantly felt Hopkins’ hand in the neck of my
coat. He dragged me out and for the moment we
were safe.</p>

<p class='c016'>But behind us ploughed on the <i>devastator</i>. A
closer view revealed a great hulk of ice blocks
heaped up, up-ended pieces of the floeberg, perhaps
forty feet high. It would strike us again, the shock
of its first blow had allowed the strong current to
turn its extension northward, and it was slowly
revolving on a water pivot, and another face was
about to deliver a second disrupting blow further
along. There were no councils held just then.
We scampered out of danger at our best speed,
leaping to the sides of the “Pluto” and helping to
pull with the dogs, all together, with a simultaneous
inspiration. It worked well. We were slipping
along fast, thanks to the level surface, when BANG,
and then <i>bang</i> again, and then a fierce ripping
sound.</p>

<p class='c016'>“A wallop on the slats, and a jolt under the chin.
<i>That rocks us</i>,” exclaimed Hopkins spasmodically.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz was keeping the air over the dogs blue
with imprecations and hot with the winnowing
lashes of his whip. We were too late. Twenty or
more feet ahead a black jagged line suddenly ran
over the ice, a million unseen hands seemed to have
seized the farther edge of the seam and pushed it
open with frightful speed. Deliberation was
impossible, but there must be a decision of some
<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>sort, “<i>right off the bat</i>,” as Hopkins would say. It
came.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz called back, “Shoot it! Loosen the dogs!
All aboard!”</p>

<p class='c016'>We cast off the loops from the cleats, always
intended for quick release, and prepared for embarkation.
The word “prepared” does not fit, for
it was preparation wound to the top-notch of precipitancy.
Goritz turned the forward teams of
dogs and slowed the momentum of the boat-sledge.
She slid on, however, and almost dumped into the
lead that had been formed; a fortunate hump of
ice blocked her and made her cargo of boxes and tins
rattle absurdly. It had a silly effect like the wail
of a baby in a storm. I long remembered it. Getting
the dogs stowed was troublesome. We had
seventy (thirty had been discarded and sent back
with Coogan) but pemmican pitched on the boat
hurried them aboard and kept them there. Then
we pushed the boat overboard, holding her back
with boathooks. In another instant we were on
her, too, and the little voyage towards the receding
ice began—towards the larger mass, which we
believed to be still connected with the ice field we
had first traversed. That was a trifle, but it was
another matter lifting her to the surface of the pack.
We sloped the edge with picks, anchored a capstan
on the ice, and by main strength hauled her on,
putting in the dogs at the final pull. We fed the
dogs, fed ourselves, and took time to think. As
Goritz remarked, “there was some room for
thought.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Our dilemma was this: Should we try to regain
the first floe cake, through the gateway we had
made in the pressure ridge, or stay where we were?
In any case the complete breakup of our platform
involved sticking to the boat, trusting that she
would not be crushed and waiting for the colder
<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>days when the cementation of the floes would begin,
when we could push northward somehow over the
ice. A reconnaissance settled the question. Our
first floe had parted, the pressure ridge had disappeared;
south of us, as all around us, was the
treacherous, shifting, pulverized ice pack (the
particles of the pulverization were often small
rafts). We drilled the ice and found it from four
to six feet thick, and took our position in the center.
We were beleaguered; as with Marshal Bazaine it
was <i>J’y suis, j’y reste</i>, for each of us. A storm was
brewing, the wind rose and, as Mikkelsen has
described it, the ice floes “ducked and dipped and
hacked at each other, crushing and being crushed.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“As long as our island holds out we’re safe enough,
and if some good leads develop we might strike the
water, and make off for another,” said Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>“There’s no place like home,” said Hopkins.
“Stick here. We’re drifting in the right direction.
When we sight the metropolis of Krocker Land we
can hoist our colors and, if there are proper harbor
facilities, come up the bay under full steam. I
guess the Professor understands the formalities of
these upper regions. He can introduce us to the
mayor and the aldermen and get us the freedom of
the city, and perhaps we can negotiate a commercial
treaty that will give the United States of America
the monopoly of the ice crop. If we could get an
attachment on these rory-borealises for the movies,
it would be a mint.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor ignored these pleasantries. He
also believed our safest plan was to stay on the floe
and drift at present. Game would turn up for the
dogs—seal, walrus—and when we touched Krocker
Land (persistent iteration had banished all doubts
now of its reality) we would find bear.</p>

<p class='c016'>“And really,” the Professor continued, “nothing
could be more favorable than our prospects at
<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>present. We are drifting northwest; wind and
tide are pushing us along on the right course.
Krocker Land, my friends, is not one hundred miles
away. This coming storm will help amazingly,
and I see no reason why we shouldn’t raise sail.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The suggestion was overruled by Goritz. The
danger of collisions was too great, and the headway
might be faster than we could overcome if we were
threatened with one. The ice was getting softer;
pools of water glistened all around us, and a bad
blow might break us up.</p>

<p class='c016'>Watches were kept, and as the light lasted the
full twenty-four hours, we were not likely to be
surprised by unsuspected invasions. The higher
floebergs were to be feared. Their bases, prolonged
far below, furnished push surfaces to the tide for
perhaps hundreds of feet, and their mass supplied
momentum. They were dangerous neighbors.
And now the storm rose furiously around us.
Except for our peril it was a spectacle we might
have enjoyed. The Professor alone was absolutely
unconcerned, and his nonchalance calmed our own
apprehensions.</p>

<p class='c016'>The clouds in strips and bulging banners were
carried high above us. Streamers they seemed,
from the eastern sky where the high lying cirrus
flakes, slowly expanding into shapeless patches,
had already delivered their usual warning. These
again were soon blotted out in the onrushing scud
all around us. A dull yellow light at first spread
its sickly tint over the ice field, and the sun,
darkened and blurred, was soon utterly cloaked
from view. The wind rose quickly, brushing close
to the surface of the ice, ushering in interminable
strife among the pitching blocks. They ground
together, and the swell, started below them, kept
their edges pounding, while a tumult of groans and
creaking noises like the smashing of heavy glass
<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>raised an unceasing din, a din indeed that possessed
some of the elements of a wild, fascinating rhythm.
The rain came in pelting downpours, whipped into
horizontal sheets by the blast, and then with a
sudden drop of temperature changed to blinding
snow flurries, that buried everything in white dust,
and sometimes smote us with the sharpness of
myriad-edged microscopic needles.</p>

<p class='c016'>The water washed in long flows over the sides of
the berg, and the berg itself rocked and shook,
threatening to start our ice-yacht into motion, and
to carry her and her precious cargo into the whirling,
fighting ice about us. Fortunately it continued
to grow colder, and the snow, besides offering
us means of banking the yacht, stem, stern, and
prow, and ramming her bowl-shaped sides with a
stiff embrace from which a jolt would hardly free
her, provided a bed for the poor dogs, who were
frantic with misery, howling and whining in disgust.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our berg had shrunk considerably; it was only a
remnant, an angle of the big field we had entered
with such rejoicing, and we knew it was getting
smaller. When the dogs had quieted, and we felt
that the launch was immovable, we crept into the
box-cabin and gratefully partook of hot tea, warmed
pemmican, and biscuit, with cups of soup to “wash
it down.” It was a parnassian feast, and though
we were anxious, the snug refuge and the soul-stimulating
grub brought us to the verge of exultation.
Even the hard knocks that the pack
received attested to our progress, and if it held
together, and the blizzard lasted, we would win some
miles of our journey, almost without effort, and, as
Goritz said, “it was just the sort of a blow to clear
the track.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I certainly had fallen asleep. Pictures had risen
like projections on a screen, one after the other, in
my mind, one melting deliciously into its predecessors,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>and all linked together by the memories of
home. My mother, my sister and her two boys
under the pine tree by the side of the dreaming
pond, holding in its reflexions the cloud-flecked
bosom of the blue sky, and the slanting cliff, the
hillside graveyard, and the reversed boats moored
to the little dock, and then the dash of the phaeton
down the road, the group waving their kerchiefs at
me, and my own answering salute, the turn of the
road, the dark passage through the spruce forest,
the cleared farmsides with the red houses, and the
clustering friends along the filled fences, cheering,
and then—a terrific bump—the phaeton had
smashed against a stone, and—!</p>

<p class='c016'>“Wake up, Erickson, all hands busy.”</p>

<p class='c016'>It was Goritz’s voice bellowing in my ear, it was
his hand, shaking me like a giant by the shoulder. I
leaped to my feet, dazed and, leaping to conclusions
as quickly, thought the ice had split our keel and we
were sinking. Everything was dark around me. I
heard Hopkins swearing over the oil lamps which
had fallen to the floor and the Professor mumbling
further away. And then came a curiously stifled
boom.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well, what’s up?” I stuttered.</p>

<p class='c016'>“The ice cake is breaking up. There—it goes
again,” groaned Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>Another report, louder, keener, like a gun shot,
was heard above the babel of noises that the wind,
the waters now and the straining boat, not to speak
of the cargo on the deck, rustled and scraped
throughout its many joints and the crevices between
the boxes, promiscuously raised. There was
a pause, then came another report that made us all
jump to the door; it seemed almost as if the launch
were cracking beneath our feet. It was a detonation
directly below us. Outside the wailing, demoniacal
storm was raging. Our cargo, thanks to its
<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>unbreakable anchorage to the deck, seemed safe,
but on all sides of us was water, laden with ice
blocks that beat trip-hammer blows against the
sides of the launch. OUR DOGS WERE LOST!</p>

<p class='c016'>No, not all. Ten had struggled from their confinement
in the snow and had taken refuge on the
boat. The rest, swallowed up in the sundering of
the raft, had perished in the foaming sea. The
boat was tossing, and the waves would have
swamped us had not the watertight door of the
cabin house been shut. She was drifting helplessly
amid the ice-strewn billows, whose retreating slopes
were sheeted white with a lather of foam. We were
holding onto anything convenient, and were
drenched, but finally Goritz and Hopkins found their
way somehow with the agility and tenacity of cats to
the stern, and shipped the rudder, and in a few moments—they
seemed hours—we were in line with
the wind, and racing before it, lifted and shot onward
by the waves that, luckily for us, were not
dangerously crested, but were peaked hills of water,
whose ebullitions were somewhat suppressed by the
masses of ice distributed over them. We seemed
like playthings, and like playthings the giant of the
deep tossed us on, thus humorously willing to aid us
to our destination if we could stand the treatment.</p>

<p class='c016'>The storm would half subside and then, as if
maddened at its clemency, would renew its violence.
As Hopkins put it, “She certainly can come back
good and hearty, gets her second wind and takes a
right hook, just as if nothing had happened. But
after all it’s no raw deal. We’re covering ground
fine, and not turning a hair to pay for it, provided
we can hold together. The insides of the weather
man are hard to fathom, and he has never been
credited with too big a supply of the milk of human
kindness, but if he isn’t putting it over us hard with
a goldbrick, it looks to me as if we might soon
<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>expect to run up against the revenue cutter of the
Krocker port. I suppose we can declare these
goods as essential to life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness, and beat the duty.”</p>

<p class='c016'>It grew lighter on the third day, and the awful
tumult lapsed suddenly into a peacefulness amazing
and ideal. The temperature rose and the skies
cleared, the sun was unclouded and intensely
brilliant for these latitudes, and, most glorious of
all, the ocean was clear of ice, only the green rolling
waves sweeping over the limitless distances, flattening
out against that magic circle where sky and
water meet, and where we half expected to see the
emergent peaks of mountains.</p>

<p class='c016'>And the next days were wonder days. The air
was even balmy; the sea, cleared of its litter of ice,
invited us with green gleaming undulations to
tempt its mercies still farther. Our engine was
started, and the “Pluto,” albeit a little slowly,
forged on, and later, aided by a sail that drew every
wind that stirred, advanced over the ocean, with
even a flattering pretence to speed; her safeness
had been assumed at the start.</p>

<p class='c016'>Except for the destruction of our dogs whom we
had already begun to admire and to cherish,
nothing seemed wanting for our perfect peace of
mind except a little more confidence that this
unknown world, now rapidly approaching, would
offer us a decent foothold; that it would not be an
ice-buried continent, the asylum of all the terrors
of the north, awful in its solitude, remorseless in its
scorn, brutal in its revenge. Well, the Professor
undertook to calm our doubts, and while he exerted
his culinary skill in the infinite variety of combinations
of soups, canned fruits, preserves, bread, cake,
biscuits, candy, pemmican, wine, custards, pie and
macaroni, he expended a more valuable art in convincing
us that we were indeed to discover a pleasant
<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>country, and was not averse to beguiling us into
raptures over his fabulous pictures of its possibilities—“spinning
yarns” and “pipe dreams,” Hopkins
contemptuously styled them.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My friends,” said the Professor, sprinkling
dried raisins into the yellow dough which would
later be transformed into a delectable cake, “this
Krocker Land has been the dream of ages.
It is the ancient Eden, and it is preserved to us in
the records of prehistoric men who have retained
the childhood stories of still more ancient peoples.
Relatively it is a legend because no one has seen it.
In reality it will establish the unity of tradition, as
it ought,” and so on and on, with some new notions
of the oblateness of the earth’s form, and the fact
that at the north we were some thirteen miles
nearer the earth’s center, and then some more about
the unequal distribution of the interior fluid masses
of rock, and the great probability that such unsolidified
magmas, radiating great heat, might occur
in the boreal regions of the earth’s crust to produce
local warmth. But of course his great point was
the depression idea. He harped incessantly on that.</p>

<p class='c016'>“It looks to me,” said Hopkins as we sat round
our little mess table in the cabin, “that if the going
stays good, and the food lasts, we surely will get
there. Holes are, however, dangerous things, and
Americans don’t relish getting into them too deep.
The grub question is important. We’ve stacks of
it just now, but this invincible habit of eating is
getting the best of it, and starvation is a most
inglorious death. Do you think, Professor, that
this Krocker Land has got any live stock on it?”</p>

<p class='c016'>The pained expression, of having been wounded
in the house of a friend, that came over the Professor’s
face, as he wiped his mouth and reluctantly
paused in his consumption of a ham sandwich
was very delightful.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>“In Krocker Land, Mr. Hopkins” this ceremonial
gravity was met by a severe, deferential attention
on Hopkins’ part that was perfect—“we may expect
to meet a concentrated reflexion of the palearctic
and the neoarctic faunas. Along the coast there
will be whales, walrus, seal, bear, the shores will be
tenanted by the eider duck; and snipe, geese,
ducks, ptarmigans, plover, will be found inland,
with the reindeer, the fox, hare, and the musk ox,
and—” here the Professor paused with a deliberation
intended to impress us—“and I should not be
surprised to meet with the American bald headed
eagle.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We all shouted, and the Professor hid his face
and his satisfaction in his sandwich. But Hopkins
accepted the challenge unflinchingly:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Good, Professor. If the American eagle is up
there, it certainly is God’s country, and a white man
can live in it!”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER IV<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>Krocker Land Rim</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>On the fourth day came another change, for in
these haunts of the snow gods and the ice gods the
shadow of storm darkens quickly, and if these
deities descend to earth they wrap themselves
thickly in shades and mists and white trailing togas,
or else they just blow upon the earth their coldest
breath, killing all human life, lest they be seen of
men. That strange Arctic hush, the misty light
over everything, that grayish white light caused by
the reflexion from the ice being cast high into the
air against masses of vapor, that Nansen has described,
encompassed us. A mist, a fog, rose later,
or else descended, and Goritz said we were near
land, in which I concurred. Our excitement was
intense. Was the great revelation to be vouchsafed?</p>

<p class='c016'>The fog of fogs grew, advancing upon us from the
four points of the compass, rising around us from
the water like spectres, descending from the skies in
soft, insensible folds, buried in the thickening
nebula, until, we could hardly see an arm’s length in
front of the boat. Then a chill came with it, light
breezes from the northwest (“From land,” said
Goritz) and then as if some resistance from the east
was roused into action, another tempest gathered
there, rushing ravenously upon us with a blind
rage, with wrack and cloud, with rain and snow,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>the last interference of the elements to destroy us,
before the secret of the north was revealed—a
senseless protest, for their madness only flung us
swiftly forward to the forbidden coasts.</p>

<p class='c016'>The “Pluto” plunged and rolled; her rounded,
swollen bottom made her an easy prey to the balloting
waves, and unless she could be kept in the
wind her overturn seemed certain with ourselves
spilled into the distracted waters. It was hard
to do this, hard to stick to her deck at all, when
every now and then some vicious poke sent
her across, and we would cling like barnacles to
rope or rail or stanchion. The tiller was jerked
from Goritz’s hand and its arm dealt him a blow
that almost disabled him. I was pitched headlong
on the forward deck and narrowly escaped rolling
overboard; some of the cargo aboveships slipped its
fastenings and was lost, threatening the dislocation
of everything. This danger was too serious, and
Hopkins and I did our best to avert it, but do what
we could or might, the load was crumbling away
before our eyes, loosened from its fastenings by the
fierce storm. Box after box disappeared in the
gloom. The dogs were hustled into the cabin,
whence their howls and terrified whines issued like
the cries of lost souls. We were now pretty well
alarmed, and our predicament strongly resembled
the prelude to complete annihilation.</p>

<p class='c016'>Suddenly the Professor shouted, “The ice—the
ice again!” and the next instant we were pinned
in a pack of formidable blocks that thundered
around us, lodged on our deck, and beat into ruins,
as the waves lurched or hurled them over us, the
frail battlement of boxes which contained our
supplies. My heart sank within me. EVERYTHING
GONE! Not quite. There was something
left in the cabin, but on that raging waste of
waters—? The question stuck in my throat. In
<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>that instant I seemed separated, sundered from all
the others, the concentrated agony of my terror—for
terror black and paralyzing it was—robbed me
almost of consciousness. Almost as in a trance I
heard Hopkins cry, “Look! Look!”</p>

<p class='c016'>Something happened. Actually it was a
meteorological phenomenon brought about by the
proximity of mountain masses perhaps; to my
mind it seemed like the visible extension of the
hand of God to pluck us from destruction. Above
us appeared a bright spot that was widening
rapidly; the motion within it was apparent, and
the velocity of the atmospheric rotations within it
must have been almost incalculable. It was becoming
a monstrous orifice into which poured the
abominable chaos that was overwhelming us; its
enormous vortex swallowed up the storm, transferred
in its outrageous coursing from earth to
heaven. The deity of Krocker Land favored our
approach. He had rebuked, repelled, dissipated
the tempest.</p>

<p class='c016'>The scenic shock was really tremendous. The
dramatic intensity of the change, the startling
evolution from storm and darkness, blistering
winds, soaked with snow and rain, the earth-driven
rolling clouds, black and gray, tossed over
us and engulfing us in blankets of cold wetness that
sent shivering thrills of dread through our bodies,
as the waves mounted and pounced on us like
beasts of ravin! And then this magnificent uplift!
Oh, the calm, superhuman glory of it! The shattered
<i>debris</i> of the broken tornado vanishing above
us, and—as its myriad shaped or distorted curtains
rose—the sunlit dark mountain peaks, the
bare rocky crags, jeweled with snow, the ice-strewn
beaches of Krocker Land, evolving superbly before
our eyes, as if created then, at that very moment,
by the transfiguring finger of the Almighty.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>Mr. Link, it was the most sublime spectacle imaginable;
for me it was the climax of my life. I shall
never forget its wonder, its power, its amazing
enforcement of the idea of creation.</p>

<p class='c016'>I don’t think there was much difference between
any of us in our feelings at that moment; its immensity
appalled us in a way, and then it thrilled us.
Temperamental details were submerged in the overpowering
sensation. At first perhaps we thought
it an apparition, a mirage. It was unreal. And
then when the realization was acknowledged, to
put it bluntly, we gazed in stupid astonishment.
We were about four miles away, when the vision
broke, standing on our deck, from which every
vestige of our supplies had been carried off by the
ruthless wind and water. I believe we stood that
way for a quarter of an hour, before we quite came
to our senses, with the waves and wind still driving
us headlong on that apocryphal beach. Then we
began to take notice and to take precautions.</p>

<p class='c016'>The shore was partially encumbered with shore
ice, and the lashing waves were throwing upon it
other small and large fragments. The coast was
low, sandy, shelving, cut up by a few projecting and
sand buried ridges of rock, which, like spurs, passed
back into the interior, and may have been the outspread
roots of the looming ranges beyond and
behind them. Goritz managed to direct the launch
upon a flat expanse of sand on which we landed
with a thud that made the timbers creak. I think
the Professor was the first to leap ashore, then
Hopkins and myself, and at the last Goritz, with
the painter. The next wave drove the boat further
up the beach. Nothing now could budge her.
Somehow we looked then to Goritz for orders.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Better get everything out, and take an account
of stock. This is good enough camping ground,
until we get our bearings and perhaps a little
<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>better hold on our wits. I hope the Professor’s
faunas are expecting us.”</p>

<p class='c016'>This oblique hint to the loss of our provisions
dampened any ardor we might have succumbed to,
in our enthusiasm over the discovery. We set to
work with a will, and almost without a word.
There were some welcome surprises. The dogs
were safe, sound asleep in the cabin, exhausted by
their fright. They became a solicitude, however,
because of the additional mouths to fill, though, in
a state of idleness, half rations would keep them
well. But would we need them? Our ammunition
and guns were safe, our oil and stove, alcohol,
medical outfit, and six boxes of canned vegetables,
pemmican, biscuit, tea, coffee, chocolate, in all
perhaps three hundred pounds; and our spare
clothing, for which we offered fervent thanks. One
sledge was saved from the wreck, and one bruised
and broken kayak. The portable tent was uninjured,
and there remained a serviceable equipment
of cans and pots, though for that matter one
can for the preparation of our tea and coffee or
chocolate, and one pot for miscellaneous stews,
soups, and what Hopkins called “<i>hari-kari</i>,” were
all we needed. The watertight cabin had saved
much.</p>

<p class='c016'>When the review was finished, and we felt
cheered over the immediate prospect, we drew up
the “Pluto” on the beach, anchored her, as well as
we could, and converted her into our camp. We
were clamorously hungry and the dogs were raging.
The Professor wasted no time, though just now the
allowances were rigorously measured. It might be
better when we caught sight of the Professor’s
“concentrated reflexion of the palearctic and neoarctic
faunas.” At the moment a sublime solitude
surrounded us. Yet I had noticed high up on the
shoulders of the rock and in the slight subsidences
<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>that like saucers lay at their bases, the growth of
plants, and the quick eye of the Professor had noted
it too. Surely that meant game. I guess we both
understood that, for the Professor worked over his
fires and vessels with a boyish profusion of activity,
and was inclined to be lavish in his ingredients
(Goritz, watchful and prudent, stopped him),
while something like elation sprang up within me
and an utterly inappropriate yearning to sing and
laugh and dance.</p>

<p class='c016'>I remembered Mikkelsen’s and Iversen’s joy
when they descended from the cold monotony and
whiteness and treachery of the inland ice of Greenland
to the habitable earth with its flowers, and life,
and warmth. With Mikkelsen too vegetation had
meant animal life. They seemed inseparable correlates.
In Greenland it had been pygmy willow
trees, six inches high, with trunks an inch thick, and
blades of grass, and thick moss, and beautiful
heather, and then—musk ox!</p>

<p class='c016'>What it was here would be disclosed as soon as
the evening meal was finished. We had all been
curiously dumb since we had been thrown ashore,
that is, there had been no reference made to our
wonderful landfall. Perhaps we were speechless
from sheer amazement, or some haunting dread
that our return was impossible, or that we were on
the margin, as it were, of bigger marvels. I think
the latter feeling made us almost mute. Our
fancies before we left Point Barrow had been high-strung
and the visions wrought in our minds were
almost mystical—I have explained that—but these
had very completely vanished during the last days
of turmoil and disaster, when the wonders we expected
to encounter were more likely to have been
found in another world than in this one. Yet you
see they really had not vanished, they had shrunk
somewhat, retreating into invisibility in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>crevices and holes of the mind, and now when the
stupendous reality confronted us they rushed out
from hiding, huger than ever, smothering us into
silence with their immensity! A new World, what
might not be in it? It was Hopkins who broke the
trance that imprisoned us.</p>

<p class='c016'>“That transformation took the gilt off any lightning-change
stunt I ever have seen and—Of course,
Professor, there isn’t any guess coming that we’ve
ARRIVED, that this is Krocker Land?” he said
suddenly.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Not the slightest,” answered the Professor,
filling our cups with chocolate, and in a matter of
fact way that was final.</p>

<p class='c016'>“We have absolutely reached a New Continent.
Everything confirms that: Latitude, longitude,
direction from Point Barrow, and the topography.
It isn’t Wrangel or Herschel or Harold or Bennett,
or any part of the Franz Josef Archipelago. That
splendid fringe of peaks hides inner valleys that
decline into a central area of warmth, light and
Life!”</p>

<p class='c016'>I really think that we believed him. The
glorious extravagance of the prediction, its superb
audacity, its anomalous improbability subjugated
us totally, because our startled expectations would
be satisfied with little else. That was the psychology
of it. And Mr. Link, the Professor was
right. LISTEN!</p>

<p class='c016'>Our position was on a flat, shelving coast, slowly
rising to foothills, beyond which gaunt bare precipices
towered apparently to uplands, from which
soared the sharp serrations of a continuous cordillera.
It made a noble picture. Snow covered the
higher elevations, it lay in drifts in the lower chasms,
it formed a light covering on the tableland but
failed to approach nearer to the shore, which was a
series of sand or rubble flats, embedding low backs,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>pointed mounds, and dikes of diabase. Only at
one point was a glacier visible. To the north, almost
at the limit of vision we could see the glittering
ribbon high up in the mountains. The days
were shortening, and although the sun remained
for most of the time above the horizon, nightfall
was marked by its declination, when a peculiar
tawny golden glow filled the air. The mountains
were striped with light and shade, half roseate,
half black as ink; the highlands were also in gloom,
and between both the foothills made a beaded
girdle of whiteness like a necklace of gigantic
pearls on the dusky neck of an Ethiopian.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was no question of turning back. An
unappeasable hunger for discovery filled us. What
lay beyond those pearly pinnacles? WHAT?
Our plans were quickly laid. There was call for
expedition, for the Arctic night was coming, and
while sincerely, with three of us, some inexplicable
provision seemed imminent for its replacement,
Antoine Goritz resisted our madness at that point,
and told us that if this was a dead world, nothing
but the <i>dogs</i> would save us from death; our
<i>retreat would have to be over the frozen polar sea</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>The first step was to find game: Seal, walrus,
bear, ox, hare, anything. We divided into two
skirmishing parties, Hopkins and I going to the
right, Goritz and the Professor to the left. The
dogs were tethered, and fastened to the launch.
The Professor and myself had already collected
some of the plants. How radiant and beautiful
they seemed in that still untrodden asylum, the
little green-leaved willows, a saxifrage, the yellow
mountain poppy of Siberia (<i>Papaver nudicaule</i>),
forget-me-nots, cloud berry, and in the boggy
hollows cottongrass, spreading its wavy down
carpet, while here and there tiny forests of bluebells
swung their campanulate corollas! The cold pure
<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>waters of the snows fed these alpine gardens, and
we even detected the hum of insects amid the variegated
patches of delicious bloom. Game? “Well
I should smile,” shouted Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins and I, in splendid spirits, made our way
to the upland, a distance of some five miles, and
then through the snow, watching the slopes of the
foothills that made ideal pasturages for the musk
ox, if these “artiodactyls,” as the Professor rather
pompously spoke of them, were here at all. We
had not gone far when up a ravine, where narrow
meadows and boulder strewn intervals conducted,
between two steep hills, a cascading stream, breaking
from the craggy cliffs beyond, Hopkins espied
a little herd of four cows, two calves, and a bull.
Were they musk oxen? The horns looked different.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins skipped in glee, and, with his usual
recourse to verse (preferably Lewis Carroll’s), he
hoarsely whispered:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘What’s this? I pondered. Have I slept</div>
      <div class='line'>Or can I have been drinking?</div>
      <div class='line'>But soon a gentler feeling crept</div>
      <div class='line'>Upon me, and I sat and wept</div>
      <div class='line'>An hour or so like winking.’</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>“Erickson, my pop first. I’ll forego the tears.
Stalk them up to windward.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The animals had not noticed our vicinity, although
grazing and leisurely approaching us. We
finally squatted behind a rock, and just a half hour
later, as they reached the edge of the mimic field we
fired. Hopkins stretched out the bull; it sank
majestically to its knees, its head drooped, something
like a groan escaped its throat, and it fell
sideways. I was not so fortunate, nor skillful. I
wounded one of the cows, but there was no attempt
at escape. The herd pressed together, stamping a
little but almost motionless, as if paralyzed with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>terror, or robbed of volition by curiosity. Hopkins
let fly again and my wounded cow glided to the
ground. My second shot was fatal, and another
helpless brute succumbed. Then as if stricken with
a sudden consciousness of their danger, the
rest of the herd trotted off, spared further decimation.
Our larder would be well replenished,
and we both knew now, with an unshaken conviction,
that we were in a land of plenty.</p>

<p class='c016'>“We should worry!” sniffed Hopkins sententiously.
When we reached our quarry I was
amazed to note the peculiar narrowness and elevation
of the horns of the bull, and the dirty gray
maculations on the black hair of the pelage.</p>

<p class='c016'>“A new species, Spruce,” I exclaimed.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well then,” he replied, “here’s where the Professor
rings up the curtain on the textbooks, and—Say
Alfred!—as I had first blood, and bagged the
bull, why not hand it out as <i>Bos hopkinsi</i>?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“By all means,” I assented. When we got back,
and we did not return empty handed we found
Goritz and the Professor. They looked a little
dispirited but our report put such a pleasant aspect
on things that they quickly recovered. They had
found nothing, but that was due to the pertinacity
of the Professor in carrying Goritz off on a tour of
investigation. They had crossed the tableland and
had threaded their way half across the foothills,
until they met the frowning crags skirting the mountain
terrain. These were seamed with waterfalls
pouring into some encircling canon below them,
which again formed a channel for the escape of the
gathered floods, but whither they went was undetermined.
It was evident that the water of the
streams came from the melting snowbanks lingering
higher up on the mountains, and that the region
was one of very heavy precipitation.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz insisted on bringing in the meat, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>indeed our mouths watered for a juicy steak. The
dogs were fed, and these insatiable beasts ravenously
devoured the pieces we threw to them, until
Goritz, fearing their consequent lethargy, drove
them off half frantic, harnessed them, and accompanied
by me took the sledge to our depot; returned
with the carcasses and skins and ushered in
a memorable night, lit by the futile rivalry of sun
and moon.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was first our supper when the Captain
permitted a relaxation of his restriction, and the
Professor plunged into the resources of our slender
commissariat with a most reprehensible <i>abandon</i>.
I believe we washed down our steak with <i>Eulenthaler</i>,
a few bottles of which had still survived our
perils. Then there was the Professor’s ecstasy
over the new species of <i>Bos</i>, for such it was, and his
delighted acceptance of Hopkins’ patronymic for
its technical name. And then—our Council of
War; war on the Unknown, the Mysteries of this
new land, the perils before us, and those that might
await us beyond those slumbering virginal crests,
from whose pinnacles even now the clustering genii
of the realm watched our intrusion with scorn and
hatred!</p>

<p class='c016'>Our debate was a little disputatious. Goritz was
quite immovably for returning that winter, executing
as much of a littoral survey as we could, to
return another season with an equipped expedition,
trusting to get back to Barrow, with the dogs,
sledge, kayak and launch, and with meat stores
from the <i>Bos hopkinsi</i>. The Professor vehemently
and feverishly protested. Here we were on the
brink of world-convulsing wonders. To decline
the invitation so miraculously extended to us was
flying in the face of all recorded traditions of exploration.
It was an ignominious flight from insignificant
dangers. He knew that beyond that portentous
<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>circle of peaks lay an inverted cone holding
within it warmth and civilization.</p>

<p class='c016'>I think Goritz felt the appeal, but he was sagacious,
a prudent man, and had no vainglorious
desire to appropriate the forthcoming discoveries,
which the Professor gloated over, for himself. He
shook his head energetically. Then Spruce Hopkins,
who with myself had only interjected questions
and inquiring comments, and who with me
was fascinated by the Professor’s predictions and
promises, suggested a compromise.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My friends, I’m sort o’ on the outside of this
argument, though I guess my skin will get as much
punishment, either way, as any one of you. Can’t
you come to terms on this easy ground? Get up
there,” and he waved his hand towards the serene
splendid domes in their terrible beauty far above us,
“and if the land goes <i>down</i>, as we might say <i>hole-wise</i>,
we’ll stick, but if it goes straight, level, or <i>up</i>,
why we’ll beat it home again. That’s sense Goritz,
and I guess, Professor, it’s philosophy too.”</p>

<p class='c016'>This jocularity relieved the tension superbly, and
whether Goritz and the Professor were quite clear
as to how the provision should be interpreted,
Goritz consented to make the attempt to reach “the
rim,” as the Professor called it.</p>

<p class='c016'>The next days were days of anxious preparation.
It was no child’s play scaling that natural fortress,
and within its labyrinth of parapets, bastions,
moats, and demi-lunes, ramparts and ditches what
unforeseen dangers lurked! Our chief concern was
our stores; the inroads made upon them by the
storm was serious, and the inconvenience of starving
on the “rim,” in sight of the <i>promised land</i> was
disturbing. Our campaign would consist of making
<i>caches</i> of meat on the uplands, taking our condensed
food, tea and coffee on our backs, making
forced marches to the summit, reconnoitering and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>plunging on ahead, <i>if unanimous in that</i>, or else
tumbling back, and setting our faces homeward.
<i>Homeward</i>—the word seemed a mockery in that
strange and hidden corner of the earth.</p>

<p class='c016'>Another thing happened, though not quite
unexpected. The wind had shifted to the west,
bringing loose drifting ice and some hulking floebergs,
and the squally twists, the livid streaks in
the sky, and the sun’s sepulchral pallor had indicated
some rising uneasiness skyward. The change
came good and plenty later. The wind rose almost
to a tornado, though there was no snow or rain, just
a bitter cold searching wind. It smote the mountains.
We could see the sky-rocketing volley of
snow on their sides, and noted too that towards
their tops there was no disturbance, indicating a
semi-icy condition of the snow there, perhaps
better, perhaps worse for going. And now in the
turning of a hand the crowding ice packs were back.
As far as we could see their humps and fields spread
everlastingly, and the chorus of groans, wheezes,
and queer <i>hushing</i> sounds that they all sent up was
astonishing.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins shot a bear, before the storm attained
its top-notch of fury, which brought much cheerfulness
to the camp. I never shall forget it. It was
funny too; it might have been just as tragic. He
and I were off to the west, reconnoitering for a
possible easier entrance to the “rim,” when Hopkins
caught my arm nervously, and pointed out over the
groaning packs, and said he saw something moving.
I could not see it. We ventured out a little way on
some near shore ice and were behind a slight pressure
ridge, when a shockingly coarse growl issued
from the other side and a moment later a big polar
bear surmounted the pile, and laying both its front
paws on the blocks, over which its face rose, most
whimsically recalled the emergence of a preacher in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>high pulpit. We were pretty well taken aback, but
Hopkins slipped off his usual doggerel, <i>sotto voce</i>
however—while the bear watched us critically—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“My only son was big and fine</div>
      <div class='line'>And I was proud that he was mine,</div>
      <div class='line'>He looked through eyes that were divine—</div>
      <div class='line'>Indeed he was a BEAR.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>And then he raised his rifle and—Bruin wasn’t
there. We jumped up on the ridge, clambered to
the top and almost fell into his ursine majesty’s
arms. He had ducked down on seeing the rifle but
hadn’t budged from his position. It looked as if he
had met hunters before. Hopkins blazed away, and
I followed. The splendid beast gurgled and fell
backward dead.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had reached the foothills, crossed the
uplands, made our caches of meat, stuffed the dogs
and turned them loose—Goritz called it “burning
our ships behind us”—and were creeping along the
edge of the narrow deep chasm or canon which
caught the waters from the cliffs, gathering them in
an awful, tempestuous, writhing torrent, that
became almost maniacal in its agony where hidden
rocks stopped its course, or where it dropped into
black abysses. We must cross that chasm, climb
the cliffs, before we could begin the ascent of the
mountains. The chasm was twenty or thirty feet
wide, the cliffs rose above it, from our level, about
one hundred feet, and below us they descended to the
water trough, one hundred feet more. The problem
was to reach the bottom of the chasm, bridge
the raging brace, and then work up the cliffs. It
looked like a fly’s job. And what disclosures the
roofs of the cliffs and the mountains beyond had we
could only guess. These difficulties had been
anticipated, in one way; we had strong wire rope, a
flexible cable made of copper wire and skin.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>Crawling on hands and knees we were studying
the sides of the chasm, and not infrequently Goritz
would suspend himself, held by the rest of us, over
the frightful gulf, to determine where we might
safely enter this <i>inferno</i>, with a prospect of spanning
the seething, spouting, vociferous river, and of
scaling the black and jagged wall on the other side.
Our search was unavailing. We had explored the
bank for more than a mile. The delay was maddening.
Suddenly the Professor, who had been
silent, and had been studying the black and red
walls opposite, with occasional long examinations
eastward with the glass, exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c016'>“We are making a mistake. Our course is up
and to the back of the glacier. These cliffs are
sedimentary; they lie on the eruptive crystallines
of the mountains; the river runs west; the glacier
has dammed its course eastward, where it should
flow, following the dip of the slates and sandstones.
It cuts the dip, and the glacier has crossed its path
and filled up this singular crevice, which is a fault
rift.”</p>

<p class='c016'>He looked triumphant; Goritz seized the suggestion.</p>

<p class='c016'>“That’s right,” he shouted, “up the glacier and
then—we can use the dogs!”</p>

<p class='c016'>We were soon back to the abandoned sledge;
some of the dogs had followed us, the rest were
sleeping off their debauch of raw bear’s meat. We
loaded the sledge with meat, from one of our caches,
leaving the other intact, and with awakened hope
started at a lively pace over the snow covered uplands
for the distant ice-river. The going was not
good for the snow had drifted somewhat, and was
soft and mushy, but the dogs were in excellent condition,
and they really seemed to understand that
they had escaped desertion.</p>

<div id='p1302'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p1302.jpg' alt='four men and dogs stand, looking at a distant mountain range' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>KROCKER LAND RIM</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>In three hours the glacier was reached. It was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>a more significant feature than we had supposed.
Where it emerged from the mountain hollow it was
almost obliterated from view by an immense
morainal accumulation which had choked up the
river, as the Professor guessed, forming a small lake,
fed also, we discovered, by the underground waters
flowing from the glacier itself. Over this moraine
we made our way in a helter skelter manner because
of its unevenness, the scattered rocks bulging up
and intercepting our path with a perverse frequency
that drove Hopkins to improvisation:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“If I had a little dynamite</div>
      <div class='line'>To put these pebbles out of sight,</div>
      <div class='line'>I think I’d skip from pure delight</div>
      <div class='line'>And say my prayers with all my might</div>
      <div class='line'>As well I know is surely right.</div>
      <div class='line'>But as it is they make me cuss</div>
      <div class='line'>And put my temper in a fuss,</div>
      <div class='line'>So if perdition is my share,</div>
      <div class='line'>I owe it to this rocky lair.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>There was plenty of snow in places where the sun
had as yet failed to evict it, but everywhere melting
and warmth were encountered. The summer was
reigning, and the verdurous garb of green and
colored things was drawn like a veil over the rugged
grounds, soothing them into a transient loveliness.
We could see the rivulets from the snowbanks
coursing everywhere, and could hear from the
glacier the gurgle, rush, and tinkle too of hidden
rivers, while towards the coast, in the daytime, the
sun revealed a shield of wide-spread waters where
the floods from the melting ice poured over the
shore, and cut long, wide lanes in the rapidly
vanishing shore ice.</p>

<p class='c016'>When we had struggled to the glacier wall we
found it an almost imperceptible rise to its surface,
and once there, our faces turned toward the ice-river
<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>to gauge its character. It was badly crevassed,
and although the snow sheeting it over had
been heavy, much had disappeared. Along the
sides where the lateral moraine somewhat shielded
it the snow still remained, but the depressions traversing
it, sometimes in herringbone fashion,
showed the position of the masked depths, in whose
icy jaws our whole party, sledge and dogs might
readily be entombed.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz went first with the dog leader, then came
myself at the head of the team, with Hopkins and
the Professor on either side of the forebraces of the
sledge. We were roped together, and the sledge—the
only survivor of its kind from the storm—was
heavily loaded. We each carried about twenty
pounds of condensed food, ingeniously harnessed
on our backs. It was an inconsiderable load and
might prove serviceable if the sledge vanished.</p>

<p class='c016'>At first we advanced gingerly, bridging crevasse
after crevasse, but our confidence increased as the
snow flooring, although yielding, repeatedly proved
itself adequate for our support. At one point the
sledge smashed the weakened crust and threatened
to drag the dogs backward with it, as it hung almost
vertically into a wide slit, forty or fifty feet deep,
wherein the ice, to our eyes, was an aquamarine
mass of jewels. Hopkins lashed the dogs and they
hauled the sledge back again on the snow.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had reached a turn in the glacier’s track, and
a patch of outrageous confusion. The whole surface
seemed shattered, and serac-like monuments,
poised all over, threatened us. We were constantly
startled by crashes, and we moved with alarmed
caution, for not only were the holes deep but they
opened into sluiceways of hurrying water quite
capable of sucking any unwary intruder into subterranean
tunnels of ice. The dull plangor of the
beating currents arose to us with an ominous
<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>warning. The dogs here became nervous and unmanageable.
Again and again we bridged the
chasms with the sledge, and crept one by one over
the improvised crossings, coaxing the dogs to follow.
We now did not have the protection of the
friendly banks. Goritz had concluded to ascend
the mountainous ridge before us on the opposite
side of the glacier, where the glacier itself, like a
small “<i>jokull</i>” terminated, or began, in a neve
loaded cirque.</p>

<p class='c016'>To do this we were compelled to cross the glacier.
After a good deal of dangerous work, with one or
two nearly fatal mishaps, we attained the central
dome of the ice and found here an ideally fashioned
space for resting and feeding. The dogs were
restless or sullen from hunger, and we needed the
encouragement of food ourselves. The worst limb
of our trip remained.</p>

<p class='c016'>But it was a beautiful picture on every side.
The day was clear and warm, and, as we gazed far
below at the ice-flecked ocean over the glacier’s
marge, or upward into the rugged bowl, walled
with bold precipices, streaked ever and anon with
spouting waterfalls, or higher still to those mute,
imperishable peaks, guarding the secrets of the
wonder-land towards which we were slowly,
so slowly, moving, or lastly at the nearer edges of
land on either side, the constricted throat of the
glacier serpent, bountifully sprinkled with a vermeil
of audacious blossoms and tender grass, we
felt the thrill of our strange adventure keenly, and
rejoiced in it. But a few minutes later our spirits
were harshly dashed, and despair almost broke our
hearts.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was about two in the afternoon; everything
was repacked and we had resumed our snail-like
progress. The path, if it had been marked by a line,
would have been revealed as a maze of loops,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>necessitating countermarches and criss-crossings,
but its widest indirection, after hours of work,
showed that we were nearing our goal. The
flowers on the cliff beyond us were now almost
individually visible. They seemed like a lure to
invite us to hasten to their side, when a jolt and
tug, that nearly knocked my legs from under me,
and then a recoil that sent me sprawling among
the dogs.</p>

<p class='c016'>The rope had parted; I saw its end fly upward,
even as I saw the tall form of Goritz with tossing
arms sink from sight. My God! Goritz had fallen
into a crevasse and—how the thought lacerated
me!—they were deepest, widest, on this side!
Hopkins and the Professor knew it almost as
quickly as myself. We recovered ourselves, and
ran forward. Lying flat, on the rim of what had
been a snow bridged crevasse, and held in position
by the other two, I leaned out. Never shall I forget
the horror of my feelings at that moment.
Below me caught on an ice arm, which held him
above the seething ice water, still deeper down on
the floor of the gash, was Goritz, those splendid
eyes imploringly lifted to mine:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Quick, Alfred—the rope!” I tore the rope from
around me, noosed it, shouting all the time in a sort
of delirium I think, “Hold on Antoine, you’re safe!
Hold on! On! On!” And then, with a glance at
Hopkins and the Professor, whose faces were
almost whiter than the snow at our feet, was on my
stomach again, the rope in my hand, and the noose
lowered carefully to my friend. He lay on his side
on a shelf of ice; a movement and he would slip
into the tide below him. It was a critical moment,
and yet only with the utmost precautionary slowness
and delicacy of adjustment could the rescue be
effected. Goritz knew that, though it seemed
incongruous to watch a man, prostrate, literally on
<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>the brink of destruction, approach the measures of
salvation with the deliberation with which one
might crack the shell of his breakfast egg. Slowly—the
seconds seemed ages—he drew the loop to himself,
caught one arm in it, thrust his head through
it, and was endeavoring to extricate his other arm
from its chancery beneath him, to engage it too in
the friendly loop, when—I heard the snap—the
shelf broke away! I slammed backward, called
to the others to pull, jabbed my spiked shoes into
the ice, and held on. Goritz’s voice came thickly
from his imprisonment:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Haul, Alfred!”</p>

<p class='c016'>And haul it was; the weight seemed trebled. I
knew—the water was hauling too, but, before Goritz
went, it might, for all I cared, drag me to the same
doom. I guess Hopkins and the Professor felt that
way, too. It seemed nip and tuck. Were we all to be
pulled into the frigid maelstrom, to be finally ejected
into the Arctic sea in the rush of the sub-glacial river?
Somehow thinking this way put steel into our
muscles and defiance in my heart, and—we pulled
Antoine Goritz back to life at least, and his reception
on the top of that glacier was as fervent, if a
little less boisterous and showy, as if he had been
met by the king in an audience room at Copenhagen.
He was drenched and cold, had a wrenched shoulder
but I took his place ahead now, and he dried off
with exercise, after the fashion of Arctic navigators.
And a bowl of tea that the Professor bewitched
with a little of our last bottle of whisky helped
matters.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had left the glacier; that icy track was far
below us, and distance contracting and closing all
its wicked seams revealed it as a blazing white
ribbon, negligently thrown over the shoulders of
the still, black rocks. It looked well. The
aneroid registered 6000 feet. The snow was awful
<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>in spots, and we rolled into holes unsuspectedly
saturated with water. Our snowshoes were indispensable,
but the dogs were almost useless, floundering
and helpless in the drifts. Our dog meat was
rapidly diminishing, and, if the cruel dilemma must
come, rather than to exhaust our supplies on them
we would be compelled to kill them.</p>

<p class='c016'>We were pushing along what bore the appearance
of a <i>col</i> or pass between two majestic peaks,
wrapped in ermine to their highest points, ermine
that in the day glittered magnificently, rayed and
starred with innumerable irises, and that in the
lesser illumination of the night was immobile and
dead, a monstrous winding sheet over a dead world.</p>

<p class='c016'>A terrifying snow storm held us up for two days.
The air was so dense with the falling crystals that
we felt encased. It was a singular sensation. The
Professor, who had been incubating some ideas (we
always looked forward with expectancy to his first
utterance after a spell of prolonged silence),
launched the amazing paradox, during this storm,
and while we, in the most detached manner awaited
its conclusion in our snug tent, that we were
approaching a warmer, snowless, and rainy zone.
It was Hopkins who first recovered his powers of
utterance after this promulgation.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Professor, as a sedative to the distracted mind,
you’ve got everything else winded. And for
novelty, well, Barnum and Bailey’s best advertiser
couldn’t begin to get the collocation of superlatives
necessary to give a hint of your surprising guesses.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“It is not difficult to understand,” resumed the
Professor urbanely, with that calm manner of
shelving the unconventional Yankee which always
enraptured Hopkins; “the wind has been westerly,
the excessive precipitation shows it was a moist
wind, a wind heavily laden with suspended water,
that moisture was dropped out as snow <i>here</i>, but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>west of us it must have escaped expulsion. Why?
Because it was not cold enough to condense it as
snow. I think, though, it fell <i>as rain</i>. We shall
see.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“And,” he added a moment later, “on my theory
of a polar depression that would be so.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We went to sleep on that, and the depth of our
slumbers had some complimentary significance for
the Professor’s prediction.</p>

<p class='c016'>After the storm, the sky failed to clear, and a
wind sprang up from the north that rapidly increased
in violence, hurling the snow in torrents,
blinding, cutting us and foundering the wretched
dogs, who lay down in their tracks repeatedly, or
snarled up together in vicious fights. But Goritz
was inexorable. He insisted on pushing ahead.
His reason was just. We were now near the turning
point; we had surmounted KROCKER LAND
RIM. Should we go on or turn back? If it was to
be back we had many things to think of, and not
much time to waste, with our larder growing
smaller each day and the prospect of half-rations
ahead. Goritz had a tender heart and I know he
wanted to get the dogs back, too.</p>

<p class='c016'>Luckily the snow furnished better going, the
wind ceased, our hearts leaped again, and the stern
solemnity of that alpine land strangely elated us.
At night now, the sun almost sank below the horizon,
but its decline was the signal for the noiseless
evocation of half lights and shadows, spectral tints,
pale ghosts of mist curling over the endless desert of
snow, a retinue of chiaroscuros that glided hither,
thither, never quiet, yet never restless. And far
south we thought we saw the crystal light of half
eclipsed auroras. It all entranced me. I often
stole outside our tent to watch the voiceless drama
of the night, and often Goritz stood beside me.
And now—poor fellow—”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>(The speaker paused in his story, a sob choked his
voice; then it was over and he continued.)</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor was right; the snowdrifts thinned
away to bare ground. It was warmer, at first some
ten degrees, then more, and the land descended.
Had not Goritz lost? Should we not, according to
the protocol of our agreement, search the new land?
Goritz was unconvinced and inclined to temporize.
Yes, the land was lower, perhaps; it was warmer,
but how did we know it would keep so; a small
decline here might change into an ascent further
away; we were on a tableland, but another axis
of elevation might arise from it, and remember in
these solitudes there was not much life, no game,
and our stores would in ten days be exhausted, not
counting the dogs, some of whom must now be
sacrificed for the others.</p>

<p class='c016'>This had the appearance of tergiversation. The
Professor was vehement, I and Hopkins leaned in
his favor, but I think all of us would have succumbed
to Goritz’s wish and certainly to his
command—the sweetest, bravest, most generous
soul I have ever known! At length, at Hopkins’
suggestion, we compromised again on a reconnaissance.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a pivotal point. We were in a sandy
plain, with much bare rock, and soily places now
greenish with moss or lichen. The surprising
feature was the sudden onsets of rain with the east
winds. It was rather misty all the time, and the
fogs made it abysmally cheerless. It was easy to see
that this excessive moisture formed the fathomless
snows among the mountains we had ploughed over.</p>

<p class='c016'>On the day of the reconnaissance we all separated.
Goritz went north, the Professor, pertinacious in his
convictions, went due west, with the aneroid,
Hopkins and myself southward. Our reports were
to be made at the conference at night. We reassembled,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>all except Goritz turning up at the tent at
almost the same time. Hopkins said that for stone
breaking, the country he had walked over was the
most promising he had ever encountered. He
couldn’t imagine a better place for a penal
establishment. A reservation like it alongside
of New York City would raise the moral standard
of that city almost as high as anyone would
like to go. He thought perhaps we’d better turn
back.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor disheartedly admitted that the
land after sinking rose abruptly, and that there
might be another <i>axis of elevation</i>—the Professor
pronounced the technical observation with evident
disgust. The fogs grew so dense it was impossible
to determine. He concluded dolefully that, as
much had been accomplished, it might be well for
self preservation to return.</p>

<p class='c016'>I corroborated Hopkins, and also suggested a
return. We had been talking informally, sharing
our observations, but their detailed presentation
awaited Goritz’s presence. And where was he?
We had been back an hour, and our hunger remonstrated
bitterly against his tardiness. Still another
hour passed, and nature refused to tolerate a further
deference to custom or respect. We ate our evening
rations—already they were being shortened—concluding
to go out on a search for Goritz, if he did
not soon come in. Another hour hurried by, and
yet no Goritz. We began to be alarmed, and yet
that seemed absurd. What harm could come to a
man in that flat land? And to a man of Goritz’s
strength and resources? Hardly had we thus
reassured ourselves when the tent flap was pushed
aside, and there stood Antoine Goritz, with one
hand behind his back.</p>

<p class='c016'>His melodious voice was raised, his eyes shone,
his frame seemed expanded with excitement, his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>face was flushed, and the disengaged hand opened
and shut convulsively.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Gentlemen,” he said, “<i>we shall go on</i>. <i>Krocker
Land is inhabited</i>, and—it is a LAND OF GOLD!”</p>

<p class='c016'>He paused, stepped forward, and laid on our
soap-box table a broad belt of gold plates, engraved,
and united by a gold buckle, beautifully embossed.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER V<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Perpetual Nimbus</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>You probably might recall, Mr. Link, that wonderful
chapter in “Robinson Crusoe,” where Defoe
describes the feelings of his hero after he found the
footprints in the sand. I mention it here because
I am amused at the memory of how different were
our emotions as Goritz showed us the gold belt.
I turned last night to the pages of Defoe’s masterpiece
and jotted down this appropriate quotation;
it illustrates completely what I mean.</p>

<p class='c023'>“I slept none that night: the farther I was from the
occasion of my fright, the greater my apprehensions were:
which is something contrary to the nature of such things,
and especially to the usual practice of all creatures in fear:
but I was so embarrassed with my own frightful ideas of
the thing, that I formed nothing but dismal imaginations
to myself, even though I was not a great way off from it.
Sometimes I fancied it must be the Devil, and reason
joined in with me upon this supposition; for how should
any other thing in human shape come into the place?”</p>

<p class='c018'>That gold belt to us we knew meant human occupation
of this New Continent, and it was almost
impossible for us to control our violent joy over the
discovery. We were not worrying as to whether
it was the Devil or savages, and we felt sure we were
not the victims of illusion. Perhaps a little trepidation
crept in later, but for that moment we were
beside ourselves with happiness and wonder. And
yet we were at first silent, dumbfounded, bending
<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>over the strange find in dazed delight, eager yet incredulous,
lost in a bewilderment of anticipation.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor had produced a small pocket glass
and was nervously inspecting the plates, very much
to our annoyance, his ears and head seeming
constantly to be pushing our faces away. A look
of profound vindication appeared on his features,
and I think we sympathized with his feelings and
applauded them. Goritz beamed benignantly,
and I knew Hopkins was on the verge of a metrical
quotation. But the Professor had the floor.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Gentlemen,” he began, “this belt has no possible
relation to any know human culture. The fabricators
of this <i>chef d’oeuvre</i>—it’s such in every sense—have
probably never existed outside of the eccentric
depression—the size of a small continent—into
which we shall be privileged to descend.” The
Professor bowed to Goritz, who was radiant from
his approbation.</p>

<p class='c016'>He continued: “The figures engraved on these
plates, the relievos on this buckle, are autochthonous”—Hopkins
emitted a low whistle. “They are,
however, distinctly colubrine, reptilian, crotaline,
lacertilian, poly-catabolic-arbori-animalistic. They
indicate a serpent worship and a tree worship, and
are reminiscent of the Fall; I may call it the recapitulative
survival of myth.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins’ whistle had been attempting some
shriller ejaculations of surprise, but the verbal
avalanche smothered it. It was a suffocating
moment for all of us, and when Hopkins said,
“Professor, with a cocktail on top of this I believe
our cerebral intoxication would be complete,” the
interior danger of explosion increased almost
beyond control. But the Professor kept on, and a
little “plain stuff,” as Hopkins called it helped us
out of our embarrassment.</p>

<p class='c016'>“An animal like a crocodile or an alligator, in a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>peculiar stage of evolution, approaching that of a
serpent, is depicted here,” his finger touched the
buckle, “and everywhere else are variations of one
theme, the Serpent and the Tree. The people of
this <i>Navel of the World</i> retain the traditions of our
religion.”</p>

<p class='c016'>After that we all became intensely interested in
the belt or girdle, but we withheld our comments.
Our pretense was sincere enough. We were interested,
so interested that it would have been impossible
for any of us—the Professor alone was capable
of such sublime detachment—to have slept a wink
if we had tried to, but then our interest, in which
mingled the elixir of a fabulous Hope, succeeding
days and weeks of danger and uncertainty, was
satisfied at a lower stage of realization. With us it
was MEN and GOLD, and, scintillating back of
these noble facts, was the speechless marveling of
the world of letters, of science, at our recital, if ever
we got back to those things.</p>

<p class='c016'>I asked Goritz all about it when we were together
outside of the tent. It seems he had walked about
three miles from the camp, and was watching a
flurry of wind tear up the water of a little pool,
literally boring it all out in spray, when, as the
action was accomplished, he saw the glint of the
gold. Another look and the belt was in his hand.
He sat down to catch his breath, and to quiet the
beating of his heart, and then when he had
recovered his composure, he had gone on, believing
that other trinkets might turn up, or that he might
encounter its makers, or anything in fact that might
explain the treasure trove—but the search had been
unavailing.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well,” I said as he finished, “what do you
think? The Professor has some wild notions about
it, but it looks to me as if the Professor has all along
sailed pretty close to the wind.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>“Yes, Alfred,” he answered, “there’s a kernel of
truth in his talk. Of course I always thought so or
I wouldn’t have come at all—And Alfred,” his
splendid eyes searched my own in that great way he
had, “I have had curious premonitions just now,
as I walked back to the camp. We are coming
upon incomprehensible things. We must go on,
though we may cross starvation before we reach
food, and—the <i>marvels beyond</i>. The rations I know
are low, and I know too we’ve a bad way ahead—<i>Mais,
esperons</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I would have said more but before us stood
Hopkins. He was actually smoking—“to keep
from going bug-house,” he explained, and then he
muttered:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure.</div>
      <div class='line'>On a scientific goosechase, with my Coxwell or my Glaisher.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>Camp was broken up the next morning. We
were wild to get away. Before we started the dogs
were fed the last of the bear meat, and we were all
put on half rations; the demands on our strength
for the work immediately before us would not be
great.</p>

<p class='c016'>I also got a chance to see the belt better. It was
very short and made up of plates hooked together
with a larger buckle. There was absolutely no
metal but gold in it. The buckle was decorated
with an impossible serpentine monster with legs
and a snout-bearing head, indeed a thing very well
described by the Professor as a cross or mixture of
a huge snake and an alligator, and the plates were
engraved with hieratic markings that looked like
poles encircled by spiral lines.</p>

<p class='c016'>“So,” I said to myself, “these are the reminiscent
Tree and the Serpent.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>“Look to me like bean poles,” remarked Hopkins,
who was looking over my shoulder.</p>

<p class='c016'>On we went west. It seemed as if the abominable
rocks and sand would never come to an end,
the former sharp and knife-like, cutting our shoes,
the latter whirling in blinding sheets against our
faces, in spite of the almost constant fog, and even
the occasional rain. The sledge was lightened and
moved as carefully as possible, but the obstacles
could not be avoided in the mist, and before the
day was half over it was a wreck, so that its load
had to be distributed among us. There was made
at once a concentration of everything indispensable,
and the rest was abandoned. Our heavy packs did
not help our progress. The wind kept westerly.
It was strong. We were astonished at the absence
of snow and at the moderate temperature. The
thermometer denoted 0° and 2°, Centigrade.
These conditions seemed to bear out the Professor’s
claims, and the altitude was decreasing too. Then
came a desperately stony hollow, and the land rose
steadily until we were even higher than we had
been at the start. But there were no mountains
about us, just a broad back of sloping rock, “a gigantic,
intrusive, basaltic dike,” said the Professor,
between gasps, as fog smote us with almost the
solidity of water.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had made thirty miles, and nature and the
day were united in protest against a longer drive.
A yelp ahead, a shout from Goritz to “fall back,”
showed some danger line in our vicinity. We had
not stopped one instant too soon. One of the dogs
had plunged over a precipice, and we were then
standing on its crumbling edge. By one of those
sudden changes in nature which call to mind a
<i>divertissement</i> in a scenic theatrical display, the
fogbanks now drifted off and in the light of the low
western sun we looked out over a strange land.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>The barren and roughened ridge at last ended in
this inner line of the Krocker Land Rim. It
abruptly, like a palisade escarpment, fell off into
declivities or occasional slopes made up of the
talus of its decomposition or dilapidation. We
gazed now on a singular barrenness of steeply
slanting land, ribbed with asperities like hogs’ backs,
of parallel hills. Over this land, in the channels
that they had made for themselves, some
entrenched in precipitous valleys, rushed streams
fed by that continual precipitation which toward
the sea became snow, and inland away from a
colder atmosphere fell in torrents of rain.</p>

<p class='c016'>The scene was indescribable, not by reason of
variety but of monotony of detail, and because
beyond it, far along a horizon that may have been
fifty or more miles distant the most perplexing
vaporous effects prevailed. What it might be it
was impossible to determine. There were constant
motions there, motions explosive and gradual, for
we could almost be sure that the cloudy masses were
processioning now measuredly in huge volume and
then disordered by internal rupture. We thought
we caught the flashes of electric storms.</p>

<p class='c016'>The scene below us was most repellent. The
vicissitudes of cold and storm had ejected all semblance
of charm from those black, denuded rocks.
Their asperities, which were pinnacles hundreds of
feet high, were united by valleys bare to the eye,
from our point of view, of all vegetation, the whole
combination slanting inward, and composing a
broad, melanic sterility perhaps only paralleled on
the lifeless and crater-pitted plains of the moon.
The violent tossing streams, many of them hidden
in defiles of erosion, alone imparted the sense of
animation, and even this animation seemed ruthless
and destructive. It was utterly sullen, and when
it was not sullen, it was savage and threatening. It
<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>was all so overwhelming that we simply stared at
it, voiceless and despairing.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins broke the spell of our dismay: “Well,
Professor, this certainly is not Paradise, but I’m
willing to believe that it’s the shell, the outside of it,
and a pretty hard kind of a nut it makes. <i>Can we
crack it?</i>”</p>

<p class='c016'>That indeed was the question we all silently
asked. Where would this wilderness of rocks and
waters lead us? Could we expect to find game or
any sort of food in this tableland of sheer, stark,
desolation? Our supplies were daily shrinking,
and we had been a little wasteful too, deluded by
the false hope of soon securing succor. It was a
long way back to the cache on the tableland, and a
longer one to the anchored launch on the sands of
the coast, but how far was it ahead of us to life?
At least behind there were bears and musk oxen,
and seal and duck; did anything replace them
before us? It made us pause; the risk of going on
was considerable.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our council convened under rather straightened
circumstances of confidence and hope. The dogs
would be of no use in the marches before us, unless
indeed we threw them into the larder, and their upkeep
was an equivocal handicap, which might more
than offset their value as an aid to the commissariat.
Goritz said we had forty pounds of provisions,
about a pound a day for each man for ten
days; and there were the guns and ammunition to
be carried too, the instruments and the stoves and
oil. The tent outfit could be left behind; at a
pinch we might battle through without it. Battle,
though, to WHAT? Ah! That was the question.
Were we in a dead land? Was the gold belt a prehistoric
relic, having no relation to any living race,
a token of past occupancy by a people who had fled
from the fast contracting opportunities of life in this
<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>Arctic inferno? It was a good illustration of the
caprice of human feelings, our total rejection of the
considerations that a few days before had made us
jubilant, boastful, careless; so quickly does the
average man reflect the color of his surroundings.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our position was dismal indeed. The inexplicable
fogs settled around us, or, if the west wind
blew—and only for that brief interval when we
caught sight of the bewildering landscape below us,
had it ceased to blow—drifted over us in endless
cloud-like masses. A precipice was before us, how
many more were beyond that? And then the
return. The longer we thought over it, and turned
the angles of possibility to inspection the more
hopeless the prospect grew. But again the Gold
Belt? A shining lure of the Demon of Death to
tempt us to a horrible doom. As Goritz ostentatiously
showed it to us it became loathsome, sinister,
a delusive snare!</p>

<p class='c016'>And this led to our great surprise. Goritz wished
to go on. He said so. This quiet, reserved,
strong man handed back to the Professor his predictions,
subscribed to with his own enthusiastic
acceptance, and the Professor, pirouette-fashion,
had wheeled around in a rather dogged scepticism.
I think Hopkins and myself, out of pure
dread, favored the return. Goritz had always
resisted the quest. The gold bauble was “getting
in its fatal work,” whispered Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz put it this way: We couldn’t get back.
The return trip would be far harder than to progress
in our present course. We had no sledge. Everything
pointed to success if we could keep on. The
land beyond us indicated a great depression, the
fogs rolling over us showed an approaching warmer
area; the glimpse that had been permitted us was
conclusive; once beyond that cloud zone and the
realities, the living realities, would begin. This
<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>gold belt (he held up the glittering charm that had
turned his head) was no relic, its engraving was too
fresh, its outlines too sharp; it had been brought
where he had found it, it must have come from the
west, and the way, practicable for its former
wearers, was practicable for us.</p>

<p class='c016'>“How about a balloon, an aeroplane, anything
that flies?” suggested Hopkins. Antoine Goritz
became scornful, his French blood often came to
the surface. He looked straight at Hopkins, and a
frown clouded his face; it did not become him.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>“<i>Parbleu vous etes fou, mon frère, que Je crois,</i></div>
    <div><i>Avec de tels discours vous moquez-vous de moi?</i>”</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins didn’t wince; it wasn’t his fashion.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well, Goritz, I’m game for the deal. You
can’t put it over me with your <i>parlez-vous</i>. But
listen, we’ll never agree on this stake. It’s up to
the little Goddess on the Wheel. What do you
say?” He tossed something in the air and shouted:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Fair or Foul?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Fair,” called Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>The shining object rattled among the stones; it
had a silvery lustre, and as the Yankee stooped and
picked it up, there was something strangely grave
in his face.</p>

<p class='c016'>“You win, Goritz,” he calmly said, as he
pocketed the trinket, “and I’ll follow you till the
curtain drops.”</p>

<p class='c016'>He rose and extended his hand; it was grasped
cordially by the big Dane, the two men facing each
other at almost the same level, both beautiful types
of manhood.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Mr. Link, the object that Spruce Hopkins flung
upwards, and cast as the die of our destiny that day
is in my hand.” (He laid a flat silver medal on the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>table between us. I picked it up; on one side was
a masterly execution of the face of a lovely woman;
on the other was a sort of Satan.)</p>

<p class='c016'>“Mr. Link,” resumed Erickson, “that woman is
Angelica Sigurda Tabasco, and that man Diaz
Ilario Aguadiente, the two interesting occupants of
No. — east Fifty-eighth Street, from whose unpleasant
society you freed me. Hopkins gave me
that the last time I saw him alive. What he told
me then had something to do with the predicament
you found me in.”</p>

<p class='c016'>(Mr. Erickson again retired into his obviously
gloomy thoughts, which I did not attempt to disturb,
and, on his emergence, continued his story.)</p>

<p class='c016'>This impromptu solution won the day, and we
prepared for the unknown transit over that
unknown territory of which we had had one fleeting
glimpse, and which lay somewhere before us, in a
vast milkness of mist.</p>

<p class='c016'>We concluded to take with us two dogs; the
rest—now three, one had gone mad (<i>piblocto</i>) and
had been shot—were killed, and a cannibalistic
feast offered to the survivors. The oil and stoves
were left behind; there might be enough fibre or
wood for fire, at least we hoped so. Our packs were
made as light as possible. We were in a race, like
Mikkelsen’s last lap, <i>a Race against Hunger</i>. The
sleeping-bags were discarded, the tent we carried a
short distance only. No grimmer or braver determination
ever animated explorers; we were not
running for safety, we were running <i>away</i> from it.
The step taken, our spirits rose, the former fancies
swarmed upon us, and perhaps the gold belt again
floated before our vision, an omen and a guide.
This imaginative sway of anticipation was needed,
or else we could never have plucked up courage to
make the fateful start.</p>

<p class='c016'>The beginning was symptomatic enough of our
<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>coming dangers. To get over and down the precipice
on whose edge we stood was impossible without
a clearance of the besetting fogs, and fortunately,
as if by invitation for us to retain our resolution, the
fog lifted on the morning we started. We were on
the brink of a high columnar black wall, rising from
200 feet or less to 600 feet or more, from the rocky
floor of the country beyond. We searched for some
pathway for descent. Innumerable shelves and
footholds diversified the precipitous faces but they
were far apart, and often offered little more than
space for a bird or a goat. Once down the first
vertical cliffs the gigantic heaps of talus leaning
against their bases would afford us a practicable
though rough way to the bottom. And now we
saw with astonishment the obvious inclination of
the farther land. It seemed an almost unbroken
hillside, coursed by streams and stream beds, furrowed
by dry, stony valleys, cut by the low, serrated
backs of steep hills, the whole landscape
terminating in that distant medley of rolling clouds,
streaming vapor banks barely discernible, except as,
so it seemed, they were lit by flashes of light.
Were we on the outer flanks of a continental lava
bed, and was that cloud space beyond the lip of a
vast volcanic confusion? The question was not
asked aloud, but its staggering terror made us
tremble. Never, Mr. Link, did men more heroically
walk into the shadows of the Valley of Death
than did we.</p>

<p class='c016'>The morning sun sent long shadows westward;
the day was actually warm; a sudden brightness
encouraged us. If the food lasted! That was the
terror that haunted us. Could it? At last Goritz
discovered far northward a gorge or ravine reaching
almost to the top of the palisade. Down this we
scrambled and found ourselves in the bed of a low
stream, which a day later became a swollen torrent,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>so quickly did precipitation feed the rivers, and so
enormous was its volume. This made our daily
progress more dangerous. We were soaked and
miserable ourselves, but the protection to our food
was imperfect, and that gave rise to serious doubts
as to whether it would last us ten days, the calculated
limit before its exhaustion. The biscuit half
turned to dough and the drenched tea exuded in
tawny drops from our packs. This led to a readjustment
and each man carried his rations of tea
and biscuit and chocolate underneath his coat.
The pemmican, force meat, cabbage and beans are
safe enough on our backs.</p>

<p class='c016'>It soon became necessary to desert the watery
defile which we had first entered; it became more
and more confined, the banks were literally stone
heaps, and after one or two perilous slips which
might have accelerated our progress by dumping us
into the chasing flood we painfully climbed out over
a high rocky ridge on the summit of which our sight
was cheered to find low, herbaceous growths. Here
we managed to extort a niggardly flame which was
assisted by oil Goritz alone had had the prudence
to add to his load, and our evening meal was eaten
in some gratitude.</p>

<p class='c016'>The rains, distressing as they were at intervals,
when the downpour became most vehement, were
on the whole preferable to the fogs. They cleared
the air, and we could see our way, calculate interruptions
and avoid disaster. As we went on the
vegetation increased in quantity, and often smiling—they
seemed smiling to our tired eyes although
lit by no sunlight—patches around us in sheltered
corners afforded welcome though damp camping
grounds. Our clothes were torn by frequent falls,
and our shoes are turning into tangled shreds. The
Professor had sprained his wrist badly—he narrowly
escaped rolling down an embankment which
<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>might have put him out of the running altogether—and
Goritz is in pain. I know it by his limping
gait, and the twitches of suffering that cross his
face. Something is the matter with me too,
fatigue and the insufficient or canned food is
telling on me. My muscles are stiff and aching,
the joints of my limbs red and swollen, and dark
blue spots were showing on my skin. Is it scurvy?</p>

<p class='c016'>It is the sixth day, and we believe we have
made seventy miles. The cloud zone is approaching;
our prospect every day grows more
extraordinary, more terrifying; we encamp
behind a shoulder of rock, on a low upland which
separated two roaring rivers. The rain had
stopped and a colder atmosphere reveals the scene.
The temperature is just above 2° Centigrade, the
aneroid shows we had fallen two thousand feet
since we had left the Krocker Land Rim. We are
immobile, in a sort of stupor, yet fascinated by the
spectacle. Hopkins alone remains cheerful and
garrulous.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Professor,” he chatters, “the Rocky Road to
Dublin had nothing on this boulevard. The
gentleman who, by reason of a congenital failing,
which was assisted by circumstances outside of his
control, complained of the narrowness rather than
the length of the street would be inclined to make
some severe reflections on this thoroughfare also.
But we can be pretty sure the transformation takes
place the other side of the proscenium-show
yonder.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Poor Spruce Hopkins, he kept up his joviality for
our benefit, but we didn’t care much and I don’t
think he did. We were starving; it was half a
pound now a day. But Goritz never wavered a
hair, he urged us on, he promised food, rest, recreation
even, if we would persevere through the cloud
curtain.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>And now we were under it, cowering in dread
before the awfulness and magnitude of it. It rose
in towering gushes of stream, belched forth from a
huge crack in the crust of the earth in which poured
the full rivers that had accompanied our march.
Those rivers entered recesses of the heated earth,
and were returned in steam with detonations and
earthquakes, so that</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><i>The frame and huge foundation of the earth</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>Shak’d like a coward.</i></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>Reviewing it now, as it was revealed to us later
upon examination and study, the physiography of
the stupendous phenomenon we had reached was
this. Some strain had cracked the crust of the
earth in a long arcuate rift; it suggested the crevice
and it was irregular in the same way, which is seen
in the Almannaja in Iceland, but it was profoundly
deep, and the area communicated with the igneous
interior. The water that was continually condensed
from the steam that poured upward from
the huge fissure, as continually was returned, and,
except for interruptions in the reciprocal exchange
produced by meteorological conditions, such as cold,
heat and varying winds, this curious equilibration
was unbroken, had been for ages. The emergence
of the steam was irregular, though it was always
coming up at some points, and there was a synchrony
between points. We discovered later that
at very distant places from our position on the
great circular break there was no steam. The
rock beneath had become thoroughly cooled and
congealed, or the inner fires were absent, and the
water entering the chasm was lost within the crust,
or else, deviously percolating laterally may have
subsequently contributed its supply to the active
steam geysers when it touched the heated surfaces
which formed the sources of the latter’s energy.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>Therefore you may place this picture before your
mind, of a steam wall projected from a raggedly
edged, very broad earth rift, absorbed by the
atmosphere, or condensed in clouds, and intermittently
returned to the earth in rain or if transferred
by westerly winds, falling outside of the
Krocker Land Rim in snow.</p>

<p class='c016'>The explosions that rent and shattered this
steam veil, or shattered the cloud masses above us,
were at first difficult to explain. It was after we
had penetrated and crossed the abyss that the
Professor suggested that they were due to a partial
decomposition of some part—a very, very small
part—of the steam into the gases hydrogen and
carbonic oxide, where coal or carbonaceous deposits
existed at rare or higher heats, and that these explosive
mixtures, retained somehow in the steam,
undiffused, were fired by electric-lightning sparks.
This theory never seemed scientific to me. But
the fact of such disturbances remained, and it was
owing to the momentary glimpse a terrific shock of
this kind permitted us across the void, that we
picked up daring enough to make the attempt to
cross the horrid gap.</p>

<p class='c016'>We were within perhaps five hundred feet of the
spouting cauldron, where rain was constantly
falling, crawling over rocks wet and slippery,
astonished and half delighted at the luxuriant
development of moss on the lips of pools or saucers
of water, and noting a great rise in temperature,
with that peculiar buried tumult of hissing, issuing
from the earth, when this happened. There was a
flash, a roar, and, as if a gigantic hand had parted
the dense curtain before us, our eyes crossed the
gulf, and we saw a land of greenness and of light!</p>

<p class='c016'>Stunned, half sick, hungry, with a gnawing
wretchedness of desire, it almost seemed that we
had been duped by some illusion born of our weakness
<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>and the deceptive play of the illuminated mist.
Huddled together in a niche of the rocks that were
in places dissected by cracks, that also discharged
tenuous lines of steam, we talked in whispers over
the marvelous apparition. Yes, we had all seen it.
There could be no mistake, but Goritz had seen
more. Across the black, vomiting pit was a bridge
of rock! It might have been some remaining partition,
holding its place against disintegration,
spared in some way for our salvation from the destructive
agencies that had here ripped the crust
asunder, or indeed it might have been built up from
some later solidified eruption. <i>Had</i> he seen it?</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz was madly certain about that. Well,
and if he had, could we use it? There are desperate
stages in desperation that breed, Ajax-like, defiance
of danger. The sudden realization of a world of
beauty, a world of food, on the other side of the
steaming pit, nerved our poor flagging bodies, and
summoned an audacity of will to our minds! It
was our last chance. Myths of the past in that
delirious moment flocked back to my mind, which
pictured guarded paradises, defended gardens of
delight, treasures watched by dragons, elysiums
hedged with terrors, and always, always courage
won the prize, and passed the dangers. And yet
there must be caution; the old refrain sounded in
my ears, <i>Be not too bold!</i></p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz and Hopkins, the least impaired, reconnoitered
the pass. They moved down some stepped
ledges and were lost to sight. In an hour or so they
returned. Their faces were lighted with hopefulness.
They both believed the path was negotiable,
and they both agreed that there were periodic cessations
of the fiercer ebullitions from below. It
was also discovered that we could not make our
way to the right or left for any considerable distance.
We had trailed our way to an isthmus of land,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>enclosed by two impassable streams, shooting in
rugged wild channels. To think of crossing them
was sheer madness. Goritz and Hopkins had
actually advanced a little way on the bridge, straining
their eyes to catch some further intimations of
the delectable country we now believed would be
attained were we once over this inscrutable fissure.
The daylight, when the sun was highest and
easterly, was now short, and in the mist-encumbered
land, in the cloud-swept skies, that
light was almost eclipsed. Everything contributed
to our uncertainty and danger.</p>

<p class='c016'>We made ready for the start. We consumed
every scrap of food, divested ourselves of unnecessary
outer clothing, which had already become
insufferably warm—<i>kamiks</i>, <i>nanookis</i>, <i>kooletah</i>—packed
our ammunition on our breasts, reversed
and strapped our guns on our backs (the Professor
added to his burden a pot and a fryingpan), tucked
away our matches, chewed the last tea leaves our
canister afforded, and with a few chocolate cakes
in our pockets went down the steps,</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“*** <i>with a heart for any fate.</i>”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>I was indeed sick; exertion pained me, and a
nauseating weariness threatened at moments to
rob me of consciousness. The two poor dogs which
had escaped the extremity of our needs, less through
mercy than through revulsion, were turned loose.
Yet as we went down the ledges to the brink, I saw
them chasing us. Goritz roped us together again,
gave a few orders as to signals, and ordered the
descent.</p>

<p class='c016'>We went <i>a tatons</i>, literally on all fours; Goritz
first, then the Professor, then myself, then Hopkins.
As we drew near to the ominous edge, and felt our
way over the first steps of the stony crossing it
required all my strength of will to draw my legs
<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>after my groping hands. At first it presented a
tolerable pathway, flat, narrow, but sloping dangerously
to either side, slippery from the constant
rain that fell from the saturated air. We silently
pushed on, Goritz by agreement stopping every
thirty counts (seconds), and resting five. Gradually
the path contracted and, in about thirty feet,
became a sharp backbone over whose sides our legs
dangled in the constantly steaming vault. It was
warm and almost stifling at intervals and then came
relief in the shape of whirling gusts of wind, which
however were disconcerting, and made our precarious
balance still more uncertain.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had probably proceeded fifty feet in all, when
a blackness shot through with red darts came before
my eyes; I reeled slightly and dropped forward,
instinctively clutching the wet rock and jerking the
rope that bound me to the Professor. The Professor
in turn pulled on Goritz, and our thin line
halted. It was arduous work for the Professor,
whose wrist was still aching.</p>

<p class='c016'>A detonation thundered far away below us. The
spasm passed; I pulled the rope, the Professor
passed the signal, and we resumed our insect-like
progress. Singular that, as I moved again, the
thought of Dante and Virgil crossing the bridge
over the tenth circle, as illustrated by Dore, rose
distinctly, clear, indubitable, in front of me. It
even seemed possible for me to define the pagination
of the leaf I actually saw. This strange resuscitated
impression kept me conscious.</p>

<div id='p1581'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p1581.jpg' alt='three men stand, looking into a volcano' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE PERPETUAL NIMBUS</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>On, on; the arete remained unchanged; our
progress was encouraging; I seemed cognizant of a
deeper gloom; it was the opposite wall. We had
reached it. Alas! It rose above our heads and
<i>must</i> be scaled! Goritz pulled the rope, the signal
ran through the file and we halted again. The
path broadened now, as at its eastern end, and our
<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>legs were relieved from the irksome straddle they
had been subjected to. It was a welcome pause to
me. I knew that the last scrap of effort I was
capable of was needed now, if some vertical wet
wall was to be surmounted in that almost impenetrable
blackness.</p>

<p class='c016'>In about fifteen minutes the tug came again, and
we knew Goritz had solved some problem of the
ascent confronting us. I heard him calling back,
and the Professor answering. Then I found myself
in this situation; on a fairly wide platform against
a broken wall and up it I heard the scratching exertion
of the Professor as he seemed to be bodily
pulled up the ragged face. The constantly falling
rain had ceased. But as the Professor rose, I felt
he was no longer attached to me. I drew in the
rope before me and came to its loose end. We
were separated! Aghast, I was unable to speak,
but my outstretched arms encountered Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Hopkins, Hopkins,” I hoarsely whispered, “the
rope has parted. We are alone!”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Don’t worry,” replied that extraordinary man,
“we couldn’t be lonelier than we have been. This
solitude is the most unbroken bit of isolation I ever
walked into. Of course we’re separated. This
interesting masonry we’ve struck isn’t very well
constructed. It isn’t plumb. It hangs out a
<i>leetle</i> above. Goritz found it out, uncoiled himself,
got to the top, told the Professor to drop you and
me, and is now engaged in hoisting that scientific
encyclopedia up to bliss and safety. We won’t
stay dropped long. We’re to go the same way, and
really, admirably adapted for concealment of an
escaped felon as is this retreat, honest men could
afford to dispense with its protection.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I sometimes thought that when Hopkins talked
this way on the verge of destruction he was a little
demented from fear. Perhaps I wronged him.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>“But say, Erickson, you’re not well, old fellow.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I had fallen against him; another surge of giddiness
and harsh pains lacerating my joints had overcome
me. Then I was struck by a rope end; it
had descended from above. Understanding it all
now, and clutching at the hope of deliverance from
the terrors around us, I roused myself.</p>

<p class='c016'>I heard the voice of Goritz shouting, “Tie up.”
And then Hopkins replying, “All right! Alfred is a
little out of sorts. He can’t help you much.
When I <i>say</i>, pull together.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins unloosed our connection, firmly fastened
me to the rope and, indicating my upward course,
telling me to “brace up,” and that it was the last
lap, pushed me up a declivity bristling with sharp
projections. For the first time I saw a dim light
filtering from above. I did not attempt to look
upward. The pull came, and I scrambled weakly
forward. Again the dark, red-riven cloud overwhelmed
me, my limbs seemed disjointed; a picture
of home, I thought, filled my eyes; a blow on
my head, then a vast detachment as if I were falling
through space succeeded, and I lost consciousness.</p>

<p class='c016'>And when I awoke! Ah! Mr. Link I have since
often believed that our first glimpse of heaven may
be like the vision of loveliness that surrounded me
when slowly my eyes took on their functions, and
my head cleared, and rational observation again
began. My pains, too, had for the instant subsided.
I felt almost disembodied, as if indeed in
some spiritual trance I had reached the other side
of death.</p>

<p class='c016'>I was lying in deep grass on a hillside, bathed in
light; my friends around me—No, Hopkins was
not there. I noted that. Backward the steaming
wall of vapor was lit with a soft radiance, and resembled
an ever-changing cloud land. Above, the
sky was clear and blue; the distance was a revelation
<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>of beauty, ponds and lakes separated by low
hills, whose summits held coppices of trees and
shrubs, sparkled and shone in far flung chains and
groups, and below, in a softly radiant vale, the
slim, long outline of a little lakelet, embosomed in
tall, waving reeds or grasses, like some titanic jewel,
gleamed, crystalline and keen.</p>

<p class='c016'>Ducks were swimming on its surface, and skimming
with beating wings its tiny waves. Herons
or cranes were wading in the sedges on its shores,
and a stirring and noisy aquatic bird life everywhere
about it, made it vocal and animated. Far
away a strange, soft light burned in the heaven, and
for a moment it seemed as if another sun had replaced
the diurnal traveler of the skies.</p>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER VI<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Crocodilo-Python</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>But nature reasserted its importunities, and
hunger gnawed my vitals. In a chapter of Admiral
Peary’s book, “Over the Great Ice,” is a thrilling
episode which describes his own and Astrum’s,
hunger before they slew the musk ox near Independence
Bay, Greenland, and the ferocity, almost,
with which they feasted on the raw meat. I once
thought that the story had been given a half
theatrical exaggeration. Now I know it was
truthful enough. My companions were also weak
and prostrated. I now saw clearly their thin,
pinched features, the natureless stare of their eyes,
the flaccid, hopeless flutter of their hands. I had
not realized how near we had been to dropping dead
in our tracks.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was a shot—another, then—another.
“God be thanked,” muttered Goritz, and the Professor
mechanically rose to his unsteady feet, and
shaded his eyes, looking down the hillside.</p>

<p class='c016'>“He’s coming, and his hands are full,” at length
he said, and sank to the ground.</p>

<p class='c016'>It seemed an eternity before the tall figure of the
Yankee brushed through the grass, and flung the
dead bodies of three wild geese among us.</p>

<p class='c016'>Few or none who have not known the extremity of
hunger can understand how, as Mikkelsen expresses
it, “one’s whole consciousness becomes concentrated
<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>into one importunate demand for food—food—food.”
And do you remember, if you read it,
how Mikkelsen and Iversen set up the tins of the
cache at Schnauder’s Island in a row, to feast their
eyes on them, and then, after all, came that
“feverish race with death—the grim death of
hunger”?</p>

<p class='c016'>Our state was not as desperate, but perhaps we
were not such hardened and strong men. It was
not long before a fire made of branches and twigs
and grass was burning merrily, and though there
was nothing but water to drink, and there were no
condiments—no salt or pepper, no bread or biscuits,
we devoured the fried duck with a rapture no words
can properly do justice to. It was not enough.
Hopkins must go again and again. But the larder
furnished us in these new, hospitable surroundings
was inexhaustible. We wondered whether the
sound of a gunshot had ever been heard here; the
birds were simply curious, not frightened, and only
interrupted their play or avocation with a momentary
and short flight.</p>

<p class='c016'>We moved forward from our first resting place
and encamped under the leafy covering of a beautiful,
narrow, silver-leaved tree, that the Professor
told us was a relative of that ornament of parks and
pleasure grounds in Europe and America, the
<i>Anastatica syriachum</i>. We called our camp <i>Restoration</i>.
Hopkins suggested <i>Emptiness</i> as a name,
for several reasons, because of our unappeasable
appetites and because in it, besides ourselves, our
guns, a few cooking vessels (to be exact, just a pot
and a fryingpan) the rope we carried, and our few
instruments, our ammunition and our matches,
there were none of the appurtenances that are
associated with the name of camp. But the name
Restoration pleased us better, for here were we
filled with a wonderful animation of expectancy,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>here our strength had been fully restored, here we
had become joyful beyond estimation, the Professor
had resumed his alacrity of mind, and once more
we all embarked on the sea of fabulous imagining.
It was altogether wonderful. Where were we?
What was the meaning of this temperate charm of
climate? Whence came this broad illumination
when the sun had set?</p>

<p class='c016'>The first moments of our mere animal restoration
passed, then a delicious weariness overcame us as we
surrendered to the mirthful spirit of surprise and
admiration, and to the curative properties of fried
or boiled duck. Around us stretched a magnificent
country, which bore the aspect of the sylvan loneliness
of the lakeland of Minnesota and Wisconsin
and Canada, though more undulating or hilly. The
wall of steam and cloud behind us, occasionally
glowing dully with the flame of its intermittent
explosions, extended north and south, or was lost
in the pearly exhalations of the distance.</p>

<p class='c016'>It formed an inexhaustible source of rain, for, as
the east winds prevailed, the mists swept over this
aquitanian land in showers, or, if the west wind, it
was rolled away in thunderous glory to deluge that
steep, barren zone we had descended, from Krocker
Land Rim, and, beyond the Rim, it fell again in
snow. The Professor, boastful now, and Goritz
calmly exultant, arranged the fortunes we were
about to meet in pleasing colors. To listen to
them as Hopkins and I lay on our backs in the
fragrant grass, starred with white and blue blossoms,
was like the recital of a fairy story, a legend
of miracles and marvels.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor took up the strain in this wise:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Here is the most wonderful illustration of Perpetual
Motion. The precipitation of the Arctic
Sea falls on this land in rain, outside of it in snow.
The rain flows down the rivers of the arid slope
<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>under Krocker Land Rim, is emptied into the
heated or inflamed bowels of the earth, uncovered
by the huge meridional crevice, and returned as
steam to be again thrown down, evaporated and
reprecipitated in an endless chain of supreme
magnitude.</p>

<p class='c016'>“And, gentlemen, we have entered the polar
depression of which you were so scornfully incredulous.
We have already fallen two thousand feet
below the mean level of the earth. This is a temperate
region, with symptoms of subtropical or even
perhaps tropical life I believe we shall discover a
series of successive gigantic steps, each a recession
within the crust of the earth, like continental
amphitheatrical terraces, and at the Center—”</p>

<p class='c016'>“What?” gurgled Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Ah! Mr. Hopkins, what indeed.”</p>

<p class='c016'>But before the Professor could frame his answer
to the question, Goritz, whose reticence had now
succumbed to the wonders of our experience had
seized the thread of the lecture. He would outdo
the Professor in prophecies, with a merry fling or
soaring of imagination that made that cheerful
scientist dubious or irritated. I think he rather
resented this unexpected, half satirical participation
in the monopoly of his professional vaticinations.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I’ll tell you what, Hopkins,” would continue
Goritz smilingly, with a musical intonation that
accorded with the serenity of our surroundings, “it
will be a City of Gold—houses of gold, golden
chariots, golden furniture. We can break off the
legs and arms of the chairs and tables, knock down
the doors, rip up the flagging, and put up a stack
of gold bric-a-brac that will keep us forever.
We’ll go back, bring in the engineers, bridge that
gulf, and railroad the metropolis to the shore, ship
the whole thing to America and then—(by this
<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>time Hopkins would be pummeling me “<i>to sit up
and take notice</i>”) we’ll come back, seize the mines
and fetch the Millenium back to the world; no
more poor, no begging, no charities, just universal
peace and happiness!”</p>

<p class='c016'>“May be,” Hopkins would grunt as he knocked
me flat again, and fell himself face forward to the
ground, “may be, but Pujo and the Democratic
Congress will catch you, if you don’t watch out.
Why my dear, unsophisticated friend, if you gave
it away, and let people know you had a claim on the
original, inexhaustible goldbrick of the Universe,
the crowd up here would tilt the earth over, and set
it rolling the wrong way. And then—WHAT?”</p>

<p class='c016'>So we often joked and laughed together in the
halcyon days that restored our strength and health.
But the fit of mere whimsical jubilation soon came
to an end. Our exploits were only begun, and
already two serious wonders attracted our attention
and brought us in contact with an amazing phenomenon.
The first was the unbroken illumination,
the measureless day! The sun itself hardly raised
its red disk above the horizon now. We knew that
the six months’ night was fast approaching, outside
of this enchanted bowl, and yet within its magic
circle the light remained, and there were no alternations
of day and night. A varying light indeed, as
there were clear or cloudy skies, but still the sensible,
broad day. What did this mean? What
anomaly of natural philosophy, of physics, of
astronomy, could be invoked to explain this aberration?</p>

<p class='c016'>And the second was the Sleep of Vegetation.
The trees went to sleep, the flowers too. The
leaves of the trees turned upward, and clasped the
twigs and branches, exposing their dull brown
under surfaces only, and the sepals and petals of
the flowers did the same. Shielded behind the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>impervious dark film of the thickened integument,
the green upper surfaces remained as it were
closed; a voluntary recuperation that was novel
enough. The Professor was enraptured, and he
discovered that the breathing pores (<i>stomata</i>),
usually in plants on the under side of the leaf, were
here above, that too there was no prevalent custom,
so to speak, among the plants, in their
“going to sleep.” One plant would be thus sleeping
alongside of a wide-awake neighbor. But he
did note a kind of periodicity, in opening and
closing, as Pfeffer has done in plants kept
constantly in the dark. And it seemed to all of us
that the colors were both paler and deeper; deeper
in the reds and purples, paler in the greens and
yellows.</p>

<p class='c016'>But that artificial sun that towards the west
illumined the zenith, an endless fixed lamp set in the
sky, immovable above the earth? What was that?
Towards it we hastened, now almost free of loads,
and free of cares, immersed in a reckless curiosity,
feeling the wantonness of a luxurious and marvel-bringing
pastime.</p>

<p class='c016'>It grew colder, showing that the outside changes
affected the depressed area, but the phantom light
in the west was also a source of heat, and if we were
to drop down further within lower craters, the
“static heat of the earth,” the Professor averred,
would “increasingly raise the temperature.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Our meals of bird became monotonous, but
though we saw fish in the lakes, we could not catch
them. Our instruments, matches, ammunition,
guns, and the indispensable pot and fryingpan, a
few odds and ends in our pockets and some vestiges
of other commodities in our packs made up our
possessions. A change of under clothing we had
vouchsafed ourselves, before we abandoned the
sledge, and an under dress too of serge, so that,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>though our skins and furs were thrown aside, “we
might be able,” as Hopkins said, “to meet the ladies
of El Dorado without a blush.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The scenes around us, as we pushed westward,
repeated themselves with inconspicuous changes,
but we would often enter into pictorial compositions
that exhaled an artistic beauty quite incomparable.
It was after a ten hour tramp over the interminable
savannahs, that the Professor, noting a cliffside, a
unique feature, towards the north, we directed our
steps thither. Then we encountered a picture that
swayed us by its loveliness, and we ran into a zoological
revelation also, that made our hair stand on
end, so that the emotional antipodes thus experienced
supplied us with some exciting themes for
conversation.</p>

<p class='c016'>We first stood at the beginning of a valley sloping
from us with wide, graceful reaches. It lay between
two series of hills, separated by minor
valleys, whose contributions of water, in tree or
bush-lined brooks, were added to the meandering
river that subjugated all other impressions in its
stately movement towards a far distant lake. This
latter formed a great mirror of light on the horizon.
The hills were much more deeply wooded than any
we had passed, indeed the country assumed a new
phase, and the languid inclines and faintly expostulating
elevations here were replaced by more boulders
and a piedmont-like picturesqueness.</p>

<p class='c016'>And yet there dwelt in the picture a gentleness,
an inviting softness of contour that was ingratiating,
while the banked trees, the occasional escarpments
of glistening rock, and that luminous, distant
haze over the faraway lake tended to add
strength and mystery. It was almost, by our
chronometers, mid-day when we entered this
delightful vale. Dark evergreens added a tonic
charm to the coloring, and above us, scoring the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>blue, were ranged radiating white ribs of compacted
cumulus.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had clambered up on the ledges of a rock
exposure, encumbered at its base by huge, confused
fragments, and edged at its summit by the bushy
fortress of a white flowered low tree like a wild
cherry. The <i>Anastatica</i>(?), so abundant in the
country we had passed over, had disappeared, and
with it, we surmised, that mirific population of
cranes, herons, geese, and ducks that made the
enchained lakes vocal with pipings, screams, haloos,
and bugle calls.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Looks good to me,” exclaimed Hopkins.
“Yes,” I said, “if we could take that picture with us
back to New York on a canvas or a film, or a plate,
we’d have ’em guessing. It’s a marvel. Pretty
hard to believe we’re at north latitude 84°. That’s
about it, Professor?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“84°, 50’, 5”,” replied the Professor sententiously,
as he applied his lens and his eyes to a
scrap of stone.</p>

<p class='c016'>“New York?” snorted Goritz. “You surely
don’t ask for anything better than this. This is
Eden.” It certainly seemed so, and while Hopkins
contented himself with the comment that he hadn’t
noticed any snakes about, we turned attentive ears
to the Professor, who by this time had completed
his enthralled study of the glittering schist in his
hand.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Azoic rocks,” he cried, his becoming smile
mantling his face, his red, prominent ears and his
flaring hair making a droll combination. “Very
early rocks; the Grenville Series beyond doubt,
as named by the Canadian geologists; the first
solidifications of the earth’s crust, perhaps schists,
granites and limestones, though <i>here</i> schists with
pegmatite veins. An ancient circular axis surrounding
a circular depression that has never been
<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>covered by the later oceans. Gentlemen, we are
probably now situated on the one point of the earth
wherein the processes of evolution have never
played any role, because marine life has never existed
within it, and the processes of derivation
which have supplied the dry land with their mammalian
fauna from the animals of the sea have been
totally excluded, unless—unless—,” the judicial
introspection and litigation which the Professor
assumed at such critical points in his scientific
homilies were always diverting, “unless the barrier
had been broken at some point and the surrounding
ocean admitted, just as Walcott has surmised
may have been the case with the western protaxes
of North America, when the pre-Cambrian seas
introduced their life into the interior basin of the
continent. We shall see, however; the sedimentary
rocks of the inner circles (It was quite reassuring
to observe the Professor’s stalwart certainty
about everything) will reveal that. Even had no
such invasion been permitted, life would have
reached this isolated nucleus through the flight and
migration of birds who might readily enough, as
pointed out by Darwin, Wallace, Lancaster, Leidy
and others, have carried the embryos of fish, the
shells of molluscs and the larvae and bodies of
insects hither, and the winds themselves may have
assisted in this involuntary transit. The injection
of seeds might have taken place in all sorts of ways.
So far, you will observe that the faunal features, as
might be expected, are very scanty, and true mammals
are absent. The zoological peculiarities of
this paleolithic bowl are absolutely unique. As a
contribution to biological science our results
promise to assume important proportions.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Under the stimulus of this flattering encouragement
we resumed our way, following the banks of
the beautiful river to that remote splendor, the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>lake on the horizon, which seemed a fairy sea,
where indeed might float argosies of an indigenous
people which had been imprisoned in this inverted
earth cone since human occupation of our earth
began.</p>

<p class='c016'>And it soon became apparent that we were again
rapidly descending, a transition indicated by increasing
warmth and the changed gradient of the
river which was flowing rapidly, more rapidly,
between thickset, outstretched arms of alder-like
trees. Our interest was intense. The utter, incalculable
strangeness of it all kept our nerves strung
to an extreme tension. Sometimes we were simultaneously
arrested by an overpowering mental
revolt against it, as though we felt we had lost our
senses, or as though some <i>trauma</i> had been inflicted
on our brain, and then we stood staring, in absolute
stupefaction. For all this was not simply new, it
was superbly beautiful.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Every way we’re to the good,” cried Hopkins.
“We’re walking right into a Safe Deposit that
would make Rockefeller or Rothschild coil up in a
colic of undisguised despair. That, in the first
place. Then, we’re mighty comfortable, well fed,
careless and improving. That counts in the second
place. And thirdly, if we get back to sanitary
plumbing, carved food, and flats, we’ll be able to
put up a story that will keep the people—I mean
everybody—gasping, and there won’t be enough
presses to print it, enough woodpulp to print it on,
and I assume it’s more than likely that we’ll precipitate,
as they say, the worst panic ever known,
because nobody will be able to work until they’ve
finished the story, and from appearances I think we
could a tale unfold that might cover a thousand or
more pages. Our copyright will be worth a king’s
ransom.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“But they won’t read it because they won’t
<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>believe it,” I said. “We’ll be classed with Munchausen
and old Doc. Cook, Symmes and Sinbad.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Won’t believe it?” exploded Hopkins. “Won’t
we show em? The Professor will rattle off the new
species, and how about our buying out the government
at Washington, and running the country just
free of expense a few days, say for a week, to prove
it? That will be convincing, I undertake to say.
And then the pictures. The camera’s working
yet, and there are a dozen or so of film rolls. But
don’t worry. We’ll be the biggest thing on the foot-stool,
and then—some. Christopher has had a fair
show, in fact he’s been rather spoilt, but he’ll have
every reason to be glad he’s out of sight when we
get there. Why really it’s hard to understand what
won’t happen.”</p>

<p class='c016'>At that we all laughed, and that relief made us
serious again, and with eyes open, pencils scribbling,
and an occasional click of the camera (Hopkins
was our photographer) we hastened down the
now somewhat contracting valley. An elbow of
land pushed out and diverted the stream and on this
point, where the river turned, swerving back into its
first course, and where an expanse of yellow sand
and pebbles furnished an open space from which the
lake, the receding valley behind us, a gorge before
us, the open sky, and the encroaching flanks of
higher hills were all visible, we halted.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins seized the opportunity for a new flight
of speculation.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Do you know,” and the shadow of a real embarrassment
on his face fixed our attention, “I’ve
been wondering who is to own this bailiwick. Of
course we’ll meet the native residents sooner or
later—their shyness is a little unaccountable as it
is—but you don’t imagine for a moment that the
first class national hogs of Europe would let a
promising domain like this go unappropriated?
<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>Not much. Those disinterested potentates would
be up here before you could say Jack Robinson to
prove how necessary it was for the peace of the
world to cut it up at once. Gentlemen, this is an
international question, and we’re the only men who
have a right to settle it. What do you say?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh, my portion goes to Denmark,” chuckled
Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Mine too,” I added.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I owe allegiance to Norway,” reminded the
Professor.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Funny—how clannish you are,” continued
Hopkins. “You’re all as good as Americans, and
you speak English. You’ve lived in the United
States, and you know, way down in your boots, that
she’s the Hope of the whole earth; the only thing
just now visible in the shape of government that
cares two coppers for the under dog. Ain’t that
so? Well I’ll tell yer,” and Hopkins squinted,
drawled, and put his long index on the side of his
very presentable nose, “I’ll tell yer. We’ll give
the Edenites a square deal, and let them decide.
You see we can each take the stump for our own
country, and then give them the choice at a general
Primary Election.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Will you let the ladies vote?” I asked innocently.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Why not? Certainly. Ladies first,” smiled
back the gallant Yankee.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well then,” I triumphantly concluded, “as they
can’t understand us, they’ll of course, after the
manner of their sex, be guided by LOOKS, and—America
wins.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We shouted at Hopkins’ discomfiture. He certainly
looked nonplussed and aggrieved. He was
shaping a retort, and his mouth had already formed
the words “See here, Erickson; don’t you fool
yourself—” when there was a movement on the
opposite bank. Almost instantly Hopkins’ quick
<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>eye was diverted, and his arm shot forward, indicating
the intrusion, while he whispered in the stage-struck
style, “<i>Look, look!</i>”</p>

<p class='c016'>We turned as one man. Opposite, thrusting
their heads out of the foliage of the bank, and revealing
too the front quarters of their bodies were four
wild pigs, a hog, a sow and two youngsters. The
adult animals were of great size, with portentous
mouths and snouts, flat cheek protrusions, hairy,
pointed ears, and the animals bore two upturned
involuted tooth horns or tusks on each side of their
upper and lower jaws. The animals were black,
their bodies covered with coarse, spiny short hair,
bristling into a mane at the neck and their small,
fiery eyes snapped viciously. They were large
brutes, stout, muscular, possessed of a strange
hollow grunt that rumbled ominously inside their
heads for a while, and then became suddenly
audible as a terrifying, snorting squeal. It was the
oddest, most unaccountable animal noise any of
us had ever heard. But the Professor complacently
informed us that the creatures were undoubtedly
related to the Forest Pig—<i>Hylochoerus
meinertz hageni</i>—of British East Africa, and that
their study would add a new chapter to natural
history, while the skins of the monsters would be
eagerly competed for by the museums of the world.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins dismissed this with a wave of his hand,
urging the antecedent considerations of pork chops,
fresh ham, and sausage. The subjects of this
colloquy remained, however, undisturbed. Had
we shot them there was no discoverable way in our
position at the time to secure their bodies, and from
the gastronomic point of view the Professor questioned
their importance.</p>

<p class='c016'>The pigs watched us nervously for a short time,
then they grunted reflectively; their whitish-green
eyes were almost distended in excitement and shone
<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>with a blue light. But with a raised arm, a thrown
pebble, and a shout from Goritz they flew off, crashing
among the undergrowth and easily traceable in
their flight down the hillside by the wake of
violently agitated shrubbery and herbs.</p>

<p class='c016'>“An interesting encounter,” remarked the Professor.
“Its congener is found today over the
slopes of Mt. Kenia at a high altitude, where the
jungle and the forest meet, supposed by Akely to
follow the trail of the elephant, and addicted to an
inexplicable habit of scraping together leaves and
grasses which it forms into diminutive mounds.
We are coming into a warmer region, the increasing
prevalence of acacia and eucalyptus-like trees, the
occasional pitch pine, and something like an evergreen
oak indicate that, though this floral association
may be uncommon. I really believe that
along the edges of that great lake ahead of us are—<i>palms</i>!”</p>

<p class='c016'>It was only a short way from this delightful spot,
with its sweeping view, that we heard the rush and
roar of falling water, as we now fought our way
through a tangled maze of branches, emerging at
intervals on grassy glades which bore evidence of
the past presence of the wild pigs. An hour later
we almost tumbled over the brink of a rocky gulf,
into which the gathered waters of the river obviously
fell. We could not see the falls, but the
spouting spray, rising in spiral puffs, the moisture
showering through the trees, and the dull bass
resonation from the tormented pool that caught the
plunging torrent, announced its nearness.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a matter of some difficulty, making our
descent, and the ropes again did good service in
helping us down the vertical walls. It was pretty
clear that we were about to meet a picture of some
grandeur, for our climb continued, and when we
finally broke through to the river again, we had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>descended over three hundred feet. Fortunately we
were not required to increase our exertions to reach
a favorable position for enjoyment of the scenic
wonder we had circumvented. It was before us.</p>

<p class='c016'>Above us in a narrow sheet, in a setting of the
wildest beauty, the river poured its flood, tense,
glossy, when it first slipped over the rim, as with
that <i>convulsive</i> firmness of the young swimmer at
the first plunge over his head. Then it began
unraveling its woven strands, and became plicated
in silken ridges that unwound still more, or flew
apart in diamond dust, so volatile that it rose upward
in shimmers and rainbows, while at our feet,
discharged from the overburdened pool, rushed a
torrent of mobile beryl. It was transcendently
lovely in the frame of trees; and how amazing to
have repeated here, at the pole of the earth, the
familiar charms of the woodlands and streams, the
sylvan solitudes of the world in temperate and
tropical climes where the sun rose and set each day
throughout the year!</p>

<p class='c016'>What was climate? “Climate,” retorted the
Professor, “is an atmospheric condition fundamentally
dependent upon the heat received from the sun,
but if there is light, that heat can come from the
interior level of the earth itself quite as well.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes,” we exclaimed, “if there is light, but the
light that, as with the sun, insures the processes of
growth in plants, should not be here, for the sun
has already run its course for the functions of
vegetation at the North. What is the meaning of
this continuous light that bathes this marvelous
new world we have entered? Does it, like the sunlight,
build up leaves, decorate flowers, strengthen
twig and trunk?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Ah! Does it?” soliloquized the Professor.
“<i>Solvitur ambulando</i>; look around us. What do
you see?”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>We did look around us, we were looking even
then, and the scene was indeed rich in color, in
greenness, in luxuriance perhaps of floral charm.
This everlasting illumination, with the strange
accommodation of the plants to an enforced sleep,
almost maddened us with wonder. To be sure we
found out later that the greenness changed, and, if we
had studied the matter more closely we would have
been made aware of a paleness in the grass (this
condition had been evident for some days, while a
peculiar effect within ourselves seemed referable to
this inexplicable light). I will return to this when
it has formed the topic of a later conference, held
during those divine hours passed on the hills of the
Deer Fels.</p>

<p class='c016'>We now had satisfied our eyes with the picture
show, and we hastened on, for our supplies of duck
were almost exhausted, and, although the Professor
had added to this a salutary and delicious spinach-like
mess, made from the boiled shoots and tender
leaves of a plant like our poke or pigeon berry,
which grew abundantly in the valleys, yet we had
become impatient for some change of food. The
pigs suggested a new and appetizing novelty in our
cuisine. This indication of game in the country we
were approaching whetted our desire to begin a more
stirring life, and to penetrate now rapidly towards
the veritable center and solution of all this mystery.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was not long before we had threaded the precipitous
ravine, which from the foot of the falls
extended into the park-like expanses about the
great lake. A great lake it was, dotted with distant
islands and embosomed in a subdued white
land almost impossible to describe. The borders
of the lake were marshy and flat, the water was
fresh, and the vegetation in its neighborhood green.
It was a physiographic anomaly to find this freshness
enclosed in a land on whose face were written
<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>most legibly the characters of sterility and dryness.
The soil of the low hills was parched, and a cactus
or euphorbia growth replaced the broad leaved
plants which had pertinaciously clung to our steps
up to this point, and had indeed pushed out into
the plain, but with an evident aversion, as they
became smaller, sparser, and at some remove disappeared
altogether. The spiky stiffness of something
like the Spanish Bayonet gradually assumed
predominance, and the ashen tokens of sage bush
(?) multiplied.</p>

<p class='c016'>We concluded that in our hand-to-mouth method
of subsistence it might be unsafe to venture forward
on this trackless waste, and, still expectant of
finally terminating our exploration with the finding
of human beings, agreed to follow the margin of the
lake. This would keep us supplied with food,
would carry us on, apparently a little north of east,
and as its waters were fresh, would doubtless offer
some outlet of escape without compelling us to
traverse the inhospitable barrens.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was here that we shot some quail-like birds,
which furnished a new element to our larder, and
some acid and fruity berries proved edible, after
our ludicrously careful experiments had tested their
qualities. Then Hopkins ran against a formidable
wild hog and laid him low, and while he did not
prove exactly delectable, there was a noticeable
difference from previous entries on our menus which
made that addition welcome also. The Professor
extracted some lard which helped as fuel and served
to quicken into a blaze our sluggish fires.</p>

<p class='c016'>The palms noted by the Professor were fully
realized, and they made the most curious and extraordinary
foregrounds, in conspicuous groups,
against the dull lengthiness and vapid immensity
of the chlorinated desert beyond them. It was at
this time that we hit the zoological phenomenon
<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>hinted at before, which completed our nervous
prostration, if mental suspense and amazement
represent that state. We were encamped about
three days’ journey from the deep glade from
which we emerged on the plain, and were still following
the marginal fertile tracts bordering the
lake. The lake furnished some surprises.</p>

<p class='c016'>Strips of muddy banks forming islands covered
with a profusion of plants, among which might
tower a palm, banks of marl wherein the Professor
picked out cretaceous fossils, occasional warm
springs, the condensed vapors of which floated
lazily upward, and which, where they spouted from
the ground, had erected basins of calcareous sinter,
or their waters trickled to the lake between banks
red and white like painted boards.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our camp—a fire, our knapsacks, our multi-serviceable
pot and fryingpan, and our outstretched
figures, with the instruments, always including our
camera outfit, a few implements and guns—was at
the foot of a thicket of high ferns, under a group of
palms, and we were at the base of an inconsiderable
hill or rise, whose top these ferns and palms concealed.
Hopkins had just returned from stalking
some of the wild pigs, but he was empty handed;
Goritz was very busy devising a stretcher or hurdle
for our various belongings, to be carried between
two of us, by turns, and the Professor was ruminating,
with head in his hands, his wing-like ears protruding.
I think I was asleep. Our supper had
been made memorable by <i>tea</i>; a hidden package
in one of our packs contained this precious leaf, and
it was quite noteworthy how it revived and cheered
us.</p>

<p class='c016'>Well, I felt a sharp jolt, and a cavernous abyss
yawned under my feet, and with a monstrous effort
I snatched a providential branch and saved myself
from falling. <i>My eyes opened</i>; I had seized Hopkins’
<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>leg, and it was he whose energetic shaking had
broken my slumbers with this nightmare.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Get a move on, Alfred. The scrap of the centuries
is going on up there.” He pointed to the
grove and hilltop. “If we had a motion-picture
camera, we’d have everything in that line knocked
into junk. Get up. The White Hope is having it
out with the sable champion.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Utterly bewildered by these incomprehensible
words I struggled to my feet, and we both scrambled
<i>pele-mele</i> to the top, and there joined Goritz
and the Professor, who hardly noticed our approach,
so absorbed were they in watching the
strangest spectacle that ever human eyes beheld.</p>

<p class='c016'>Out on the level on a thin carpet of herbs and
grass was reared the violent and horrible shape of a
writhing, bending, gracefully oscillating, whitish-green
monster, and before him the infuriated figure
of a black pig. The pig’s bristling mane was
erected, his small tail, like a bit of black rope, beat
upon his muscular buttocks, his eyes gleamed
viciously, his muzzle with its expanded nostrils was
upturned, and his challenge sounded like a cornet,
and again like a rolling drum.</p>

<p class='c016'>But the creature before it mastered all attention.
The elongated head of a saurian armed along its
jaws with sword-like teeth, a long curved neck, a
thorax but slightly enlarged over the width of the
rest of the body, provided with a short pair of front
legs, terminated by claws perceptibly webbed, and
opening and shutting with a nervous rapidity,
noticeable dull-colored scales striping its sides, a
pair of much longer hind legs on whose skin-enwrapped,
stilt-like support it had raised itself, and
then a prodigious tail, heavy and fat at its protrusion,
but lengthening out into a thin python-like
body whose involuntary movements swayed it to and
fro in serpentine motions through the flattened weeds.</p>

<div id='p1801'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p1801.jpg' alt='two animals face each other' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE CROCODILO-PYTHON AND THE WILD PIG</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>The color of the beast was most loathsome; a
sickly yellow white it seemed at first; a closer study
showed it to be a nauseating green, like a frog scum,
and yet through it all, as if summoned to the surface
at the will of the creature, coursed reddish
blotches, whose inflamed contrasts gave the whole
skin the aspect of inflammation, of purulent disease.
This coloring prevailed over the neck, the faintly
swelling belly, the sides, and over the hind rump
and thighs and anal region. The monster
awakened an awestruck repulsion. But at the
moment its source, home, meaning, were swallowed
up in the thrilling, tremendous combat between
these strange litigants, a wild boar of today, a
saurian—a <i>tyrannosaurus</i> or something like it—of
the Cretaceous!</p>

<p class='c016'>The huge lizard was skillful, wavering, crafty and
sinuous. It swung from side to side, and when it
attempted to descend on its antagonist its mouth
opened, almost absurdly, as if waiting for the
appetizing bite its hunger or its ferocity anticipated.
A wicked mouth, shining with yellow teeth and
slobbering with saliva! Any disposition to laugh at
its floundering indecision was soon, or at once, overcome
by hatred of its hideousness.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was interesting to watch the hog. He was
irresolute and then aggressive; he lunged outward
and then tumbled backward. As the giant lizard
reeled upward and then <i>poured</i> forward, the
bristling pig would run in, and then “sidestep,”
as Hopkins said. The ultimate object of both
combatants became increasingly clear; the saurian
aimed at crashing down on the pig, and the pig
relying on its sharp incisors intended to rip open
the defenceless abdomen of its foe. Again and
again with shifting success they attempted their
invariable <i>coups</i>, and again and again recoiled,
frustrated in their design.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>The fight passed through one episode of some
novelty. The saurian in flinging itself forward lost
its balance, and, as it were, stumbled to the ground.
We saw its eyes then, queer turgid, opal masses, lit
internally with fire. In a trice the pig leaped upon
its back, stamping and tearing, but, in another
trice, the effort seemed incalculable, the huge tail
of the snake lizard swept around and bowled the
discomfited porker sideways with a swishing blow
that knocked it down. Then for a moment it
seemed as if the coiling ribbon would enclose the
pig, when, held in its crushing vise, the lizard might
dissect its victim at leisure. But the pig squirmed
out of the trap, and, nothing daunted, resumed its
defence with less obvious pugnacity. Except for
its monstrous spectacular features the conflict grew
monotonous. And here came the end.</p>

<p class='c016'>Nature was exhausted; an unguarded moment
of inattention and, like the black pounce of the
eagle, the ponderous head of the lizard fell on the
pig, the scimitar teeth cut into hide and bone. A
snarling roar, an infuriated lacerating drive by the
boar, and, though he sank sideways in a death
agony, his tusks had torn open the belly of his
conqueror. The viscera emptied from their enclosure,
an abominable odor assailed us, and the
great bulk of the amphibian lapsed to the ground,
its inverted head, caught in the chancery of its
body, broke its neck, and with a husky frightening
exhalation, like a magnified hiss, it fell in convulsions.
The pig was already dead.</p>

<p class='c016'>Just then none of us were inclined to pursue any
investigations. We were all absolutely silent, and
all went back to our little camp in a state of mental
consternation. The Professor had no theories to
propose, nor had Hopkins any comments. As for
Goritz, he mechanically brought out the gold belt,
and as I bent over him and noticed its <i>relievos</i>, I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>felt convinced that its designer and artificer had
seen the saurian.</p>

<p class='c016'>But something more awful occurred about three
hours afterwards, when, as we observed, the smell
from the battlefield became more and more intolerable.
The waters of the lake were furrowed with
approaching objects, exposed heads rose upon the
shore, shuffling and waddling and scrambling
creatures proceeded up the bank, and the entangled
bodies of the great lizard and the pig were soon
being torn to pieces, in the clapping jaws of the
former’s brethren, as they rustled and scraped
against each other in their envious greed in what,
by our reckoning, was their nocturnal banquet.</p>

<p class='c016'>Soon, however, I fell asleep again; a feverish
sleep it was and I welcomed my awakening. It
must have been hours later, the lake was calm and
beautiful to see in the mysterious light, and it was
the cheerful, heart-inspiring voice of Hopkins that
half restored my normal gaiety. He was helping
the Professor at what in its serial position was our
breakfast, and he prattled to his benignant comrade:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘We were amphibians, scaled and tailed,</div>
      <div class='line'>And drab as a dead man’s hand;</div>
      <div class='line'>We coiled at ease ’neath the dripping trees</div>
      <div class='line'>Or trailed through the mud and sand.</div>
      <div class='line'>Croaking and blind, with our three clawed feet</div>
      <div class='line'>Writing a language dumb,</div>
      <div class='line'>With never a spark in the empty dark,</div>
      <div class='line'>To hint at a life to come.’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER VII<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Deer Fels</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>I must hasten my story; so much remains to be
told, more wondrous, strange and unnatural,
though that last word is not to be interpreted in
any of its senses as abhorrent. Far from it.</p>

<p class='c016'>We hurried away from the scene of the peculiar
combat and the fratricidal feast. I do not think
we feared these hideous saurians. We looked for
them, and the Professor exulted in their evident
marks of an evolutionary history (philogeny, he
called it) quite isolated or diverse from those
established by Barnum Brown, Williston, Lowe and
others for the <i>sauropsida</i> of the—Mr. Link I was
actually going to say EARTH, in a foreign sense,
for somehow in this Krocker Land we felt detached
from all we had ever known or ever been. Had we
been transferred to Mars or the Moon or any other
inconceivably contrasted sphere, we could not have
felt more inimitably separated from what we had
called the Earth.</p>

<p class='c016'>No more of the Crocodilo-Pythons, so Goritz
called them, were seen. We believed that their
habitats were in the half submerged broad flatlands
that rose in archipelagos out in vast expanses of
this inland sea. Perhaps we traversed a distance of
one hundred miles before the mingled expression of
sage desert and semi-tropical lake began to change.
The opposite boundary of the lake (Goritz as our
<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>geographer has named it the <i>Saurian Sea</i>) became
visible. We were approaching a constriction or
closing of its banks, and in a few days we perceived
that it emptied into a wild, deeply sunken ravine or
canon, an enormous, terrifying gorge of sandstones
and limestones, where we could just dimly discern
the foaming cataracts, the eye-like preparatory
pools, and then the sweltering froth of raging
rapids.</p>

<p class='c016'>The water of the Saurian Sea enters this canon
(the Canon of Promise Goritz called it, for a reason
yet a long way ahead in my narrative) over an incline,
and a series of waterfalls, which were invisible to us.
It was hopeless to follow the canon, nor could we continue
northward for we were powerless to cross the
river. There remained the alternative of turning
to the left, penetrating the sage plain and attaining
the slopes of a hill country eastward, at whose feet
doubtless the desert terminated. It promised to
be an easy day’s journey and it was. The quail
had supplied us with food. They now replaced the
ducks. Indeed the Saurian Sea became almost
devoid of aquatic bird life as we advanced, an
eloquent testimony we thought to the fear of the
omnivorous brutes who lived there.</p>

<p class='c016'>We crossed the desert and were delighted to
observe its gradual surrender to the encroaching
features of a pleasanter land, a hill country sloping
away into painted domes; not a land of heavy rainfall
nor deeply forested. Its undulating skyline
presented rounded and densely shrubby ground
which to our eyes seemed luminous with a pink
haze. The flanks of these hills were clothed in a
coarse grass unevenly distributed, and even absent
from bare spaces of the limestone rock, where a
gray half succulent moss flourished. We noted too
with some astonishment that these aspects of the
hills facing us seemed in shadow, contrasting effectively
<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>with the singular pinkish aureole along their
high outlines.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz discovered with our glass the presence of
moving or browsing groups of animals and a
moment later exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c016'>“They’re deer, small deer. No worry now about
the commissariat.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“You see,” murmured the Professor, “the sedimentary
rocks here prove that at some time this
boreal basin has been invaded by the sea, a former
deeper cavity has been filled up by these strata of
limestone, slate, sandstone and marl. The molluscan
remains, such as I have picked up, whether
in the Saurian Sea area, in the Canon of Promise,
or on these moors, are generically similar to those
of the cretaceous, tertiary, and paleozoic rocks of
Europe or America. About that there can be no
doubt,” and he approvingly exhibited the small
collection he retained from his examination. “The
outermost rocks of the Krocker Land Rim are the
earliest crystallines and eruptives. Their solidification
belongs to the very first primary conditions,
and I think there can be no doubt that
we can say that this stupendous cavity, continental
in extent, either represents that physical polar
pitting I alluded to when we discussed this expedition
in Norway, made when the Earth was assuming
its spheroidal shape and was a mass of swiftly
revolving mobile magma, or—” the Professor’s
succeeding statement impressed him so solemnly,
that his administrative and reportorial manner
became almost gloomy in its earnestness. We
watched him with dilated eyes—“or—that it represents
the wound, cicatrix, and HOLE from which
was ejected the earth’s satellite—the MOON.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Comment was in order, but we had become rather
plastic under the Professor’s instructions, or, shall
I say, gelatinized, and incapable of a natural
<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>remonstrance against his dictations. But Goritz
demurred. Hopkins and I listened with admiration.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Professor, the moon came out of the side of the
earth, centrifugally separated at the equator by
fastest motion, surely not out of the pole. Darwin
has suggested, you know, that the Pacific Ocean—”</p>

<p class='c016'>“True, Antoine. True, true. I know all of
George Darwin’s speculations. True, but suppose
the axis of the earth’s rotation has changed; suppose
this very area here at 85° north latitude had
formerly been equatorial in position. That is a
view of commendable authority. It has been
urged to explain the Ice Age, though I admit,
Goritz, it has not, today, the most respectable
authorization.</p>

<p class='c016'>“<i>Mais, passons.</i>” This theoretical retreat and
deflection of the Professor before Goritz’s criticism
sensibly flattered my friend. “You see gentlemen,
that these startling surfaces before us seem, as you
have noticed, to be in shadow. I think that throws
some light on the character of the singular continuous
illumination of this region. Up to this point
we have generally been descending, since we left
the vapor shroud of the Perpetual Nimbus; we
have been climbing down the walls of a bowl whose
central sun is of sufficient intensity to illuminate it
throughout its extent, but, having an inconsiderable
volume or size as compared with the size of the
bowl itself, and also—mark me—a fixed position,
can only throw shadows when intervening objects
occur, as a lamp in the middle of a room illuminates
the whole room, but throws shadows toward the
walls of the room, where there are obstructions.
But the higher the position of the lamp in the room,
with reference to the floor, the shorter the shadows.
Here is an exact parallel, and I take it that as the
shadow of these hills, which may be three thousand
feet high, hardly extends into the plain, the fixed,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>subsidiary SUN we are approaching may be towards
the limits of our atmosphere, or say twenty-five
miles over the mean level of the earth.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We grasped this quickly enough, and the image
remained, as you will see in the sequel, substantially
correct, though greatly corrected as to altitude.</p>

<p class='c016'>The deer were easily trapped; they hardly
noticed our approach, and, though startled by the
discharge of our guns, would only scamper off for a
short distance, herd in compact bunches, and
watch us. They were small animals, perhaps half
the size of the Virginia deer, but their flesh was
delicious, and our first meal, graced with the coldest
spring water and by a small toothsome red berry
like a strawberry, imparted to us the liveliest
spirits. We felt eager and excited, an almost irritable
curiosity had developed within us; forgetful
of all we had left, oblivious, through an inscrutable
exaltation of wonder, of the things, objects and
endearments of home, we hungered for adventure.
It was not many hours later that a new sensation
eclipsed everything we had so far experienced, and
threw us into an excitement that stirred the depths
of our beings.</p>

<div id='p1881'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p1881.jpg' alt='four young people float using baloons and look down on men walking through the grass' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE DEER FELS</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>Less than a day was consumed in making the
ascent of the hills, which resembled steeply inclined
moors, and on their summits we entered on a sunny
(?) expanse, captivating in its loveliness of color,
and ingratiatingly varied in topography. The
tantalizing pinkish haze was explained. It was an
endless billowy ocean of pale heather, with clumps
of yellowness like gorse. As we looked over the
entrancing picture in a golden light, in a freshening
and tonic atmosphere, with a reverberant sense of
being travelers in fairy land, a poem taught me
long ago by an English friend came almost unbidden
to my lips:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>“‘What, you are stepping westward? Yea</div>
      <div class='line'>’Twould be a wildish destiny</div>
      <div class='line'>If we who thus together roam,</div>
      <div class='line'>In a strange land and far from home,</div>
      <div class='line'>Were in this place the guests of chance:</div>
      <div class='line'>Yet who would stop, or fear to advance,</div>
      <div class='line'>Though home or shelter he had none</div>
      <div class='line'>With such a sky to lead him on?’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'><i>And westward we too went on.</i></p>

<p class='c016'>Marshes, wet concealed bottoms, lakes and
boggy tracts diversified these uplands; and down
gulches in the bold profiled bays streams poured in
cascades, all rushing westward. Coming over a
lower neck between the domes we came in view of a
dark blue lake of water far down in a narrow amphitheater;
just above it on a higher shelf was a
second smaller lake. What appeared to be white
gulls were sailing in circles over them. The picture
was a lovely one. We clambered up its
eastern wall, and, in the midst of low balsams that
here interrupted the heather, and so thickly
crowded together that you could walk on top of
them, we looked straight into the pocket. We lay
down on the short balsam trees, in a soft perfumed
bed of green needles, and gazed and gazed. A
strong wind blew. Far, far eastward rose that
portentous bulwark of clouds and misty confusion
which the Professor had called the “<i>Perpetual
Nimbus</i>,” and which was the cosmic screen of this
wonderland. Hopkins was on his back, and it was
he whose cry shot a new thrill of—How shall I name
it?—laughing consternation through us.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My God,” he cried in a sort of stifled shout,
“there’s a gang of the fellows we’re looking for,
straight above us, in a cluster, like so many soap
bubbles.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Again his summons brought us to a concentrated
attention, and sure enough, dimly separable from
the air in which it floated, was a minute cloud of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>small balloons, and dependent from each group of
three the outline of a small human figure—and all
gently drifting in an upper current of air, certainly
less strong than the brisk gale about us.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Get under the trees,” whispered Goritz,
“they’re coming down.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We were quickly concealed, burrowing our way
with the alertness of moles below the thatched
branches, and each eagerly hunting for a spying
place whence we might watch this strange argosy.
Yes! They were rapidly approaching; the dangling
legs, the fluttering blue and yellow tunics, <i>confined
by golden belts</i> (!!!) were visible, curious unproportionate
heads, hanging forward as if from heaviness,
legs in loose trousers, and sandaled feet.
Then the wind blowing about us touched them and,
like a gyrating swarm of mosquitoes dispersed by a
breeze, they were flung away, dancing, bobbing,
hither and thither, and from them issued squealy
shouts and squeaky laughter. They came together
again, directed by means undiscoverable
to us, though the Professor detected some waving
objects in their hands, and then the crowd, perhaps
twenty, as if suddenly apprized of their desired
position, dropped like so many unsupported bodies
straight into the deep pocket of the little lake we
had just been admiring.</p>

<p class='c016'>The wind did not drift them, the balloons seemed
collapsible, but, to our amazement, they expanded
again, checking the fall. In fact, unless our eyes
deceived us, and we all agreed as to the main point,
the balloons inflated and shrank, somehow at the
will of these extraordinary beings, producing an
effect not dissimilar to the opening and shutting of
a bird’s wing, the alternations of which carry it up
and down.</p>

<p class='c016'>As they slid past us, perhaps not more than a
good stone’s throw from our place of concealment
<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>we were permitted to catch a glimpse of them, and
it was hard to restrain the impulse of leaping to our
feet to obtain a longer inspection. Another
moment and they disappeared below the brow of
the hill. We emerged cautiously. Goritz spoke
first, though he, like the rest of us, seemed a little
stunned by the weirdness, the wizardry of it all.</p>

<p class='c016'>“If they’ve gone down, they must come up.
But what are they?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well,” answered Hopkins, “search me! This
is nearer to fairy land than I ever thought a human
could get, and—I don’t believe I like it. Rather
goblin-like I thought, though not Gilbert’s notion
either;</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>‘The goblin-imp, a lithe young ape,</div>
      <div class='line'>A fine low-comedy bogy?’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>“Certainly the genus <i>homo</i>,” said the Professor
reflectively, and looking more startled than pleased.
“They offer a field of unusual research. They
might be,” he lifted his eyes upward, almost as if
imploring light on the subject, “they might be
preadamites. They were not simian, not in the
least. Gentlemen,” sudden thought lit up his face
with the customary smile, while his lips retreated,
displaying his imperfect teeth, his eyes grew larger
or they issued farther from their orbits, and his red
hair, now inordinately long, draped his face in a
rufous tapestry that made him look still more
strangely excited. “Gentlemen, I have it (“Thank
God,” <i>sotto voce</i> from Hopkins), I have it. We
have here an isolated group of mentalities that have
been subjected to a restrictive and intensive process
of development. Of course they had initially the
prerogatives of reason. They have attained a
peculiar culture, it may be a very one-sided one, but
at least their methods of aeronautics leave little to
be desired, and they understand and practice metal
<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>working, textile arts; they have a language. Personal
beauty they do not boast (“That’s putting it
mild; they looked like blueprints,” again <i>sotto
voce</i> from Hopkins) and their physiques seem
dwarfed and impoverished. How did they strike
you, Erickson? What did you see? Your linguistic
knowledge may help us, and—I think you had our
glass.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Parenthetically I may tell you, Mr. Link, that
I have been a poor sort of a journalist, and a teacher
of languages, and a traveler, a mixture of vocations
not conducive, you will say, to signal distinction in
any line.</p>

<p class='c016'>“This is what I saw,” I began, with an assertiveness
that brought me wrapt attention. It was true
that I had seen a good deal; my monopoly of our
field glass had been complete. I spoke with
rather crisp acerbity because I had already taken a
strong prejudice against these jaundiced objects,
and neither as associates nor as subjects of study
was I willing to seek their acquaintance.</p>

<p class='c016'>“They are diaphanous yellow anthropological
<i>insects</i>, with big beetle heads dropping forward,
scrappy hair or none at all, are anemic, short bodied,
long legged, short armed, and absurdly pervaded
by a saffron-blueness—I can describe it in no other
words. You saw their dress; the tunic clothing
them like a nightshirt or a butcher’s blouse, is
cinctured by a <i>gold belt</i>! They are scarcely more
than three feet high.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Alfred,” asked Goritz, “are you sure about the
gold belt? I thought I saw yellow links around
their bodies too.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh, yes,” I replied indifferently, “the gold belts
were plain enough, but Antoine, I tell you you had
better leave these microbes alone.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The intensity of my repugnance amused them.
I think it was shared by Hopkins. He said,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>“They’ve rather got my goat, but the risk of seeing
the thing out is worth taking. They certainly have
the goods and, as for scrapping— Well, say, we
could blow ’em away.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Could you,” I indignantly flared up. “Not so
fast, Spruce. Did you see those tubes in their
white fingers?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes, I saw them?” Hopkins rejoined interrogatively.
“Looked like lead pipe.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well, I’m sure there’s devilment enough in
them. They raised them this way and that, and
guided their flight by them.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“What’s the harm?” Hopkins continued. “Perhaps
they’ve a thing or two worth patenting in
ballooning; very likely. They’re funny enough,
but—Pshaw!—we can run ’em in any time with
these guns.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“How many balloons were attached to each
person?” asked the Professor.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Three,” we all said together.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I thought so,” he continued, “one from each
armpit, and one from the belt. They spoke distinguishable
words. Could you make anything out
of them Erickson?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Why,” I muttered laconically, quite as a matter
of course, “It sounded like corrupted or archaic
Hebrew.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“By the Great Horn Spoon,” shouted Hopkins,
“<i>pawnbrokers</i>. Levitation would be worth while
to some I’ve known.”</p>

<p class='c016'>After this explosion we were silent for a few
moments. Our thoughts were running wild over
the inscrutable occurrence which portended strange
developments ahead of us. Hopkins was elated at
the prospect of adventure, Goritz, I really believe,
was consumed with a passionate curiosity to see
more of the <i>gold</i>, the Professor was burning up
with scientific wonder and excitement, and I alone
<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>was overcome by a repulsion which I could not
explain, and which, on the face of it, was unreasonable.</p>

<p class='c016'>Communing thus with our thoughts and quite
indescribably stirred, Hopkins cried out, “Beat it.
Here they are again,” and there, rising gently from
the depth below our elevation came the little flotilla
of bobbing manikins, announced even before they
were seen, by a shrill chatter, and squealy laughter,
which consorted naturally with their queer, aged,
wrinkled faces, the fluttering tunics entangling
their pipe-stem legs, and the odd diaphaneity of
their bodies.</p>

<p class='c016'>I am not a naturalist, Mr. Link, and there are
some things in nature I cannot reconcile myself to:
snakes, caterpillars and BUGS.</p>

<p class='c016'>We were under our coverts in a jiffy; the celerity
of our movement was something like the noiseless
tail-up concealment in the ground of prairie dogs.
And our eyes became as active as our legs; not an
optic nerve but was strained to the full extent of its
reportorial powers. One feature of their machinery,
I had not noticed before. Flexible tubes tied
the balloons to their bodies, and these again were
connected under the sleeves of their tunics with the
lengths of pipe they carried in their hands. The
swelling and deflation of these balloons seemed
most delicately under their control, and at times
they would, like a swarm of flies, rise and fall, in a
perfect mimicry of a fly’s uneven and dancing undulations.
It was most curious and utterly inexplicable,
and then too when they moved to and fro or
advanced, the tubes were held behind them, and
some propulsion ensued which carried them on their
flight, though it was quite evident that any volition
on their part was quite overcome by the prevalent
currents of air. The latter they avoided by rising
above or sinking below it, and at the moment, as we
<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>gazed, they surrendered themselves to the wind
blowing about us at our elevation, and were tossed
along it, in shrill enjoyment, and vanished westward.
They were absorbed in misty veils that
were drawn between us.</p>

<p class='c016'>Once more we came out of our hiding with a ludicrous
astonishment painted on our faces. Hopkins
looked the least bit scared. Almost instantly he
expressed his feelings.</p>

<p class='c016'>“They certainly have me guessing. Old guys, all
of ’em. Perhaps they’re terribly old, and perhaps
that’s the way up here—everything very old
shrinks, wrinkles and wears glasses.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Glasses,” called out Goritz. “Yes! I saw that,
and do you know for more than a week my eyes
have ached. It’s something to do with this strange
light.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Then came the confession from all of us, that we
had each been bothered with our eyes. Shooting
pains, blurry outlines, whizzing sensations in our
heads, and a sense of dryness of the eyelids, as
though they had been overheated by a mild exzema
of the skin. It was surprising, the moment we
attended to the matter, how urgent our complaints
became, and how communicative we were about it.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I feel sure,” said Goritz, “that we are bewitched
by this light. These odd creatures have become
crinkled and gnarled by it. They’re a race of
dwarfs, prematurely aged and megalocephalic.”</p>

<p class='c016'>This last daring incursion into the Professor’s
domain of reserved scientific language rather
startled us. “’Peaching on the Professor’s
preserves,” whispered Hopkins. But the Professor
did not resent it. It was some minutes later, after
an expectant silence, that he very demurely suggested
that we all put on our snow goggles. And
we did. It seemed to help.</p>

<p class='c016'>Of course, considerably flustered over the unexpected
<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>appearance in this utterly unexpected manner
of the aboriginals of this enigmatical region,
we undertook to examine the narrow and deep little
valley into which our visitors had descended. It
was a rough scramble, as the sides of the pit
proved not only very steep but unreasonably rocky,
sharp and precipitous. When we finally reached
the bottom, and the Professor exultantly told us
the rock was a dolomite, that it contained coral
remains and brachiopodous shells that were
Devonian, we found ourselves in a peculiar place.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a kind of gigantic well, on the floor of
which and to one side were situated the two little
lakes we had seen from above. Considerable
water flowed into them from crevices in the walls,
and the place was overshadowed at one point by a
projecting ledge that formed a portico to a cavernous
recess. Leaden colored fish rose and sank in
the water of the lakes, and we thought the gulls,
who must have penetrated to this remote asylum
from Beaufort Sea, had been attracted by them.
It proved to be a dreary, bare hole and instilled in
us a feeling half despairing and melancholy.</p>

<p class='c016'>“This isn’t the gayest place in the world,” said
Hopkins. “Our insect friends certainly didn’t
come here for recreation. Looks like a smuggler’s
retreat, or a den of crime. Perhaps we may find
here some enchanted troubadour, a chained damsel,
a lurking dragon, or the fountain of eternal youth,
which those cadaverous anchorites we saw upstairs
visit occasionally to keep the life in their shivering
shells. Or—”</p>

<p class='c016'>“What’s this?” exclaimed Goritz, his muffled
voice proceeding from the recess into which he had
penetrated, entering its prolongation, which became
a sort of cave.</p>

<p class='c016'>We rushed forward, all keyed now to an excited
limit of curiosity, so that, as Hopkins expressed it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>afterwards, “an invitation from the angel Gabriel
to step into Paradise, wouldn’t have phased us much,
in fact would have been an ordinary incident in our
investigations.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“What is it, Antoine?” I cried as I reached him
and found him gazing in bewilderment at a shining
nodule of something ahead of him, in the deeper
gloom within. I asked no more questions, but
stood still with him, wondering. The others came
up and we all gazed awhile, transfixed by a common
astonishment.</p>

<p class='c016'>The glowing mass, perhaps about the size of a
baby’s closed hand, shed a mellow radiance about
the cave; its light draped our own figures, and it
was reflected from innumerable bright points which
spangled here and there on the floor and walls like
minute lamps.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Diamonds,” murmured Goritz, awestruck.</p>

<p class='c016'>The place was heated, and the light made us
shade our eyes. The Professor had moved alertly
forward in an impulse of almost desperate joy. He
stood in wrapt contemplation of the luminiferous
chunk, then he struck one of the scintillating projections,
a piece detached itself, and showered some
splinters through the air to the ground. The
splinters shimmered like microscopic mirrors.</p>

<p class='c016'>“<i>Sphalerite</i>,” he cried. “Zinc sulphide! This
is literally a chamber of Sphalerite, a huge pocket
enclosed in the limestone. It has been worked
somewhat; its extension in the rock is probably
very deep; and, gentlemen,” this apostrophe accompanied
by upraised hands, palms supplicatingly
held towards us, always denoted some especially
disturbing or exhilarating announcement, “this
light proceeds from some natural <i>phosphori</i>. It
may be,” he paused to allow our minds to adjust
themselves to a new attitude of marveling, “it may
be RADIUM. We are in a world of transmutations,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>the home of the Stone of the Philosopher.
In the world we have left—” the language was
positive, convincing, for now the feeling of translation
from all the familiarities of the world of
Europe and America grew persistently, even
though plants and animals expressed a similar life—“in
that world, the combined product of all its
mines, of all its laboratories, scarcely exceeds Two
Grammes. Here is perhaps four ounces, or the
Quarter of a Pound, and—”</p>

<p class='c016'>It was then that a black clot, shaping itself in
irregular fingers with blue and yellow fringes revolving
raggedly around it closed my eyes. But before
vision departed, I saw the Professor clutch his
breast, stagger forward, and I heard him cry, “Out,
out!” and then I felt my knees stung by the
pointed stones and, blindly groping, I crawled away.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was later, I do not know how long, that I
recovered my sight and around me, languid and
prostrate; though reviving as I was, were my
comrades.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Transmutation?” said Hopkins, feebly smiling.
“It was pretty nearly a transference <i>over the river</i>,
and no return trip-slip either.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Heaven! How my head aches,” groaned Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Gentlemen,” the Professor gurgled, flat on his
back and sicker than any of us, but with his scientific
apparatus under control and working smoothly,
“we are on the eve of great discoveries. The
papers which I can prepare for the Royal Academy
of Sciences will throw a flood of light on a subject
hitherto only darkly approached. I am confident
that we were in the presence of a monstrous—monstrous
comparatively, you observe—mass of
radium. Further, I feel sure that the Stationary
Sun that maintains a perpetual day in this remarkable
land has something to do with radium emanations
from the Interior of the Earth!”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>The poor gentleman stopped abruptly, some
peculiar evidences of his own interior activity just
then making him roll over and refrain from speech,
because he was <i>otherwise engaged</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Do you suppose,” asked Hopkins, “that those
aeronautical hairpins left that gold brick inside
there?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Certainly,” answered the dilapidated Goritz.
“And they were up to something curious perhaps.
Why, somehow I can only think of Aladdin and the
lamp in the Arabian Nights. You remember it?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Of course, Antoine, but you see there are devilments
here that are not so very beguiling or so very
profitable. At any rate let us get out of here.
The wind has risen; a storm is coming on. The
darkness above looks interesting; in this hole it
will be just stupidly pitch black. I feel half
suffocated in this pit. There isn’t a very promising
chance for our survival if we go on into this radium
land, with a sun made of radium, when a handful
turns us into puppets and pretty nearly into
corpses. I say leave it, leave it all. It’s madness
to go farther.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“You are mistaken—mistaken,” interrupted the
Professor, who had regained his composure. “The
proximity—the reflections—our own unadaptability—fatigue—the
closeness of the confined
space and the—the—unmitigated monotony of our
food made us ill. No—no—We must see it all.
It will be the miracle of the century.”</p>

<p class='c016'>He gasped out his remonstrance and explanations
in dissected sentences that measurably restored my
good humor, so funny were they. A little later
and we had set about getting back to the balsams
on the cliff top, and to the small shelter we had so
far managed to construct, and whose protection in
a storm seemed very attractive. The storm itself
in these strange quarters promised new scenic
<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>effects, and its meteorological features might
exceed all possible anticipation. Three of us had
become ecstatically anxious to see everything, one
of us (myself) shrank from his own baleful premonition
of the future.</p>

<p class='c016'>But we had reached the height, and the freshness
of the air restored our equanimity, and made our
strength whole again, and before us, with slow
divulgements of unusual grandeur, spread the black
skirts of a storm. But it was not over us, though
patches of cloud were streaming from the west in
hurrying phalanxes, dun, disordered, driven, as if
under orders. And far off, beneath, it almost
seemed, that strange stationary sun now half
eclipsed, the hurlyburly of an inordinate atmospheric
disturbance was visibly in operation.</p>

<p class='c016'>The impression almost instantly made was that
of a cyclonic movement—a suction of the air into
the maelstrom center of a revolution that was gathering
from the four quarters reinforcements of
cloud and wind. A dull yellow light shone through
occasional gaps in the aerial concourse of vapors,
fish-gray chasms opened out at moments as if torn
apart by uprushing or irrepressible volumes of
wind, and, lit up by sharper flashes, they would
suddenly evert, pouring out in boiling currents
torrential black clouds. Then a cap of darkness
seemed to descend, and yet in the remnants of light
that stuck here and there to the flanks of
this mountainous obscuration, we could see the
multitudinous scurryings, windings and collisions
of the smoking flails and banks and missiles
of cloud.</p>

<p class='c016'>Below this indivisible commotion, between it and
what seemed the earth, stole or lay a stratum of
light, and into this, slowly evolving like a gigantic
corkscrew from the storm above, grew downwards,
streaked with black, pillars of condensation, that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>were nothing else than water-spouts, terrible
tornadoes in traveling helices, erect, inclined, and
stalking towards and away from each other like
watery titans.</p>

<p class='c016'>We thought we even saw their conjunction and
dispersal, but what was visibly secure in the picture
was the ascent heavenward of an intolerably wild
dust avalanche. The whiteness, for such it seemed,
smote and penetrated the clouds; it swerved and
was beaten into straight ribbons of livid light, or,
mingling universally, adulterated the inky burden
with a spurious ghastly filminess. Flashes of
lightning (a rare phenomenon in the north) that
must have been terrific in intensity and portentous
in size bit through the darkness, and rumblings
reached us from the remote conflict. Then agglomeration
and colossal curdlings and it all was
swallowed up in night!</p>

<p class='c016'>We talked long that night upon the excitements
of the last ten hours, and it was plain to each one of
us that we were again approaching descents to
parts still farther below the levels already passed;
that the storm was over a distant depression; that
in the last day or two the actinic power of that
strange radiance that lurked somewhere in the
skies over this depression was becoming stronger
and more intolerable; that we might expect to
find the incredible influences of Radium in all this;
that perhaps in some way that Sun we saw, we felt,
which was the photal center, provocation and cause
of the plant life around us, and through which we
had passed, was now limiting or suppressing it;
the unmistakable dust or sand tornado showed a
desert region before us. Then, too, we discussed
the poverty of the faunal life, now growing thinner,
smaller, more depressed as we advanced, the
sallowness of the grass, the blueness of leafage, the
anemic pinkiness of the heather, our own tortured
<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>feelings of alternate hope and apathy, of well being
and of sickishness.</p>

<p class='c016'>The bleaching, killing effect of this radium light
(so we called It) was partially overcome by the
rainfall which operated favorably for the plants.
In hunting the small deer, and even they became
more infrequent, we noticed that they occupied the
shadowed sides of the hills and, in this stationary
light, these shadowed sides remained almost
unchanged. I say <i>almost</i>, because it became more
and more apparent that the stationary Sun stirred.
It rose or fell or approached or receded. There
was some fluctuation too in its light. It was not a
lamp hung in the sky but an <i>aura</i> that floated inconstantly
over or around some central pivotal,
causal spot, that varied also in its emanations.</p>

<p class='c016'>Should we go on? I was silent. Overwhelming
as might seem the inducements to break through
the veil of the mystery before us I hesitated—No,
I recoiled. But this was flagrant treachery to the
spirit and ambition of exploration. So I was
silent. Goritz dreaming of his Ophir and Golconda,
was impatient to hurry on. Hopkins felt
that there was nothing else to do; his doggerel
helped him out:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘What matters it how far we go?’ his scaly friend replied,</div>
      <div class='line'>There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>But the Professor was resolute. Here were all
his predictions fulfilled—the vortical polar pit, the
warmth, the aborigines, Eden reminiscences (he
referred to the Crocodilo-Python) and now, what,
so he modestly admitted, he had never dreamed of,
the—</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>METROPOLIS OF RADIUM.</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>Go on? Of course.</p>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER VIII<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Pine Tree Gredin</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>After we had jerked some of the deer meat, fearing
that the diminishing chances for game would
leave us unsupplied, and as yet quite mystified as
to where or when we would engage the pygmy
people, we took up our loads and went on. The
storm whose gyrating fury had absorbed our attention
had raged itself away, though it was some
thirty-six hours before it cleared, and, slowly liberated
from the thickly wrapt curtains of gloom, the
now more and more obvious sun shone again. The
upland we were crossing caused us many perplexities.
The numerous broad troughs and depressions, the
tracts of tangled dead bushes and the hedges,
resembling “pressure ridges” of ice, which had been
somehow shaped by prevalent winds into long
fences of scraggly, prostrate trees, were increasingly
interspersed with sandy expanses, which we
interpreted as the melancholy presages of a desert
area beyond.</p>

<p class='c016'>The average elevation was level, with a tendency
to fall as we advanced. We expected daily to reach
some abrupt drop which would announce our descent
into the “last hole of the Golf Links,” to
quote Hopkins. The scheme of Krocker Land
grew daily more and more convincingly simple.
Whatever limital lines embraced it, it was a sort of
amphitheater, with the serial displacements up or
<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>down which we had already traversed succeeding
each other concentrically; it was temperate in
climate; it might become torrid because of its
inclusion in the deeper parts of the earth’s crust, or
because, even more probably, it was situated over
some residual uncooled igneous magma. It was
encircled, we assumed, by the profound crevice
we had bridged below the Rim, and its extraordinary
sun which gave light and heat was practically
concealed from external detection by the
gigantic vaporous wall of the “Perpetual Nimbus,”
endlessly created by steaming and evaporation from
the crevice itself, reinforced, too, by the turbulence
of the general atmosphere, which for days and days
had presented a turmoil, or else a dead waste, of
cloud-filled skies.</p>

<p class='c016'>We thought of that outer world now slowly—nay,
rapidly—succumbing to the tightening grip of
frost and snow and ice, now again dark or visible
only in that strange sepulchral glow of aurora and
stars; of that vast Arctic desolation, the shrouded
corpse of a world, and of the gathering legions of
snowflakes endlessly dropping or whirling from the
blue-black empyrean; of the ice pack formed like
a vise around the empty, tenantless shores, and
groaning under the lash of the winds or the tyrannous
push of the tides; of the distant eastern
Arctic lands, pale with ghost lights over glacier
and mountain, inland ice, trackless coasts, black
rock-bound capes and the blue domed igloo of the
Eskimo; a land hallowed to thought by heroism;
on whose barren plains the monuments to the dead
rise in the wastes feebly to tell of devotion, courage
past knowledge to measure, faithfulness; where
the polar bear and the walrus alone maintain
nature’s plea against utter death.</p>

<p class='c016'>How those thoughts contrasted with all this
around us, an undulating oasis in the polar desert,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>where now indeed the antipodes drew near in some
strange new development of sand and aridity.
Somehow this latter notion clung persistently. It
was partly due, no doubt, to a natural ascription of
deadly power in the inexplicable Sun, whose
strength each mile was revealed in a more deadly
manner; in part also to the decrescence of life,
now noticeable in many ways. There was a paling
and bleaching of the herbage, and for miles and
miles the movements of insects were almost absent,
while the deer vanished, and only moles or shrews
were occasionally detected in the crookedly ridged
ground.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was after five days’ continuous struggle over
the back of this lumpy and semi-mountainous region,
whose charm for us had long before disappeared,
and when the sharpest scrutiny no longer
disclosed the little deer whose succulent steaks and
chops had kept us happy and well, eked out with
water, and the still persistent berry I have mentioned,
that we reached the edge of a new descent.
Shielding ourselves in a low coppice of bushes from
the peculiar light, which was sensibly increasing in
strength and which seemed less softened by the
interposition of veils of mist and cloud, we could
just see, like a black ribbon painted along the
horizon, a zone of tree tops.</p>

<p class='c016'>“TREES,” we shouted joyously.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes, they are trees,” after a while came the
affirmative assurance. The Professor was studying
them with our field glass.</p>

<p class='c016'>“They are trees, of some narrow leaved or
coniferous genus. They are so densely, darkly
gathered together. A wood now would indeed be
welcome, but we are fated for a rather trying
march over another desert. I can see a sand plain
stretching away ahead of us, terminating perhaps in
this new region beyond. I have a strong presentiment
<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>that this wood forms the last screen to the
grand revelation we are certain to be vouchsafed.
It surrounds the home of the RADIUMITES.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“That’s a cheerful view of it, Professor, and not a
bad name. And if we are getting as warm as all that
don’t you think we might conjure up some plan of
operation before we meet these—these—<i>electrons</i>?
How’s that, Erickson? You see I have a talking
acquaintance with Science after all, even if I haven’t
got so far as to call her by her first name. Electrons
and Radiumites are rather related terms. Eh?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well,” I said, “Hopkins’ suggestion is surely a
wise one. These remarkable creatures have obtained
some curious insight into chemical laws.
They are our masters if we meet them. Before we
can do a thing they will transfix us with chemical
ions, or something like them, and decompose us into
our original elements. I’ve been thinking about
those little lead pipes they carried. I saw them
press them and wave them, and whenever they did
either, something happened; they went up and
down, or any way else, as they wished. The
balloons were not so very small; they appeared, I
think, smaller than they really were, and they did
look too small to lift their loads, little and light as
they seemed, even if they contained our lightest
gas-hydrogen. I tell you they’ve refined methods
in radio-chemistry perhaps, that enable them to
generate an even lighter gas, and its buoyancy is
out of all proportion to the gas volumes represented
in these small balloons. These little men are formidable
savants, who may get rid of us, if they want
to, like that,” and I snapped my fingers.</p>

<p class='c016'>This harangue stirred the Professor. I meant it
should. His hair, which now seemed almost
redder than when we started, and had grown so
that it enveloped his head in a penumbral glory,
like a sunset fire, rose, as it were, to the occasion.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>“Erickson,” he retorted, “put away your fears.
The very fact of the intellectual promotion of these
people would make it certain that they have abandoned
savage ways, and that they would recognize
in us, to say the least,” it may be the Professor
blushed slightly, though the rufescent splendor of
his hair disguised it, “representatives of a culture
that will excite their curiosity, their—Ahem—<i>envy</i>.
Personally I feel confident that—Ahem—once
some sort of communication is established
between us, I can interest them. I should feel
honored even to present their contributions to
science before the Royal Academy of Sciences at
Stockholm. In the hierarchy of scientific authors
their names would arrest the attention of the whole
earth.”</p>

<p class='c016'>After this flight there was a respectful pause,
until Hopkins resumed:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Say Professor, the particular culture that
would impress them most now would be a wash, a
clean shirt, a shave and a haircut. Eh?”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor contemptuously ignored the
interruption, though a furtively repressed approach
of laughter on his face showed his appreciation of
its justice. We were indeed frights.</p>

<p class='c016'>“And, Alfred, as to your suggestion of a gas
lighter than hydrogen in the balloons, perhaps you
are aware that so far as the apparent transmutation
of the elements permits any conclusions in the matter,
hydrogen has hitherto yielded only helium,
neon, carbon and sulphur, all heavier bodies. I
don’t say you are not right. It’s tremendously
interesting. However, you may have underestimated
the size of the balloons and over-estimated
the weight of the little men. They had a very
<i>papery</i> look to me, and of course,” the Professor
always had this pragmatic style of insisting <i>you
knew</i>, when he was inwardly crowing over his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>chance of illuminating your ignorance, “you know
that the levitation of hydrogen equals seventy
pounds to one thousand cubic feet of gas—at
ordinary pressures. Those balloons were larger
than they seemed; some reflexion in the air
diminished them, and really those aged infants,
I believe, scarcely exceeded thirty pounds in weight.
Do you know,” he became excitedly radiant,
“perhaps their tenuity has some relation to their
intellectual development—they represent some
final stage of human evolution, when the body
shrinks, and the mind enlarges, and—”</p>

<p class='c016'>“The teeth drop out,” suggested Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>“True, Mr. Hopkins. Professor Wurtz has
pointed out the probable absorption of the teeth
or their disappearance under the debilitating
influence of mental growth. These people may live
solely on saps, juices, milks, liquids, extracts.”</p>

<p class='c016'>This tickled Hopkins boundlessly, and he rattled
away—I don’t know whether it was quotation or
improvisation:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Really I hesitate to say,</div>
      <div class='line'>What they promise now some day,</div>
      <div class='line'>When learning and brain</div>
      <div class='line'>Are fit for the strain,</div>
      <div class='line'>Of telling the Truth to a hair.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“For the <i>Docs</i> have puzzled it out,</div>
      <div class='line'>And there isn’t a reason to doubt,</div>
      <div class='line'>That we’ll lose all our grinders,</div>
      <div class='line'>All our gold-plugged reminders,</div>
      <div class='line'>Of the toothache that taught us to swear.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“It’s a case of gray matter and such,</div>
      <div class='line'>Though for that we need not care much,</div>
      <div class='line'>For—cocktails and chowder for lunch,</div>
      <div class='line'>Soft drinks, sangaree, and rum punch</div>
      <div class='line'>Will surely be living for fair.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'><span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>“Come,” growled Goritz, “this sort of nonsense
isn’t getting us anywhere. Strap up your packs
and get out of this. The chances for grub ahead
are not the best in the world. The country is
already as bare as a cleared table, and what are we
going to do for water?”</p>

<p class='c016'>That was a disagreeable predicament. Hitherto
the springs, little tarns or water holes, though decreasing
in number as we advanced, had fully met
our requirements, but if we were to cross any considerable
dry tract we might be seriously imperiled.
To be sure, the limestone country if prolonged
would almost certainly feed us, but that desert
land which our closest inspection of the distance
only made more unquestionable—How about that?</p>

<p class='c016'>The conclusion we came to was to husband all
the resources we could command. It sounded
grandiloquent—<i>our resources</i>! What were they?
Some patches of jerked deer’s meat, our fryingpan
and pot, the remnant of our improvised tent and
our knapsacks, almost empty except for the
instruments, a few necessary implements, the
ammunition, still sufficient, and our guns. Our
clothing was desperately worn. Literally, we were
in rags, but a primitive kind of treatment in water,
from time to time, had freed this dejected apparel
of at least a large percentage—I really think a
preponderant percentage—of its dirt. The question
of water remained urgent.</p>

<p class='c016'>In about a day or so we came upon the outlines of
the desert plain—scrappy expanses of sand and
pebbles—mostly angular, and we noted the dust
occasionally sweeping heavenward in yellow clouds
but still we thought we also saw the dark farther
zone of trees. Our horizon was now more limited;
we had descended some fifteen hundred feet, and
the advantage of an elevated circumspection was
denied us. The professor determined the sand to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>be a pulverulent shattered and crumbling limestone,
and although absorbent and apparently
deeply bedded he believed we could, almost anywhere,
upon digging find water. This was encouraging,
and the trip over this tawny and sometimes
dazzling waste seemed less formidable. The
light became peculiarly tantalizing and objectionable,
and we were thankful enough for the goggles.
After deliberation we made up the canvas of our
little tent, which we still retained, into bags (we had
pack thread and sailors’ needles) and expected to
use them as water carriers. Then we trapped a
few moles, though recourse to this unpalatable
flesh would only be considered in an extremity, and
then, not without foreboding, we started over the
pallid desert.</p>

<p class='c016'>We soon came upon traces of the great storm
which we had watched from the Deer Fels. These
were unmistakable. Deep gouges had been made
in the sand by the volleying and cutting winds, but
the most extraordinary vestiges of its violence were
the conical hills of sand, raised over the surface in
huge mammilary erections. These were distributed
with a very striking evenness, except at
spots, where it would seem the moving hills in their
translation had closed upon one another, and,
demolished in the collisions, left formless congeries
of tossed and sprawling heaps, which might have a
length of a mile or more, and were from half to three
quarters of a mile in width. They were disagreeable
obstacles, and ploughing through them was the
hardest kind of work, for the surfaces were
composed of a deep deposit of minute grains and
dust and our feet sank into them as quickly as
though we were engaged in a plunge through a
colossal flour bin or a wheat pit.</p>

<p class='c016'>But our complaints and discouragements were
providentially rebuked. Fighting our way up and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>down these dry quagmires of dust, stumbling,
falling and not infrequently assisting to extricate
one another from the floury embrace, we had come
to the crest of a ridge which crossed diagonally one
of these shapeless, tortuous mounds. This ridge,
over the mean level of the plain, was almost twenty
feet high, a good measure of the strength of the
wind suction which had built it up. We were dusty,
almost exhausted, and the water we had carefully
conserved, as best we might (for the bags were not
watertight) in our canvas receptacles, was approaching
a dangerous depletion. It was absolutely
necessary, fight against it as we might, to
wash our mouths and throats, clogged and asperate
as they were with the grains and dust, quite often,
or, it seems to me, we would have been suffocated.
What gratitude we felt you may imagine, when, on
surmounting the ridge, our eyes fell upon a small
pool of water entrapped upon some impervious
bottom, in a natural bowl, enclosed by the ridge on
which we halted and a lower ridge beyond us. The
familiar thought of how it transcended in value
any imaginable wealth of gold and diamonds at that
moment flashed, I guess, through all of our minds.
We camped there. The water was clear and cool,
for, I should have mentioned it, the weather had
been colder, and, when our “fixed Sun,” as Goritz
called it was hidden, we suffered somewhat from
imperfect protection.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Queer we don’t hit any more of those weird
phantoms that own this place, isn’t it?” said Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh,” I replied, “they may be watching us now,
listening to us. You can’t tell. I think they’re a
sort of supernatural people that can do almost anything.
Perhaps they wear magic cloaks, hats,
shoes, that make them invisible. Speak easy when
you meet ’em Spruce, and don’t abuse them
<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>behind their backs, for—it may be—<i>to their
faces</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Look here, Alfred, I really believe you’ve
loosened a nut in that tight little head of yours.
To hear you talk gets on my nerves. Don’t do it.
Hasn’t the Professor explained it all as Evolution,
and how exceedingly friendly these fine folk will be
to us when they get a bead on our own families.
As for speaking easy, I shan’t speak at all. With
me it’s the case of Pat once again, and I couldn’t
get even as far as he did with the Frenchman with
his “<i>Parlez-vous français, and—give me the loan
of your gridiron.</i>”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Alfred,” asked the Professor, “could you talk
with them, if it turns out that their language is
Hebrew?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Certainly,” I answered, “I am a Jew, and my
earliest training has never been forgotten. I have
been hugging the thought that I can understand
them or make them understand me. I grant,
along traditional lines there was something Hebraic
in their looks.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes Alfred—this,” said Hopkins, touching his
nose.</p>

<p class='c016'>We laughed, but the Professor stared at me
thoughtfully.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Alfred,” at length he solemnly began, “the
Vestiges of Creation—Who knows but—”</p>

<p class='c016'>The sentence was never finished and to this day
I only dimly suspect the lurking and indefinable
thought that those world-dreams of the past, with
Eden placed at the North Pole, and a still more
irreclaimable theory of a residual population
descending from some God-made primal ancestor,
confusedly rose in the Professor’s mind, and that
he was groping his way to express this cryptic and
impossible illusion.</p>

<p class='c016'>No! the Professor was probably utterly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>stunned into dumbness, as we were made half wild
with wonder by a cry from Goritz:</p>

<p class='c016'>“SEE! Over there are the head and arm of a
dead man sticking out through the sand.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We jumped to our feet, followed with our eyes
his stiffened, outstretched arm and rigid finger, and
saw the chubby face of a corpse, with closed eyes,
streaming black hair, pushed out from a blanket of
sand, while an arm with a clenched hand was protruding
from the same covering. For a moment—perhaps
for several—we remained motionless,
perusing the face which was so astonishingly contrasted
with the lineaments of the diminutive
aeronautical philosophers, and noting too the convexity
of the earth covering the body, which indicated
a man or woman, of an average size or a little
undersized. What struck each one of us at once
was the unmistakable Eskimo type, the narrow
eyes, small <i>joufflu</i> nose, wide mouth, puffed
cheeks, low forehead and coarse, straggling and
profuse hair.</p>

<p class='c016'>A little later and we had dug out of his grave the
astounding figure. When it was uncovered it
corroborated all our first impressions as to its
Eskimo relationship, but we then detected that its
construction was more slender and generally better
proportioned, and the beardless face was more
refinedly cut. Its dress was a yellow gown or tunic
over very loose bluish trousers, and its feet were
encased in roughly made loose slippers, fastened by
laces or strings over the instep. The material of
the dress was a woven wool. The tunic was
clasped by a broad belt of the same substance,
fastened by a leaden buckle; the trousers were held
in at the bottom by a kind of anklet of bone and
skin, and the sleeves of the tunic were similarly
confined.</p>

<p class='c016'>But perhaps it was the buckle that excited our
<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>curiosity the most, for there was engraved—not
embossed—on it the same serpent and crocodile-like
figure that had been seen on the gold buckle
Goritz found, and over it too were the singular
conventions of a branched tree encircled by a
snake. Goritz compared his belt and buckle with
it and was convinced of their identical interpretation.
Nothing else was found. We detected no
pockets of any sort in the clothing—Yes, there was
something else, from under the body we dug up
spectacle-like yellow glasses.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was clear that the creature had been overwhelmed
in a sandstorm, but it was not clear why
he should have been alone and apparently wandering
a long way from his home and companions.
The incident incited us to greater haste, and when
we had replenished our water skins, we resumed the
exhausting tramp. The tree line became increasingly
plainer to view, and it offered a goal and prize
now that dissipated our fatigue and roused our
ambition. We had not discussed the Eskimo waif
but I guess through all of our minds slowly or
quickly filtered the conviction that he represented
a lower slave or working group; that we were soon
to break into a world of industry and achievement,
founded on social distinctions; that indeed up here
in Krocker Land flourished perhaps an oldtime
class regime with knowledge and power confined to
a priestly or imperial class, like Egypt, like Mexico,
like Peru.</p>

<div id='p2142'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p2142.jpg' alt='four men look down to hills and a forest' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE PINE TREE GREDIN</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>Some of my first trepidation over the adventure
had vanished, but much remained. I felt no confidence
in those uncanny air travelers. Goritz
became impatient and almost retaliatory; he was
maddened by the vision of wealth, for he dreamed
we were coming close to some dazzling, incalculable
phenomenon of riches. Hopkins was good-naturedly
suspicious and apprehensive, but confessed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>to an overpowering desire to see the thing
out, and “<i>have it over</i>.” The Professor lived in
the seventh heaven of delectation over the prospect
of preparing a batch of papers, to be read before the
Royal Academy of Sciences in Stockholm, that
would place his name high on the walls of the
Temple of Knowledge. All of us were thus anxious
to get on, and we made rapid progress. Need
there was, for our provisions were again nearing
exhaustion.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was almost a hundred and twenty hours, or
five days, since we had left the Deer Fels before we
dragged ourselves into the first grateful shadows of
the great <i>Pine Tree Gredin</i>. So Professor
Bjornsen termed it. Such it was. A vast, plunging
hillside or scarp, covering miles and miles, and
appareled from top to bottom with this wonderful
vesture of tall pines. And it sang with the refreshing
music of innumerable brooks. The exhaustless
reservoirs of water emptied upon the vast desert
zone which, almost without leaving a trace of
greenness behind them, entered that profoundly
weathered and comminuted soil, engulfed completely,
as are the rivers of California or Colorado
or Persia, and reissued unsullied, purified and cold,
over this pine tree steppe.</p>

<p class='c016'>The exhausted pilgrim through Purgatory who
sees the gates of Paradise open to him, would, for
Christians, furnish a description of our feelings as,
ragged, choked with dust, almost crazed with
thirst and speechless from fatigue, we threw ourselves
at the foot of the first towering grove, and
sank our heads into its moss lined bowls of living
water. As a Jew I myself recalled the pretty fable
of “<i>The Slave Who Became a King</i>” and all that
the shipwrecked wretch had felt when the new
people he had reached made him their king and fed
and clothed him; for indeed to us, as Nefesh was to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>Adam, this new stage was the Island of Life. I
had reason to remember the story more literally
afterwards.</p>

<p class='c016'>And the marvelous stateliness of this blue-green
ocean of straight trees, the entrancing vistas between
the majestic columns, with a life of pheasant
and hare and squirrel, the bubbling cadences of
springs, and the rambling mirthfulness and riot
of the brooks, the deep-browed silence in places,
and the needle-thatched ground, inviting us to
sleep and dreams, had a fabulous expression, as if
the prelude to some unearthly—See how the whole
unreality of it haunts me—experience. But,
besides its picturesqueness, we rejoiced in the dusk-like
protection from the light; in the effect and
feeling of a dark submarine immersion, the light
became so beryl-like, that we again, and now as it
were <i>en masse</i>, encountered fresh reminders of the
still invisible people we must soon see face to face.</p>

<p class='c016'>There were clearings which had been made in the
forest. They were dotted with stumps and crossed
by fallen trunks, and made outlooks from which we
saw the interminable distances of serried ranks of
trees. Far to the right, far to the left, far before us
with as yet no determinable limit in any direction,
the gigantic flood of pines flowed ceaselessly down
the sides of a continental amphitheater.</p>

<p class='c016'>These cleared rings were suggestive enough.
There was no evidence that less toilsome methods
had been used than those adopted by prehistoric
man. The trees had been hacked and cut by stone
axes, they had been trimmed by stone axes, and we
found traces of fire around them, which had been
made to hasten their fall. But it was not long
before we came upon well-made roads threading the
forest, to which the clearings themselves were
tributary, and over which the great logs had been
transported.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>Besides we found dishes and cups, vessels of
various sizes, which were well advanced in fictile
skill, being watertight, with glazed bodies of white
and yellow or terracotta tints. And over them, as
on the buckles, were rudely painted and reburned
that now familiar symbol of the tree and serpent.
These interested us greatly, but our sharpest hunt
for some gold relics was unrewarded.</p>

<p class='c016'>“No lost property worth advertising for ’round
here,” said Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well it’s still westward,” said Goritz. “We
must run them down soon. But see how endless
the prospect,” and he pointed to that unique multitude
of motionless trees, falling away and ever
downwards into some gigantic central subsidence.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was remarkable that we encountered no temporary
abodes, no camps, no settlements and no
laggard or outpost of the elusive people.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor, invincible in theorizing and pertinacious
in assertion, animadverted on our discoveries
in this way:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well, these Radiumites show a sort of frustrated
culture. They have some specialized knowledge,
and then again they are in other respects primitive.
It’s a very interesting ethnological problem. It’s
a well known circumstance that civilizations decline
or even degenerate. The modern Indian of
Mexico or Peru offers a sad contrast to his
ancestors, but in the useful arts, as Tylor remarks, a
skill once acquired is seldom or never abandoned or
forgotten. If these people could smelt iron they
certainly would not resort to stone for felling trees.
Races like the New Zealanders have never learned
to reduce iron from its ore, though iron ore abounds
in their country.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The trails and roads proved to be labyrinthine,
and led us over long and useless journeys, frequently
back to our starting point. It was Goritz
<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>who solved their apparent confusion and proved
that they were parts of intersecting loops or circles,
and that each series of circles connected with a
succeeding one by roads leading always from the
westernmost (or lowest) edge of each circle. These
latter roads seemed radial and continuous. The
plan was like this (Erickson showed me a drawing)
with the circles a mile or half a mile in diameter.</p>

<p class='c016'>But it was the Professor who detected a remarkable
feature which plunged us all into renewed
speculations and wondering surmises. In following
one of these circular roads he observed that the
area enclosed by it was a depression, and this fact,
together with a less crowded growth and some
previous clearing permitted him to note that an unusually
large tree towered among the others, apparently
exceeding them greatly in height and, rudely
at least, it was at the center of the circular space.</p>

<p class='c016'>As, at times yielding to a lotos-like influence, we
now moved more deliberately, and would remain
at one camping spot (this was before Goritz pointed
out the more direct line of advance over the radiating
roads) twenty or more hours, the Professor
would direct his steps to this tree as a landmark.
Some abstruse stirrings of suggestion urged him.
But it seemed almost a miracle of second sight, for
it uncovered an astounding system of combined
surveying or charting, associated intricately with
religious motives. He diverted our attention
indeed to a search which enriched us with some
valuable objects, though we were likely to have
lost them all later. But it thus led to the <i>denouement</i>
of an utterly unparalleled adventure by
forcing us sharply upon the mysterious people who
lived here, and opening up a chapter of incidents
and episodes never otherwise related, except in
tales of invention or in the dreams of disturbed
and romancing minds.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>He found his tree in a small, open, carefully
cleared space, and on it were not only carvings of
the ubiquitous serpent sign, but with this evidently
scripts, which he interpreted as prayers, or sacred
utterances and adjurations, and, more astonishingly,
conventionalized GOLD images (hardly exceeding
three or four inches in height) laid at the bottom of
the tree. These images rudely symbolized a
human figure enrolled in the coils of a serpent.</p>

<p class='c016'>When he brought one of these images into our
camp—he timidly refrained from disturbing the
others—you may imagine our excitement. Goritz
gazed and gazed at it in a trance of amazement
and gloating. He wanted to set out on an excursion
of discovery at once. But we overruled that.
The Professor had our attention completely. His
exploit gave a real authority to his entertaining
disquisition. We were thoroughly interested.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes, here is a stupendous theme—Serpent and
Tree worship—developed on an unusual scale and in
an unprecedented manner. You see this enormous
forest is arranged in a chart-like manner into a
series—I might say a <i>Halysites</i>, as it were—of
encircling roadways, producing the effect of a
garland of wreathed snakes, while in each fold or
embrace, some tree, conspicuous for size or height,
or some physical perfection, has been selected,
about or around which again the serpentine coils
are enwrapped, a splendid combination of tree and
serpent worship ideographically presented in a
park plan. Again the votive objects attached to
the trees form a group of subordinated ornamental
commemorative or religious symbols, and the
whole display is ancestral, archaic, <i>turanian</i>, for
Fergusson holds that no Aryan people succumbed
to this peculiar cult, dimly shadowed forth in myth,
fable and history at the first emergence of racial
life.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>“Think of the legendary lore connected with the
strange prepossessions of early peoples, the myth
of Adam and Eve and the Serpent; the brazen
serpent lifted up in the wilderness by Moses, the
Serpent of Epidaurus in the temple of Aesculapius,
the dragon of the Argonauts, the serpent of the
oracle at Delphi, in the grove of laurel trees; the
serpent inhabiting a cave at Lanuvium, and
wrought into religious practices; the ascription to
serpents of healing powers and powers of divination;
the snake in Indian, Egyptian, Phoenician,
Assyrian religions. Think, Goritz and Erickson,
of the tree worship of the Scandinavians, culminating
in the <i>Yggdrasill</i>, the ash, whose branches
spread over the whole world, and even reach up to
heaven, the extended and dreadful homage paid to
great snakes in America, still existing among the
desert Indians of Arizona and New Mexico!</p>

<p class='c016'>“But as a contribution to the ophitic lore I
believe we have found in this new polar continent
the central arcana of the mystery referable, for
aught we know, to the Adam legend. Gentlemen,
we are stepping on the skirts of a great mystery.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The solemnity of this conclusion which was
becomingly indicated by the Professor’s outstretched
hands and by the smile of benignant
invitation for us to assume his own gravity, was
somewhat abridged or spoiled by Hopkins’ interjection.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I’m afraid, Professor, that we’ll be stepping into
trouble if we pinch too many of these joints. I
say leave the contraptions alone.” This was
meant as a rebuke to Goritz who was for rifling
everything. I half believe he would now have
been willing to abandon our further march, hunt
for the wood temples, despoil them, and retreat,
recover our yacht and hike it over the ice for Point
Barrow. The gold had strangely turned his head.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>“Yes,” I interrupted, for I was really anxious too,
though I was willing to join the laugh that followed
Hopkins’ remonstrance, “we must be careful.
There’s mystery enough here and there may be
power behind the mystery, enough also to send us
each about our business to Eternity.”</p>

<p class='c016'>However, from this time we watched for the
trees that accentuated the great rings of woods,
marked off by the circular and intersecting roads.
We detected numbers of them, though for days
none would be found. Cleared spaces surrounded
them, but not always, nor indeed generally, were
there votive offerings of gold images, but bits of
apparel, pottery, glass beads (we wondered much
over these last), leaden, rudely shaped figures,
stone implements and carved wooden masks. We
wasted time in this pursuit, urged to it by Goritz’s
insatiable delight over the gold finds (we resisted
his intentions of taking everything away, though he
despoiled many of the trees), and I think the Professor
was responsible for much of our wandering,
for in his note taking he was indefatigable.</p>

<p class='c016'>The ground continued to descend, and though
the decline was interrupted by hillocks, protuberant
mounds and long, rising slopes, these exceptions
were accidental, and we realized that since entering
the forest we had descended nearly three thousand
feet. We were actually over five thousand feet
below the mean level of the earth. From some of
the elevations our view still measured the endless
stretch of sombre green (really a blue-green),
though we felt certain that a still lower valley
bounded its marge and that beyond the latter
limit there were hot springs or geysers, the gushing
upward of steam clouds was so incessant. And
then more wondrously, we were made aware of a
shaft of light, a luminous prism shooting upward
from the earth, which we began to suspect was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>related to the stationary sun from which this
puzzling and utterly unrelated nook of the earth
received light and heat, when outside of its charmed
and storm-beleaguered rim the polar seas and lands
lay bound in the iron grip of winter and were dark
beneath a sunless sky. Bewildering, maddening
paradox! We were often thunderstruck and
speechless, dimly doubting whether we had not
indeed “shuffled off the coil” of life, and had
become reincarnate in another sphere.</p>

<p class='c016'>I guess that I alone had that feeling often, for
Hopkins’ imperturbable realism, Goritz’s avarice
and the Professor’s splendid vaulting ambition to
convulse the scientific world kept them mortally
conscious and human.</p>

<p class='c016'>And now an amazing thing happened. It
began the rush of events that for three or four
months tossed us along a course of excitement that
made our heads spin and terminated in episodes for
all of us too fabulous to be believed and yet—Mr.
Link they are the sober, unvarnished truth. You
may doubt your ears, you may be tempted—you
will be—to put me in a class outside even of the
biggest assassins of truth—and as a journalist you
have known a good many, but in the end perhaps I
can re-establish my reputation by an appeal to your
eyes! That sort of evidence cannot be gainsaid.</p>

<p class='c016'>Well, it turned out that we had nearly crossed
the interminable forest, and were tramping silently
along one of the radial roads, just after it had cut
(“bisected” the Professor insisted) the arc of one of
the great circles, when Goritz quickly raised his hand:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Listen! Music—drums!”</p>

<p class='c016'>We halted, breathless with wonder. Softly, in a
low, monotonous hum came the itinerant beating.
Yes, we all heard it, and with it, as we waited, was
mingled the metallic clangor of cymbals or something
like them.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>“‘Regardless of grammar they all said “That’s
them,’” whispered Hopkins, quoting his Ingoldsby.</p>

<p class='c016'>“<i>Up the tree.</i> They’re coming nearer,” said
Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Decidedly,” coincided the Professor. “As an
exhibition of the prehistoric musical art this will be
unique.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We were not long in clambering among the outspread
boughs of a big pine, leaving our instruments
and packs at its foot (the species in growth and
cyclical arrangement of its limbs resembled the
white pine), helping each other until we were finally
asylumed among the topmost needles, peering out
over the receding road for the approaching procession,
if procession it was.</p>

<p class='c016'>We were not to wait long. The music, disentangled
now from the interference and dampening
effect of the trees, rose assailingly from the distance,
and the thumping drums and the dulcet swish and
clatter of the cymbals seemed almost beneath us.
We were straining our eyes, and, in our impatience
and curiosity, became careless of our position, all
half standing on the same bough, clasping the trunk
and leaning outward.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was a glittering, swarming effect in the
vista, and we saw the advancing ranks of the
strangers. Instantly we recognized the Eskimo, or
his modified image, in the first companies. They
were lurching ponderously forward, their legs and
shoulders advancing together to the irresistible
rhythm swelling behind them. They wore short
yellow tunics or sacks engirdled by cloth belts with
leaden buckles; blue trousers caught at the ankles
by leaden anklets and sandals completed their
dress, except that on their heads they wore broad,
white, hive-shaped straw sombreros not unlike the
head covering of the peons in Mexico. Each man
<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>swung a short bludgeon comically suggestive of a
New York City policeman’s club.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Cheese it—the Cop,” chuckled Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>The ranks came on in goodly number and they
formed a stalwart, if clumsy and shuffling phalanx.
The band, as a proper misappropriation of the word
would describe it, succeeded. These, too, were all
of the Eskimo type, but men and women mingled
together; the men plied the small, stiff, vociferous
wooden drums and the women rather gracefully,
and with inerrant precision, smashed the cymbals
together.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Gold—by God,” croaked Goritz, and he almost
lost his balance in his admiration.</p>

<p class='c016'>Gold they were indeed, and the metal delivered
a note less rasping and shattering than the ordinary
brass. The men and women of the band were
dressed in closer fitting garments, their legs were
naked, but over each of the women’s knees was
strapped a glittering gold cap and their hair was
braided with sinuous gold serpents. They burnished
the dark outline of the marchers like gleams
of light or fireflies in a summer gloaming. It
was really very pretty, and Hopkins nearly lost
his self control by starting our applause. The
impulse was momentary, for in a trice our eyes were
ensnared in the sight of the astonishing crowd of
little people that followed them.</p>

<p class='c016'>They were perhaps larger than the strange little
men we had met on the Deer Fels, and their heads
did not fall forward with that irksome sense of
heaviness which afflicted those diminutive philosophers.
But they formed a diverting and animated
picture. They were in all sorts of order, and rather
prevalently without any order at all. In threes and
fours, in strings and lines, in gravely marching little
bands, and then in dancing disorder, all wearing
tunics and trousers of various colors or plaids, but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>with the belt and the hieroglyphic buckle. Every
now and then as they surged along they sang, a
midget song, quavering and odd, musical in a way,
but a rather poor way, and, like the shrilling
cymbals and the tom-tom drums, sing-songy and
monotonous. We became spell-bound at the weird
spectacle. They also wore broad brimmed straw
hats, but pushed back on their heads, as if to offset
that ludicrous tilt of their funny big heads.</p>

<p class='c016'>And then came a host of the Eskimo girls beating
the cymbals again, but there were no drums or men.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well, I must say,” softly spoke Hopkins, “the
popular chorus girl hasn’t anything on these peacherinas,
has she?”</p>

<p class='c016'>But what was this amazing company that followed—bizarre,
fascinating, crudely savage, and yet
enigmatically enthralling? A chariot or a flat platform
car on low, solid wooden wheels, drawn by
goats whose horns were tipped with gold snails,
bore a group of diminutive figures which we all
recognized as being the very little men whose
aeronautics had so astonished us. They and more
like them sat back to back on this equipage of gold,
as in an Irish jaunting car, and one chariot succeeded
another, all loaded down with the <i>Areopagus</i>
of councilors and governors, for such they
certainly seemed to be. But they were sumptuously
dressed in violet cassocks, girt with gold;
gold chains encircled their necks, and pendent to
these was the serpent symbol. On their heads they
wore the flat broad brimmed hat bedizened with
gold trappings. These hats now lay in their laps,
their long-fingered, waxy hands folded over them,
and their eyes were protected by the absurd goggles.</p>

<p class='c016'>They too were singing or praying, the chant
rising to us with the undulatory emphasis of a
Hebrew cantor, and—so it seemed to me—the words
were indeed a Hebrew jargon. But around them,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>before them, behind them, stalked an ordered regiment
of the slimmer, taller Eskimos; all men, and
they each raised on their left shoulders, held stationary
by the bent left arm and the right arm
extended across the breast, a pole of gold, on which
was entrained a living snake. The creatures were
imprisoned, for their necks were caught in locks at
the apexes of the poles. These snakes were black,
a glossy black, and on the glossy, glittering poles
they formed a strange <i>caduceus</i>. It was in a way
a horrible assemblage, and then again, against the
background of all of our incredible experiences, it
assumed a bewildering charm, as if it were a dream
half turned into a nightmare, or a nightmare
checked in its course by a remembered dream. On,
on, they swayed and moved, and amid these
ophidian pages, groups of drummers kept up a
ceaseless dull, stupid drubbing.</p>

<p class='c016'>Then something stranger followed. An empty
chair on a gold wagon, a chair itself of gold, but
shaped like the stump of a tree with two branches
sprouting from it, and between these as they were
projected above the stump, the spread figure—in
heraldry <i>displayed</i>—of the <i>Crocodilo-Python</i>, also
in gold. The hideous animal enormity was all
there, its anaconda-like tail winding about the tree
stump, its stilted hind feet grasping the lower ends
of the branches, its shorter webbed forefeet dragging
their curved ends towards its twisted neck, and
the saurian jaws in a horrid rictus, imminent above
that empty throne whose occupant perchance
might be some aboriginal Apollo or a grinning and
revolting savage sibyl.</p>

<div id='p2261'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p2261.jpg' alt='three men in a tree look down on a festive parade of elfen-looking people' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>MEETING THE RADIUMOPOLITES</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>Well, Mr. Link, the spectacle, with this climax,
made us dizzy; some reminiscent weakness from
my swooning attacked me, but I would have been
safe enough. I stuck fast to the trunk of the tree,
when Goritz turning backward stepped on my
<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>support. It cracked, it broke. Hopkins seized
Goritz’s arm, the Professor Hopkins’ coat tail—what
there was of it—and ingloriously, with crash
and whisking flight from branch to branch, we four
hopeless Argonauts slumped from the top of the
lofty pine, with arresting scramblings and maniacal
clutchings, to the bottom, and were spilled to the
roadway; four voiceless, bedraggled, ragged, bushy-haired,
wild eyed, grimy men, more savage in our
destitution than the savages we had fallen amongst.
As we banged to the ground, a jolt stopped the
empty throne, with its golden splendors of the
distended image of the saurian, directly opposite
our jumbled, prostrate bodies.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER IX<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Valley of Rasselas</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>It was an incongruous position, and a mind responsive
only to the ludicrous would have been
delighted with mirth over it. But it was really no
joke, and if Hopkins, whose risibilities were the
least easily subdued, had ventured upon one of his
whirlwinds of laughter, instead of sedately rising
(enjoining us to imitate him) and bowing profoundly,
it might have had a tragic termination.</p>

<p class='c016'>As it was, Hopkins himself actually prescribed
our solemn behavior. It somehow appealed just
then to his freakish sense of humor to appear portentously
grave and decorous, and as he kept up his
salaaming we fell in with the trick, and were
bobbing away with the gravity of mandarins.</p>

<p class='c016'>The crowd, as we slammed into the road, were
pretty well upset. There was a queer gurgling
groan, and then a shout, and a few of the men
rushed forward with leveled poles, from which the
black squirming ribbons uncannily unrolled, as if
to strike us. Our appealing gestures for forbearance
disarmed them, and then curiously some of
them began to smile. Hopkins’ later reflection
that we would probably have “made a meal sack
split open with diversion,” was about correct, and
it must have been the preposterous absurdity of it
all, conjoined with our indefatigable rolling up and
down, and some improvised gesture of the Yankee,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>expressive of submission and subjection, that
gradually increased their merriment, until we had
in front of us a friendly audience, simmering with
amusement.</p>

<p class='c016'>The commotion and noise of the bending, breaking
branches had been seen and heard much further
along the cortege, and it had caught the eye of the
dignitaries on the wheeled platform. In a few
minutes a number of these ambling, beetle-like
worthies arrived and, withdrawing cautiously into
the protecting circle of the Eskimo youth, gazed at
us with unaffected astonishment. We now had the
best opportunity to see them at short range, and
this was so desirable that we brought our antics to
a close, reciprocating their scrutiny with as keen an
inspection on our part. The impression made on
me, on all of us, was favorable.</p>

<p class='c016'>The faces of these short men were remarkable for
an unmistakable gravity; their eyes, from which
they had removed the goggles, were penetrating
and bright, sunken beneath arched and conspicuous
eyebrows, and set alongside of prominent aquiline
noses. The lower parts of their faces were weak,
narrowed, and clothed with a scanty pointed beard.
Their brows were broad, high and of alabaster
whiteness. This colorlessness pervaded their whole
anatomy, related at it were, to the thinness of their
legs, their slim long arms and pendulous fingers,
their flat and insufficient feet. We noticed then
that they carried in their belts tubes of metal
similar or identical to the wand-like ones that had
seemed to aid their flight with the balloons.</p>

<p class='c016'>Their study of us was emphasized by considerable
stroking of the beards, shrugging of the shoulders,
and an occasional despairing waving of the
hands. Everyone, everything, remained motionless
while these wiseacres made up their minds as to
the meaning of our intrusion, or endeavored to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>meet the broader problem of what do to with us.
And so the whole mass slowly gathered, the first
ranks of the muscular Eskimo older men, the
drummers and the cymbalists, the fluttering,
diversified groups of the little people; they crushed
into the woods, blocked the road, climbed up into
the trees; many pressed near to us, their hands
resting on their hips, regarding us with a tense and
silent absorption that made me nervous.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins nudged the Professor. “Prof., give
’em a lecture, anything, only hand it over highly
flavored—<i>paprika-like</i>. Slam a few dictionaries
at ’em. What we need just now is a little intellectual
standing, I take it. These highbrows think
we’re no better than we look.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Oddly they had said nothing to us until they
noticed Hopkins talking; then one of them, a
rather benignant and especially reflective looking
individual, who had been arguing vehemently the
moment before with one of his colleagues, advanced
and said what sounded like “<i>do bau</i>” or, had it
been in such Hebrew as I myself understood,
“<i>dobare</i>”; namely “speak,” “talk.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor probably did not understand the
word, but he understood perfectly their wishes, and
under Hopkins’ admonition stepped forward, and
started a harangue. Nothing that had preceded
was so likely to ruin our discretion as the scene made
by this overture of the Professor’s. Hopkins was
compelled to grovel on the ground to suppress his
merriment, but this ruse was interpreted fortunately
as an expression of reverence for the
words or voice of our leader, and his explosions
reduced by this means to a subterranean titter
were further alleviatingly considered as a phase of
weeping.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor was a sight. Not any part of his
attire was whole, and his boots were devoid of toes
<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>and rent along the soles. He was dirtier, I think,
than any one of us, as his ablutions had been less
regular, so far as regularity was the appropriation
of an opportunity once a month, and he had been
torn and bruised and scratched, and had a most
despondent expression of hoodlumism. His hands
alone were presentable; I have referred to his sensitiveness
over his hands. And his hair! It was a
bright red, and it had grown profusely, and, exulting
in some untamed inclination to revert to savagery,
had grown outward in a stiff jungle that now
flamed around his ingratiating physiognomy like
some angry halo. Under the stress of his nervousness
and—his periods, he flourished his hands and
shook his head, and this immensely increased the
gap between his grandiloquence and his humiliating
appearance. It was side splitting.</p>

<p class='c016'>And then increasing the ludicrousness of it all
almost insufferably, was the close attention of the
people, and the absurdly critical demeanor and
deliberation of the philosophers. Certainly nobody
understood a word of what the Professor said
and yet they listened with bent heads, devouring
eyes, and a mute satisfaction impossible to describe.
And the Professor, flattered or deceived by the thrilling
effect he was producing, fired off his lingo at a
greater speed, with a screaming voice (he probably
thought that if he yelled he would be better understood),
and more tumultuous gestures. The combination
was more unutterably funny than our
predicament was possibly grave. Hopkins was
unable to raise his head. I heard him groaning,
“Such a bizness. Choke him off.” I was compelled
to hide my head in my hands and allow my
convulsions to go for what they were worth as
emotional signals of despair. Goritz, a grave man,
lately a fiercely obsessed man, deliberately turned
his back and stuck his fingers in his ears.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>And this was some of the Professor’s sonorous
patter:</p>

<p class='c016'>“My friends you are amazed to see us, but we
have come from the great (hands pressed together)
world beyond your continent to find YOU (emphasized
by two pointing index fingers). We knew you
were here (an ascending shout), and we knew you
lived in a world of wonders (miscellaneous flourishes
of both hands over his head), and enchantments,
scientific miracles (a prolonged <i>crescendo</i>) of
which we wish to know more. Do not feel
astonished at our appearance (an inclusive sweep
of the right arm); we have traveled over the polar
sea, over mountain ranges, through a desert; we
have crossed the steaming chasm that encircles
your country (hands and arms in descriptive attitudes,
and constantly moving). We have essayed
the impossible (another shout), and we have accomplished
it (sudden drop into a growling bass);
we have,” etc., etc., etc., for at least ten minutes,
with the people positively hypnotized, so it seemed,
by his clamorous chatter.</p>

<p class='c016'>The absurdity of this address was to us evident
enough, and yet it was just the kind of demonstration
on our part which impressed them. The Professor’s
style was valorous and friendly and noisy,
and the effect of his rattling appeal was propitious.
There would have been real danger for us, I believe
now, had they discovered how we had rifled the
tree temples. That might have roused their worst
hatred and made our position perilous.</p>

<p class='c016'>Suddenly the benignant looking leader clapped
his hands together, and then put one over his
mouth, and the Professor wisely took the hint and
subsided. There was an animated colloquy begun
among the other chiefs and legislators, and we all
listened intently, I especially, for it became a
stronger and stronger conviction that these dignitaries
<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>spoke a strain of Hebrew, to me not at all
understandable, and yet approaching my own
Hebrew vocabulary, but masked or distorted by
their peculiar nasality and squeakiness.</p>

<p class='c016'>The discussion grew vehement, and the little
doctors attained a degree of excitement that threw
them into violent gesticulations, their heads dancing
with their vigorous utterances, their beards
wagging, and their arms and hands flung around in
elucidations that seemed never to convince anyone.
Well, the upshot of it all was that an order was
given to take us in custody, which we were made to
comprehend by very expressive signs, and the order
was accompanied by a lot of gracious grimace,
deprecatory bowing and apologetic shrugs, whose
burden of significance we understood to be that an
escort would take us to the conveniences we needed—a
bath, renewed clothing, food, rest, shelter, etc.—while
the procession would pursue its ceremonial
transit, which we very well saw was a state occasion
connected with their religion and involving perhaps
a long journey consuming weeks for its completion.
I wondered whether they would discover our
thievery, and felt convinced that if they did our
sojourn amongst them would be less pleasant.</p>

<p class='c016'>After some confusion and distracting running to
and fro, all of which had quite a civilized aspect
from the self-importance of the little actors, and the
typical uncertainty and contradiction of orders,
we were finally dispatched with an escort or guard
of Eskimo men, led by a chief or captain who had
received from the council a budget of directions
and injunctions, and who, as Hopkins put it, “had
rather <i>soured on the job</i>” which would deprive
him of the emotional reflexes of the religious revival—surely
a sort of vast national picnic.</p>

<p class='c016'>By this time the spaces around us were jammed
tight with people, the little folk and the bulky
<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>Eskimos crowding together and picturesquely
intermingled; multitudes were leaping into the
trees and climbing out on the branches, so that we
were literally in a defile of the strangers, whose
drums and cymbals were now silent, and who,
passive and almost motionless, gazed at us with
a fixed wonder that robbed their faces of all
expression.</p>

<p class='c016'>An incident reminded us forcefully of the strange
power of the little rulers over their bulky dependents
or subjects, and revived our astonishment at
the contents of the metal tubes they carried.
These tubes were in the possession of only the
“<i>faculty</i>,” the big headed, diminutive and rather
venerable looking persons who evidently ruled the
community and whose disproportionate power
probably sprang from the magical qualities of these
same tubes.</p>

<p class='c016'>A tall, morose looking Eskimo had approached
us in a threatening manner after having been
ordered into the group who were to take charge of
us for the mission determined upon by the little
chiefs. Something in the half amused inspection
Spruce Hopkins made of him, or his own disappointment
irritated him, and with a sudden angry
cry he sprang out of the ranks, his face distorted
with savage fury, and raised the pole or spear he
carried to strike Hopkins, when the latter “side-stepped,”
and the big stick thumped harmlessly on
the ground.</p>

<p class='c016'>Before anyone had time to intervene or calculate
the creature’s next move, the amiable disputant
who had taken so much interest in us nimbly
jumped before the man, snatched the tube
from his belt, directed it at Hopkins’ assailant,
pressed its end and sent the fellow sprawling on his
back in apparent agony. There was no sign of any
discharge, there certainly was no sound, perhaps
<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>there was a momentary gleam of light; we learned
afterwards that there must have been. But the
moaning ruffian was effectually quailed, and the
hush, followed by a low quaver of satisfied subjection
from everyone, indicated the supreme power
of these physically impotent magicians over their
muscular companions.</p>

<p class='c016'>“If we could hand over a few of those pepper
guns to the New York police the gang, thug, and
crook fraternities would go out of business pretty
quick. Eh?” said Hopkins. “That’s slicker than
chain lightning.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“A powerful, suddenly produced and concentrated
X-ray effect,” commented the Professor.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Goritz,” I asked, “where have you put the gold
images and trophies? It will probably be best for us
to keep them pretty well out of sight.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes I know,” returned Goritz. “I’ve thought
of that. They’re in my pack, and that won’t get
out of my hands. Don’t worry.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The main mass moved forward. There was a
scurrying to and fro, and a downpour of acrobats
from the trees. Long after all were out of sight we
heard the hum of the drums and dying whir of the
cymbals, reaching us through the forest. Then
we collided with another detachment, the commissariat,
a promiscuous mixture of figures, and
with them small flocks of goats. First came platform
cars drawn by strong big rams, piled up with
what looked like loaves of bread; these were succeeded
by the rambling goats and kids leashed in
fours and fives, and driven by goatherds of the little
people, all wearing the universal tunic and loose
trousers; then more cars heaped high with baskets
or hampers, and more and more, till Hopkins
exultingly declared:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well, we shan’t starve. I guess we’ve dropped
into a highly developed culture, as you say Prof.,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>among a people who realize the foundation principle
of enlightened living, a full and diversified
bread basket.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Just at the moment I turned and looked up the
slope behind us. I caught through a straight vista,
almost as if made for my view, the shifting lines of
the Eskimos with the gold poles and the black
serpents. Somehow the light struck them and
they seemed to glitter menacingly.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes! Mr. Hopkins, we have dropped down on a
civilization that perhaps is the most ancient on the
earth. This segregation of Adamites has developed
in this strangely protected seclusion a peculiar
knowledge, a knowledge, I am beginning to suspect,
only dimly anticipated by the Curies, Ramsays,
Rutherfords, Sollys.</p>

<p class='c016'>“They have hit upon some of the properties of
matter by which, Mr. Hopkins, one kind of matter
becomes another kind, through radio-activity.
The prevalence of gold amongst them may be
attributable to a mother lode of which I have
spoken before, but these mysterious tubes, the
radium-like mass in the zinc-blende cave in the
Deer Fels, this utterly inexplicable light, hints at
deeper secrets. And yet, sir, with this last triumph
of scientific power in their grasp they unite an
elemental savage worship of snakes and trees, a
vestigial trace, sir, of the very first ages. Then it
is clear there is a peculiar industrial or politico-economic
phase of society conducted on a division
principle of fighters, workers and thinkers, a sort of
analogue to the formicary and the apiary—the ant
and the bees. Yes sir!”</p>

<p class='c016'>This last word was in recognition of Hopkins’
enthusiastic denotement (with extended arms and a
loud “<i>Hurray</i>” which gathered the Eskimo guard
around us in a hurry and in some perplexity; they
were relieved when some speaking signs indicated
<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>Hopkins’ appreciation of “<i>grape juice</i>,” pure or
fermented), of the last wagons closing the food
supply for the peripatetic religious carnival.
These were also platform cars on the rudely
rounded solid wheels, burnt and charred, of
pine tree sections, but on them were huge earthenware
casks like the immense vessels found in Peru,
and like them ornamented with colored designs; in
this case manifold variations, conventionalized
and realistic of the Serpent and the Tree. Their
contents were unmistakable, for a mere water
supply was almost too abundantly found in the
innumerable brooks, springs, and deep pools of the
Pine Tree forest.</p>

<p class='c016'>“We’re certainly approaching civilization now.
As an ultimate evidence of man’s enlightenment,
quantity and quality of <i>booze</i> are complete. The
reign of reason and the Dominion of John Barleycorn
are simultaneous.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘John Barleycorn was a hero bold</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Of noble enterprise;</div>
      <div class='line'>For if you do but taste his blood,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>’Twill make your courage rise.</div>
      <div class='line'>’Twill make a man forget his woes</div>
      <div class='line in2'>’Twill brighten all his joy</div>
      <div class='line'>’Twill make the widow’s heart to sing</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Tho the tear were in her eye.</div>
      <div class='line'>Then let us toast John Barleycorn,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Each man a glass in hand;</div>
      <div class='line'>And may his great posterity</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Ne’er fail in Krocker Land.’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>To let the provision annex pass as it lumbered by,
while tall drivers of the Eskimo plied long whips
whose lashes stung the air with rapid reports, and
the straining rams tugged and bolted, we had been
compelled to huddle to one side of the road. This
outbreak of Hopkins and the Professor’s soliloquy
<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>were amazing to our guard at first, but as soon as they
half comprehended Hopkins’ pleasure and his
musical voice sang Burns’ apostrophe they became
mightily amused, and they beamed on the American
with unstinted confidence.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz, who knew some Eskimo from his experience
in Greenland, attempted to talk to them, but
their answers were unintelligible; neither, I think
did they understand him, and it is also certain that
they did not converse among themselves in the
Semitic phrase peculiar to the little men. There
was very little talk of any kind amongst them or us,
and after the ebullition when we ran into the wine
cart, we relapsed into a resigned silence, enjoying
most a study of our guard. Nothing had been
taken from us, no search made of our packs, and our
guns still remained apparently unnoticed in our
hands. The “little doctors” as Hopkins called
them had indeed looked at them curiously, and I
felt certain they would on their return find out their
uses as also the uses of our instruments, the aneroid,
thermometers, chronometers, clinometer, artificial
horizon, all of which we had regained from their
hiding place below the pine tree from whose crown
we had so unexpectedly descended.</p>

<p class='c016'>On, on, on, we tramped; the trees became
smaller, more distant, and an open ground appeared
before us. In another instant it was succeeded by
an even denser growth of younger and greener pine
trees; the road turned sharply; it crossed the thick
screen; another turn and, like a vision, the central
valley of Krocker Land unrolled before us, an endless
park, seamed by silver rivers, clothed in
emerald meads, tenanted by incalculable flocks,
and marbled in its lighting, by an incessant drift of
clouds that threw over it a penumbral shade.</p>

<div id='p2382'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p2382.jpg' alt='four men, standing on a hill, look down on distant a valley and hills' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE VALLEY OF RASSELAS</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>That was a marvelous moment, Mr. Link. We
were dumb with admiration, and we stood still,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>rooted to the spot, immobile in a transport of
amazement. Nothing was said until the Professor
half audibly murmured, “The Valley of Rasselas,”
and the captain of our guard pointing to the
glorious picture muttered to himself. Familiar as
they were with the scene these unemotional men
appreciated our astonishment, and allowed us to
measure with our eyes the grand prospect. There
was a wayside house near at hand, an adobe structure
of red and yellow; beyond it the road dipped,
suddenly passing through a hewn gateway in the
cliffside which we had reached and which, with
varying heights and undulating limits, enclosed
like a mammoth parapet the scene of peace and
loveliness before us.</p>

<p class='c016'>To this house we repaired. It was evidently
located there as a proscenium box for the contemplation
of the ravishing picture. On its porch,
most fitly placed, we sat on low benches and
attempted to record the details of the view, by our
eyes hardly recorded before, so lost had they been in
the enveloping, slumbering beauty. The cordiality
of our hosts was perfect; we munched spiced
<i>tortillas</i> and drank from absurd spherical mugs a
pleasant, ruby colored wine, a sort of <i>Tokay</i>.
And this, sir, is what we saw.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a flat land over which wandered three
separate rivers, fed by the spouting falls that
rushed over the cliffside from many points, the
gathered waters of all that tracery of streams in the
pine forest. Between these rivers spread vast
meadows or fields, thickly patched by motionless—so
they seemed—herds of sheep and goats. Braiding
lines or hedges of trees and shrubs parceled the
green plains into checkers and, as the eye passed
outward, these hedges, massing themselves in perspective,
banked the horizon with a continuous
wood. And there was a floating colorfulness in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>picture besides, a roseate-blueness, that we later
discovered came from an abundant wild flower like
our iris which nestled over acres of land in the wetter
spots. And far, far away with a spectral splendor
rose into heaven shafts, or one monstrous shaft, of
light. It glowed and pulsated, changing from an
opalescent pearliness to the hardened glint of steel,
anon streaked with bluish ribbons like a spectrum.
Nothing could be more wonderful.</p>

<p class='c016'>Playing against it rose what seemed a volley
from steaming cauldrons, folded, unfolded, and
drifting. Following this magnificent radiation into
the sky it was lost in a wide halo or pond or lake of
strangely scintillating light; an overspread roof of
light it seemed, forming that stationary sun, that
from end to end, from side to side of this polar bowl
lit its manifold circumferential areas. Thither our
fascinated eyes rose, and then it became manifest
that the overflowing permeating glory of this scene
resided in the play of this light, apparently forever
veiled by nets and skeins and shifting aureoles of
clouds, that somehow formed a floor beneath it, so
that its emergent rays, as in our sunsets or sun risings,
shot outward, coronal-like, and as they
encountered the perpetual play of clouds and
vapors as perpetually painted them in colors. A
superb and marvelous meteorology, for this Valley
of Rasselas thus remained, for long periods perhaps,
bathed in the beauty of a royal sunrise or a royal
sunset.</p>

<p class='c016'>This screening from the downpour of the light of
the stationary sun was certainly a beneficent provision,
for while there might elapse periods when
its unchecked blaze smote the valley, the harsh
ordeal of enduring it was constantly intermitted.
It was clear too that the rainfall was excessive, both
here and in the pine forest we had traversed; that
this navel of the world was a watery kingdom.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>Even as we gazed the pageant of the sky mysteriously
changed, and with its changes the complexion
of the picture earthward underwent delicate
transmutations too. From gay to sombre, from a
wide refulgence to a twilight grayness, from a
flecked radiance to the transient darkness of clotted
clouds, from a burning splendor of illumination, by
which things lost their definition, and the dazzling
excess of light blotted out details, to half light,
whereby a clearness of outlines developed, allowing
us to measure the distance, and to pick out house
and tree, bush, stream and rolling mead. We were
enraptured by reason of this protean aspect, and
watched and, still lingering, gazed, unsatisfied.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Eskimo men understood our delight and it
brought on their rather apathetic faces a smiling
approval. They chattered and gesticulated and
surrendered themselves to a renewed appreciation
of this age-old cradle, in which they had grown and
lived, strangely associated with the older race,
perhaps of some Semitic stock, strangely altered
from their rude forebears and separated more
strangely still with their associates from the thronging
world of men outside of this entrancing cell of
earth, and yet bearing the impress of traditions
which that outer world had created. How could
it be explained? Here was the new and crowning
marvel of the centuries—Krocker Land!</p>

<p class='c016'>A floating tree trunk had indicated to Columbus
the vast unknown of the western continent and
the scattered prognostications of geographers had
led his scientific thought steadily forward to its
prediction and—it was found. A mountain’s darkness
brushing the horizon had crossed his vision as
Admiral Peary looked westward through his glass,
and betokened yet untrod tracts of earth; the
vagaries of the tides submitted to scientific computation
had proven to Harris their positive existence,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>and now to us, four froward, unknown men, it was
vouchsafed to establish in facts these symptomatic
guesses.</p>

<p class='c016'>But our discovery was enriched by unsuspected
marvels; this immense polar depression, like a dent
in the crust of the earth, the peculiar succession of
dropping zones, their physiographic contrasts, the
stupendous circular—so we supposed—rift which
framed them, its igneous depths, that incessant up-pouring
of steam devising a curtain of cloud around
this screened continent, the perpetual chain of
changes in the precipitation of the condensed
vapors renewed again by evaporation, the survival
of saurian life, the meteorological perplexities
introduced, the bewildering fact of an ethnic evolution
in these small people, their peculiar association
with a dependent Eskimo race, the suggestion
of Adamic traces, the apparent control over
advanced chemical agencies, this indigenous tree
and serpent worship hinting at ancestral influences
lost in the shadows of the very beginning, and then,
more incredible than the wildest dreams of fiction,
this impossible stationary sun, sustaining this little
segregated world, feeding it with light and heat, an
unimaginable oasis in the incalculable desert of
Arctic snows and ice. WHAT WAS IT? Upon
what miracle of matter were we advancing?</p>

<p class='c016'>I was lost in such reflexions when an exclamation
from the Eskimo—sounding like <i>ibbley</i>—and a
hand clapped on my shoulder straightened me into
attention. The pool of clouds over the valley
whose inconstant movement alternately veiled and
revealed the light beyond them, had parted, as
though a sudden wind had pierced it and driven its
parts in rapid and eccentric flight to all sides, as a
stone dropped in a pond sends the waves shoreward,
and, past the rift, we saw through the rising vapors,
beyond the rigid, fan shaped prism yet involved in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>it, an incandescent surface like a mammoth shield,
a shield covering acres of space, and over it again,
and yet perhaps miles and miles further away, the
solemn grandeur of an ice capped lofty mountain.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a glimpse only; an instant later the
refluent clouds had flung themselves together again,
in the ceaseless to and fro, and, as I thought, rotary
motion, that conveyed such a changeable expression
to that peaceful hidden vale.</p>

<p class='c016'>That glimpse, Mr. Link, is the memory of a
lifetime, it was a picture so inwrought with the
occasion and my own feelings as to remain with me
a deathless vision.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I suppose this extraordinary <i>pseudo-sun</i>,”
said the Professor after some moments’ silence “is
the most astounding thing we have seen. It is
certainly unaccountable. Its power to illuminate,
warm and enliven this little continent within the
circle of the Perpetual Nimbus surpasses comprehension.
On what theory of physics—for of course
it is not an extra-terrestrial phenomenon—can it be
accounted for?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“How about this Radium. There’s light and
heat in that isn’t there?” asked Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Of course, as we know it in its bromide salt.
But the radium couldn’t be a fixed object in the
sky, and, if on the earth, what fixes its rays or converges
them on one spot, and what is the radiant
material of that spot itself?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“I have been thinking,” said Goritz, standing up,
while our Eskimo escort gathered around us, and
listened with a gravity that half persuaded me
they understood us, “I have been thinking that
there is a vortex of dust up there in that nebulous
mass, that heat and light reach it from some terrestrial
source and are again reflected earthward.
Would that meet the problem?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Perhaps,” assented the Professor, and even as
<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>he spoke the light everywhere about us diminished,
so that the valley became hidden in a most dismal
half light, and then that feeble illumination
vanished, and we were literally plunged in darkness.
Waning of the light, amounting sometimes almost
to extinction, and lasting for some hours, had been
constantly observed by us on our journey from the
coast, but nothing so complete as this. We were
pretty well astonished, and remained silent, expecting
some novel demonstration, for now we had
become so convinced of our immersion in a sea of
Sinbad-like adventure, that we were not only prepared
but almost impatient for still newer and
newer and stranger happenings.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Eskimos were as silent as ourselves, but
when in perhaps half an hour the light revealed
itself again in the sky, as spluttering radiations,
somewhat like the splattering of sparks about a
slowly reconstructed arc light, and then became
continuous, and then gradually swelled to its
original intensity, and the valley once more
glowed under our eyes, they began singing. It
seemed to be some hymn or religious chant and we
connected it at once with superstitious feeling over
the removal and renewal of the light.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a wearisome iterative sing-song drone,
rising and falling in pitch, and sometimes deriving
a rhythmical accent from the clapping of their
hands. The voices were not unmusical, and there
was enough vocality in the words to even elicit an
approach to charm. When later we heard this
same song sung by thousands, its reinforced effectiveness
produced a positive spell.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was time to proceed; our guard evidently
thought so. The captain shook us each by the arm,
pointed down the road, and we tramped away,
watched eagerly by the few inmates of this roadside
house—a man, his wife, and three rabbit-eyed,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>almost naked kids. The road passed through a
gateway of stone, hewn in the cliffs, and with a
moderate grade conducted us some ten hundred
feet in vertical descent, into the Valley of Rasselas.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was the last step on our long journey, the goal
of dreams had been reached, Krocker Land was
discovered, and now the revelation was to be
crowned by a closing and incalculable drama.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER X<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>Radiumopolis</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>There had been noticeable for some time a
change in temperature. It grew colder and the
recurrent periods of darkness were more frequent.
It almost seemed as if the stationary sun responded
to the secular changes produced by the apparent motion
of the firmamental sun, and that, while light remained,
a reduced form of winter might still be expected
in this oddly conditioned corner of the earth.</p>

<p class='c016'>Already in some way the rumor of our approach
had spread far and wide. The fields were at first
crossed by solitary figures trooping to the roadside
to see the strangers. These were shepherds of the
great flocks of goats and sheep, whose slowly shifting
masses drifted over the meadow in irregular
blotches of white and brown and black. At times,
where we crossed marshy exposures on either side of
us, the gurgle of chattering water fowl reached us,
and then when we attained a higher ground hosts
of red and blue iris-like plants clothed the edges of
the fields, from whose corollas rose, like a visible
incense, innumerable white and yellow moths or
butterflies. It all was transcendently novel and
interesting, and though occasionally we shivered
when some chilliness entered the air, from passing
breezes flung into the valley from the vast cold outside,
we almost forgot our discomfort in our excitement
and enthrallment.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>The spectators along the route became more
numerous, a wide-eyed, open mouthed throng, at
first scarcely vocal, just an amused, staring
audience. They were made up of the larger
serving, working class—those I have designated as
Eskimos—and they hung over each other’s
shoulders in mute astonishment, their black eyes
sharply scrutinizing us, and very often their fingers
pushed out in expressive glee at the Professor,
whose superb shabbiness and challenging splendor
of hair always evoked the liveliest pleasure.</p>

<p class='c016'>But as we advanced, mile upon mile, over a road
of perfect construction—evenly arched and well
ditched on both sides—we observed a changing
character in our audience. The little people were
thronging in. They came from distant low villages
and they imparted a contrasted demeanor to the
wayside. They were mildly clamorous and critical.
They broke into ejaculations, hallooed salutations,
and extended comments which kept them amused
and vibrating with curiosity. A few sombre older
people remained silent or grunted a few monosyllables
to each other, but the younger element was
quite irrepressible. At one place where the road
crossed a village community, the guards had to
become rigorous in maintaining an open path for us,
and into large trees—a tree that here resembled the
top-heavy Pawlonia of Asia—urchins nimble as
monkeys had climbed in clusters, and dropped on us
nuts and grain and leaves.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well the kids have the right spirit. I feel more
at home now when the <i>enfant terrible</i> shows up.
Where the youngsters have a sense of fun it seems
to me the fathers won’t have gotten so far beyond
it, as to serve us up in an imperial banquet, cut off
our heads as intruders, or feed us to the Crocodilo-Python,”
said Hopkins to me who was just alongside
of him. “I’m half afraid they’ve taken a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>shine to us, and will have us up in some municipal
museum for the education of the public. I feel
anxious about the Professor. They surely think
he’s a most attractive wild beast.”</p>

<p class='c016'>And now we were trudging through a farm land;
agricultural acres expanded before and around us;
the bean, wheat, rye; the grape, apple, cherry;
clover fields and honey hives were in evidence,
though the harvesting—far later than in the south,
a singular inversion again proceeding from the
influence of the stationary sun—had been completed.
The red and yellow houses of adobe tile or
brick were gathered in small clusters and when,
over long distances they sprinkled the tawny or
sear landscape with patches of bright color, like bits
of new cloth on a worn gown, the effect was delightful.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our spirits rose; although prisoners over whom
no doubt some national parley or pow-wow would
be seriously held, and although distrustful of the
obsequious gestures (most decidedly so in my case)
with which the “little doctors” had invited us to
return with the guard to the <i>somewhere</i> we must
be now approaching, still the winning charm of the
land, the agreeable manners of the little people, and
the stolid unconcern of the larger race half convinced
me that our fate wouldn’t be a tragic one.
Our most ominous thoughts were connected with
those dreadful metal tubes!</p>

<p class='c016'>I took occasion to study the people. The larger
serving or inferior class were Mongolian in type;
they resembled a taller, more slender and less intelligent
Eskimo norm, but the little people presented
a surprising range of individual variation.
The tallest of these latter were almost four feet in
height, the smallest scarcely exceeded three.
Literally they were a boreal pygmy race. The
dominating peculiarity among them was a tendency
<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>to macrocephalism which in the “little
doctors” became exaggerated, and made them
overbalanced and grotesque. In many the heads
did not too obviously exceed a normal size, and the
lower limbs were almost normally developed,
giving them shapeliness. The women were very
strikingly less afflicted with “big-headedness,” and
in them too the nose, attaining among the men a
preponderant magnitude was much more moderate
in size. Many of the young women were very
pretty, a few almost beautiful, and the becoming
attire of the tunic, the loose trousers bound, in
many instances, with gold anklets, the abundant
black hair coiled up in coronal chignons, and sinuously
decorated with the gold serpent-shaped pins,
administered a piquant loveliness. Generally the
men were not so attractive; an unpleasant lankiness
of limb, and (because of a deficient dental
development) sunken cheeks, with narrow chests,
and their unusual heads, on which too in a great
number of cases an extreme scantiness of hair was
observable, robbed them of physical rhythm and
proportion. But again among them were also
striking exceptions, and these gained immensely in
comeliness from the average homeliness of their
associates. The older men universally affected
beards, which some compensatory whim in nature
made abundant. All were dark.</p>

<p class='c016'>My greatest achievement in observation on this
long march was the certain identification of the
language with a Semitic tongue, and the detection
among the taller people of an Eskimo dialect. This
last discovery was made by the help of Goritz,
whose knowledge of the eastern Eskimo dialects
was extensive, although he at first questioned my
conclusions. The reasons are philological and I
pass over them. I hope to discuss the matter
before the congress of Americanists, to be held in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>Philadelphia next year. It is enough for the following
chapters of my narrative to say that I
became proficient (reasonably so) through my
intimate acquaintance with Hebrew, with the
speech of the “little doctors,” and Goritz acquired
a less facile mastery of the Eskimo tongue. The
recognition of corruption in sound of a few consonants
and a peculiar ellipsis of some vowels, in the
first case, accomplished the feat for myself. When
I told Hopkins of my success he was overjoyed.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Alfred, that is dandy. If we can tell what
they’re talking about, and get a line on their plans
we’ll skin through all right. When the proper
moment comes let ’em know you’re wise to their
gibberish, and they’ll take water quick enough.
Why, we might start a revolution, if they try to put
it over us. The big fellows could sweep them like
chaff—and then our GUNS.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes,” I curtly interjected. “And their tubes?”
Spruce was silent.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had now been five days on our march and our
progress had been alternately hastened and retarded
by the curiosity of the people. Hastened
when messages from nearby villages along the road
came to our captain urging speed, that the citizens
of these country communities might inspect us a
little longer; retarded by reason of this same
importunity to allow the gathering countryside the
gratification of the show. For literally we had
become that, and had there been an enterprising
manager to exploit our novelty his receipts would
have been enviable. The crowds increased, the
rumor of our approach spread on every side, and to
meet their unappeasable wonder over our appearance
we were stuck up on platforms in the squares
or open places in the villages and watched, studied
and applauded by the insatiable throngs. It was
indeed a stupefying experience. Certainly it was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>abundantly ludicrous and amusing as well.
Hopkins of course enjoyed it. Goritz was patient
and obscurely piqued by it, the Professor regarded
it as ethnologically delightful, and I took advantage
of the display to note the people and their speech.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I have served a good many purposes in my life,”
said Hopkins, “but I never supposed I’d make a
drawing card in a traveling circus. Our united
effect is really gorgeous. I should think they
might improve the show by some fresh clothes.
But say—the Professor is immense. And he
TAKES. The way they shout and rubberneck
to get nearer to him will start something doing.
If the Professor only had a little political ambition
and an ounce of sense he’d organize a campaign
that would land him in the presidential chair.
And then! Well then we’d all be prime ministers,
and hand out the dope to these babies in a manner
so impressive that we’d hold the job down tight,
until we could get away with the loot. We’d make
Goritz treasurer and he’d come the Tammany act
on ’em so strong that maybe we could leave with all
the goods worth having in the country, in our jeans.
Eh?</p>

<p class='c016'>“Look at ’em, now, surveying the Professor. I
feel an artistic jealousy of that red hair of his. It
certainly has ’em guessing. Perhaps they think
it’s a kind of halo, always on fire. He certainly
must keep it on his head. It’s our salvation. Let
the local barbers touch that, and find out it’s just
plain scissorable wool, and we’re in the soup—and
the Professor? Well, they won’t do a thing
to him.”</p>

<p class='c016'>This fifth day turned out to be the last one of our
march. A memorable day it was. Larger and
larger grew the crowds; they met us, streaming
along evidently from some near point of population,
and, as now the captain of our guard would allow
<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>no delay or halt, we assumed that our destination
was almost at hand. Attaining it formed a new
thrill.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had come to a marked irregularity in the topographic
monotony of the valley, a high, evenly
sloped ridge curving away on either side, which
might be the arc of a continuous or completed
circle, or just a natural accident. The broad road
ascended this hill. We had just stepped out on the
summit, when one of the intermittent light flashes
or sunbursts blazed on the strange scene before our
eyes. We were looking into a dish-like area, for
such it seemed, as we could trace north and south
the circumvallation of the ridge, and it was filled
with settlements which became denser in the distance,
and in that distance (later we discovered it
was about the center of the circular enclosure) rose
the dazzling pediments, stories and wings, of a
GOLD HOUSE.</p>

<p class='c016'>Nothing could be more astonishing. Instinctively
we came to a full stop and gazed. And our
companions, familiar with the spectacle, were
arrested by the sudden apocalyptic flashing of light
from the burnished building, as “of summer lightning
on a dark night suddenly exposing unsuspected
realms of fantastic and poetical suggestion.” (A
line, Mr. Link, I found last night in a book by
George Saintsbury.) But the suggestions here were
overwhelmingly fantastic.</p>

<p class='c016'>Imagine a swelling mound tapering to a narrow
platform, itself created by the leveling art of the
engineers, surmounted by a curiously heaped up
succession of stories, which were buttressed below
by extensions and porticoes, and frescoed or
incrusted throughout by rude and hieratic ornamentation—an
ornamentation that certainly had
more lucidity than the confused medley of symbol
and ideograph at Copán, but which had not yet
<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>freed itself from a mixture of extravagance and
realism. Then finally imagine this executed in
what seemed to be pure gold, and all glittering in a
quick concentration of light. It was refulgent and
it was unearthly. Below it spread the dull tawniness
of an outreaching terracotta city.</p>

<p class='c016'>“What have we come to?” faltered Goritz, who
was transfixed by this new wonder.</p>

<p class='c016'>“It might be called,” said Hopkins, “the Desire
of All Nations; at least it would look that way to a
thoroughbred anywhere inside of Christendom. I
wonder how long that pile would stand on the
principal street of the capitals of the world! The
army, with fixed bayonets, shot guns, and dynamite
bombs, couldn’t keep the gentlemen of America or
the spend-thrifts of Europe from getting their
hooks in somewhere. I think it must be the Casino;
nothing short of Policy or Poker could keep up an
establishment like that. Gold must be very cheap
hereabouts, or else the people need a little free
schooling as to the particular and pleasant uses it
can be put to. Looks that way.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Ah,” spoke up the Professor. “Barter, primal
conditions, prevail here, where a medium of
exchange is hardly needed. Gold to these people is
a color, an ornament. With it they have no more
than without it, for every desire is satisfied, and
the pride of possession or the sentiment of avarice
is unknown. All are equally happy, and all are
equally rich or poor. Gold has an interest to them
because it pleases the eye, and it is here dedicated
to personal or religious distinctions, but as <i>wealth</i>,
in our sense, it has no value. These flocks, these
acres of grain and fruits, mean subsistence, but
GOLD is something to look at—simply. Its name
here has probably no meaning of commercial
utility.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Pretty good for the eyes though, Professor,”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>was Hopkins’ rejoinder, “and as for the name I
don’t recall anything</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Which acts so direct, and with so much effect</div>
      <div class='line'>On the human sensorium, or makes one erect</div>
      <div class='line'>One’s ears so, as soon as the sound we detect,</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c022'>unless perhaps—it might be—BEER—in a
drought.”</p>
<p class='c016'>“Well,” in an undertone from Goritz, “if Gold
has no practical uses in this outlandish nook of the
world, we can take enough of it away with us to a
place where it’s more useful than ornamental.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Have a care,” warned Hopkins. “Our heads
had better be kept on our shoulders, too. Remember,
Goritz, you’ve considerable loot in your
pack now. If they give us the third degree, and
start in on a customs house search, we may get to
another place where—where Gold wouldn’t be
worth the handling, because of the heat, or otherwise,
or because our immediate necessities were
otherwise provided for.”</p>

<p class='c016'>All this while we were again rapidly moving on,
and with each step, while the marvel before us
grew larger, plainer, some of its first surprising
effectiveness changed. It began to be seen that it
was little more than a piled up structure of the
communal dwellings which dotted the plain beneath
it, but on it a queer aboriginal fancy had stuck
plates of gold,—or what seemed to be gold—and
that its corners were decorated with upraised
standards of gold delineating the patron god, or
demon, of the establishment, the Crocodilo-Python.
Over it too in whirls and corkscrew
spirals spread innumerable folded scrolls and winding
figures whose lumpy extremities betokened the
heads of snakes. It was not long before we had
gained the heart of the city. Everywhere it had
been a monotonous series of the tile huts, stuck in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>tiers, one series over another, such as description
and photographs have made so familiar from the
Arizona and New Mexico region. There was now a
much smaller admixture of the taller people, and the
little men and women appeared to be almost the
only occupants of the city.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had come almost underneath the pimple-like
excrescence on which the golden habitation sat,
like a yellow corolla on the green bulb of a thistle,
and we found a space surrounding it of about a
thousand feet in width, filled with enclosures
holding, to our amazement, large black snakes, the
congeners exactly of those held aloft, in the procession
we had met, on golden rods. The walls of
these enclosures were of tile or rudely baked bricks;
some were screened with an open wicker work,
which in many instances had become dilapidated
or were quite worthless as fences to prevent the
egress of the snakes. In the enclosure bushes and
weedy herbs flourished, and their occupants hung
from the branches of these or torpidly lay in the
grass beneath, in repulsive bunches. I admit my
unreasonable aversion to snakes, and these extraordinary
protected nurseries overcame me with
disgust. Hopkins was hardly less disturbed. To
the Professor and to Goritz they were manifestly
attractive.</p>

<p class='c016'>“St. Patrick can’t be the patron saint here,” said
Hopkins, “and whatever language they speak it
pretty certainly is not Irish. I think no one could
mistake their brogue for anything heard in Cork or
Dublin. As for the snakes, I guess what Bobbie
Burns said to the louse will fit them,</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>‘Ye ugly creepin, blastit wonners,</div>
    <div>Detested, shunn’d by saunt and sinners.’”</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>“Every step we take,” solemnly rejoined the Professor,
“discloses new wonders. To me it is quite
<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>evident that the trail of the ethnic origins of Tree
and Serpent worship crosses the pole!”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes,” shouted Hopkins, “and to me, it’s quite
evident that the trail of these reptiles crosses ours.
Look out there!”</p>

<p class='c016'>He pointed ahead and over the road stretched
the wriggling bodies of twenty or thirty faintly
spotted black snakes, sleek and graceful, their heads
raised indifferently in a cool inspection of our
approach, and their tongues quivering in defiance.</p>

<p class='c016'>As soon as they were perceived by our guard, the
leader raised his hand, and we waited for their
ophidian majesties to satisfy their curiosity, and
pass on, which they did, swaying the cropped grass
on the wayside and vanishing into one of the
neighboring pounds over its loosened dejected
blocks. It was quite clear that the city of Radiumopolis—so
we came to distinguish it later—might
prove unpleasantly full of these creatures, for whom
the citizens maintained a most disagreeably pious
regard. It reminded the Professor of the great
center of Serpent Worship at Epidaurus, where
stood the famous temple to Aesculapius and the
grove attached to it in which serpents were kept
and fed, down to the time of Pausanius.</p>

<p class='c016'>Once over the peripheral plain we began the
ascent of the mound at its center. There was a
simple stateliness about this terraced rise of steps,
formed of a red tile or brick, from its very gradual
recession and its extreme width. Here our eyes
measured and studied the astonishing house, or
temple, or Capitol, which was to be for us doubtless
a “house of detention” also.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a square composite, with openings on three
sides—those we could see—and pierced by window
embrasures, sensibly regular in their spacing.
Porches extended outward from the openings and
on these a little rather unsuccessful decorative construction
<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>had been expended. Over each porch
entrance was the literal reproduction in gold and in
stucco of the local deity, in addition to the upraised
images—careening and expanded like hippogriffs—at
the four corners of the building. These latter
were made entirely of gold, and represented thousands
and thousands of dollars. It was indeed
stupifying to estimate their probable value.</p>

<p class='c016'>The gold surface of the Capitol proved to be a
plastering of gold plates, not so well or so carefully
executed as to preclude the constant exposure of the
underlying adobe. But this prodigious prodigality
of gold was again most incredible.</p>

<p class='c016'>We were conducted at once into the <i>Acropolis</i>
so the Professor styled it—noting before we entered
a serviceable courtyard around it, which secured a
little dignity from a wall of bricks interrupted by
higher pillars, and also rimmed with gold. Entering
a broad hallway we were overcome by the
pervasive softly emitted radiance from lamps of
mineral on clumsy stands, and held on round gold
saucers or servers.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Radium,” said the Professor. “It is exactly as
I have been suspecting. These people have gained
access to some vast deposit of this miracle-working
element. It not unreasonably may be supposed
that it is exposed in some chasm in the crust of the
earth, entering to great depths, and perhaps
impinging on such central masses as have been
interpolated in some recent physical speculations,
as giving rise to the <i>static</i> heat of the earth. Here
we probably have an explanation of the abundance
of gold—<i>transmutation</i>! And here too some
adequate explanation of the stationary sun rays
converted by reflection into light and heat—Astounding!
Astounding!! Astounding!!!”</p>

<p class='c016'>To me the fascination, in a way, of all this mixture
of wonders and horrors (the snake and later
<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>discoveries and episodes) and primal simplicity, was
just that incalculable oddness or mystery of the
conjunction of some almost superhuman power
with the weird religion and the archaic habits. I
cannot describe how perversely it affected me,
sometimes raising my interest to a fever heat, and
again filling me with a tormenting fury of desire to
make my escape.</p>

<p class='c016'>We passed through the hall, our guard, at some
gesture from the captain, closing around, and as we
emerged at its further end, again upon the outside
court, I, looking back, saw attendants cover the
radium masses with opaque caps. We were now in
a somewhat contrasted entourage. On this side
of the Capitol the city seemed excluded, and a
rather thick wood and an untamed undergrowth,
through which however stretched a broad highway,
monopolized the ground westward. We had
entered both the city and the Capitol from the
east. In an adjoining yard at the foot of another
symmetrically disposed terrace of steps was a
closed tenement, and into this we were led.</p>

<p class='c016'>Imagine our delight to find it occupied by an
immense basin or pool, into which two conduits
poured hot and cold water. The immense bath
was even then gently steaming; the outer air had
grown increasingly colder. Rough masonry
couches, covered with rugs, had been built against
the walls, and on the edge of the huge tank
were scattered white chunks which, at first conceived
to be soap, turned out to be an indifferent
substitute, in the shape of an unctuous and gritty
clay.</p>

<p class='c016'>This delightful prospect almost brought shouts
to our lips, and Hopkins raising his hands in mock
homage and gratitude, exclaimed:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“But this day of water, cleanliness, and soap,</div>
      <div class='line'>I shall carry to the Catacombs of Hope,</div>
      <div class='line in2'><span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>Photographically lined</div>
      <div class='line in2'>On the tablets of my mind,</div>
      <div class='line'>When a yesterday seems to me remote.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>And to crown all we were given the tunic and
trousers of Radiumopolis with the belt and enigmatically
engraved buckle—of lead, to Goritz’s
ill-suppressed mortification. And then we were
taken back into the Capitol, and alloted four rooms
facing the east, each provided with a window, from
which we would now surely be able to watch the
pageant of the returning worshippers, priests or
celebrants. These rooms deserve a passing consideration.
They were low ceilinged, moderate
spaced, their floors carpeted with a rude figured
matting (again the conventional Crocodilo-Python)
their walls hung with rugs far less artistic than the
Navajo blanket, low couches upholstered with
matting and rugs or carpets, and across the doorway
a surprisingly artistic tapestry of gold threads,
figuring the Crocodilo-Python in a maze of interlacing
and sinuous outlines, something like the
convoluted sea dragon on the jade screens of China.
One of these curtains hung at the entrance of almost
every room in the Capitol, and they were very
numerous and capable of accommodating a remarkable
number of people.</p>

<p class='c016'>There were on the ground floor—where our own
rooms had auspiciously been reserved—large assembly
rooms, or audience and council chambers, and,
as the sequel shows, one of these was the Throne
Room. There was no glass covering to the windows;
perhaps in a few instance screens of leather,
which were inserted in the openings of the rooms,
helped to exclude the cold, such as it was. Rain
was kept out by board frames. We found out that
there was seldom a cold exceeding 0° Centigrade,
and that radium stoves or our clothing itself,
mitigated any severity of weather the denizens of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>these houses experienced. Everything reinforced
our first impressions, that the culture of the
Radiumopolites was simple, unostentatious, a little
grotesque and savage, but that their proximity to
some source of radium had evolved a mysterious
power among their wise men, which had overlaid
the <i>supellex</i> of their culture with this resplendent
glory of GOLD. Was it, as the Professor more
and more confidently believed—was it <i>transmutation</i>?</p>

<p class='c016'>In our rooms we were supplied with the radium
lamps and were made to understand that too long
exposure to their influence was dangerous. Once
in possession of this marvel we surrendered almost
all curiosity to the inspection of the transcendent
material. Facts connected with its properties and
its power are considered in another place; our
immediate history in our new surroundings claims
precedence now. We were permitted the liberty
of the courtyard around the Capitol, but were not
allowed to descend the hill, nor to investigate the
surrounding city. Of course we saw the occupants
of the Capitol, who evidently formed a restricted
and semi-imperial class, and the many messengers,
tradespeople or supplicants who every day came out
of the city.</p>

<p class='c016'>The small people were immensely the more
interesting of the two types. They varied much
among themselves, and exhibited individualities of
temperament, behavior and feature, that were
most absorbing. One defect amongst them
was the imperfect and incomplete teeth, especially
in the men, the apparently thin-shanked
(<i>platynemic</i>) legs, and the somewhat constricted
chests, indications, taken in connection with their
large heads, that the Professor interpreted as evidence
of great racial age. The women were often
sharply contrasted with the men, being larger,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>more shapely, and often boasting really extraordinary
beauty. This was most marked in the residents
in the Capitol, and one of these ladies of the Capitol
whom we later encountered promenading the courtyard
quite enthralled us. Her own appreciation of
the Yankee was on her side equally enthusiastic.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had our meals served to us in a separate
room, attended by servants of the larger race. We
sat at a table covered with a yellow cloth, with
designs woven upon it of the ubiquitous Crocodilo-Python,
and we ate from square dishes of pottery,
also yellow and bordered by blue traceries of interwoven
serpents, which revolted both Hopkins and
myself. Our cuisine was not much varied, and the
most pleasing element was the delicious wine.
The flat meal cakes, nuts, fruit and dishes of goat
and sheep meat, with some vegetables, were offered
relentlessly day after day, and it occurred to Hopkins
that if he could have had an assorted shipment
from Park and Tilford’s, and been allowed to make
a few simple experiments in the kitchen he could
easily have raised the standard of living immensely.</p>

<p class='c016'>But I was making remarkable progress in acquiring
the tongue of the upper classes. My
excellent knowledge of Hebrew made this practicable,
and in a short time, before the return of the
Councilors, Priests or Governors from their peripatetic
religious pilgrimage made it supremely helpful,
I could actually converse intelligibly, and from
carefully enunciated addresses understand my
interlocutor. I was most lucky in hitting on a
very sympathetic teacher. It was no less a one
than Ziliah, the daughter of Javan, the president of
the Council and Ruler of the Capitol. He was the
benignant and expostulating little gentleman we
had encountered when our mishap precipitated us
from the pine tree top. She, his daughter, was
certainly the fairest of the children of Radiumopolis,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>and her wandering and liquid eyes had never
been more satisfied than they were now with the
sweet boyish beauty of Spruce Hopkins, the
Yankee.</p>

<p class='c016'>Ziliah Lamech—if I may adopt the Gentile
practices of nomenclature—was one of the larger
women, and exhibited a different and piquant skill
in dress. Her trousers were rather baggy, her skirts
looped on the sides, so that her pretty feet in embroidered
goatskin sandals were delightfully visible.
The belt of gold plates and the wonderful buckle of
gold clasped her waist, constricting the blowsy upper
tunic, which was a delicate blue, and enriched
by interwoven threads of gold. It was loosened at
her neck and the dark, smooth skin bared at her finely
shaped neck, was decorated by a series of delicate
gold chains in a composite flat necklace. Her
abundant hair, as with the women we had met in
the pine forest, was made up in compact rolls, that
were held in place by the gold serpent pins, and
from her small ears hung tiny bells of gold.</p>

<p class='c016'>Her face, as I carefully studied it, was distinctly
Jewish. The features were really perfect, and the
mingled softness and intelligence of her expression,
the half denoted charm of extreme sensibility in her
eyes, the mobility and loveliness of her mouth, a
swaying grace in her motions, an indefinable distinction
too in the carriage of her head, and the
enticing fullness of her bared arms—the sleeves of
her upper garment were caught up to her shoulders
by broad loops of ornamented gold—combined to
make of her a captivating and most novel picture.
She it was, whose heart the errant little god Cupid
had now sadly transfixed with his stinging arrows,
and her heart was beating wildly under the loosened
folds of her jacket with love for the blond American.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was my opportunity. Love is a quick teacher,
and makes quick confidences, especially with naive
<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>and unsophisticated natures, as now, in this little
princess of the north. She met us frequently in
the courtyard surrounding the huge glittering
Capitol where we were constantly strolling, and I
recall the extraordinary picture she made, when
one of the black lustrous snakes rose from the parapet
on the edge of the hill as she was passing. She
bowed to us, seized the reptile, wound it around her
body, and lifted, above her own, its big wedge-shaped
head, with one hand, holding with the
other its scaly loops at her waist. The effort
brought color to her cheeks, excitement to her eyes,
and though neither Hopkins nor myself admired
the combination, her beauty won from the fantastic,
or repellent, contrast a most singular thrall.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was a maidenly coquetry with her, as
became her degree, for she retired after disengaging
the creature, throwing it back down the hillside,
whence it sped to the immense preserve below reserved
for these unpleasing guests. The ophidian
impress everywhere was to me almost unbearable.
These snakes traveled from their enclosures, more
or less frequently, in all directions; they were numerous
in the city, though, and, after their secretive
habits, were discovered most unalluringly in corners,
eaves, holes, roofs, hanging from trees, or nestled
on clothes. In the Capitol or Palace they were
not so common, and probably were never found
above the first floor.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins of course realized his conquest, but
Hopkins decidedly abhorred snakes. When the
beautiful Ziliah vanished, he said with a most
comical grimace:</p>

<p class='c016'>“A married life with a snake lady wouldn’t be
much better than a lifelong companionship with a
gin mill,” an ungallant commentary which I
denounced.</p>

<p class='c016'>Ziliah and I loitered long together until under her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>adroit tutelage I became almost proficient in this
unquestionably deteriorated Hebrew tongue. And
then, when we fairly understood each other—how
the questions flew! She exulted in telling me all she
knew about her people, and the exchange on my
part, in telling her of our origin and home, with
welcome dilations on the talent and prowess of the
adorable Spruce, only too well repaid her efforts.
I told all these things to my friends, and for long
hours we would discuss and rehearse them with
increasing amazement. In conjunction with all
that I learned later, the picture to be presented of
Radiumopolis, the Radiumopolites, and their
country—KROCKER LAND—is mainly as follows:</p>

<p class='c016'>The Valley of Rasselas lies to the southwest of
the Krocker Land terrain, and the city of Radiumopolis
to the southwestern corner of the valley
itself. They are eccentrically related to the vast
domain of encircling mountains, and to the stupendous
gorge of the Perpetual Nimbus, which seems
throughout its extent to penetrate to uncooled or
igneous wombs of the earth. But at one point
westward there is a superimposed gorge that actually
cuts the first encircling monstrous crack, and
through this secondary gorge, cutting the first to
immense depths, pours the deluge of the waters of
the river that empties the Saurian Sea into the
Canon of Promise. (See Chapter VI.) This
great river enters the Valley of Rasselas towards the
northwest, and after a short, peaceful transit, as a
brimming flood through wide savannahs, it turns
abruptly westward in an entrenched conduit and
resumes its terrible course through the canon I
named the Canon of Escape. Through this awful
defile and on the surging flood of that river I made
my own exit from Krocker Land, reached Beaufort
Sea, Behring Straits, and finally San Francisco.
Goritz’s appellation for the gorge beyond the Saurian
<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>Sea is, however, justified because of the river’s
final, though brief, passage across one extremity of
the blissful Valley of Rasselas.</p>

<p class='c016'>Immediately southward, west of Radiumopolis,
are hot springs, a sort of geyser basin, whence hot
waters are constantly derived for the baths of the
city—and we found the latter to be numerous.
Beyond these again, in the same direction, the continental
rift of the Perpetual Nimbus almost closes,
and the horrible crack becomes a crevice easily
crossed. But beyond it again, in a crustal split
that defies computation to measure, or science to
explain, or experience to equal, lies, probably a
radium (?) mass fifty or more miles in linear extent,
with a width of three or four miles, and from which
constantly pours an almost cosmic immensity of
heat and light—<i>emanation-niton</i>. Its environs
are withered, blasted deserts of rock. No one has
ever approached it. Its emanation strikes a bare
mountain face beyond it—a part of the Krocker
Land Rim—and the incalculable volume of rays
(Cathode Rays) reflected into the upper atmosphere
over Krocker Land and immediately superior
to the Valley of Rasselas, are somehow arrested in
a nebulous ganglion which forms the Stationary
Sun of this utterly fabulous region. This sun is
really not stationary, nor is it in any sense equable,
as hints in my narrative have already indicated.
It moves, drifts north and south, east and west,
undergoes perturbations, dies out, flares up, and
would, to a properly equipped meteorological corps,
stationed at Radiumopolis, furnish, I believe, an
object of study absolutely unrivaled in terrestrial
science.</p>

<p class='c016'>But from time immemorial in the radium land
fragments, nodules of a grayish or brownish
mineral, were picked up and their <i>nuclei</i> were later
revealed to be pure radium (they called it <i>Luxto</i>),
<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>and from these by an accident—still retained in the
tradition of the people as a heavenly bestowed
revelation or miracle—the power of transmutation
was learned.</p>

<p class='c016'>Mr. Link, we had already suspected this, as you
know, but when I actually learned it from the lips
of Ziliah—the love-dazed Ziliah—I verily doubted
my existence for a moment. In connection with
the whole complex, so to speak, of wonders, it
produced a half vertiginous feeling hard to describe.
Ziliah’s story was in this wise:</p>

<p class='c016'>“A long, long, long, time ago, after a long darkness
in the Stationary Sun, a terrible storm broke
over Radiumopolis. The thunder, the lightning
flashes, had never before been heard or seen, and
there roared through the air an awful, destructive
wind. It upset houses, blew over part of the
Capitol, razed the trees; and then amid the
thunder and the lightning, in a downrush of air,
came a stranger, a little man strangely dressed in
white with a black cap, and he had a dark face.
He stayed with the people and taught them many
things, but only to the <i>rulers</i>, the older men, the
men of the council, would he teach the secret of
making gold. He took them away with him on a
journey westward to the radium country. They
were absent many days and when they returned
they were in rags, and their faces were pale, and
haggard, but their hands and their pockets were
filled with lumps of gold. The little stranger left
as he had come in another awful storm. He went
upward in a whirlwind and rode like a ghost
through fearful gusts and disappeared in a roar
of thunder and blaze of light, and a circle of
flame descended from his feet and burnt a deep
hole in the ground, as anyone can see to this
day, below the hill in the snake pasture. But
that wasn’t all. He carried away with him the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>beautiful daughter of the Head Man and she never
was seen again.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Why,” exclaimed Hopkins, when I repeated the
legend, “it’s a clear case again of Alice Hatton and
the Devil, though in that case Old Nick left nothing
behind him but a bad smell:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Now high, now low, now fast and now slow,</div>
      <div class='line'>In terrible circumgyration they go—</div>
      <div class='line'>The flame colored belle and her coffee faced beau!</div>
      <div class='line'>Up they go once and up they go twice!</div>
      <div class='line'>Round the hall!  Round the hall!  And now up they go thrice.</div>
      <div class='line'>Now one grand pirouette the performance to crown,</div>
      <div class='line'>Now again they go up, and they NEVER COME DOWN!”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>Whatever the legend meant it intimated that
someone had discovered this peculiar power in the
radium mineral, and the knowledge had been carefully
guarded, though, as Goritz said, “Of what use
was the knowledge when gold was needed by no
one?”</p>

<p class='c016'>But the power itself, its physical or chemical
postulates, the method, the material! Later we
learned something, but not much, and I trust it
may be reserved for Science, <i>with the material
at my command</i> (which exerts this miraculous
power) to solve the problem of the ages.</p>

<p class='c016'>Ziliah told me something of the origins of her
people and this curious civilization of theirs, but
it was vague and inconclusive. The small people
were an intensive people, whose unresisted control
of a physically stronger and bolder race resembles
some of the ethnic phenomena of Asia and Africa.
Their literature was practically little else than long
genealogies, the traditions transmitted by word of
mouth of former rulers, councils, the doings of a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>few notables, and a cosmology which very singularly
resembled the story recently deciphered on a
Sumerian relic by Professor Arno Poebel of the
University of Pennsylvania.</p>

<p class='c016'>In fact these Radiumopolites had lived uneventful
lives and the incidents of history were controlled
exclusively by the incidents of weather, the
atmospheric and terrestrial perturbations involved
in their unique environment. When had they
reached this extraordinary polar depression? Were
they autochthonous? Was it not more likely that
the Eskimo people had assimilated with them, and
had been absorbed rather than, as in Ziliah’s
account, the reverse? These were unanswered
questions. To propose them only covered Ziliah’s
face with the shroud of an unhappy perplexity.</p>

<p class='c016'>Their social economic life was very simple. As
far as Ziliah could tell me they had always been
governed by a patrician class, constituted of two
orders, one the Eminences of the Capitol, to which
Javan, Ziliah’s father, belonged, and who numbered
some twenty-four, presided over by a President,
and all of whose families, retainers, etc., were for
the most part domiciled in the great Capitol
building; and the Magistrates of the city, who
ruled over wards or bailiwicks, living in superior
structures, whose roofs were also distinguished by
gold plates, and which throughout the city blazed
picturesquely among the lowlier red buildings.</p>

<p class='c016'>The religion in primitive communities, always a
controlling and oftentimes the most distinctive
feature of their culture, was in the Krocker Land
people a monotheistic faith which, however, secured
the satisfaction of visualization in a deeply rooted
and superstitious Tree and Serpent worship. Yet
THERE WERE NO PRIESTS. And this
anomalous condition was explained partially by
Ziliah, who told me that it had years before been
<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>instituted as a Law of the People that only a King
could be their Priest. Whether they had ever had
Kings she did not know but there was some
prophecy made by one of the wise old men of the
Council, a hundred or more years ago that a King
would fall out of the clouds to them, that he would
look like a poor man, that he would not know their
language, that he would bring them a new wisdom.
It was some time before I could make out the
meaning of this. It dawned on me at last. Its
full meaning received a startling explanation later.
The services of the religion were controlled by the
Council (the Areopagus, as the Professor styled it)
of little Wise Men, and one prominent feature was
this periodic peregrination through the great Pine
Forest when the selected shrines were visited, the
votive tablets nailed to the sacred trees, and the
black snakes left to protect them. When I told
Hopkins about all this he shook his head gloomily;</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes, and how about Goritz’s loot? I guess the
God of Krocker Land won’t stand for that.
Erickson we’ll get it in the neck yet. The Professor
is our trump card.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh, yes,” I replied. “How about yourself?
The fair Ziliah pulls well with her father, I guess,
and you <i>pull</i> well with her!”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins gave me a derisive glance. “Oh of
course. We’ll do the Captain Reece stunt—you
remember?</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“The captain saw the dame that day</div>
      <div class='line'>Addressed her in his playful way—</div>
      <div class='line'>‘And did it want a wedding ring?</div>
      <div class='line'>It was a tempting ickle sing!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘Well, well the chaplain I will seek,</div>
      <div class='line'>We’ll all be married this day week,</div>
      <div class='line'>At yonder church upon the hill;</div>
      <div class='line'>It is my duty, and I will!’</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>“The sisters, cousins, aunts and shape</div>
      <div class='line'>Of every black enlivening snake</div>
      <div class='line'>Attended there as they were bid;</div>
      <div class='line'>It was their duty and they did.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>Of course in exchange for all these confidences, if
they could be called that, Ziliah exacted some confidences
in return, and I confess I had to resort
somewhat to invention, where I did not have
Hopkins’ precise directions in the matter, in meeting
her exorbitant curiosity over everything concerning
America. This disquisitional curiosity
was singular in an unsophisticated maiden of a semi-civilized
people who, it might have been supposed,
would have contented herself with the indulgence
of her affections and felt no interest in her hero’s
history.</p>

<p class='c016'>But so it was. Spruce Hopkins understood her
admiration, but was extremely puzzled, certainly
at first, as to his own legitimate behavior in the
affair.</p>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER XI<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Crater of Everlasting Light</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>The return of the Ophidian Pilgrims, as the
Professor termed them, seemed unreasonably slow.
The wardens, Ziliah, and the servants of the Capitol
were all equally mystified over this unusual
slowness. Cold, dry weather supervened, for indeed
the stationary sun seemed sensibly to respond
to the secular influences of the seasons, as we know
them. We had all been too sufficingly engaged in
studying our new surroundings, to regret or miss
the absent Government, for a larger liberty had
been vouchsafed us, though one thing was forbidden.
We could not enter the precincts of the
forest to the west of the Capitol.</p>

<p class='c016'>We walked through the city, we explored the
Capitol, we increased our acquaintance with the
domestic habits of the populace, and the Professor
and myself had accumulated notes on all of these
things, to be incorporated in the work on Krocker
Land which we fervently hoped to write, and which
now—Alas!—may never see the light, for—the
Professor is today a fixed official fact in that almost
mythical land in the Arctic Sea. But I hasten.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz had restrained with difficulty his almost
uncontrollable impulse to perpetrate some outrage
on the Capitol itself in his determination to accumulate
a fortune of gold. We had averted this
danger by very emphatic protests. We pointed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>out to him its danger and the folly of jeopardizing
our safety when the means of getting back—I had
almost said to the Earth, as if we had actually left
it—were now almost null, or were at least desperate.
We told him that the plunder in his room, if
found—and I began to fear that the depredations
on the tree shrines had already been detected and
were, in some way, a cause for the delayed return
of the pilgrims—would involve us all in grave
difficulties. To our entreaties or threats he became
deaf or obstinate, and I had followed him, in the
sleeping hours, when he expected to achieve his
robberies without molestation, only to intercept
him chiseling at the gold plates that encrusted the
Capitol.</p>

<p class='c016'>In the meanwhile the Professor, whose popularity
increased with everyone, had become attracted to a
young Eskimo whose first astonishment over the
Professor’s poll of red hair had been succeeded by a
sort of personal adoration. He followed the Professor
with an attachment and fascination that
might have proved irksome. I made some inquiries
of my informant, the acquiescent Ziliah,
about him, and learned from her that he was a guide
and the gatherer of radium. He alone apparently
was able to penetrate the strange and ghastly
country where the radium masses were collected, in
that zone of the Unreal where lay the CRATER OF
EVERLASTING LIGHT. His peculiar ability
arose from his immunity to the influence of the
radium itself, which invariably prostrated those who
touched it, while the region itself forbade approach,
by reason of those indeterminable emanations
which destroyed the adventurers who entered it.
For some reason, or, in some way, Oogalah Ikimya,
the young Eskimo, enjoyed a unique invulnerability,
and on his efforts Radiumopolis depended for
its supply of radium. This distinction had given
<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>him a particular arrogance. He alone now dared
the inexplicable dangers, or even knew the devious
route that threaded the labyrinths leading to this
unutterable place.</p>

<p class='c016'>When I told my friends about this, we all felt a
mad desire to see, even at a distance, this intolerable
land, a mineral Gehenna. I knew of the man’s
devotion to the Professor, and I felt certain we
could gain his consent for us to accompany him.
No one of us felt a keener impatience for the trip
than Antoine Goritz. I told Ziliah of our wish.
She grew pale with horror at the suggestion; her
beautiful eyes pleaded with me to abandon the
suicidal project; she pointed to Spruce Hopkins in
piteous despair, she indeed flung herself at his feet,
and invoked his commiseration of her should he be
lost. Then she became tempestuous with scorn
and indignation.</p>

<p class='c016'>We could not go. The guards would prevent us.
She would summon the magistrates of the city.
Was she not Ziliah, daughter of the President,
head man of the Council? We should not stir.
NOT HE.</p>

<p class='c016'>And that feminine transport over, she again
importuned us, with terrible threats of our fate,
not to consider it; so many had perished in the
same outrageous pursuit; dead bodies marked the
way; it was forbidden; the curse of the Crocodilo-Python
followed those who went there; it meant
madness, hysteria, death.</p>

<p class='c016'>Finally it was made clear to us that whatever
Oogalah Ikimya might say this influential and
enamored young woman would prove hopelessly
obstinate. Physical force would be invoked to
restrain us. Oogalah himself rather welcomed this
opportunity to show off his skill, his exceptional
prowess, but his volubility and transports availed
nothing. Hopkins executed what the French
<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>might call a <i>coup d’amour</i> and liberated us.
His overture to the despairing or incensed Ziliah
through me was rather compromising and risky,
but its effect was instantaneous and certain. Opposition
vanished when Hopkins explained that
the lovely woman <i>might get herself disliked</i>, and
that any conceivable state of future happiness
for both of them depended on <i>his having his way</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>So it eventually ended, as the mountainous
objections seemed to melt away like dew before
the sun, that we found ourselves on the road that
led westward from Radiumopolis, under the guidance
of Oogalah Ikimya, who strode before us with
rapid swinging of legs and arms, his face radiant
with pride. We had cautiously promised to be
careful, not to go farther than was prudent, to
satisfy ourselves with a distant view of the blasted
land, and to return as quickly as we went, for it was
insisted that we should hold ourselves ready for the
disposition of the Council, when the long delayed
pilgrims returned, to settle our fate.</p>

<p class='c016'>The noisy rumor of our departure for the
Radium Country, and the haggling and delays that
preceded it, Ziliah’s outbursts and excitement, the
consultations over the permission to let us go at all,
Oogalah’s gossiping activity about it, led to the
population’s—which besieged us and surrounded us
almost daily—outpouring on the day of our departure,
so that for miles we were accompanied by a
crowd watching us with increased wonder, and,
among the older, with much ominous head shaking,
and, with the younger, many sneering comments, a
little cheering and some obstreperous farewells.
The Professor evoked much enthusiasm—he always
did. I do not know the <i>rationale</i> or the etiquette
of love matters in Krocker Land, but I remember
that Hopkins took the profusely smiling and opulently
lovely, young and small Ziliah aside, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>tried to make her understand—without my help—that
their public parting should be very formal, no
matter how ecstatic their private one might be.
On top of that, considerably to his disappointment
or chagrin perhaps, Ziliah hugged him pretty
tightly when they stood on the terrace stairs as we
left the palace, and the very observing public
gathered about were neither amused nor interested.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was rather funny I thought, but I admitted, I
am sure, that as a display of superb manners it
would be unmatched anywhere else in the world of
so-called culture today. Atala came into my mind,
though Spruce Hopkins was a good deal of a contrast
to the sentimental Rene, and there was a
certain <i>aplomb</i>, directness, vivacity and insistence
in Ziliah that hardly suggested the Natchez
maiden. And there certainly was no Outogamiz.</p>

<p class='c016'>Well, at length we were on our journey. At
first the highway, for, though seldom used, this
western road was in a state of fine preservation,
traversed a thick but low wood entangled with
undergrowth. We had never entered this wood
before and had been especially prohibited from
entering it. Of course we tried to see all we could,
but there was absolutely nothing remarkable about
it. The land to the left sloped off into a marshy
tract. The people were numerous also at this
point, which interfered with our inspection, and I
know now that Oogalah, obedient to instructions,
hurried us along this section of the route—he first,
the Professor second, then Goritz, then myself,
then Hopkins—until we reached a spare, meagre
country, beyond which rose the western ranges of
the Pine Tree Gredin.</p>

<p class='c016'>The land rose steeply, but it was almost bare, the
parched soil supported a ragged growth, and in this
appeared a few stunted pine trees. Apparently,
for many miles north and south, this condition
<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>prevailed, an unhappy and strong contrast to the
pine tree zone to the east of the amphitheater,
where the land bubbled with springs, was murmurous
with brooks, and where the lofty, splendid
trees spread a temple-like shade over the vast
decline.</p>

<p class='c016'>Beyond us already rose the faint shimmer of the
<i>Perpetual Nimbus</i>, that wall-like screen of vapor
that enclosed Krocker Land within the mountainous
Rim that lies outside of this veil of cloud,
though here, as I have already noted, the Nimbus
was wavering, inconstant, and in patches of the distance
absent. The Deer Fels country and the
aquatic and marshy plateaux were from here scarcely
distinguishable. A level tract of stony wastes was
this, varied by occasional rugged hills, depressions
that glistened balefully, dead ravines barely supporting
the niggardly growth of sapless yellow
plants that lurked here and there below boulders, or
sought the moisture of a few sullen pools whose
replenishment depended upon the infrequent but,
we were told, furious storms.</p>

<p class='c016'>And the Nimbus—a paltry reproduction of the
incalculable vaporous discharges that encircle at
every other point this hidden paradise. The
chasm here was indeed deep, but imperfectly continuous,
and huge horsebacks of stone piled within
it formed practicable though most broken and uneven
bridges across it. The steam rising from the
heated rocks below was not visibly referable to any
water supply, as on the east, where the plunging
rivers so abundantly furnished the means of
raising this colossal stage curtain, and there was
absent from here that tumultuous rolling ocean of
clouds in the sky. Probably underground courses
supplied the water, for, after we had surmounted
one of the least precipitous and angular of the
bridges and had gotten into the rising territory
<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>beyond, we encountered a puzzling intricacy of
profound cracks or fissures, and we could not only
hear but could see the patchy lustres of running
water in them.</p>

<p class='c016'>From this point our guide turned abruptly
northward, taking us through a terrible desolation
of rocks, with the high snow-clad peaks of the
Krocker Land Rim gloriously looming skyward on
the left. I shall not forget that strange transit.
It was hard work. We carried our own supplies,
the water and a few instruments, and their weight
was almost insupportably increased by the discomforts
of the harsh, inhospitable land we traveled
through, and, by some dizzying influence which
began to strain our heads with headaches, to parch
our throats, and to produce a most uncomfortable
and absurd illusion of treading on air cushions.
This last hallucination made us unsteady, and after
a while it pestered us so much that we were compelled
to stop at short intervals to rest.</p>

<p class='c016'>Oogalah kept on well ahead, looking back at us
every few minutes and distrustfully shaking his
head, with incessant gestures for increased speed.
We were not over anxious to hurry. The region
was extraordinary and its geologic features, as
connected with this unparalleled deposit, or vein, or
lode, or whatever it was, of radium, were certainly
worth noting. And then our heads! Hopkins
diverted us by his misery.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I’d like to look inside of my cranium just now.
I couldn’t begin to tell how it feels; something, I
should say, like what gunpowder men call <i>deflagration</i>
is taking place there, popguns going off
every few minutes, with a hurdy-gurdy accompaniment
in my ears and a bad taste in my mouth.</p>

<p class='c016'>“The Professor really ought to be very careful
and avoid any extra exertion. In a bean as full as
his, there probably isn’t much room for expansion,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>and I guess the right word for describing our condition
is expansion—almost unlimited. My head
may seem no bigger than usual, but I should say it
had already grown large enough for distribution to
a dozen headless gentlemen, enough to give each
of them a head piece of ordinary dimensions.
Whew—but this is fierce.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The poor fellow had clapped both hands to his
head as if to actually hold it together. And with
all of us the inscrutable sensations were becoming
insufferable. Goritz insisted on keeping on but we
overruled that. It was just possible that our
resting a while might accustom us to the strange
influence of atmosphere, and enable us to proceed
without this torturing plague of heat and noise and
dilation in our poor heads. We sat down. Oogalah
quickly discovered our reluctance, and was back
with us in a trice, gesticulating and vociferating as
well, absolutely unaffected, which brought to the
suffering Yankee’s face the most comical expression
of disgust and surprise.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I say, Erickson, this has me guessing. What
do you suppose that fellow’s made of? Rubber?
Cork? Do you know I believe he’d put electrocution
on the fritz. You’d be compelled to pulverize
him if you ever expected to drive the life out of his
body. One hundred yards more of this and I’ll
either join the choir invisible <i>ipse motu</i>, as they
say in the books, or just get one of you to pass me
over with a wallop on the cocoa, or a fine slit along
the carotid. I believe I could go so far as to commit
<i>hari-kari</i>, and not know it. It can’t be
possible that you fellows don’t notice it.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Notice it!” I answered. “My head feels like a
balloon. I almost wonder I don’t float off with it.
We can’t last this way. It would be a sorry ending
to this famous exploit, if we were all to burst like
soap bubbles.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>Oogalah by means of elaborate pantomime to the
Professor, and a few intelligible words to Goritz
acquainted us with his assurance that a hill about
one hundred yards away would bring us relief. We
struggled to it, sick and staggering. To our
amazement upon ascending it a little way relief
came, and our tormented heads sensibly shrank—so
it felt—to something like their usual volume.
Then we noticed, guided by the Professor’s acumen
in such matters, that while the region was unmistakably
an igneous complex, the rocks we had
passed over were entirely granitic, and the elevation
on which we now stood was a basic olivine-peridotite,
dense and black, and in some way
exempt from the radiumistic occlusions which perhaps
saturated the granitic batholith around it. I
will not stop to discuss this, sir, but later we indeed
established the fact that the enormous outflow of
granite lava had brought to the surface innumerable
radium bodies, distributed through it in molecular
aggregates of considerable size, and that the unseen
but voluminous discharge of the emanation so
affected us, while the gabbro dikes, containing none,
afforded an impermeable flooring for our passage.</p>

<p class='c016'>Then, too, we were now approaching the splendid
prism of light that shot upward, yet obliquely, in a
vast pulsating diffusion of a delicate radiance that
grew, as we advanced, more and more intolerable.
Our progress consisted now in crossing, as quickly
as our stumbling movements would allow, the
granitic intervals that separated the ranges of low
basic hills. On these latter we regained our
strength and composure, and prepared for the succeeding
dashes that carried us over the perilous
interludes. It was amazing to watch the <i>insouciance</i>
and activity of our guide. He did not even
protect his eyes. It seemed as if some physiological
peculiarity rendered him immune to the terrifying
<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>disorders that signalized to us, instantly, the presence
of these puissant particles of radium, or else
he had become so from his long continued exposures,
a theory quite incomprehensible to us.</p>

<p class='c016'>But even to this dogged and halting march there
was a limit. Oogalah himself had enough rectitude
of purpose to realize that, and perhaps too he felt
vainglorious of his superiority. He indicated
almost sternly a final towering hill, a continuation
of the broken cordillera we had been following,
which should be the terminus of our exploration.
We—at least Hopkins and myself—would not have
cared to overpass it. We were deadly faint and
exhausted when we reached it, and but for the
magnanimous help of the Eskimo, who carried our
packs, I think we would have swooned and fallen
by the way. The Professor seemed the least
susceptible to the mysterious influence, and this
amusingly vexed and confounded Hopkins. Brute
willpower and his insatiable fever of desire to obtain
the transmuting substance which raised before him
the vision of boundless wealth, kept Goritz on his
feet. With the Professor it was the energizing
power of scientific curiosity. The paralyzing
effect of suffocation was really noticeable.</p>

<p class='c016'>Well, after a few minutes’ rest, with Goritz
impatient and the Professor aflame with wonder,
we started up a portentously narrow hill, and a high
one too. Oogalah pointed out its pinnacle as our
destination, and then turned westward into that
dizzying and unearthly country wherein lay the
trough of radium. Around us fell the radiance of
its wonderful emission, but we found that the
climbing path—it had been worn well into the rock
by previous pilgrims—clung to the eastward scarp
of the hill, and was therefore actually in shadow—a
welcome relief. Perhaps five hours were consumed
in this toilsome ascent, but when we reached
<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>the last winding trail, and had clambered to a small
shelf immediately under the ragged apex, we looked
over a scene of unparalleled terribleness.</p>

<p class='c016'>The pen of Dante or the pencil of Dore alone
could have done justice to its weird and frightful
desolation, not entirely expressed in lifelessness, but
in the awful grimace in it of tortured and disfigured
matter. The blacks, purples and reds, smeared
over it wrote in it a sort of agony of disgrace and
unseemliness and pain. I wonder if the landscapes
of the Moon resemble it.</p>

<p class='c016'>For a long way in the foreground, where we saw
with astonishment the running figure of Oogalah,
stretched a broken platform of white quartzite,
and through this sprang the strangest confusion of
lines, skeins, dashes and drippings of black, purple,
brown, and traceable here and there, as of the
tracks of a bleeding animal or man, chained drops of
red. It was not beautiful certainly, it had no
ornamental or decorative features; it was, rather,
scoriaceous and blasting.</p>

<p class='c016'>Beyond this rugose platform rose two mounds,
one ashen and white—the Professor said it was a
bleached, corroded and kaolinized granite—the
other a purplish, livid mass streaked with threads or
blotches of yellow (sulphur, the Professor thought),
and these hills ran north and south, becoming
reduced to sprawling and unwholesome heaps of
slaggy consistency which ever and anon encroached
on the quartzite zone and even encumbered it, as if
tossed upon it in drifts of scattered nodules.</p>

<p class='c016'>Through the gateway, between the two first
mounds, we saw even now the form of Oogalah
passing, but he was no longer erect. He was
crawling on hands and knees, and over his head
hung a towel. Hopkins and myself shuddered for
him. His venturesome undertaking seemed to us
<i>simply</i> suicide. He intended to bring us each a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>mass of the mineral—a small piece. When he
gathered this miracle-working substance for Radiumopolis,
we were told, he first camped behind one
of the peridotite hills, then issued upon his dangerous
mission, collected what he could, returned to his
camp, and for weeks kept at it until his supply was
sufficient. The store made, he removed it in the
same laborious way, stage by stage, until he came
to the safer country, where he was met by numerous
assistants who transported the radium homeward.</p>

<p class='c016'>But we could see from our elevation beyond
these dead heaps, beyond, into the vale of Acheron,
as it were,</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><i>Quam super haud ullae poterant impune volantes</i></div>
      <div class='line'><i>Tendere iter pennis</i>;</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c022'>a further dead valley declining into the deeper
chasm from which sprang the auroral light. This
chasm was evidently indefinitely prolonged northward;
from it rose the coronation or rays which
seemed converged upon a marvelous blazing precipice
on the further boundary of this irregular,
narrow, longitudinal canon. Into the canon itself
it was impossible to look. It was enclosed in the
upper valley which we could see, and which
presented a spectacle of stony desolation. Its
sides were evidently precipitous on the east, and
pretty generally hidden from us, but on the west it
presented to us a long, receding slope of rock
palely illuminated beneath the light streaming in
a broad and thick flood over it. These rock
exposures were curiously discolored, and also
curiously spotted with glow-spots, from included
radium perhaps.</p>
<p class='c016'>Clefts or rents tore down their sides, and ragged,
serpentine embrasures interrupted the cliffs that
bordered it. Black recesses contrasted with the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>bright surfaces, and sharp crests (<i>arete</i>) bristled
here and there in jagged series, where the cliffs
attained elevations of probably thousands of feet.
It was a vast abyss and was split more deeply by a
secondary and later fissure which had uncovered
the central masses of radium. Nowhere could we
discern any evidences of aqueo-thermal activity,
no steam spirals anywhere. The vapor line was
eastward along the crack where the Perpetual Nimbus
appeared. Beyond, far beyond, rose the snowy
tops, the glacier ridden summits of the Krocker
Land Rim.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was enthralling. Remember, Mr. Link, it was
the night time of the polar world, and here all was
bathed in light or silhouetted in shadow, while that
Stationary Sun which filled the immense valley land
with light, imparted to it warmth; it shone in its
peculiar zenith, deriving in some way (by reflection
from the crystalline walls to the west) its replenishment
of light and heat from this stupendous source
of both. We watched in a trance of amazement
for hours. There were perceptible pulsations in the
emanation, and it was altogether remarkable to
observe that these were recorded in the variable
sun, obviously susceptible to these changes. Its
reference (the sun’s) to the radium masses, here
uncovered, was now indisputable.</p>

<p class='c016'>It had now in the advanced season become
apparent that the earth’s secular changes were not
quite dissipated in the Krocker Land basin by its
unique feature of the Stationary Sun. For weeks
it had been growing colder, and now—to our
astonishment a spectacle of dazzling beauty relieved
the singular weird terror of this lifeless scene. We
saw a gathering gloom from far away darken the
peaks of the Krocker Land Rim; it spread and became
revealed as a snowstorm. A wind brushed
over us—another instant and the wide zone of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>delicate radiation was transformed into an indescribably
glorious firmament of stars, shifting,
dying out and renewed, and around us from the sky
fell a shower of icy particles, a flurry from the
tempest that was sweeping over the distant ranges.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hardly had we recovered from the shock of this
unexpected display when we heard the voice and
saw the form of Oogalah approaching our position,
from the opposite side of the hill. He had executed
his errand and was returning, and the expanded
bag in his hands showed that he had accomplished
his purpose. We had seen him disappear in the
defiles beyond the crumbling hills. He showed the
strain of his work and the effect of the unnatural
influence of that exposure, but in a short time, after
resting, his strength and composure returned, and
he was ready for the home journey. He afterwards
told me he had never looked into the chasm, or
chasms, whence the radium emissions or radiations
proceeded. He had not cared to. Once on the
field of his dangerous occupation, groveling to the
ground, he moved cautiously over the rocky flooring,
and extracted the mineral masses from the
veins wherein they seemed to be segregated, <i>hammering
them out</i>. Formerly he had been able to
pick the nodules up loose from the granite ledges.
That was no longer possible. He had exhausted
the supply of free lumps, and now he was compelled
to practice this superficial mining. He knew that
the surface finds were abundant further down the
slopes of the defile, but he dreaded the experiment
of entering further into the disorganizing influences
of the lethal chamber. He had once been rash in
that way and had swooned, and only the brush of
some cavorting wind current from above, such as
we had ourselves felt, had sufficiently revived him
to enable him to regain his feet and to escape.</p>

<p class='c016'>On our return Goritz monopolized Oogalah. He
<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>plied him with questions, and evinced the most
excited interest in his work. Poor fellow—the
poison of the lust for gold, <i>sacri fames auri</i>, had
entered his mind and heart. A magnificent man,
Mr. Link, sturdy, resourceful, remorselessly self
forgetful, and most simple in tastes, a lovable
brother, if ever there was one, but sir, never the
same after that unlucky find of the gold belt, when
we crossed the first barrier of the Krocker Land
Rim.</p>

<p class='c016'>He became secretive, avaricious, moody,
impatient, a delirious dreamer, and then most
unaccountably suspicious. It was a revolution in
character that would have puzzled an expert in
psychology or nerves to explain. To me it was a
pretty bad shock, and when at last the unhappy
man—but let that wait. It displays a measure of
the pernicious power of the temptation of money to
corrupt (the word in Goritz’s case is misapplied), to
alter nature and temperament, and all because he
expected to enjoy its pleasures in the world we had
left; for gold in Krocker Land for any of ordinary
uses, like ours, was literally not much more desirable
than so much earth. To the Radiumopolite it
administered, it is true, a mild esthetic pleasure.
There was some recondite recognition in his ingenuous
nature of its beauty at least, and its
unchangeableness. To the rulers, the doctors, the
chiefs, it may have seemed more; at any rate they
devoted it to the purposes of distinction and
religion.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz on our way back was most impatient to
examine the strange mineral Oogalah had brought
us, but the man refused to let him, intimating, quite
fiercely, that it should be distributed among us when
we got back to the Capitol, and not before. This
refusal really arose from his intention of giving the
Professor the largest piece. As Hopkins averred,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>the Professor had Oogalah “<i>buffaloed</i>” an epitomized
substitute, certainly not intelligible, for a
lengthier explanation of the Professor’s extraordinary
influence over the man.</p>

<p class='c016'>I remember we were all silent on our way back;
we were dazed, and the journey had been rapid
and arduous. The Professor himself had indeed,
for weeks past, neglected to speculate on the wonders
about us, and we now seldom received from him
those lectures with which he had first instructed us.
Perhaps he was overwhelmed by the incredible
realization of the prophecies he had made to us on
the sylvan banks (how far away and distant they
seemed) of the beautiful fiord in Norway, under a
summer sky.</p>

<p class='c016'>Once again within the charmed borders of the
Valley of Rasselas we found the highway deserted.
It was a contrast to the eager multitudes that had
escorted us when we left. Past the mysterious
swamps on the right from which, at one moment, I
thought I heard a queer sucking wail or bark, as of
some big animal, and on into the city, and yet no
encounters! Past the bathhouses, over the wide
serpent pasture with its populous cribs, up the wide
western terrace of steps of the Golden Capitol, and
not one welcoming face—only the listless snakes
sluggishly gliding or coiled in varnished mats.</p>

<p class='c016'>To these omnipresent, pervading inhabitants we
had become, in a manner of speaking, accustomed;
we found them in the streets of the city, and through
the courtyard of the Palace, over the parapets,
ensconced in niches in the walls, rising hideously
from the pavement of the inner halls, or unexpectedly
and unwholesomely slipping over the mats of
our rooms, or dripping like dark thongs from their
cornices. Hopkins detested them.</p>

<p class='c016'>“I tell you, Erickson,” he would exclaim, “an
externalized <i>delirium tremens</i> of this sort is
<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>worse than drink. Beats me how people ever came
to think well of these critters. They’re the most
painfully unpleasant denizens of this earth that I
have ever encountered—<i>to me</i>. Tastes differ of
course, but I can’t help feeling that nobody really
likes ’em, and pretences to the contrary are just
plain lies, or the deponents have never enjoyed the
advantages of a public school education, a hot bath,
towels, soap, the morning newspaper, pure food,
clean shirts, and the white things that generally go
to make up white civilization—in other words,
Alfred, they’re just savages like these big and little
demons all around us.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“How about Ziliah?” I might ask mischievously.</p>

<p class='c016'>The handsome fellow would smile bewitchingly.
“Say Erickson, if Ziliah and I ever go to housekeeping
we’ll cut out the snakes—<i>I will</i>—and I’ll
start up Anti-Snake missions, until we get the
people converted into regular Christians—the real
Irish sort. Then I’ll come the St. Patrick act on
them, and exterminate the varmints, and coming
generations, hereabouts, will call me blessed.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We were somewhat more astonished to enter the
western doorway of the Capitol and still find no one,
but we could see darkly through its dingy length—the
radium lamps were covered—and noted a crowd
outside of its eastern entrance. At the same time
something like beating cymbals and tanging drums
came to our ears, and then unmistakably the shouts
of people.</p>

<p class='c016'>“They’ve come back,” shouted Oogalah in his
lingo, and he rushed past us, mad with expectation.</p>

<p class='c016'>We followed him with almost equal precipitancy,
and the bag of radium mineral that had cost us all
this effort was forgotten. Oogalah dropped it, we
neglected it in the sudden excitement, and—<i>it was
never again found</i>.</p>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER XII<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Pool of Oblation</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>Oogalah was right. It was the return of the
pilgrims, and the delighted city, plunged for days
in wondering doubt over their safety had rushed
bodily out to meet them. Our momentary importance
was hopelessly eclipsed. I dreaded lest it
might undergo an inverted resurrection, and that
these potent little men, incensed over our discovered
depredations, might turn angrily upon us
and destroy us. For the moment I forgot these
apprehensions in pure admiration at the novel
exhibition.</p>

<p class='c016'>When we emerged on the courtyard at the eastern
entrance of the Capitol we found the broad mound
on which the gold house was erected crowded.
Immediately in front of it was a jostling mass
of women, and prominent among them, by
reason of stature and position, was standing the
pretty Ziliah, arrayed in certainly her best and
most becoming costume, at the head of the broad
stairway, a view down which led the eye straight
eastward over the wide thoroughfare, now fenced
in by enthusiastic multitudes. Literary reminders
constantly recur to me, and just then I was amused
to find myself picturing Rome when Pompey
entered it and recalling Marullus’ proud words, in
Julius Caesar:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>“And when you saw his chariot but appear,</div>
      <div class='line'>Have you not made a universal shout,</div>
      <div class='line'>That Tiber trembled underneath her banks</div>
      <div class='line'>To hear the replication of your sounds</div>
      <div class='line'>Made in her concave shores?”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>There was no Tiber, to be sure, but there were
the people, and the shout, albeit rather more shrill
and piercing than thunderous. The air seemed at
moments and in places thick with the rising hats
that were tossed with splendid nerve, in acclamation
of the advancing procession.</p>

<p class='c016'>On it came, hardly visible at first, save as an
oscillating shimmer and movement, and accompanying
the incessant rumpus of the shattering
cymbals and the thumping drums. The musicians
evinced a pardonable pride and extracted as much
noise as vigor and appreciation could extort from
their very willing instruments. It was exciting
enough. As the first companies of the Eskimos
approached and the cataract of sound poured over
us we sought some higher outlook. A narrow ledge
like a water-table separated the second from the
first story of rooms in the communal palace. We
could, by boosting and climbing on each other,
reach this, and once there the <i>coup d’oeil</i> would be
complete. Goritz bent forward. With the lightness
of a deer Hopkins sprang up, straightened himself,
and touched the coping. He swung onto it,
and—I half dreaded it would give way—it held.
Then we maneuvered the Professor up. I followed
and with a long pull we jerked Goritz off his feet and
hauled him to us, and thus rather absurdly and
flagrantly placed, we awaited the event. Our feet
dangled over the crowd below and, as we were in
full view of the terrace of steps and the road, the
first thing the returning “doctors” would behold,
would be our desecrating presence on the walls of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>the palace. But we were oblivious to consequences
just then.</p>

<p class='c016'>Gazing down immediately underneath our perch
we saw the ladies of the Capitol bunched in a many
colored knot at the head of the steps. Crushing
upon them were the servants, attendants, guards,
and an indiscriminate crowd of citizens, and down
these steps, kept inviolately clean, on either side,
was a line of the taller Eskimos, a man to every
step, with a black snake coiled round his waist, but
with its neck and head held outward in an inclined
position, so that a view from our seat crossed a profile
of extended snakes’ heads and necks, somewhat
symmetrically displayed in two series. It was a
most peculiar bizarre picture.</p>

<p class='c016'>Already the first regiment of men in the procession
had halted, fallen irregularly backward along
the side of the road, and then massed beyond these
was the tireless band, men and women in their
tight bodices and sacks, their naked legs, and the
picturesque gold knee-caps. Almost instantly
appeared the bright gold poles, around which, when
we met them in the pine forest, had been coiled the
imprisoned snakes. The snakes were no longer on
them. The companies holding these advanced,
strode up the steps, and stalwartly, with a martial
erectness absent from everyone else, lined themselves
with the snake holders. The diversified and
variegated cohorts of the little people which we had
noticed in the forest, had evidently dispersed, lost
here and there along the route, for they doubtless
were adventitious accretions, followers from custom
or for amusement, and with them too had vanished
the very considerable commissariat.</p>

<p class='c016'>There remained only the jaunting cars, with their
odd but impressive little occupants, and that jolting,
shivering, monstrous gold throne, bearing the
shocking effigy of the Crocodilo-Python. Yes, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>here they were! The tugging rams with snail tipped
horns, and the council in violet gowns bedizened
with gold braid and chains, utterly insignificant
lilliputian creatures, with their beetle heads.
True, but the deadly power lurking in those metal
tubes—What was that?—not to be gainsaid, not to
be denied. The thought of it gave me a shuddering
sense of impotence, before these caricatures of men.</p>

<p class='c016'>Of course the wagons could not ascend the steps,
and the governors softly alighted—it was quite
delightful to see their noiseless flitting to and fro—purring
into each other’s ears as they came
together, and then separating with mimic gestures
of expostulation or disgust or approval. They
looked, so we thought, almost as they had when we
first met them, and I began to wonder whether they
did not harbor in their light, frameless and bobbing
little anatomies, extraordinary powers of resistance,
abnormal energies perhaps.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was a little decorous shifting to and fro,
and ceremonious bowing and scraping, which had
the most incalculably ludicrous appearance, as if,
after all, they were nothing but vaudeville puppets.
Hopkins of course appreciated all that uproariously.
Finally they started up the stairs, led by the benignant
little gentleman who had told the Professor
to “speak,” and afterwards most effectively had gone
through the dumb show of telling him to “shut up,”
and who, by the way, was Ziliah’s father. They
rose towards us with a mincing dignity that was
really pleasing. We noticed again their whiteness,
their thinness, their long arms, their thin fingers,
their senile-like agitation, their pointed beards, and
the singular splendor of their eyes. The latter
were now uncovered, the disfiguring goggles hung
from their necks by the most delicate filaments of
gold.</p>

<p class='c016'>There were quite a number of them, perhaps
<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>thirty in all, and as they slowly drew near to us we
realized that while they belonged to the racial
configuration of the little people, they were probably
immensely removed from them, too, by an
intellectual gap that bore some reference to training
or descent. The Semitic character of these
little people was irrefragable.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hardly had the President—it turned out that
such an appellation might describe him—reached
the middle of the ascent than we were treated to a
charming show of filial affection. Ziliah, ravishingly
fixed up in close fitting attire, and distinguished
by some gold trinkets that became her
extremely well, ran down the steps and—fell into
her father’s arms? No—not that—exactly. There
were some insurmountable difficulties, related to
the comparative sizes of the principals, that made
that commonplace impossible. Ziliah took her
father <i>up</i>, hugged him, kissed and—<i>set him down
again</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>I heard Hopkins groan, and the query came in an
undertone: “Where’s my mother-in-law?”</p>

<div id='p2921'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p2921.jpg' alt='a woman, standing at the base of the steps up to a small castle, holds a baby. Small men with weapons stand on either side of the steps' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>ZILIAH AND HER FATHER</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>After that there was a great deal of confusion.
Mothers and daughters, wives and sons, the magistrates
from the city and innumerable friends
poured over the steps to meet the dignitaries, and,
for all the world, it just then resembled, allowing
for the difference in latitude and other things, the
homecoming of a western deputation to your congress;
their arrival at the town hall, and their
admiring reception by the neighbors. And the
democratic expression of things increased. The
snake sharps on the steps, so Hopkins designated
them, disappeared with their charges, depositing
them in the enclosures in the “snake pasture,” the
gold-polemen scrambled up the steps and entered
the Capitol, the rams, jaunting cars, and the grinning
throne-horror left too, but where I could not
<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>see. We encountered the latter again under pretty
startling circumstances. Then when all this had
happened the crowds from the city jammed everything,
with a shrilling of voices ascending to us that
sounded like a magnification, a megaphoning, of
countless crickets. The bigger people, the Eskimos,
were scarcely visible. We felt relieved—<i>I did</i>.
We had been quite forgotten, and that spoke volumes
for our safety. We discussed the situation.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “Suppose we get down and join the
house warming. It’s just possible that they have
something better to eat than usual on occasions
like this. I’d welcome a change of diet.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I: “As this was a huge snake picnic, it may be
they wind it up by eating snakes.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “Bah!”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor: “My friends, now that the
Faculty has returned Erickson must interview
them, explain our mission, establish scientific
relations with them if possible, get the records,
assure them of the astonishment which will be felt
over their existence when we report it before the
scientific bodies of the world, solicit from them some
demonstration of their knowledge of transmutation,
aeronautics, the X-ray; those powerful tubes they
manipulate; and then really we should be thinking
of <i>getting home</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I: “Professor, I don’t think we’ll find the Faculty,
as you call them, very communicative (“Tight
wads?” interjected Spruce.) I’ve learned some
things from Ziliah, and judging from her communications
I believe these people know very little
about themselves and what’s more I believe they
exercise their occult powers without knowing the
<i>rationale</i> of them either. At any rate while I can
get along with their speech I know I should be
floored in any intricate matter. As to—getting
home. I agree with you, but—HOW?”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>The Professor: “But Alfred, be reasonable.
Learn what you can. Try them. I do admit our
return presents difficulties.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz: “There can’t be much of the naphtha
launch left now.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “But Antoine, you are not thinking of
getting out! I believe you intended to apply for
naturalization papers.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor: “There are the—Balloons?
Perhaps—”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “Dear Professor, cut it out. There is
some difference in size and weight between these
midgets and us. Really, if you’re solicitous on the
subject of the posthumous notices you are destined
to receive in the learned journals of the world, try
the balloons. None in mine. Rocking the cradle
and watching Ziliah cook snakes is preferable.
And seriously I could make a hunch at getting on
here if somehow we could improve the brand of the
religion—but this snake business has me going.
I guess, too, a little eugenics might help the people.
Interbreeding, I should say, with the huskies would
add something to the linear dimensions of the inhabitants,
for really the girls have some class.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I: “It seems likely to me that one might reach
Beaufort Sea by a short overland route to the west.
It’s pretty clear that Radiumopolis is far towards
the western border of the Valley of Rasselas, and
the Rim, and the sea beyond that, are not far off.
Our trip to the radium country showed that.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor: “The importance of this discovery
outranks anything that has happened in the
world since the discovery of America. It’s too
astounding to be even indicated in a few words.
The radium deposit alone is the most tremendous
fact in nature today. For one, I should deplore the
destruction of this most curious aboriginal culture
with the ethnic problems displayed in it, but it is
<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>our indefeasible right to proclaim to the world the
presence here of the radium. The whole aspect,
industry, economics, finance, <i>health</i> of the world
will be profoundly modified by its exploitation.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz: “Well I should say nothing about it.
Let it be. We can use what we learn about its
powers for ourselves. That seems right enough to
me. What can be the use of turning the whole
world topsy-turvy, and of course as a consequence
exterminating these innocent people. Do you
suppose you could hold back for one hour the rampaging
hordes that would pour into this little
valley and inundate it with hungry, riotous
savages? Put a mining town with its rum and its
demons in the place of this contented realm with its
picturesque life, its peaceful ceremonies, its long
inherited customs that for centuries upon centuries
have never changed; erase or debauch a community
that on the very edge of the roaring world,
since time began, has kept on its quiet hidden way
in this unassailable nook, and do you think you
will ever forgive yourselves for the ruin, the devastation?
It would curse you to your death.”</p>

<p class='c016'>We all looked at Goritz with surprise. He did
not often turn on the oratory like this. It was a
touch, I said to myself, of his old nature. The
plea was well made and it kept us silent for some
time, and I think the longer we measured its meaning
the more it affected us. Suddenly Hopkins
broke the silence.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Say, where’s everybody? There isn’t a soul in
sight.” It was true; the mound hill, the courtyards,
the road, the steps, the doorway, the snake
pasture, the parapets, which it seemed but a few
moments before had been crammed with the chattering
multitude, were deserted. In our absorption,
seated above the heads of the crowd on the
comfortable ledge, we had forgotten to note its
<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>disappearance. Always anxious over some possible
new development which would endanger our safety,
and never confident of the good intentions of the
little wiseacres with their preternatural powers,
their minute crooked devices, and their probable
deceit and malevolence, I now felt some alarm at
this silence and desertion. Was it some new turn in
affairs, a new stage in their ceremonial procedure
that portended any harm to us? I had wondered
over the apparent forgetfulness of our presence,
and our absolute neglect. Was it part of some
preconcerted design, an ostentatious indifference,
concealing some mischievous plot for our undoing?
For it was quite easy, indeed unavoidable to conceive,
that these little rulers, impregnable hitherto
in their power, would view suspiciously our advent
among them. A secluded bred-in civilization like
this, is jealous of intrusion, resents the foreigner,
and spurns novelty. It has always been so and
the Faculty—the word the Professor complimented
them with—would readily descry in us the forerunners
of a more dangerous invasion. It would be
well to watch them and—where they were?</p>

<p class='c016'>I leaped to the ground and the rest at once
followed. We ran around the corner of the building,
first to the north—in which direction the city
was far less expanded than southward and eastward—and
the same emptiness confronted us.
But to the south and at the west the contrast was
startling. The areas were packed with streaming
throngs; crowds from streets were discharging into
the broad highway leading westward, that one on
which we had just returned from the radium hunt,
and, as we hastened to the west side of the Capitol,
we saw that the concourse was passing out on the
same boulevard towards the swamp land just outside
the ranges of the city. Our elevation enabled
us to trace the variegated ribbon of people, made
<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>up of the little folk for the most part, and occasionally
a towering figure, moving <i>silently</i> outward in
an enormous evacuation of the city. What had
preceded them or what they followed we could not
undertake to determine.</p>

<p class='c016'>Fragments and sections of the formal parade, as
it had returned from the ceremonial circuit, were
embedded in the stream, and we guessed the Council
led the procession. Glancing into the broad
central hall of the Capitol—where the radium
lamps were—nothing was seen. The big communal
house of government was bare and abandoned.
Goritz’s hand passed enviously over the broad
encrusting plates of gold which now any ruthless
pillager could have torn away, but he did not
attempt to remove one. We certainly would have
interposed had he tried it. It required no deliberation
on our part to conclude to mingle in the crowds.
It might be that if their destination was the swamps
we now might learn something of the uses of that
mystery-shrouded depression and reservoir.</p>

<p class='c016'>Running down the western terrace of steps we
were soon immersed in the multitude, though by
reason of our physical proportions we rose above
them like tall saplings among bushes. Some
familiarization with us had been gained by the
Radiumopolites, and although we never stirred
abroad without awakening interest, they no longer
regarded us with the first unsubdued wonder and
curiosity. And on this occasion we were less
likely to excite attention, as a more dreadful expectation
filled their minds.</p>

<p class='c016'>Slowly we made our way for a mile or so until
the sombre thickets and enshrouding vegetation of
the swamps came into view. And then a rapid
dispersal began. Down innumerable paths and
trails, all more or less artificially finished, the people
vanished. Files of them entered these forest alleyways
<span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>and the quickly thinning throngs left us comparatively
free. We passed a broad road leading
to the left, down which in the distance we discerned
a line of vans pulled by Eskimos, and on them
prostrate and bandaged or chained figures, some
moving, we thought! For the moment we were
rooted with horror. What could they be? What
was this? A public execution, a sacrifice, a holocaust?
Good God—could it be a cannibalistic
feast? Great as were our suspicion and terror, the
constraining power of a savage curiosity drove us
on. Down the very next lane we met, we rushed
<i>pele-mele</i>, with something like rage, something like
disgust, something like a sickening fear, a blend
hard to analyze.</p>

<p class='c016'>Perhaps we had run a half a mile, when we burst
through the last encircling hedge of bushes and
found ourselves on the shore of a turbid, muddy,
malodorous pool, confined by a low wall of clay,
paved with tile, and then surrounded by the outstretched
cordons of the adult population—not a
child was visible—of Radiumopolis! And immediately
above us, at the side, so that we could inspect
the actions of its occupants, was a low platform,
also of clay, perhaps twenty feet high. On this
platform, ranged in a circle, were those detestable
worthies (?) and behind them stood the vans, and
on the vans—motionless bodies in small low heaps,
like fagoted wood! Yes! They were dead—all
dead—<i>quite dead</i>. God be praised for that!</p>

<p class='c016'>From somewhere back of the platform the cymbals
began their clamorous cries, but whether it
was due to an augmented band or an exasperated
effort, the noise seemed redoubled, rising into a
screeching tumult quite indescribable. And then
the people shouted. It sounded like <i>Lam-bo-o,
Lam-bo-oo</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was a curious vocality and perhaps as nearly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>as anything might be likened to the querulous
squeal of monkeys, with just a faint amelioration
of disapproval on the assumption that it was singing.
That—the combined discord of the cymbals
and the singing—continued for perhaps fifteen
minutes, with intervals of a minute or so. It was
altogether unearthly. Now we began to see that
the pond or pool or swamp connected by a narrow
neck of water with more remote basins, that may
have had interminable connections in all directions,
forming a web of waterways.</p>

<p class='c016'>From these distant bayous and lagoons now
issued three or four or five sinuous monsters, rushing
forward upon the waves of their own disturbance,
their saurian heads raised slightly, and the
huge convolutions of their tails discerned in the
wash of their wakes, as they hastened, as if with
some anticipatory avidity for their meal, towards
us, towards the platform, from where the immolation
awaited them. They were the <i>Crocodilo-Pythons</i>.
We recognized at once the white-green
beasts we had seen in the Saurian Sea. Yes, the
same obscene, unspeakable beasts.</p>

<p class='c016'>They only revealed their terrifying bulk as they
approached the platform and finally came to rest
before it. Then inserting their muscular posteriors
in the mud, beyond which lazily rolled the python-like
tails in portentous folds, their heads and fore-quarters
slowly rose into the air. This exposure
made us quail and yet exult, with an excitement no
language can convey. The same repulsive coloring
masked them, the greenish-yellow skin, the agitated
and red blotches. Higher and higher,
mounted the snapping jaws, and at moments the
mucus covered eyes emerged with a baleful glitter;
the long neck swayed and the short front legs beat
the air, as if in expostulation at delay. The
fascinating thrill of horror which such a sight
<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>causes can be understood; only the painter can
justify it.</p>

<p class='c016'>And, sir, they were fed—<i>fed</i> with corpses, while
the infernal cymbals banged on, and the insignificant
people wailed their “<i>Lam-bo-oo, Lam-bo-oo!</i>”</p>

<p class='c016'>The bodies were naked and they were the dead of
both races; the gaping jaws caught them as the
sea lion catches with inerrant skill the tossed fish,
that no sooner reaches the expectant jaws than it
vanishes with a hollow-sounding gulp. So for the
most part did these small bodies go, the dilating
necks of the animals marking their descent to the
cavernous abdomens. A few vicious twirls maybe,
a shivering hammering together of the jaws, accompanied
at times with a dip beneath the water, sending
muddy waves to the banks, indicated the less
easy negotiation of the larger bodies.</p>

<p class='c016'>Revolted and overcome by the pervading half-sickening
stench—in part the exhalations from the
vile saurians—we turned away. As we went back
I caught a full view of the little dignitaries in their
violet gowns, their glittering chains and their beehive
hats, and what an incongruous contrast it
made. In their frailness, their whiteness, their
chirping volubility, with their overmade heads,
their tenuous shanks and their globed eyes they
took on, to me, the whimsical likeness to delicately
cut and animated <i>netsukes</i> in ivory, dressed like
toys; and I thought too their enlarged heads might
keep company with their compressed hearts, though
certainly we could not say yet, and religious habits
often accompany many horrors, much bad taste,
and a lot of antiquated humbug.</p>

<div id='p3001'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p3001.jpg' alt='two men throw a body into a river. Two bear-like creatures wait below' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>THE POOL OF OBLATION</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>We got away, the Professor reluctantly. He
said the “mandibular action” merited longer observation,
and Hopkins inquired, “I wonder how the
undertakers of Radiumopolis relish this sort of
burial? It certainly saves the mourner considerable
<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>in flowers and gravestones, but I don’t believe
I would cotton to finding my ancestors in the bones
of an alligator. It’s decidedly composite you
know, like as in “The Yarn of the Nancy Bell,”
when the man who had eaten a good deal of everybody,
sang:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘Oh, I am the cook and a captain bold,</div>
      <div class='line'>And the mate of the Nancy brig,</div>
      <div class='line'>And a bo’s’n tight, and a midshipmite,</div>
      <div class='line'>And the crew of the captain’s gig.’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'>Long after we had regained the highway, and
were on our solitary way to the city we could hear
the smashing cymbals, the thudding drums, and
the dolorous salutation of the—Well WHAT?
Worshippers. Ugh! But we did meet Oogalah and
he was in dreadfully low spirits, with a face full of
misery, wringing his hands in distress. When he
saw the Professor he ran up to him and stood before
him in a woe-begone way, quite incapable of explaining
his grief. Goritz could make him out
fairly well and he asked him “What is the matter?
Sick?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“No! No! Oogalah not sick, but the Big Men
have thrown his dead mother to the Serpent!”</p>

<p class='c016'>Of course we were interested, and Goritz extorted
from our friend an astonishing story. Briefly, it
was this. Every year at the winter solstice (for
later we found that these people possessed a calendar)
a ceremony of sacrifice was celebrated at the
Pool of Oblation—so I named it. Formerly, many,
many decades before this, live men and women
had been thrown to the carnivorous saurians, but
that had been altered (“by the Progressives,”
Hopkins suggested), and now the dead only, and
not more than a dozen or so, were thrown to them;
a reduction in numbers because the beasts sometimes
<span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>refused some of them, and the bodies corrupted
the pool.</p>

<p class='c016'>Every five years the great lustration of the Forest
Temples took place. That was the festival whose
beginning and termination we had seen. At these
times the whole woodland where the chosen trees
are cleared—the Tree Temples—would be traversed,
and at each Tree Temple chants would be
sung, a black snake left, and some gold offering
attached to the tree itself. Shorter pilgrimages
occurred four times each year. The snake pasture
was kept up as a nursery for the supply of the wood
temples, for the snakes did not long survive in the
pine forest. This year the Great Lustration had
been unaccountably delayed—Oogalah did not
know why, but he had heard that the “Big Men”
(“A decided catachresis,” said the Professor, “for
they literally are pygmies”), were very angry about
something (my heart jumped with a sudden fear
when Goritz told us this).</p>

<p class='c016'>Oogalah’s mother died while we were away with
him in the radium country, and the Magistrates of
the city, who saw to the gathering of the yearly
hecatomb, had <i>attached</i> her. Deaths were not
numerous, it appeared; the supply of corpses—adequate,
that is, for a satisfactory oblation—was
not always secured, and a few sheep or goats made
up the deficiency, their saurian majesties being at
the same time importuned not to resent the substitution.
“A Radiumopolite,” commented Hopkins,
“may be a sweet morsel, but, under the circumstances,
I surely would prefer mutton.”)</p>

<p class='c016'>Oogalah could not tell us much about the “Serpent”
(our Crocodilo-Python), or his worship. He
said it had always been so, and that the “big
ponds” toward the south were full of them. He
had traversed these once on a raft, and apparently
had got the scare of his life, for the beasts wobbled
<span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>about him and, except for an inconvenient satiety
at the moment, might have picked him and his
companions off like crumbs from a plate. He said
too that it was in the savannahs, morasses and
meadows of the “southland” that the food for the
black snakes in the “serpent pasture” was foraged.
“A typical surviving remnant, doubtless,” said
the Professor, “of <i>Cretaceo-Juro-Triassic</i> scenery.”)</p>

<p class='c016'>Oogalah’s communications quite restored his
peace of mind, and the gift of a pocket knife
from Goritz put him into such blissful acceptance
of his domestic bereavement, that the theft
of two or three dead mothers would have been
thankfully condoned for a similar exchange in the
case of each.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had again reached the city but in darkness.
The clouds had thickened in an impenetrable
curtain over the Stationary Sun, and the deepest
gloom had settled over everything. Forebodings
filled my mind. Superstitiously watching every
symptom of nature I dreaded the effect of this
eclipse on the people, and their cunning little
governors, who might at any moment change their
deferential behavior into a ruthless malignancy.
After their rite of propitiation this darkening of the
sun might indicate to them a yet unappeased deity,
for, as the Professor had put it, the “Serpent and
the Sun had a consentaneous meaning in many old
mythologies.” Why then was he unappeased?
<i>The Strangers and their profanation of the Shrines.</i>
I always returned to this suspicion with dread. A
few moments later my worst fears were confirmed.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had ascended the western terrace of steps and
were immediately beneath the western facade of
the Capitol, still to all appearances empty, when a
flying figure met us, and in another instant the arms
of Ziliah were about Spruce Hopkins’ neck, and—my
conclusion on the matter can scarcely be questioned—his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>were probably about hers. It certainly
was a bad case of nerves. Ziliah was in a
sort of hysteria, moaning and gasping with (so
Hopkins called it) a “<i>strangle hold</i>” on his “wind-pipe,”
that also quite robbed her lover of the
power of utterance. I intervened. The incident
might have terminated in their mutual suffocation—so
it seemed to me.</p>

<p class='c016'>The fair and stricken Ziliah told her story.</p>

<p class='c016'>She had not gone to the Oblation. No; she did
not like it. But then there was something else.
“Spooce” was in danger, her own “Spooce”—and
all of us, <i>all</i>. The governors did not like us; they
were afraid of us, afraid we might bring more—her
father was as bad as the rest of them. And they
had found out something, she did not know what,
something we had done. We were enemies of the
<i>Serpent</i>, and—Ziliah’s agitation at this juncture
quite robbed her narrative of coherency, but in a
lucid interval I understood her—we were to be
sacrificed; we would be fed to the Serpent!!!</p>

<p class='c016'>“Zerubbabel and Heliopolis,” shouted Hopkins.
“You don’t mean it? Does she say so? Well so
help me—if we don’t blow the pack into kingdom
come—and twice as far. How much powder have
we got left?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“<i>The tubes</i>,” I remonstrated.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins was silent; he remembered their power,
and it was not so many hours since something of the
same inscrutable influence had nearly brought us
all to the verge of extinction.</p>

<p class='c016'>Never, to the last day of my life, Mr. Link, will
I comprehend what happened then. Was it the
hand of God—or was it telepathy. WHAT?
Ziliah repeated the words I had uttered—exactly.
She loosened Hopkins’ embrace, she moved
stealthily towards me, I saw her deep, sweet eyes
raised to mine, her hands closed on my cheeks;
<span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>the boreal dusk light that comes from the firmament
even when clouded, made her whole face
visible. In it shone a strange divination; she
repeated the words, “<i>the tubes</i>,” and then sighed;
seized with a sudden inspiration, I forced my mind
upon hers; my brain contracted (it felt so), as with
a fierce concentration of will I projected the sense of
my words and all they implied upon, in, through,
the spirit before me—the spirit that itself leaped
to their comprehension.</p>

<p class='c016'>She crouched slightly, moved away, but her soft
fingers closed around my hand, and she drew me
towards her.</p>

<p class='c016'>We entered the broad hall of the Capitol,
Ziliah holding me tightly and leading me. We
turned into a passage-way. At its dark end we
stumbled on a half raised arched tile. Ziliah
raised it, and seemed sinking below me, as I felt her
pull me down. I stooped and felt the edges of an
opening. My wary foot detected a stairway.
Together we descended and in a dozen or more
steps reached the floor of a chamber whose walls
seemed only a few feet off on every side of us.
Ziliah led me to the corner of this room, pushed
upon a wooden door and we entered what proved to
be a much larger room. Then telling me to wait,
my guide left me. Another instant and a soft
radiance filled the place. It came from a radium
lamp which Ziliah had uncovered. She pointed to
a table in the center of this apartment. On it lay a
metal box—a leaden trunk. Ziliah raised its lid.
I leaped forward. I already knew what to expect.</p>

<p class='c016'>In the bottom of the box lay, neatly aligned in
rows, thirty leaden tubes, one probably for each of
the governors. Here at last in our power, our
possession, were the murderous little vials. But
were they charged with their life-arresting power?
And how to use them? I stood perplexed, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>Ziliah remained motionless by me gazing at me with
a mute happiness, as she realized she had attained
my wishes. But it was plain that the dear creature
knew nothing about them. No—the clever little
doctors were not such fools as to popularize their
peculiar knowledge, and the dark beauty, tears yet
bepearling her long lashes, was just a child before
them, <i>as I was</i>. But why had they left them here
at all? They must have been deposited after the
return, for the doctors indubitably had worn them
in their girdles when we so inauspiciously dropped
onto the road in the pine forest. Did they have a
duplicate set? The thought unnerved me.</p>

<p class='c016'>Now not the least remarkable circumstance in
this startling episode was that I had not talked to
Ziliah at all, though we understood each other.
Telepathy, or sympathy, or suggestion, had done
its perfect work so far; not a word had passed
between us, but at this obstructive ignorance
staring me, so to speak, in the face I opened my
mouth.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Ziliah are these all?”</p>

<p class='c016'>“ALL,” came the answer very quietly, but with a
frankness and certainty that assured me.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Do you know anything about them Ziliah?
How they work?”</p>

<p class='c016'>Ziliah knew nothing. “The—,” I understood her
to mean the doctors, including her precious father,
“will kill you all—Ah! Spooce, too. No! No!
Take them away,” pointing to the chest, “AWAY—AWAY.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The girl’s nerves were reasserting themselves;
time was running away too, my friends were
deserted, and detection was imminent at any
moment. Another glance at the desperate little
instruments, and then—<i>nolens, volens</i>—I picked
them up and pushed them under my tunic, so that
I felt their cold surfaces chilling my skin.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>Then I shook Ziliah and pointed to the door,
closing the lid of the chest. She understood. Our
way back was as noiseless as our entrance had been.
Unless our footprints remained as silent betrayers
of our robbery, there was no reason for suspicion,
no proof of our misdeeds. Misdeed indeed; it
was our SALVATION.</p>

<p class='c016'>In five minutes I was back with my friends, and
Ziliah, reaching the limit of her endurance comfortably
fled to her familiar refuge—Hopkins’ arms.</p>

<p class='c016'>Now you may ask incredulously—Why did you
not in the first place ask Ziliah where were <i>the
tubes</i>; why impair the credibility of your story by
injecting this transcendental nonsense about—<i>telepathy</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>I don’t know, sir; the facts are just as I have
related them.</p>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER XIII<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>Love and Liberty</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>We soon heard the swarming crowds returning,
and before long saw the flat wagons, with the straining
goats drawing them, and softly luminous from
the radium bulbs held in wickerwork cages, and on
them the governors, much agitated and confused.
It was really a rout. Panic had seized the people,
the guards were in disorder, and they failed to repel
the surging masses that rolled up against the rocking
chariots. It was a straggling, in some sections
a struggling, cortege, and the dominant purpose
was to get under cover, for the blackness deepened,
the very last glimpses of light had vanished, and a
night of storm and wind with a cold rain had
blotted out the smiling peacefulness of Radiumopolis.</p>

<p class='c016'>Fortunately, the construction of the houses was
excellent and, except as the wind drove rain
through or past the crevices of the board or leathern
insertions, their interiors were probably quite dry
in storms. The rooms at the Capitol were completely
so.</p>

<p class='c016'>And now the running groups, the populace, the
guards, officials hastening variously on their many
ways could be heard tramping and surging along,
with only occasional ejaculations of impatience or
alarm, but all in an evident race and retreat.</p>

<p class='c016'>I did not wait long with my friends. I knew
<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>Ziliah was with them—<i>with one</i>. I clutched my
intolerable load closer, I sprang to the eastern
terrace, now deserted, and rushed down, suddenly
seized with the thought of destroying the infernal
machines I carried. It was a <i>great loss to science</i>
no doubt, but at the moment I felt convinced that
once these preposterous weapons were lost to the
little doctors, we were safe. I cried in my heart,
“Our guns against everything.”</p>

<p class='c016'>So on I flew, and straight out into the serpent
pasture, now and again slipping on some coiled or
gliding snake to where I knew that well hole lay
which marked the departing kick of the celestial
visitor who had taught Radiumopolis the trick of
making <i>gold</i>. It was a deep hole and it was full of
water. I reached it. I opened my tunic and from
it the bundle of pestiferous little arsenals of magic
tumbled, and splashed in the water—and were
gone. The pack that fell off Christian’s back and
rolled backward into the sepulchre could not have
been gotten rid of with more satisfaction to that
tired pilgrim than I freed myself of those hateful
little tubes. Of course afterwards the Professor
was dreadfully upset about it. He deplored the
“<i>loss to science</i>.” “Perhaps,” retorted Hopkins,
“but—we count too.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I soon returned to the others and found them—minus
Ziliah, who had been persuaded to retire to
her boudoir—nestling against the corner of the
Capitol where there was less wind and rain,
enjoying the home gathering of the Sanhedrin,
its wives and children, relatives, attendants, and
the police.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My!” gurgled Hopkins under his breath, “such
a coop of hens! And the cackling! What’s hard to
understand is how such poultry govern this land,
and how they have the nerve to keep up this
detestable religion with its snakes and its crocodiles;
<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>and yet—blame—me—they certainly are on
the inside of a good many things, and they surely
are on a <i>Gold Basis</i>, and some of our best people
wouldn’t mind swapping all they know, for just
that one particular bit of information which will
turn a leaden pot into a gold one.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“We must know how, too,” grumbled Goritz.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well,” continued Hopkins, “say the word and
we’ll revolutionize this country, get into the
government, and run the mint.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I was getting impatient with this nonsense, and
I said, “Now see here my friends, we are four men
against thousands—why talk such rubbish? We’re
all in danger because of our imprudence but I think
we can steer away safely though our difficulties,
get the confidence of everyone—perhaps more, and
come out, as you might say Spruce, on the Top of
the Heap. Ziliah knows what she is talking about
and she says we’re to be put out of the way. But
that perhaps won’t be so easy now. I’ve stolen
the tubes and buried them out of sight <i>forever</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The three men sprang around me and seized me
with one exclamation: “No!”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Yes I have—they’re gone. Come to our rooms
and I’ll tell you everything. We must use diplomacy,
but if they push us to the wall there are our
<i>guns</i>. The people are accustomed to us and are
indifferent. Those little doctors never will let us
get out alive if they can help it. There’s more than
our lives at stake; there’s the revelation we shall
give to the great world outside of this polar hole—about
these strange people, their achievements,
their knowledge, above all about that radium mass
which may change all the civilization we are
acquainted with into something quite different. I
do not agree with Goritz, though I can sympathize
with his appeal. Science <i>must know</i> of this place,
and what is here. Science, I say, MUST KNOW.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>In a few words I explained what had happened,
when we had gotten to our rooms, which still
remained undisturbed. I told them of the curious
suggestive influence on Ziliah (Hopkins said he
“didn’t like it”), how we penetrated the subterranean
room, how I found and seized those menacing
little vials, and how I despatched every one of them
into the fathomless mud and water (the Professor
compared it with “the crime of the Caliph Omar
who burned the Alexandrian Library”), and how
now, with Ziliah as an ally, and with our guns, we
might turn the tables on the discomfited doctors.
“Guess you’ve taken the sting out of their tails—the
little wasps,” exclaimed Hopkins.</p>

<p class='c016'>We did not have to wait long for developments.
The storm passed, the light returned and it was
much colder. Warmer clothing was given us, and
our meals were even more liberal. This excessive
hospitality made me suspicious and I insisted that
the bearers of the cakes and bread, the wine and
milk, the meat and vegetables should partake of a
little of each, before us, and this I ingeniously
explained to them was the custom of our native
countries. They never hesitated, and the courtesy,
as they understood it, quite delighted and propitiated
them. This too was a part of my rule.
I intended to conciliate them so thoroughly that I
might be able to make them spies on our enemies—“<i>pump
’em</i>,” said Hopkins. Ziliah watched diligently;
the beloved Spooce was an invaluable
hostage.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our liberty was not interfered with, it seemed
extended, and the Professor kept up his unremitting
labors in making notes for the voluminous papers
he was contemplating, and which he idolatrously
regarded as his possible monument in the files of
time. Goritz became a confirmed pilferer, and his
stock of gold objects, whittlings and fragments grew
<span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>dangerously. I remonstrated, but he kept at it.
I could not get the wizened little doctors to talk.
I addressed them as I met them in the palace in
the Hebrew patois I had acquired, and which I was
convinced they understood. But no—not a word;
a bow, those wrinkling smiles, that deferential
obeisance, and the palms of their hands rubbed
together meditatively, while the prodigious eyes
watched me, I thought, with an unmistakable
malice, and—with FEAR.</p>

<p class='c016'>We seldom saw the ladies of their households
which, as Hopkins expressed it, “considering our
extreme manly beauty, as compared with the <i>ALL
IN</i> look of their own matrimonial boobs, is a reflection
on their good taste, a proof of their imperfect
education. Everybody else likes us,” he said.
And that was true. We met with the most
amiable reception, and Goritz’s skill in talking with
the Eskimos, and my astounding success with the
Hebrew lingo was giving us a vogue that it seemed
unreasonable the little rulers did not see was
ruinous to their prestige. Could it be possible that
they were afraid of us—afraid of our popularity?
I thought that they would avail themselves of the
discovered thefts of the tree shrines and of the
unpropitious storm, on the day of the Oblation, to
turn the populace against us as <i>personae non gratae</i>
to their deity.</p>

<p class='c016'>But they had not, and the storm was forgotten.
It was bewildering, for I felt sure Ziliah was not
deceiving me, and that our lives somehow were at
stake. Perhaps—perhaps—in that curious complicated
psychology of their dwarfed natures, cowardice,
deceit, sharpness, superstition, ferocity even,
were so mixed up with an enervating feebleness of
mind, in spite of their astuteness, that it made
them, as Lady Macbeth puts it, “infirm of
purpose.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>At any rate we would watch our guns, in all
senses, and we literally did watch those we owned,
carrying them with us, always strapped to our
backs, our cartridge belts at our waists, and a part
of our dress. I think this alarmed our spies a little.</p>

<p class='c016'>But now the <i>crux</i> of the whole situation came to
light. Two things had happened and both of
these were known to Ziliah. Ziliah was splendid—the
“best ever” said Spruce—“true down to her
little toe bone; she turned down her own dad and
turned ag’in the Government rather than see us
licked. Tell you what, Alfred, I’ll take my chances
with her, and—it’s good-bye to the States.”</p>

<p class='c016'>It was this way. And to begin with, Ziliah’s
father’s first name was Javan, and, because the
coincidence is so extraordinary, the names of those
little governors, and there were thirty of them, are
worth repeating, because again—as the Professor
was the first to observe—they can all be found in
the first Chapter of the Book of Chronicles, in our
Bible. This is the list: Riphath, Kittim, Put,
Cush, Pathrusim, Lud, Hul, Joktan, Peleg, Hadad,
Naphish, Jeush, Jaalam, Shammah, Shobal, Homan,
Uz, Samlah, Bela, Zephi, Zyrah, Ebal,
Manahath, Anah, Amram, Mibsam, Gomer, Magog,
Anamim, Ludim.</p>

<p class='c016'>I took these down carefully from Ziliah, by word
of mouth, and they confirmed all we had inferred
of Semitic relations but when later—much later
sir, on my return to America—I made the comparison,
as the Professor suggested, I was dumbfounded.
But I will not stop now to elaborate
reflections. My story has already lengthened
beyond my expectations, and there is much to
recount.</p>

<p class='c016'>Two things had happened, I have said. Oh, by
the way, Mr. Link, I might insert this here—Javan,
Ziliah’s father, encouraged his daughter’s intimacy
<span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>with Hopkins; he thought it would lead to something.
It did. As Hopkins put it, “it was the
Guy who put the <i>eat</i> in <i>Beat</i> it.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The two things were—the theft of the tubes had
been discovered, and there had been a Council held—a
“<i>pow-wow</i>” according to Spruce, in which
Javan threw a bomb into the deliberations for
our destruction because he connected what he
had to say at the “pow-wow” with the disappearance
of the little wizard wands. A wonderful
denouement was at hand. It all came about as
follows:</p>

<p class='c016'>The excursion through the pine tree shrines
showed a considerable damage, and the inspectors
were sure the mischief had been perpetrated by us.
Our tracks were unmistakable; they found our
camps, and they noted that the pillaging had been
done, as it were, yesterday. Their indignation was
great, but, as the detection of the outrage was
actually unnoticed by the multitude, and had only
come to the knowledge of the little doctors—the
Sanhedrin as we had called them—and had not
then been seriously considered at first, except by a
few leaders—apparently the older and shrewder
men, Put and Hul, Peleg, Hadad and Javan, himself,
the President—it was concluded to keep still
about it, and that nothing should be done until
they had returned. But the outrage, as they considered
it, made them rather anxious as to the state
of mind of the insulted serpent and tree deities—the
<i>numina</i> of their unseen world. Propitiation
was in order, and they had taken pains to visit all
the shrines, repair the mischief, attach new offerings,
sing and dance and pray, and go through a
snake ceremonial with the doctors as masters of the
ceremony, as indeed these odd creatures were really
priests to the nation.</p>

<p class='c016'>They talked a great deal about it among themselves,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>but they were dreadfully bothered by
Javan’s scruples as to touching us, and all because
he recalled an ancient prophecy of a fall from the
clouds of a beggar-like man, who would not know
their language, and who would bring them a new
wisdom, and who would be their King.</p>

<p class='c016'>Now it seems this ancient prophecy was in their
archives, as you might say, and action in our case
was to be delayed until its exact portents or contents
were ascertained. There were queer coincidences
in the matter. Our descent from the top of
the pine tree, albeit awkward and a little unseemly,
was a good deal like a drop from the clouds. <i>It
seemed so to them.</i> Our beggarly condition was
really shamefully clear. Then we did not speak
their language, and as to the new wisdom, the
Professor’s harangue rather filled the bill there, and,
in spite of themselves, his red hair had impressed
them, <i>as it did everybody else</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>Certainly there were or might be discrepancies.
There were four of us for instance; we had been in
the wood some time—desecrating it too, a profanation
inconceivable in a future King—a heaven-sent
King! These considerations cheered them greatly,
for really the little fellows did not wish to abdicate.
So they mulled these things over and fixed their
plans very craftily. They’d get back, ignore us,
seem to forget all about us, hunt up the precious
document, and, if they came to the conclusion to
“<i>do us</i>,” as Hopkins said, the affair would be kept
very secret, and—their white fingers clasped the
ominous tubes as they raised them significantly
over their big heads—<i>they wouldn’t be long about it
either</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>At the return to Radiumopolis Javan heard from
Ziliah’s own lips—very soon, I suppose, after she
lifted him up in her arms on the terrace steps—what
a dreadful state her heart was in over Spooce, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>Javan (“perfidious dad,” Hopkins called him)
simpered, sniggered, and encouraged her attachment.
But Ziliah possessed some feminine acuteness—“No
piker, <i>she</i>,” declared Hopkins—and she
was not many minutes in finding out the true
position of affairs; viz., the enmity of the Directorate,
the existing government, for us. She was
in an agony of fear, and, aflame with her love, she
had met us and told me of our danger. Then, sir,
as you may incredulously recall, I did that telepathic
act, and cleared away the most formidable
obstacle in our way.</p>

<p class='c016'>From that moment Ziliah was ours, every heart
beat, every brain pulse was for us. She certainly
<i>played</i> her father, but we had no intentions against
his life, and it was just simply immolation for us all
in his case, as the coterie would have sent us on the
long road in a hurry, and then all this strange tale
would never have entranced your ears. Ziliah, as
the verdict of the world will pronounce, chose the
better part. Her devotion led us into the light of
deliverance.</p>

<p class='c016'>The old record of the prophecy was brought to
light. It actually was engraved on a gold tablet.
That showed, sir, that the knowledge of transmutation
was over a hundred years old in Krocker
Land, for, as you will learn, there is no mining for
gold in Krocker Land; that mother lode which the
Professor predicted, as far as we know is a dream
only. All the gold in Krocker Land comes from
Radium Transmutation.</p>

<p class='c016'>Ziliah saw the tablet, she heard it read; for that
matter she read it herself (“A twentieth century
woman and no mistake,” was Hopkins’ tribute to
her sagacity), and now what I tell you, sir, will
hardly be believed. It has such a fabulous fairy-like
sound.</p>

<p class='c016'>The prophecy read thus: The future King would
<span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>fall from the sky, in the shape of a man dressed in
rags, with hair red like blood, with a strange
language on his tongue, and “he KILLS with
THUNDER.”</p>

<p class='c016'>That, sir, brought our guns and the Professor into
the drama, and swept the stakes into our hands.
You shall see.</p>

<p class='c016'>The prophecy did mightily disturb the council.
They convened in their state chamber, and argued
it out circumstantially, and Ziliah, conveniently
disposed for the revelations to be expected, listened.
The upshot of their deliberations was that there
was much difference of opinion, with a preponderant
feeling that the Professor was a dangerous
probability. Had we fallen from the sky, or just
dropped out of the branches of the tree, and, if that
was our first appearance how about the thefts?
Yes—yes—the thefts, and the traces of our previous
camps, and then the <i>killing with thunder</i>?
There was some ill-natured derisive and weak
giggling over this. Thunder indeed!</p>

<p class='c016'>The upshot of it all was that Javan was deputed
to keep an eye on us, and probably the best thing
to do, taking a strictly conservative view of the
matter was to— Ziliah didn’t catch this, but when
I told her Hopkins, he winked assertively and drew
the forefinger of his ring hand across his throat, and
said nothing.</p>

<p class='c016'>Anyhow the little elders came out from the conference,
looking greatly satisfied, very benignant,
and were happily garrulous. But the second event
was the discovery of the disappearance of the
tubes. It seemed that some recuperative effect
was sought for in thus storing them in the
metallic box in the subterranean chamber, but—WHAT?
And whether other agents were
present in the box will never be known, as
indeed the mystery of those tubes is itself a closed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>chapter, unless forsooth the Professor elicits the
information as to their fabrication, by reason of his
present control of the scientific resources— But
pardon me, I anticipate.</p>

<p class='c016'>The tubes had been placed in the chest almost
instantly after the re-entrance of the cortege into
the Capitol. A literal translation of Ziliah’s
remark as to the need of this would be that they
were “<i>dying out</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>You can imagine Javan’s despair, consternation,
and amazement. Apparently there were no more
of these stupefying inventions handy, and the Sanhedrin
were really at their wits’ end. At this
juncture Ziliah became a perfect demon of suggestion.
Hopkins’ enthusiastic submission to her
charms inflamed her with a sprightliness of mind
that kept us busy too, and won our case. Ziliah
knew that the citizens of Radiumopolis, which
practically was Krocker Land, the outlying agricultural
sections being little else than a <i>diaspora</i> of
Radiumopolis itself, were not so loyally disposed
towards the exclusive Areopagus on Capitol Hill,
and that some shock of wonderment that might
establish our supernatural origin would solve the
<i>impasse</i>, and give us the upper hand, for literally
there was now no way out of the dilemma but for
us to RULE.</p>

<p class='c016'>Ziliah conceived the idea of our subverting the
reigning government as quickly as we had reached
the same conclusion, and Hopkins was not slow to
sharpen her perceptions. But <i>she</i> formed the plan
of our <i>coup d’etat</i>. We had thought (and the
Professor was as deeply implicated as any of
us, he realized our plight and for once worldly
aims gripped and diverted his mind) to make a
public appeal to the people or else insidiously
foment discontent, lead an attack on the now
defenceless governors, seize the throne, as it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>were, and establish the dynasty of Hlmath Bjornsen
the First.</p>

<p class='c016'>At first blush the Professor seemed greatly
puzzled and unwilling, and his bulging eyes stared
at us with blank misgivings. But when the rigor of
our situation was forced upon him, with the compelling
<i>suadente potestas</i> of his red hair, and its
felicitous conjunction with aboriginal prophecy, he
worked himself into a real glee over it that was
delightful. To Hopkins there was something so
macaronic and side-splitting about this role of the
Professor’s, that he could scarcely look at his half
rueful, absorbed expression, his odd mouth, the
prodigious ears, and the coronal splendor of his
hair, without being overcome with a badly concealed
merriment that might have turned our
plans awry with anyone less essentially good-natured
than the Professor.</p>

<p class='c016'>Of course we improved our popularity, and we
put the Professor through ambulatory excursions
that must have tired his legs. From the first the
people had “cottoned” to him (<i>fide</i> Hopkins), and
we wanted them to become intimate with their
future KING. Certainly it seemed like a huge
joke.</p>

<p class='c016'>Everything was coming our way. The governors
had actually become afraid of us. We were no
longer confined to the Capitol. We fascinated our
guards by giving them all the trinkets we could find
about us, and Goritz and I talked constantly
with the people. The Sanhedrin might have
turned the people against us by revealing our thefts,
but somehow they did not try it. They did not
even enter our rooms for proof. I think we began
to despise them. They had a secretive, feeble way
that too plainly advertised their impotence. It
was evident indeed that some fatal collapse in their
authority was imminent, and they did not have the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span>miraculous tubes to reinstate themselves. Nothing
could have withstood them then. Between the
prophecy and the loss of the tubes they were desperate.
Our sedition prospered in the meanwhile.</p>

<p class='c016'>Suddenly it occurred to me that their apathy and
shrinking avoidance of a collision meant mischief.
It might be ominous. Were they—the thought
transfixed me with horror—were they secretly at
work repairing their loss, MAKING OTHER
TUBES? Of course they were; in the light of this
suggestion their apparent timidity was explained.
It was not timidity. Nay, it was just a delicate,
artful duplicity that was fooling us. Ziliah must
find out and then one way or another we must test
the situation. Of course the prophecy that Ziliah
had recounted to us was constantly the keynote of
our plans. To lose our chance now would be madness.</p>

<p class='c016'>And Ziliah? She wheedled Javan and Put, and
Cush, and Hul, and the rest successfully. They
thought she was keeping us quiet, and they thought
too their own inoffensiveness was blinding us. Ah
ha! <i>It was</i>—while they contrived their devilish
weapons anew. They had made no outcry when
they found them gone. That might have liberated
the people of their fear for themselves. But was
Ziliah possibly playing us false? There was or
certainly had been a countermine at work and she
had failed to detect it. These foxy patriarchs were
fooling our own spy in their camp, or again—<i>was
Ziliah false</i>?</p>

<p class='c016'>Well sir, Ziliah was “straight as a string and true
as gold,” to quote Hopkins. She knew nothing
about the making of the new tubes, but she would
find out. Her terror over this new turn in the
affair was greater than our own, her surprise too.
Ah, sir, she knew what those tubes meant, what
they could do!</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>She soon returned to me—it was easy enough,
and it was easy to do it unnoticed. Javan trusted
her implicitly, and indeed she and I had been somewhat
hoodwinked by him. Ziliah confirmed my
suspicions. The new tubes were indeed under
way. The <i>eukairia</i>, the “nick of time,” had come.
We must strike. Then it was that Ziliah told us
HOW.</p>

<p class='c016'>We were to take on the grand air, assert our
provenance from Heaven, repeat the prophecy from
the tablet, call the Professor <i>Shamlah</i>, and threaten
destruction if the Sanhedrin did not receive us at
once, see that our thunder bolts were ready, and
use them. The message, to be taken by Ziliah,
would admit that our manners had been humble
and that Shamlah had concealed his mission. But
delay would be cut short. The time for his royal
assumption was at hand. We would come to them
with our thunder tubes and talk with them; and
if our overture was rejected we would go to the
people and show our power.</p>

<p class='c016'>That was our ultimatum; batteries on both
sides were now unmasked and the issue defined.
What we needed just then were theatrical properties,
some chromatic detonating explosions, fireworks,
skyrockets, roman candles, flower-pots,
fire-fizzes of any sort that would give us a supernatural
flavor. As Hopkins said, just one night’s
Coney Island Payne’s Fireworks outfit, and what
wasn’t ours in the joint, wouldn’t be worth having.
But—<i>we had only our guns</i>. That however was a
good deal.</p>

<p class='c016'>Ziliah returned the answer of the Conventicle.
They would not see us just now, <i>later</i>, perhaps in
fourteen <i>settas</i>, which meant, in our time, about a
week. Oh ho! That was the limit of our sufferance.
In a week they would meet us <i>on their own terms</i>.
The crisis had come.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span>It was not half an hour later that Goritz, Hopkins,
the Professor and myself, as faultlessly attired
as our wardrobe and toilet facilities permitted,
marched from our abode in the city, down the great
highway. Our guns were in our arms, clasped
tightly to our chests, and all the ammunition we
possessed was loaded in our cartridge belts and
pockets. We were instantly noticed and numerously
attended. We entered the serpent pasture,
at the eastern end, and walked to the eastern
terrace of steps, and up these to the courtyard
above. We were seen. Men and women, girls
and boys, in a desultory manner at first, then in
hastening groups, emerged from the Capitol and,
among them a few of the little rulers. The rumor
of attack spread.</p>

<p class='c016'>From the houses of the city, its looms and barns,
the workshops and bakeries, its gardens, the cloth
manufactories, the metal shops, the curious small
people gathered, and with them the larger race from
near and far, while the idle and loafing contingent,
always large and drifting instinctively towards
every new incident, hastened in mirthful or expectant
groups, pouring along behind us. Each fresh
accession stimulated a wider circle of attention,
until it almost seemed as if the populace were
following us <i>en masse</i>. They overflowed the road,
they dispersed over the meadow land appropriated
to snakes, they clambered up on the dilapidated
cutches, where the snakes congregated and clustered,
in gaping crews, on the steps of the terrace.
Their humor seemed propitious. The peculiar
gaiety that characterized them when we were
brought to Radiumopolis, dampened or made a
little grave by wonder, again affected them that
day, but it was freer and more hospitable, and I
think they already appreciated the situation.
Goritz and I had been rather industrious disseminators
<span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span>of mischief—“<i>Semeurs d’emeute</i>” Antoine
said.</p>

<p class='c016'>When we came to the last step of the terrace we
separated. The Professor took a central position,
and the light luckily turned his splendid coiffure
into a garnet glory that must have transported the
audience around us. Goritz and Hopkins flanked
him, I stood somewhat to one side. We all held
our guns—magazine rifles—but the Professor, it
was agreed, should remain statuesque and motionless,
only succoring us at any critical juncture.
I have a splendid voice, I proposed to use it.</p>

<p class='c016'>By this time the throng in the doorway of the
Capitol almost blocked it. The dignitaries were
coming out quickly and the magistrates from the
wards of the city were arriving, but all somewhat
<i>en deshabille</i>. Their court robes were forgotten, or
too hastily deserted, and their appearance assumed
an absurdly shrunken manner and tenuity. We
very certainly outclassed them. The Professor,
<i>par excellence</i>, was magnificent. The people measured
the spectacular effect and, I guess, shrewdly
preferred our “make-up.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I began my demand. I spoke for the SON of
THUNDER, and I spoke of the prophecy which
described his coming to rule his people, and then,
it was a master stroke which almost unnerved my
friends, knocked the Directory plumb off its feet,
and thunderstruck the people, <i>I showed the golden
tablet</i> (Ziliah’s stroke), and read it. By this time I
had acquired fairly well the Hebrew dialect of these
people, and they understood me. I pointed to the
Professor who, responding to some histrionic
impulse, which none of us had even suspected in
him, raised his hands as if invoking the heavens,
and then bowed to me, to Goritz, to Hopkins, and
in unimpeachable—English, said in a loud domineering
tone,</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span>“REVEAL MY POWER—FIRE!”</p>

<p class='c016'>Now this was absolutely an improvisation. We
had not planned the affair exactly in that way, but
we were on the <i>qui vive</i> (Johnnies-on-the-spot,
averred Hopkins), and off went the whole magazine
of guns in a glorious unison. It was really immense,
coming as it did upon the heels of the prediction,
that—<i>he kills with his thunder</i>. Only we hadn’t
killed anything. And then the Professor by
another sublime intuition filled the required bill.
It was nearing spring time and the reinforcement
of the light and heat from the diurnal sun was
beginning to be felt. Some straggling Arctic gulls
crossed the sky. The Professor was a fair shot.
The accentuation of a supreme moment nerved his
arm, brightened his eye, and put the force of precision
in his aim. He fired—a gull fluttered to the
ground almost at our feet—another shot, and a
second bird flopped actually upon the heads of the
dismayed councillors, who were now in a fine
frenzy of agitation.</p>

<p class='c016'>The mercurial disposition of semi-civilized people
and that contagion of admiration which, as Le Bon
has shown, infects a mob, as with the sharp upward
rush of a fire fanned by high winds, had an invincible
illustration then and there. At first there was a
silence; as if shocked into dumbness by the inexplicable
occurrence, or bewildered by a confusion of
responses they could not define, they for a moment
awaited direction. <i>It came.</i> Oogalah, in the very
first rank of the attendant crowds, shouted with
hoarse exultation:</p>

<p class='c016'>“<i>PEEUK—PEEUK—PEEUK.</i>”</p>

<p class='c016'>Then came the reaction of release from incertitude,
and the assemblage caught the sound— Nay,
the word, and from side to side, to and fro, hither,
thither, the cry doubled and redoubled, until it
almost seemed as if the convulsed nation would
<span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>start some riotous stampede in favor of that darling,
red-headed, heaven-sent, death-dealing sovereign.
And the Professor, animated by I know not what
elan of conquest, seized his rifle in both hands, and
holding it horizontally before him, stepped forward
against the heterogeneous throng of courtiers, officials,
and Areopagites that crammed every inch of
space in front of the Capitol, as if he were the
<i>Demiurge of Destruction</i>. In a fright they gave
way, and in the path thus made we followed.
There was nothing else to do, although this demonstration
to me seemed unaccountable and dangerous,
as it might lead to some unexpected disaster
and an anticlimax of ridicule and repulsion. With
the Professor it was just an involuntary spasm of
stage play, with no clear purpose outlined or even
seen in it. Behind us in the regurgitant host I
could hear the stentorian roars of Oogalah. This
unexpected and vociferous ally after all had a
grudge to gratify; he had not altogether forgotten
his inviscerated mother. His appeals were quite in
favor of the new allegiance. You see, sir, it was an
orgulous moment for the Professor, and I don’t
think he knew exactly what he was about.</p>

<p class='c016'>But Luck, which after all favors a good many
more people than fools, intervened. We had
gotten rather tightly entrapped in the brigades
about the Capitol, when we were met by a huddle
of the patriarchs, themselves somewhat violently
jostled by the pushing citizens. Here were Javan,
and Put, and Hul, Peleg, Hadad, the head men,
and they presented a very sorry and despoiled
appearance. Their nervous white hands ran over
their straggling beards in piteous perplexity, and,
lacking the surplusage of their state regalia, they
appeared even more contemptible than depressed.</p>

<p class='c016'>Knowing me best and perhaps too dismayed by
the flaming presence of the <i>Pretender</i> himself,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span>Javan literally flew to my arms and urged clemency.
It was complete <i>capitulation</i>. I knew it. But the
victory must be more crushing. The last struggle
of the victim must be squelched. It had occurred
to me before that an epic seriousness, if not majesty,
might be given to our high-handed pretensions by
shooting down the Crocodilo-Python effigies at the
corners of the palace. The risk might be considerable,
and then again it might be very little,
with tremendous compensating benefits if the dice
fell the right way. How would the people take it?
I did not know. This moment of irresolution
permitted something to happen which gave us the
upper hand most beautifully, eliminated violence,
and struck the keynote of a perfect CONCILIATION.</p>

<p class='c016'>Ziliah, ardent, arrayed superbly, with her
copious dark hair bound up, as was the fashion of
the upper-class women, with the little gold serpents,
wearing the gold caps on her knees, her ankles
encased in gold filagree that rose half way up the
naked leg, her feet in golden sandals, and swathed
somehow in a soft delicate blue tunic covering her
thighs and body, but falling away from the pillar-like
neck and firmly moulded breasts, a vision of
picturesque loveliness, sprang amongst us. Her
face was flushed by excitement but radiant in
smiles. And of course she wore the golden belt
with its serpent buckle.</p>

<p class='c016'>She flung her arms around the Professor, kissed
him on both cheeks, salaamed, bending her knees
to the ground with a wonderful, unstudied grace.
Then she took her astonished father’s hand and led
that little gentleman forward, and then Put, and
Hul, Peleg and Hadad—the remaining elders,
arrived, but had shrunk from the presentation.
Then Ziliah spoke. Her voice was high keyed, but
musical, and had a soaring quality in it that carried
<span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span>far. Silence fell and the intensity of the psychological
moment made me wonder at the girl’s
prescience.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Father, make peace with these men. They
bring us a New Wisdom. We shall be happy with
them. Let the Son of Thunder (my eyes at that
instant fell on Hopkins; he was visibly squirming
in an agony of suppressed mirth at the designation,
but the Professor retained a most noble immobility)
be your guide, your companion. These men will
all be brothers to us, and this man (she knelt again
at the feet of Hopkins, who seized her in his arms,
and lifted her to his face) will be my husband.”
Javan’s astonishment then was a study.</p>

<p class='c016'>I was transported, and I rushed in to the <i>rapprochement</i>,
as she ended, with fresh promises of
friendship.</p>

<p class='c016'>Nothing would be disturbed, nothing changed.
We came to them strangers from the clouds, we
would bless them with new powers. The Great
Serpent still should reign.</p>

<p class='c016'>At all this there was a great shouting, a tempest
of approving comment, and the landslide of public
endorsement overwhelmed the council. The retreating
or abashed or cowardly members of “the
Syndicate of Old Toddlers,” as Hopkins said,
issued from their niches in the crowd, and Javan,
caught in an <i>enjambment</i> from which he could not
extricate his party, surrendered. He came
forward, and after him came Put, Hul, Peleg,
Hadad; and the Professor, with a fine urbanity
that capped the climax and swept away all traces
of resentment or repugnance, fell on their necks, so
to speak, though the act had to be rather
sedately done for he would incontinently have
knocked them down. It had a delightfully funny
and <i>picaresque</i> effect and I again felt, as I had felt
hundreds of times before, that it all was a dream
<span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span>and unreal. The string as it lengthened embraced
the whole Areopagus, and this fraternal
ceremony evidently, as Hopkins noted, “tickled
the little old fellow to death.”</p>

<p class='c016'>They were all there: Riphath, Kittim, Cush,
Pathrusim, Lud, Hul, Joktan, Naphish, Jeush,
Jaalam, Shammah, Shobal, Homan, Uz, Samlah,
Bela, Zephi, Zerah, Ebal, Manahath, Anah, Amram
Mibsam, Gomer, Magog, Anamim, Ludim. I am
sure I did not know their identity; I counted them,
thirty in all. That consummated matters and set
Professor Hlmath Bjornsen of Christiania on the
throne of Radiumopolis in KROCKER LAND.</p>

<p class='c016'>Javan and the other doctors softened beautifully,
and actually expanded into a self-satisfied body of
patronage and allegiance. The Professor was
“shown through” the Capitol, and he threaded its
maze of compartments, saw its Council Chamber,
enriched with gold, hung with gaudy rugs, and
found there the as yet unoccupied clumsy and incalculably
valuable gold throne which we had seen
shaking and rattling in the procession, itself a relic
of some old time, when this isolated kingdom had
had a king, but was young compared to that still
more remote time when “the stranger” taught
that king’s progenitor the miracle of making gold.</p>

<p class='c016'>From it now, under the aegis of its hideous
device, the rearing Crocodilo-Python, our dear
Professor was to dispense justice to the Radiumopolites.
Of a truth it was an almost inconceivable
<i>denouement</i>. What would, what could, the Professor’s
colleagues at the University say, and by
what insupportable hypothesis could they explain
this transmutation?</p>

<p class='c016'>And there was to be a Coronation! Oh yes.
Javan and the rest of the Fathers had conspired
successfully there; indeed the fuss of its preparation
and the importance of their parts in its conduct
<span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>had now really made them inanely jubilant over
the whole revolution in state affairs.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins and I walking eastward along the broad
highway over which we had entered Radiumopolis,
out into that fair Valley of Rasselas which was
again stirring with the field life of the advancing
spring, talked rather earnestly of our predicament,
for, after all, predicament it was. How were we to
get home and tell our story? We were to be made
a good deal of here but—could we escape? Goritz
had become eager to return with his gold
“souvenirs” (never inquired for), with his radium,
with the secret of making gold, if he could learn it.
That was yet concealed and, much more important,
so were the tubes. Those balloons, the radium-lit
cave in the Deer Fels. And there was the great
ethnic wonder of the people themselves, the marvel
of the Stationary Sun, the radium country! It
was impossible to reconcile ourselves to a lifelong
immurement in this monotony. Science must
break through into this chrysalis of wonders. It
was our bounden duty to bring <i>her</i> here. But
literally we were captives; the hocus-pocus of our
descent from the sky would not let us demean ourselves
in ordinary ways (in spite of past precedents
of the vulgarity on the part of heaven-descended
kings) and we began to see we had prepared a
dilemma for ourselves which might end more fatally
than the enmity of the little doctors had threatened.</p>

<p class='c016'>Now all was changed, and like flies in honey were
we hopelessly entangled. Perhaps the most fortunate
of us all was Spruce Hopkins himself, who
frankly loved Ziliah; but even he wanted to
“vamoose” and take his bride with him, for he
thought she would “take the edge off the jolliest
swell ladies anywhere.” The Professor, now the
joke was over and our necks safe, was sick to death
of his role, and only extracted a comforting morsel
<span class='pageno' id='Page_330'>330</span>of pleasure from it in its possibility of opening to
him the few but very peculiar secrets of physics and
chemistry which the Faculty of Radiumopolis
monopolized—monopolized too, we learned, by a
rigid system of verbal transmission. And then our
thunder! It wouldn’t last for ever; and our
celestial powers would fail conclusively in creating
cartridges on demand, owing to the unscrupulous
fondness on the part of the Radiumopolites, which
was having easily foreseen and disastrous consequences.
Our supply was shrinking fast. We
adopted the expedient of delegating the role of
<i>Thunderer</i> to the Professor, which saved shot, or at
least extended the usefulness of our arsenal. The
peaceful nature of the Professor was, however, so
far exasperated by the improvident urgency of his
subjects that he confessed to a murderous inclination
to shoot them at the same time. If any one of
us got away he would need his gun and ammunition
and much more—a stock of provisions too, and
transportation. We both felt pretty blue.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “One of us must make a break
soon.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I: “Well you certainly can’t. Your family’s
here now.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “Ziliah’s a sport. She might just
prove to be the guy to put <i>light</i> in flight. Besides
I could tell her some things about the way we live
in New York that might increase her desire to
travel.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I: “But we came from Heaven!”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “Yes, I know—we’re the angelic sort.
Say, if I wanted to desert Ziliah—and I don’t—I
could play up the Lohengrin gag. Get her to ask
questions, get mad about it—and <i>quit</i>.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I: “Easier said than done.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “There’s no chance to skip out up here
in this everlasting daylight.”</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_331'>331</span>I: “Pshaw! That isn’t it. Think of the journey
back; think of the ice pack.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Hopkins: “If we could only wireless back for a
relief expedition.”</p>

<p class='c016'>I: “<i>If.</i>”</p>

<p class='c016'>We turned back, gloomy and dispirited. When
we reached Radiumopolis we found King Hlmath
Bjornsen thundering from the Capitol and Goritz—gone.</p>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_332'>332</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER XIV<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>Goritz’s Death and the Gold Makers</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>I skip the coronation and enthronement of King
Hlmath Bjornsen of Krocker Land in Radiumopolis,
because the King asked me to do so in my
last interview with him. He wishes to reserve its
features for his great book. He thinks that the
ceremonies, taken in connection with many other
considerations prove that the Krocker Land culture
ties together a number of ancestral ethnic cults, and
that there is good reason to believe that the mixture
of semi-savage practices, the archaic or nepionic
status of society, the advanced language, the peculiar
acquisitions of the patrician class, their specialized
though limited knowledge, the vitality of the
serpent-monster worship taken in connection with
the biological fact of a partial, at any rate, survival
of Mesozoic conditions in limited topographic
basins, as seen in the Saurian Sea, in the chain of
swamps beyond the Pool of Oblation, and especially
in the undeniable and formidable fact of the existence
of the Crocodilo-Python, an animal quite
unlike any known saurian, indicate what he terms
the concatenated debris of a series of overlaid civilizations
and that its complete interpretation will
carry us back to the probable origin of <i>Homo
sapiens</i> and the Garden of Eden, restricted of
course to a purely naturalistic conception. (Erickson
<span class='pageno' id='Page_333'>333</span>took a long breath, and then—he was off
again.)</p>

<p class='c016'>The geological features of this polar pit, its
stepped or terraced conformation, the extraordinary
igneous activity revealed beneath it and
the disclosure herein of immense endomorphic
radium deposits, combined with unparalleled
meteorological phenomena are also reserved by the
Professor, the King, for personal and elaborate
treatment. With the especial opportunities now
available the Prof—the King (It’s difficult for me
to be consistent in alluding to my old friend) will
prosecute inquiry, so far as his official duties permit,
but through me, Mr. Link, he most fervently
implores scientific recognition of the facts so far
recorded in this narrative, and immediate scientific
interposition in his behalf and cooperation for his
assistance. (Erickson again paused and allowed
the full meaning of his elongated statements to
penetrate my purely secular mind.)</p>

<p class='c016'>However, this in passing, Mr. Link. I will recur
to it. Let me resume my story, omitting under the
foregoing stipulations any description of the Professor’s
enthronement. I am indeed approaching
the moment of my own hazardous dash from
Krocker Land for the outer world.</p>

<p class='c016'>Goritz, I said, had disappeared. It seems he
had not been seen for many <i>settas</i>—setta is equivalent
to about twelve hours. Hopkins and I had
been away scouring the countryside, and knew
nothing of Goritz’s whereabouts. I have already
hinted at his restlessness, moodiness, and his unceasing
hunt for gold. Latterly this had become
changed into an intense eagerness to revisit the
radium country with Oolagah to collect radium.</p>

<p class='c016'>We had not yet seen the process of transmutation,
certain as we were as to its accomplishment
and knowledge of the same among the Radiumopolites,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_334'>334</span>a knowledge probably limited to the
doctors. Goritz had a theory as to the illimitable
power of radium to effect this conversion. He was
mistaken. He was dissatisfied with the pieces we
had been given—oxidized lumps holding the unchanged
metal in their centers—and was always
teasing Oogalah to take him again to the radium
valley or chasm. Oogalah refused. I think he did
not relish Goritz’s company. Now Hopkins and I
believed Goritz harbored the intention to gather
his belongings at a favorable moment, mostly the
gold objects and the radium, and, trusting blindly
in his great strength, experience, and resources, to
force his way back to the Krocker Land Rim, regain
the coast, hunt up the naphtha launch and possibly
make some attempt to sail back to Point Barrow.
It was sheer madness. We had had few occasions
to argue it with him, as he rather avoided us, and
his secretiveness and stealthy activity strengthened
our suspicions. Hopkins half feared the unfortunate
man was losing his mind.</p>

<div id='p3341'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p3341.jpg' alt='a man lies prone at the lip of a volcano' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>GORITZ’S DEATH</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>But when we learned of his absence—we were all
rather marked men now in Radiumopolis and our
goings and comings were minutely noticed—I
suspected at once he had tried to get to the radium
fields alone and had been lost or destroyed there.
Taking Oogalah, now acting under orders, Hopkins
and I started out. We reached the peridotite hills
which afforded us such welcome relief against the
inordinate misery of our heads, that arose from the
powerful emanations of the region of the granite
ledges. No traces of our missing friend appeared.
Oogalah left us, passing through the gateway
between the sulphur patches, and made straight
for the edge of the cliffside that broke down into the
unapproachable and impossible crevice. Beyond the
farthest point he dared to penetrate lay the
prostrate body of Antoine Goritz, our former
<span class='pageno' id='Page_335'>335</span>leader, dead. Oogalah could see him plainly, but
he hesitated to try to reach him, and it would have
been impossible for him alone to have carried this
youthful giant back. Goritz’s head was towards
Oogalah coming from the east. He had fallen
headlong, a little crumpled up, as if in convulsions
when he fell, and in his hands, still clutched in an
irretractable deathgrip, were two lumps of radium.</p>

<p class='c016'>Sorrowfully Hopkins and I turned back, followed
by the mute but wondering Eskimo. We could not
possibly have recovered the body then, but we
hoped to later. We had already heard that the
workers in radium, the Gold Makers, were like
Oogalah immunized or less sensitive to its paralyzing
influence, and with some of these men we hoped
the recovery could be made. We noticed on this
sad errand that our own susceptibility had changed,
that it deterred us less, just as for months past the
irritation of the eyes from the peculiar light of the
land had passed away, which before, in the Deer
Fels, even in the Pine Tree Gredin, had afflicted
us. So, reluctantly we returned, fully assured by
Oogalah that with assistance from some of the
gold makers the body could be withdrawn. And
that, sir, partially led to our second visit to the
village of the Gold Makers.</p>

<p class='c016'>That gold was made by some miraculous power,
aided by some peculiar skill in the Radiumopolites,
we had convinced ourselves, before we reached that
city. Since then the spectacle of the Capitol, the
apparent extravagance of the use of gold in decoration
and in apparel, and even in the appurtenances
of the rooms and homes of the officers of the city,
the shockingly hideous Crocodilo-Python effigies
on the palace, and that impossible, realistic creation
of the Serpent-Throne in which the Professor sat at
the time of his triumphant coronation, and Ziliah’s
story and the equally credible narrations of Oogalah
<span class='pageno' id='Page_336'>336</span>confirmed specifically our suspicions. But we had
never seen it made, nor even found in the industries
of the city any trace of its manufacture. That the
odd encounter of ours with the sphalerite in the
limestone cave of the Deer Fels, when the convocation
of little men drifted down from the sky, borne
by those incommensurable balloons (and, by the
way, we had never since seen a balloon in use or
idle) had something to do with gold making, we
were positive.</p>

<p class='c016'>Since our arrival and establishment in the city
we had heard of the Gold Makers. It was for them
that Oogalah explored the radium fields near the
Crater of Everlasting Light. Oogalah told us most
of what we learned about them. They were a
different people again from either the Eskimo or the
Hebrew type in the city of Radiumopolis, and the
Valley of Rasselas. They lived in a secluded community
many miles away from Radiumopolis, and
seldom visited the city, though they occasionally
intermarried with the comely Eskimo girls or the
larger women of the small race. When we inquired
the cause of their isolation Oogalah said the <i>mines</i>
were where they were to be found, and the burial
grounds.</p>

<p class='c016'>The last named excited our wonder, but Oogalah
was vague on the subject and seemingly uninterested.
He did exhibit some enthusiasm over his
recollections of the wildness and beauty of the
country where the Gold Makers lived and worked,
and mentioned a mighty river there. This was the
river that issued from the Canon of Promise, the
effluent from the Saurian Sea, which, as I have said,
again turned westward and through another
savage defile entered the Kara Sea. That river I
named “<i>Homeward Bound</i>,” for by it I came out.</p>

<p class='c016'>Well, the Professor, after his accession, expressed
the strongest desire to see the Gold Makers and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_337'>337</span>their country, and said that we all must accompany
him. For the Professor had acquired a little knowledge
of the language, and with me as interpreter
he got on famously, and told the Council of
wise men that he was writing a book about them,
and after they had mastered the idea, for among
their other trivialities they had no books, no
writings of any sort, they took to it immensely.
This appeal to their vanity—megalomania literally
and figuratively—was a great stroke. Bjornsen
will find out all their knowledge before he abdicates.</p>

<p class='c016'>So it very soon materialized that we should be
shown the Gold Makers. (This was some time
before Goritz’s death.) It was a picturesque trip.
I shall never forget it, and for good reasons. It
started me on my way home.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Professor, Goritz, Hopkins, myself, and the
chief men of the Senate, Javan, Put, Hul, Peleg and
Hadad, made up the party with the guard, drivers
and a few attendants. We went in their odd
wooden-wheeled jaunting cars, pulled by the very
lively and entertaining rams.</p>

<p class='c016'>It would form an appealing and pleasant study
for me to describe the Junta of Radiumopolis—those
thirty humorous little figures, with the sedate,
old, and variously featured faces, a galaxy of physiognomies
that embraced good nature, cunning,
sullenness, querulous self importance, feebleness,
gravity, benevolence (more in the seeming than in
the reality, I take it) spitefulness, apathy, fussiness,
dullness, alertness, sympathy, cruelty, perhaps
sternness, and above all a mannerism of profundity
unspeakably amusing. Their physique is hopeless,
for they have pin bodies and have pin heads, as
Hopkins described them, and their off-the-center
look with their top-heavy heads and bowed
shoulders make a mannikin effect, ludicrous and
grotesque. All are dark.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_338'>338</span>But while we are on our way to the Gold Makers,
through the open flowering meads and broad
pastures and arable acres of the Rasselas Valley,
I will try very briefly—<i>in staccato</i>—to put before
you Javan, Put, Hul, Peleg and Hadad.</p>

<p class='c016'>Javan, the father of Ziliah, was by far the best
looking, and generally the best formed. His face
was really handsome, and his beard made no false
claim to being one. It was full and flowing. His
eyes were large, glowing and passionate. He
smiled too much, and a “few crowns and bridges
made from home material would have benefited his
mouth organ,” said Hopkins. His cheeks were
hollow and pale, but the positive beauty of the
broad white brow seemed to compensate for all
other defects.</p>

<p class='c016'>Put was a rather tall man, under the restricted
sense of long and short as applied to these gentlemen,
and nearly bald. His nose was a more
modest creation that those of most of his colleagues,
but his mouth, in so small a face, was portentous.
Nature by some ineptitude had almost omitted his
ears, and his eyes had a glassy and fixed stare
(when not concealed by the official goggles), but the
forlorn remnant of some forgotten smile had
become fastened in his face, which actually helped
the artificial effect of his eyes to the point of making
you almost believe he was of wood or plaster, and
not of flesh and blood. Hopkins quoted the Bab
Ballad verse, which runs,</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘The imp with yell unearthly-wild,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Threw off his dark enclosure:</div>
      <div class='line'>His dauntless victim looked and smiled</div>
      <div class='line in2'>With singular composure.</div>
      <div class='line'>For hours he tried to daunt the youth,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>For days indeed, but vainly—</div>
      <div class='line'>The stripling smiled! to tell the truth</div>
      <div class='line in2'><i>The stripling smiled inanely</i>.’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c018'><span class='pageno' id='Page_339'>339</span>Hull was somewhat shorter but he was a distinct
analogue to Put, with most of Put’s eccentricities,
softened, by no means to the point of extinction,
but so far as to make him a laughable simulacrum.</p>

<p class='c016'>Peleg was the best example of this small Semitic
people in the thirty Areopagites. He was really
muscular in a way, well developed, with a hawk’s
eye, and a severity that would require, I surmised,
very little provocation to turn it into ferocity.
His head seemed less ponderous, he carried it
straighter, and a deeper glow of redness in his face
imparted to him a humanity denied by the parchment-like
texture of his fellows. His beard too,
was full and his hair really rich and luxuriant. I
think he would have proven a firm friend.</p>

<p class='c016'>Hadad was an anomaly. He was fat. Hopkins
called him “the Alderman”; he was the presumably
happy possessor of a so-called corporation (as
Hopkins put it, “a Trust individualized as an
abdomen”), and his voice and laugh were musical.
Generally I don’t insist on the association, but I
have found it noticeable. Hadad had pop-eyes
and an incorrigible habit of spitting. He seemed
loquacious, and he usually could be found in the
midst of any discussion.</p>

<p class='c016'>This conventionalized description might produce
a wrong impression. These little men did not dress
in coat, vest and pants. Figure them in yellow or
blue tunics falling well below the knees, sometimes
in a sort of violet cassock, either bound with the
rococo gold belt and its conspicuous gold buckle,
with leggings or buskins, with the beehive hat, and
all this apparel on state occasions loaded with gold
chains. You can conceive that they presented a
most unusual appearance, even one of some dignity,
though it must be confessed their relatively large
noses undeniably depraved it with a vaudeville effect.
Hopkins never could get over this impression.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_340'>340</span>“Alfred, if I could ship ’em, as they stand, on the
hoof so to speak, to New York!—sign a contract as
manager, and bill ’em for a tour of the States, my
financial horizon would be cloudless. Eh?”</p>

<p class='c016'>The defects of these diminutive people seemed
increased by contrast with the taller race, who were
well made, normal in every way, and whose women
were most pleasing. And as regards the ladies of
the small type, they were much bigger than the
men—another fact to the disadvantage of their
undersized partners—and often, as with Ziliah,
they were superb. (The matrimonial question was
already looming ominously prominent for King
Bjornsen, and his counsellors, I knew, were solicitous
for his royal appreciation of their daughters—“one,
or several or all,” said Hopkins.)</p>

<p class='c016'>And <i>there</i> was the great and glorious land of the
Gold Makers. As we approached, its diversity and
contrasts became excitingly apparent. And, as in
myself dawned the scheme of making it the point of
my departure, or ESCAPE, to that great outer
world from which like thrown pebbles Chance—not
in this case a blind goddess—had dropped us into
this sealed and secluded lesser world, it assumed a
veritable splendor. Far off the shimmering agitation
of the broad stream that poured its accumulated
flood down a long grade from the Canon of
Promise, in a vast crosscut through the Pine Tree
Gredin, sparkled in our view. Hills, low and
sparsely wooded, rose from the floor of the Valley
of Rasselas—we had already reached the latter’s
northwestern limit—between them were flat and
grassed interspaces, and in the foreground a savannah-like
expanse, quite treeless, and then far to the
right the clustering villages of the Gold Makers.
Obviously the river dominated the scene, with that
far distant background of indefinite elevations
outlining the northern concentric bulwarks of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_341'>341</span>Krocker Land, beyond which a good glass might
detect the shroud of the Perpetual Nimbus, and yet
farther, infinitely removed, but seen in presence if
not in form, the snowy or ruddy pinnacles of
Krocker Land Rim. The river before it reached
the pastoral foreground had recovered its calm, and
only in its full tide did the gliding patches of foam,
and here and there a larger, more disquieted wave,
indicate the turmoil and torture of its descent.
The road drew near to its banks. Within our view
it turned westward, and we could see that it again
passed outward between the walls of a rugged and
imposing defile. Could I trust myself to its impetuous
current, and find over its boiling waters an
avenue of escape? So I mused, as we jolted along
and as, to me, the scenery brought back long forgotten
pictures of the Vale of Llangollen in
Wales.</p>

<p class='c016'>Scarcely were we in sight of the villages than
some of their occupants hurried to meet us. When
they came closer, to our wonder, we found them, as
Oogalah had described, of a different racial type
from the rest of the Radiumopolites and very unmistakably
Samoyedes, men from the vast Siberian
uplands, physically distinguishable by the broad
faces and pyramidal skulls of the Turanian family.
These nomads of the treeless fringes of Siberia, so
far as indications showed or inquiry elicited, had
been in a small company, wrecked on the Arctic
coast of Krocker Land in some dateless past. They
had made their way into the Valley of Rasselas, had
established themselves without molestation in this
restricted corner, and had then—how, remained an
unanswered or insoluble question—come under
subjection of the Radiumopolites. When the
peculiar industry which now engaged them had
developed was as indefinite in its relations to what
went before or followed after it as the advent of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_342'>342</span>supernatural(?) stranger who had taught Radiumopolis
the process of gold manufacture itself.</p>

<p class='c016'>It seemed however that at an early time these
Samoyedes had been appropriated as workers in
this singular art, because of their discovered immunity
from the deleterious effects or influences of
the hypostatic element.</p>

<p class='c016'>I saw men and women fishing in the broad river,
and to my amazement found their boats were
literally rafts—wooden logs bound together by
ropes or thongs of leather and fibre. Hardly had I
perceived this before the thought and hope flashed
through my mind that on some such vehicle of
transit I could trust myself to the stream, and that
it was most likely that these hardy highlanders
could give me the information I now needed as to
the channel, direction, debouchment, and navigableness
of the noble water in its course to the coast.</p>

<p class='c016'>One of the strange idiosyncracies of the Radiumopolites,
in spite of their attested skill in workmanship,
their intelligence and emotional liveliness, was
their obtuseness in geographic matters, or better,
<i>numbness</i>. I don’t think they ever questioned the
fact of their absolute finality both in place and in
existence. Outside of the distant Krocker Land
Rim was nothing but that blockade of ice, of which
they had heard—the gold belt found by Goritz was
a token of an aeronautic (?) reconnaissance—and
outside of that, if speculation in their minds suggested
the query, was just nothing again. As the
Professor said, “The centripetal tendency of many
primitive cultures was well understood, but in this
case it was pivotal on a new topographic conformation
that forbade migration.” I don’t suppose it
ever occurred to a Radiumopolite to even ask what
might become of that river cutting across this corner
of his Eden-like valley. They had become
<i>static</i>, and what they knew and what they enjoyed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_343'>343</span>never changed. In house building, in weaving, in
a rude artistry of design, in agriculture, in brick
and tile and pot making, in their religion, in their
games, they had attained a development that gave
them happiness. And that ended it. It was
Inca-like, or Mayan, Toltecan, Aztecan, or any of
the American cultures which inhabit one spot,
flourishing within it and never exceeding it, like the
phenomena of centralization in plants and animals.
And yet what questions this same culture suggested
to a less individualized student, that
diminutive Semitic race, the tree and serpent
survival, and this unique oligarchy of little magnates!</p>

<p class='c016'>Arrived within the precincts of the Samoyedian
village, there was a bustling reception from dogs
and children. These were the first dogs we had
seen. Then a slow emergence of women and older
men from the low briquette abodes followed.
Almost without noticing their salutations, Javan,
Put, Hul, Peleg, Hadad, leading the way, took us
through the scanty settlement to a series of barracks,
also made of burned clay briquettes, and
entered the first one. On long rude tables were
heaped, in this armory, piles of <i>galena</i> (lead sulphide),
and the glistening mineral was in nodules,
free and clear, or enclosed in a pulverulent limestone.
It was the duty here of the workmen to
extract the mineral from its matrix, pound it into
dust, and separate it in small wicker baskets. It
was then carried away in these receptacles, by men,
to other buildings. In another house or shed
<i>Sphalerite</i> (zinc sulphide) was similarly treated.
From these preparatory stages we passed to the
radium storehouse. This was practically a cave
dug in the side of the hill, where the material,
gathered by Oogalah was kept, and which we were
not permitted to enter. The radium masses were
<span class='pageno' id='Page_344'>344</span>thrown into this place through an opening above, a
sort of chimney, and removed below by an opening
which permitted their extrication by stone hoes.
As they were drawn out they were taken in baskets
to the Mixing House. The critical work was
effected here.</p>

<p class='c016'>In every respect it was like the other workshops,
but in it the workmen did not remain more than
two hours at a time, the “shifts,” as we would say,
being then changed. At one end of this building
the radium nodules were cleared of their dull
coatings of oxide. Instantly the metallic nuclei,
which was malleable to a slight degree, but which
soon developed brittleness, were pushed towards
other workmen, who hammered them with stone
mallets or hammers until they were broken or
splintered into grains or small angular pieces.
This triturated metal was pushed forward again
with slate knives to the last group of workers to
whom the basket of pulverized lead and zinc mineral
had been brought.</p>

<p class='c016'>These operators divided the broken radium into
lots and poured over each lot the contents of a
single basket. The heap thus formed of the commingled
radium and sulphide was then drawn to the
edge of the stone and brick table and carefully
scraped into a leathern or woven apron or bag and
tied up. From this house these bundles were
carried away to a distant upland which furnished
a favorable soil for their burial; they were deposited
in holes, five to ten feet deep, the
variation in depth having some reference to the
size of the bundles. These burials were then not
disturbed for a length of time which corresponded
to about a year of our time. At the expiration of
that period they were exhumed and examined.
Fortunately we were enabled to see this stage of the
process also. The bundle being taken out of its
<span class='pageno' id='Page_345'>345</span>sepulture is opened on a table and its contents
spread out in a thin layer. From the granular
commixture the gold particles are carefully picked
out, and are then collected for welding by pressure
into larger pieces.</p>

<p class='c016'>Certainly nothing could have been more amazing
than the exhibition thus offered of the transmuting
power of this wizard element. The transmutation
is never complete, that is, the original mass of
galena or sphalerite is never wholly converted into
gold. The residues are reinterred with the almost
unaltered radium, and after six months are again
examined. The second crop of gold grains invariably
is less, and after a third trial the mixture is
carefully freed from the radium and the unaffected
sulphide thrown out. The radium thus used is
kept apart from the fresher supplies of radium
whose potency is always stronger. But the partially
exhausted reagent is saved, and used over and
over again with fresh ores. For, just as the radium
suffers a diminution of efficacy, so does the sulphide
lose its susceptibility to its influence. This necessarily
involves considerable sorting, parceling,
labeling and adjustment. Superintendents watch
the operations of each workhouse, and the new and
old supplies of the radium and of the ores are
successfully recorded and mutually apportioned, as
experience dictates. The lead sulphide yields the
larger percentage of transmuted gold.</p>

<p class='c016'>In all instances the crop of gold is small, and its
accumulation slow, so that the rich displays at
Radiumopolis must have represented the result of
many years of this peculiar labor. Javan told me
that the yield of gold was steadily diminishing
because of the difficulty of obtaining radium, and
the almost exhausted condition of the lead and
zinc sulphide mines. Then he told me of a possible
new replenishment of the latter from deposits far
<span class='pageno' id='Page_346'>346</span>beyond the pine tree forest to the east. The
Professor, Hopkins, and myself exchanged an astute
smile of understanding as did also Goritz, though
less intelligibly. We recalled the flying trip of the
doctors, and the radium-lighted cave in the Deer
Fels. The mines of sulphide in the limestone hills
of the Gold Makers’ country are of the types familiar
to the miners of the same mineral in Minnesota,
Wisconsin and Iowa.</p>

<p class='c016'>With what wonder stricken faces the Professor,
Hopkins, Goritz and I gazed upon the flattened
piles of sulphide ore and radium, after the long-buried
mixture was taken out of the ground in
whose seclusion the miraculous effect had indisputably
been produced. The lead-gray glint of the
ore made more conspicuous the scattered dust of
gold amongst it, with particles cohering to half
converted lumps of galena. And our wonder
transcended words when we were led into an adjoining
room where the gold detritus was hammered
into sizeable bits, and these again compacted into
sticks or nodules, while on the shelves surrounding
this apartment, the collected masses lay in bewildering
confusion. Aladdin’s Lamp seemed almost less
insupportably incredible.</p>

<hr class='c024' />

<p class='c016'>It was on the occasion of the enforced second—but
much desired—visit, when we besought the
services of the Samoyedes to recover the body of our
lost friend, that I again studied, more closely, the
chances of the river liberating me from the increasingly
unendurable imprisonment. A few of the
hardened Samoyedes were brought back with us,
after this errand of mercy, to Radiumopolis, and
with Oogalah they recovered the body of Goritz.
I think the Council would have been pleased to
have instituted a special Crocodilo-Python festival,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_347'>347</span>and delivered the poor fellow’s body to the horrible
denizens of the neighboring swamps, but King
Bjornsen forbade that sternly, and it caused some
unpleasantness. It was another indication to me
of the inevitable “blow-up,” as Hopkins called it,
of our amicable relations with these Radiumopolites,
and the increasing urgency of my effecting my escape,
to bring to my friends the means of their
possible extrication. Under the pretence of returning
Goritz to the sky, from which (with us) he had
come, we secretly buried him in the valley, and
there he lies today.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was something of a <i>contre-temp</i> to have Goritz
die at all. It gave a rather second-hand and made-up
look to our claims to have come from the
heavens, and to the inquiring minds of our enemies
supplied undesirable data for starting grave doubts
as to our authenticity—still another danger lurking
in our path, or, as Hopkins gloomily put it,
“another nail in our coffins.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Our friend was King indeed, but the enthusiasm
that had carried him to that eminence lacked
permanence. It could not be rooted in racial consanguinity,
it was probably constantly decried by
the little doctors, and the Professor, to quote the
epigrammatic Hopkins, was a “poor mixer.” That
last word unveiled a multitude of perils.</p>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_348'>348</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER XV<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>My Escape</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>You must have observed, sir, that in my narrative
I have from time to time exhibited our variant
and varying frames or states of mind toward the
strange conditions we were approaching, and the
still stranger ones we actually entered. You have
been told that some of us dreaded to go on—myself
for instance—that later, diverted or enthralled by
the strangeness of it all, we wanted to go faster,
that from shrinkingly divining some disaster we
were lulled into the anticipation of great pleasure,
and that when our actual danger was reached and
surmounted it might seem we should almost have
resigned ourselves to stay; resigned ourselves to
that serenity of mind depicted by Doctor Johnson,
from whose work the Professor derived the name he
had given to the central vale of Krocker Land,
where, “such was the appearance of security and
delight which their retirement afforded, that they
to whom it was new always desired that it might be
perpetual.”</p>

<p class='c016'>But it surely does not require much penetration
of feeling, to say the least, or sympathy of mind, to
see that our position would very soon become unendurable,
from the same general repugnance in all
of us and from particular motives in each. To
begin with, we soon felt stifled in this recondite
and obsolete and trivial civilization; the very circular
<span class='pageno' id='Page_349'>349</span>enclosure which shut it in became a prison,
and after all, if we were of the same zoological
<i>stirps</i>, as these people, we had differentiated too
much for pleasurable association. At no time have
I felt so keenly that the breath of the modern man’s
life must be the breath of the world where it moves
the fastest and its breath is quickest.</p>

<p class='c016'>Then there was the wonderful discovery itself to
be published, the Professor’s notes, crowded upon
the pages of a notebook he had most carefully preserved,
to be given to science. Goritz before his
death yearned for the gratification of indulgences
to be purchased by his new wealth, and, as he
thought, his new knowledge. I revolted at the
surroundings, the snakes and the periodic sacrifices,
and feared an inevitable distrust and collision.
Hopkins loved Ziliah, but he had found in this
<i>rara-avis</i> a positive promise of supreme adaptation
to the best life he could give her in the world. At
any rate he wished to try it.</p>

<p class='c016'>Our discontent increased, our impatience chafed
our nerves, and in hastily stolen conferences we
determined upon a supreme effort to escape. We
were tormented by the espionage and ruffled manners
of the Council of Thirty, who interminably
buzzed about us, and had probably shrewdly
detected our hidden restlessness. And the utter
dullness of the life! Never before have I so unspeakably
realized that even if you cannot live in
the current of life, you must live near it, hear its
murmurs, watch its waves, and rejoice in knowing
those who swim either with or against it. We had
all been dreadfully disappointed in the Radiumopolites.</p>

<p class='c016'>Again and again we planned to break away under
some pretence of revisiting our celestial home,
hurrying off and disappearing completely, though
now we had made up our minds to return with big
<span class='pageno' id='Page_350'>350</span>reinforcements of assistance and to turn over this
new continent to the examination and gaze of
science. It seems a cruel decision. But why not?
Krocker Land could not in any case remain much
longer concealed, and we were entitled to the fruits
of our adventure, while we were reasonably confident
we could make its investiture by our civilization
safe, humane, undisturbing. I think differently
now, but that was our conclusion.</p>

<p class='c016'>“This Ascension business,” as Hopkins called it,
was just humanly possible by the use of balloons,
and it was apposite that at the Professor’s enthronement,
the aeronautics of the Radiumopolites were
displayed at last. It very oddly turned out that
only the smaller race played with the balloons.
The word is deliberately correct. These balloons
were a kind of household furniture or means of
diversion, as a bicycle is with us. They furnished
inexhaustible amusement to the little people, but
even there their use was limited to the very daring
or the <i>very light</i>. Almost every family possessed
one. And yet more curiously it was in the balloon
line that experiment and invention were actually
stirring these ludicrous people to improve and add
to what they knew. This activity sprang from the
unsatisfactory discrimination their present aeronautical
knowledge made between light and heavy
weights.</p>

<p class='c016'>This ballooning in Krocker Land is in every
way anomalous and extraordinary, and like their
knowledge of transmutation partakes of the miraculous,
certainly the previously unsuspected.
Science here is again in the presence of a New Departure.
The balloons are filled with a gas having
a far greater buoyancy than pure hydrogen and it
is derived from gas wells, themselves of very
moderate depth, but evidently supplied from far
more deeply seated sources. It is incontestable.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_351'>351</span>A balloon not three feet in diameter will levitate
thirty pounds!</p>

<p class='c016'>Except for the astonishing transmutation this
physical fact invades the realm of the unbelievable
more deeply than anything else.</p>

<p class='c016'>No evidence of this wide-spread predilection
appeared before the Professor’s enthronement.
The suppression of the sport had something to do
with the ceremonial rites of visiting the tree shrines,
I believe, the winter solstitial feeding with human
bodies of the saurians, and awaiting the spring
planting of grain. The opening of the season, so
to speak, is inaugurated by the ascent of the entire
Areopagus, and after that the amusement becomes
general.</p>

<p class='c016'>All of the Aeropagites are not equally expert,
and many, after a sufficient aerial excursion to meet
the ceremonial requirements, which are <i>de rigueur</i>,
subside and retire. But the art of sailing the air
is traditionally a matter of pride, and the leaders
do very well. It was an adventuresome trip for
them to have attempted reaching the outskirts of
Krocker Land when we met them softly settling
down on the Deer Fels, and it later proved almost
indubitable that they were the customary political
bosses, Javan, Put, Hul, Peleg and Hadad, though
a closer inspection of these worthies corrected some
of our first impressions, expressed before in that
chapter of this narrative.</p>

<p class='c016'>The experimental efforts at improvement arose
from the discontent and envy of the heavier individuals
over the glad pastimes and disportments of
the lighter ones. You see the method involved
the use of at least three balloons, one from each
shoulder and one from the waist, and as three feet
diameter was the maximum size, safely manipulated,
those weighing over ninety pounds—and
there were a great number of these, almost all
<span class='pageno' id='Page_352'>352</span>adults of the taller race, and many women of the
smaller—were simply excluded from this diversion.
<i>Hinc illae lacrymae</i>, and hence also the energy of
invention to overcome this disparity.</p>

<p class='c016'>When the sports began, nothing could have been
more interesting and spectacular. Groups would
rise together, separate, and reunite. This air-swimming
was effected by fans attached to the
wrists. But the Aeropagites revealed a superior
guidance, at least we imagined so, for when their
floating shapes had thrown shadows on the illumined
summits of the Deer Fels, they had been
provided with those inexplicable tubes, and up to
the moment of my escape these miracles had not
been repeated. And the NEW tubes—where were
they?</p>

<p class='c016'>The proper state of the weather was indispensable
and only in complete calms would the amusing
exhibition take place. As in all exercises,
bolder spirits attempted their excursions under
perilous conditions in high or moderate winds, but
these had often resulted in loss of life, the unhappy
aeronaut falling or actually being driven headlong
like a fly or moth beyond the valley into the solitudes
and dangers of its encircling zones.</p>

<p class='c016'>The harness—for it is nothing less—which the
aeronaut assumes holds him easily and steadily to
the three bubbles above him, and, as he generally
can regulate his flight with his hands, his indeterminate
control is over his descent. Few accidents
occur. The balloons are symmetrized in position
over him, the one at the waist being nearest his
body and the two outside bags higher but on a level
with each other. His control is entirely over the
central balloon which he may quickly deplete by
opening a valve. Variations of adjustment and of
apparatus, as might be imagined, are numerous,
and individual tastes or designs introduce great
<span class='pageno' id='Page_353'>353</span>diversity. There may be four or five or even six
balloons employed, but in this case they are made
much smaller. The balloons may be of different
sizes. Along the direction of increasing the number
of maximum sized balloons lay the hopes of the
bigger people, but there had been some bad mishaps,
and the balance or adjustment proved difficult.
The levitation became unmanageable, and
the descents were often appallingly rapid and
shockingly tragic.</p>

<p class='c016'>When these air revels began—as they did at the
Professor’s coronation—minus the crown—we momentarily
seized upon the project of adapting this
locomotion for our flight. It required a very brief
inspection to utterly expose the hopelessness of
this scheme and still more strongly occurred to us
the prohibition from attempting to leave together.
Such a wholesale evacuation, unless accomplished
as one might say <i>de coup de tonnerre</i>, would never be
practicable, and as Hopkins ruefully reminded us,
“Ziliah may be an angel, but I’d rather sour on her
prospects of being a balloonist.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Literally I was the only free man, now that
Goritz was gone, and literally upon me devolved
the task of getting back, rousing the world, and
effecting my friends’ release. How should, how
could I do it?</p>

<p class='c016'>Always distressed by this inseparable anxiety,
the trip to the Gold Makers suddenly appealed to
my searching mind with a strong likelihood that the
great river we had skirted might carry me safely,
and, too, with a swiftness beyond our hopes to
liberty, though when more seriously considered, it
might prove, I saw, to be only the <i>Liberty of Death</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>Immediately, therefore, after our return I found
a convenient occasion to discuss this project with
the Professor and Hopkins. It struck them both
favorably, though they rather shrank from recommending
<span class='pageno' id='Page_354'>354</span>it, as it was equally clear that if the river
could be, as it were, employed at all, it would probably
prove to be an obstreperous and mischievous
servant. However, that <i>way lay my path</i>.</p>

<p class='c016'>Under the pretence—hardly ever now were we
free from some dogging spy at our elbows—of
wishing to report more faithfully the operations of
the Gold Makers in that book which he was
writing on Radiumopolis, and which somehow had
now captivated the fancy of the Council, the Professor
(King Bjornsen), Hopkins and myself revisited
the distant village. Although we were not
permitted to go unattended, it was easy enough for
me to engage the Samoyedes in conversation, and
ask them about their knowledge of the great river.
They spoke quite freely about it, and proved not
only willing to tell me all they knew, but discouraged
my plan to navigate the river to its mouth, by a
not altogether lucid account of the attempt of one of
their fishermen to venture on the river beyond the
rocky gateway frowning on them to the west, and
of his receiving some sort of violent treatment at
its hands, he being thrown ashore and returning
along the banks of the stream, reaching home
almost more dead than alive. So ran their broken
and obscure story.</p>

<p class='c016'>Where was this man? “Dead.” Were any of
his family, descendants, acquaintances, intimates,
living? “Oh—yes—he knew everybody.” After
some painstaking examination, accompanied by an
immense amount of irrelevant recollections of what
he did after his return, how he died, and how he
was buried, his size, his strength, his obstinacy,
and a recital of the disposition of his slender estate,
I uncovered a trail of associations leading to an old
blind man who was yet alive, and who, it was
supposed, knew a little more exactly than anyone
else what this daring disciple of Izaak Walton had
seen or experienced.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_355'>355</span>This ancient was located, but it proved a mountainous
task to extract much intelligible information
from him, partly because he was dreadfully
deaf, hopelessly stupid, and so incoherent that the
interpreters chosen to interview him appeared to
be at their wits’ ends to make him out, and more
particularly because he was himself suspicious of
his examiners.</p>

<p class='c016'>I at last came away with the impression that the
man had floated off peacefully on the swelling
breast of the flood as it emerged from the broad
lake-like embayment in the Gold Makers’ land, and
had been carried along for a great distance at a
rapid rate but not with much or any danger, until
the descent brought him to a change in the bed or
banks of the river (what this change was could not
be determined), and that he had even survived this,
but that later he jumped overboard from his raft
(for raft it was), and reached the shore and, satisfied
with his adventure, had made his way back by
almost incredible exertions.</p>

<p class='c016'>Singular as it may seem to you, sir, my deductions
from this incomplete story, bristling as it
might seem with unimagined, untold dangers, were,
that the river maintained a full flow, was seldom
interrupted by obstructions, had some serious
breaks in its grade, which, however, did not involve
actual falls, and, if violent at any point, was not
unnegotiable, as you say. The fisherman evidently
passed the worst place alive, but did not survive
the shock. He lost his nerve and got ashore—and
besides, in his case, there were most valid reasons
for objecting to a lengthier transit.</p>

<p class='c016'>This favorable interpretation, so far as it helped
me to make up my mind, was really itself helped by
a kind of desperation. It was impossible for me to
remain in this solitude any longer. An almost
fierce monomania of repulsion was growing within
<span class='pageno' id='Page_356'>356</span>me, and, of some natural hardihood myself, this
excitant for action bestowed on me an almost unnatural
indifference to danger.</p>

<p class='c016'>Later I told my friends I had made up my mind.
Whatever perils lay in my way I would cope with
them as I could—but GO I would, and as an avenue
of escape that seemed to promise the quickest
release I preferred the river. There were many
solemn and affecting conferences—continued as we
had opportunity—and the preparations were, so
far as the resources allowed, carefully made. They
were indeed so wisely made that I reached the
Siberian Sea safe and sound. The intervention of
Luck or Providence in assisting him, is consciously
or unconsciously expected by every Arctic explorer,
probably by any explorer; and with the contribution
of his best judgment, unsparing effort, and
personal fortitude, he is inclined to put the blame
of his failure—if he fails—on those two omnipotent
factors. If he succeeds, a brave man is probably
not less inclined to give them the credit.</p>

<p class='c016'>We selected the best rifle of our little collection,
stored all of our ammunition, depending on the
ingenuity of Hopkins and the King to reconcile the
Radiumopolites to this sequestration of their
beloved thunder, the Professor entrusted to me
some pencil scribbled papers, and then we turned
our attention to my personal equipment. I
believed that in a week’s time at the most I would
be enabled to reach the coast. We all felt that,
assuming a parallel conformation of the various
zonal strips we had traversed entering Rasselas,
their proximity on the west argued for a probable
narrowing of their width. To have attempted the
eastward route over the path we had taken had no
attractions for me, and from the first we felt my
absence would then be more quickly discovered,
and myself <i>willy-nilly</i> overhauled.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_357'>357</span>But later we turned our first plans upside-down.
Hopkins said my departure should be a public
event, that we would never be able to accomplish
anything satisfactorily in this hidden, secret
fashion.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Take the bull by the horns; fly a high kite and
put it up to ’em this way. Tell ’em the shade,
spirit, spook, anything that’s handy of Antoine
Goritz, has appeared to you, and told you to take to
the water; that big things will be brought back that
way; that the Serpent God wishes it—Oh, anything.
Hand it out strong and lively and scary.
I guess that’ll rehabilitate Goritz too, give him the
<i>saecula saeculorum</i> sort of effect, and it won’t do us
any harm either to keep up our show of being on
intimate terms with ghosts and such.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“Will they believe it?” I asked.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Sure. Why not? What else have they got to
do? They’re made that way. All of these rubbishy
people who came into existence before gas and
electricity, the telephone, trolley car, pasteurized
milk and incubators, will believe anything you tell
’em about goblins and witches and scarecrows and
second sight and dreams and invisible voices. Try
it, Alfred. It’s a cinch.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Well, we did try it and it was, to put it that way,
an unalleviated success. Still there was a fly in the
ointment, in a way. Ziliah told Hopkins the little
doctors were overjoyed—they wanted <i>me</i> out of the
road. I asked the Professor and Hopkins what
they thought about that and they both agreed
they could take care of themselves. This upshot of
the matter was indeed a rather disturbing surprise,
but—my departure was a triumph!</p>

<p class='c016'>The resources of Radiumopolis were at my disposal—food,
clothing, and although direction or
information could not be furnished, the physical
requisitions for combating hunger and cold were
<span class='pageno' id='Page_358'>358</span>generously provided. This alacrity on the part of
the little rulers was unmistakably connected with
their expectation that the adventure would be the
last of <i>me</i>. They were obedient to the injunctions
of King Bjornsen, but their subserviency was
hypocritical in its protestations of devotion.</p>

<p class='c016'>Unluckily there was the most helpless ignorance
of boat making to contend with, and the additional
provocation to despair that there were no tools to
make them with. This historic fisherman had
tried to do the trick with a raft. I would take a
raft too. What else? The Samoyedes built them
well and strongly, and under my uncontrolled
supervision a narrow raft made of two tiers of logs,
crossed in position and bound together with the
strongest ropes, was prepared. On this a woven
hamper was firmly fastened, and in that were placed
my provisions (tortillas, and dried meat) and extra
clothing, and rugs, and a sleeping bag of sheepskin.
A pack strapped to my back carried Goritz’s gold
souvenirs, some radium masses, a compass, chronometer,
matches and a selection of fishing hooks and
lines. A gun was almost riveted to my side, so
immobile did it seem. But the <i>tour de force</i> of foresight
was involved in the insertion of two short
posts (five feet high) at the stern, though distant
from the raft’s edge by about three feet, and distant
from each other by three feet. To each of
these posts, at the level of my shoulders, was
reamed a hole for two looped leathern thongs, so
adjusted that standing between the posts I could
insert my arms in the loops, clasp my hands across
my breast, and secure a chancery that nothing
short of dislocation of the raft itself could break, or
the avulsion of my own arms from their sockets,
while in an instant I could free myself.</p>

<p class='c016'>The Samoyedes rigged up a rude steering tiller
which of course was indispensable. It consisted of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_359'>359</span>a girdle suspended from a cross piece, binding the
two abovementioned posts, through which a stick
paddle was swung. It was decidedly awkward, as
it displaced me from my position of safety between
the posts, and therefore at critical moments might
prove quite worthless, if not a positive danger.
Here I must count on my own agility and strength.
Besides this tiller half a dozen poles and as many
oars were tied to the posts projecting above them
like short masts. These might prove very serviceable.
But there was also a last Atlantean touch.
Two of the three foot balloons were firmly tied to
the crosspiece of the upright posts. It was the Professor’s
suggestion, and I am positive that at a
critical twist it saved matters.</p>

<p class='c016'>That was about all, except that some further
records were given me by Bjornsen and they were
consigned to the great woven hamper. Well,
some learned societies will be saved head splitting
disputes, and no less head dizzying theories, the
former perhaps not altogether harmless. <i>That
hamper never came through.</i></p>

<p class='c016'>By the beginning of July I was ready for the
plunge. The day was auspicious, clear but torrid,
with the stationary sun wrapped in luminous
clouds, and its overwhelming rival coursing a higher
altitude in unchecked splendor. The great river
assumed an enticing placidity; its tranquil current
had even lost the chained bubbles floating from the
shattering cascades that freed it from the Canon of
Promise. And Radiumopolis had bodily transferred
itself to the scene; the banks, the hills, the
roofs of a few abandoned sheds were closely
crowded, by a wonderfully variegated multitude,
intensely interested, subdued into a faintly murmurous
throng by the excitement of admiration.
I was something more than a hero that day. Obeying
the summons of the spirit of my former companion,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_360'>360</span>I was to rejoin him along that trackless
pathway of the great river, whose banks touched
heaven, in whose inaccessible depths dwelt all the
demons of death and terror.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was a reservation of space, at the point
where my raft swung uneasily, for the King, the
Council, Hopkins and Ziliah, and the magistrates
of the city, and only a Hogarth could have done
justice to that commixture of physiognomies, the
odd and contrasted figures, interspersed with the
taller men and women, all wearing their regalia, and
the massed battalions beyond them in holiday array.
Some daring aeronauts circled in the air
above me. Flowers did not figure in the festivals
nor in the predilections of the Radiumopolites,
though blue and yellow blossoms lit their landscapes
with a smile of floral prettiness that was very
bewitching, and their own blue and yellow tunics,
or coats, indicated some sympathy with these
colors. On this occasion I was presented with some
flat pincushion-like mats made up of these flowers
by some blushing girls, and from the laughter—gentle
and decorous—that this evoked, I believed
they evinced a warmer sentiment than regret. Of
course my mission, as publicly declared, precluded
my probable return, or, at least, it meant my long
absence. By the Council doubtless, certainly by a
few undisguised enemies in it, it was hoped that it
meant my wholesale and irremediable destruction.</p>

<p class='c016'>As I shook hands with all I came at last to the
Professor (King Bjornsen) and Hopkins. Our
hands closed tightly and we dared not look each
other in the face. I heard Hopkins whisper,
“Heaven help you,” and if prayer reaches the
throne of Grace when it is consecrated by the
heart’s holiest hope, that prayer, I know, ascended
to its place. As the Professor embraced me, he
loosened the belt of lead I had worn and replaced it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_361'>361</span>with a heavy gold girdle whose big buckle bore the
carven Serpent. That, Mr. Link, I have never
shown to anyone. Diaz, Huerta nor Angelica have
ever seen it. It will amaze you. The Professor
removed it from his own waist. There was a half
hushed remonstrance. But the King’s gift was
interpreted favorably, and as I received it a shout
went up, and even the Council, for prudent reasons
possibly, indulged in a titter of endorsement. My
raft was pushed by willing hands into the stream.
Its prow or front yielded to the gentle urgency of
the current, and turned. I stood upon the hamper,
and waved my hat—not the beehive contraption
but a sheepskin fez—and again the Radiumopolites,
now strangely stirred by this solemn
gliding departure of a single man into the unknown,
broke spontaneously into one of their sing-song,
not quite unmusical, and not exactly musical,
chants, which rising in pitch until it swelled to me
over the water, almost seemed, I drearily thought,
like a dirge. Its crooning wail still filled my ears
when all details of the multitude were lost, and the
shadow of the great gateway of rock, into which the
river was relentlessly carrying me fell across the
glassy wave that had now become my path to
liberty.</p>

<p class='c016'>There was now nothing to be thought of but self-preservation
amid unknown and unsuspected dangers.
I seized some bread—<i>tortilla</i>—a hunk of the
dried, not unpalatable meat, and drank some wine.
This interjected meal raised my spirits. A momentary
<i>sang-froid</i> replaced my nervousness, and
indeed, so great was my exultation at the thought of
regaining the vanished world, of liberation from an
unendurable stagnation and the bald, horrible
misery of a silly paganism, that I became almost
cheerful. That mood did not last long. Already
I had passed the portal of the deep canon. The
<span class='pageno' id='Page_362'>362</span>red sandstone walls rose in sheer precipices above
me, and were rising visibly higher beyond. A few
shrunken pine trees clung here and there to shelves
of rock, while through some upward openings, and
leading into transverse valleys, I caught glimpses
of the dark green motionless tops of the serried
trees that here marked the amphitheater of the
Pine Tree Gredin.</p>

<p class='c016'>The grimness of the swiftly developing descent
almost appalled me now. I was on the back of a
resistless flood not yet maddened into a fury of
impetuous violence by opposition, nor quickened
into the onset of a galloping torrent by sharper
changes in its gradient, but doubtless bringing me
and my smoothly drifting raft into just such wild
vicissitudes. Could either one or the other survive
them? The clumsy boat beneath my feet was a
willing servant. It responded to the strokes of the
tiller, and my dismal forebodings were momentarily
forgotten in the amusement it gave me to swing the
raft from side to side of the still broad waterway.
As the light became dimmer, and a half crepuscular
dusk crept into the deepening fissure over whose
topmost edges the sky hung like an illuminated
ribbon, I felt the grip of a solemn dread, the precurrent
rigor of that deadly <i>rigor animae</i> which
palsies the heart.</p>

<p class='c016'>Still on and on, in a course that scarcely deviated
from a straight line, and thus safely conducted <i>us</i>
(to me my little barge shared, as a sentient thing,
our common danger, and it alleviated my solitude
to fancifully, as children do, personify it, talk to it,
praise it) toward that distant goal, the ice-packed
shore of Krocker Land. The bed of the stream lay
in a rectilinear joint and the weathering on either
side had not greatly widened the aperture above.
The picture changed only in detail. The frowning
sides, walls scarcely relieved by any vegetation or,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_363'>363</span>which, if there, was too far above me for my eyes to
detect, offered no distinction in color. Nature had
not here spread her palette of blending hues, those
that over the silent expanses of the Grand Canon
of the Colorado transfer the colors of sunset to the
immutable stone. It was the utter sternness, the
harsh, immense uniformity of the still increasing
precipices that crushed the soul. I seemed like an
atom in the void, a plaything of nature; for a
moment, and for a moment only, seen in this outraged
solitude, to become then a part too of the
lifeless panorama.</p>

<p class='c016'>The cliffs rose now a thousand feet or more, and
sensibly receded, the dislodged blocks from their
summits building an awful fringe of titanic boulders,
angular monoliths, at the water’s edge. Beyond
me stretched the unvarying avenue, the shooting
river seeming far away, motionless and fixed like a
congealed mass, though every particle of it was
flying onward with fresh acceleration. There
could be no doubt of that. Points observed on
the shores were more and more rapidly passed.
This hastening pace became to me a portent of disaster.
The angry river, placable at first, luring its
audacious victim onward, now in sullen mastery,
with a rising temper, as if impatient over its own
leniency threatened to hurl the petty intruder, the
graceless little egotist, into eternity. It would
have done with him, washing his lifeless corse on its
sullied waters to the depthless ocean, a memento
and a warning, if so paltry an object could be either.
Thus I seemed to divine the storm of its gathering
wrath.</p>

<p class='c016'>So far the great volume of water had been accommodated
in the channel, and the surface of the river
was almost smooth. But with the increasing speed
the channel narrowed, and the water became turbulent.
Waves rushed on and out from the shores
<span class='pageno' id='Page_364'>364</span>and rolling backs of water chased each other in the
center of the stream. Fortunately, though the
waves washed the raft from end to end and sometimes
drove me to the protection of the upright
posts, the river maintained its straight course, and
we still rode gallantly onward. There were sudden
dips, down which we slid with alarming velocity,
that made me shudder, but nowhere a rock, a
breaker, no treacherous bend, no falls, not even yet
the dashing turmoil of a rapid. What invention of
malice was this?</p>

<p class='c016'>Suddenly my eye noticed a prominent bulge in
the river, perhaps three or four miles ahead. It
lay about midstream. Here was some formidable
interruption? Was there a sluice-way on either
side of it? If so I could avoid it; the balloons
helped my buoyancy. The raft trembled. Ah,
already it felt some premonitions of the tussle.
Yes, a decided—no, not a bulge after all; it was a
drop, the river fell over a ledge, but apparently a
low one, so low that the deep volume filled it up,
making the transition from above to below it inconsiderable,
and below—I could just see—was retardation,
and expansion; the river moved there over
a flat! Curious, such relenting!</p>

<p class='c016'>“Have no fear, Old Boy,” I shouted, stamping
the logs beneath me to awaken their attention,
“stick together, take a brace and over we go, safe
and sound.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The spot seemed to rush towards us. For an
instant I hesitated. Should I scoot to the sides
and avoid the plunge? Was it a trap? The tortuous
flow sideways might smash us against the rocks,
and then—Ah! then, <i>requiescat in pace</i>. Down
the center, sink or swim, there was no help for it—once
over, thrice saved—a wetting perhaps, perhaps
a mouthful of water.</p>

<p class='c016'>The boiling water lashed us, and something like
<span class='pageno' id='Page_365'>365</span>a moan came to me from the shores, almost as if the
baffled river gnashed in its impotent disgust. I
steered for the rounded mound in front; a straining
creak from the grinding logs, a sharper bolt ahead—I
clung to the posts, and the neglected tiller dragged
behind—another sprint and I saw the shelving face
of the water below the drop tossing furiously.
Over, with an upward jolt; that was the greatest
danger of all. But the sturdy frame held together,
and then in a tussle of bristling waves, noisy, each
one striking over its neighbor’s shoulder at us, and
I hard at the tiller, we raced down the slope, inundated,
wrenched, even pitched a little, but quite
safe, quite sound. I could not restrain my impulse
to shout, though a moment later, as the mocking
echoes smote my ear, fear stilled my voice, and
stunned conscience whispered: “Pride goeth before
a fall.”</p>

<p class='c016'>The raft swam later into the center of a lake-like
space, in a welter of bubbles and foam from the
cascading water. The cliffs here declined, and to
the north a pass led upwards at whose termination
on the waterside two deer were actually drinking.
Had they heard me shout? Their undisturbed
assurance denied it. But now they caught sight of
me and were retreating with backward glances as
they halted on the grass-lined trail. I was in the
Deer Fels.</p>

<p class='c016'>I steered my craft, which had now gained the
prestige of an actual companionship, toward the
shore, drew out one of the poles, and poled it carefully
inshore at a sandy brink not far from the footprints
of the deer. I was very quiet now, so as not
to frighten away the animals who watched me from
a high point. Their presence delighted me, and
reinforced my courage. Had they been at my side
I could not have raised a hand against them, so
fraternal and human did they seem. But oh, for a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_366'>366</span>voice to answer my own! I talked to myself, but
not loudly. I dreaded to wake those jeering echoes.</p>

<p class='c016'>The sunlight streamed through the pass, and I
went up a short distance very softly, for the deer
were vigilant, but still remained where I could see
them. I lay down on a grassy knoll and dried myself.
Then I returned to the raft and picked out
some food. Much of it was wet and the contents
of the hamper needed overhauling and drying. I
made a fire, finding some chance sticks and wood,
and in the one kettle left to us, and which Hopkins
had given me, I actually made a stew which tasted
divine.</p>

<p class='c016'>Then I climbed to the top of the ridge and looked
about. I could see the pine trees’ shadow eastward,
the rolling hill land of the Fels about me, and
beyond, westward, the big plateau of the aquatic
trough, and then I thought I caught the pale,
fluctuating, gushing pillars of the Nimbus and, as
had often happened from other points, glimpses of
the pinnacled and snow-capped Rim. I momentarily
doubted my own resolve. Should I abandon
the raft and travel over the land to the coast? But
that awful crevice of the Nimbus rose threateningly
to mind. I feared it. Before it the untried terrors
of that descent to the coast by the imprisoned
plunging stream actually looked inviting. Perhaps
too the worst was over. And then the quickness
of it. Twenty-four hours more and I would
be released. Released? How? Thrown on a pitiless
coast, beleaguered by the endless ice! What
madness was this. Safety, a kind of animal happiness,
at least, had been mine in the sleeping vale of
Rasselas. But now—? I shuddered, and the
swarming rogues of despair and foreboding rose in
clouds like gnats from a shaken bush. It was an
instant when a man’s heart seems to weaken into
water.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_367'>367</span>I had slowly retraced my way, and there I stood
at the edge of the waterway, one foot lifted to step
upon the raft, to all appearances a man calmly bent
upon the fulfillment of his purpose. And yet all
the while I was beset with conflicting and warring
thoughts. It was so as I took the sleeping bag and
a rug or so and tied them to the posts, arguing
almost unwittingly that, were the hamper swept
away, I would thus save <i>them</i>. And then blindly
I crammed my pack—ready at any crisis for my
back—with food. It was even so as I took my
place on the raft, as I pushed it off from the shore,
as I maneuvered it into the streamway, even as I
took the tiller and guided my boat on to the fastest
current. The automatic force of some ulterior
prevention just kept me in the chosen line of work,
unconsciously and yet irreversibly. Strange!</p>

<p class='c016'>Again the darkness of the canon walls fell around
me, and then only the subdued mind rose and reformed,
as it were, visibly, my unalterable determination.
And indeed now there no longer was
room for incertitude. The rush forward keyed
every sense into a vivid expectancy. The bed of
the river had become more gorge-like, the uneven
and projecting cornice edges of the rock on either
side sent back the bounding water, and the surface
around me was filled with leaping waves. The
course though, most luckily, remained almost
undeviatingly straight. To have engineered a
curve or any sharp deflection would have been
almost impossible at the rapid swing the raft was
taking in the descent, which, however, hardly
varied from my previous experience. It was difficult
enough to keep “my keel” steady, with the
constant tendency of the logs to throw themselves
across the stream. It was buffeted by the “rollers”
sent inward from the shores, and the rapid pull of
the midstream was itself interrupted or diverted by
<span class='pageno' id='Page_368'>368</span>the development of short waves, that chased down
the center of the channel, and that indicated obstructions
or inequalities in the bed over which the
water was impetuously pouring.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was only by the stiffest exertions that I was
enabled to keep the raft headed true, and, as it was,
over the rougher passages it was swept with water.
I was drenched, the spray and waves splashed and
rose upon me. I now realized the indispensable
assistance given by the posts and the unbreakable
loops, one of which at least was constantly in use.
The management of the tiller, in this half imprisonment,
was awkward, but in spite of strains, shiftings,
violent jolts and lunges the raft shot well along
the center, and did not seriously deviate from an
axial position.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was evident, too, as we swept onward, though
my attention was too eagerly fixed on the recurrent
predicaments in the water to be able to notice it
carefully, that the canon above had enormously
widened. I mean that the upper walls had receded
through progressive weathering; the tunnel-like
grimness had somewhat softened, and more light
fell on me. Fortunately there were changes in the
gradient of the rocky floor, and while some were on
the wrong side of the account, others introduced
agreeable relief. These latter were more level
stretches where the turbulence disappeared, and the
raft floated evenly, and was easily kept obedient to
her helm.</p>

<p class='c016'>I had been running safely enough, though the
margin of safety, it must be said, was often a very
narrow one, for some ten or twelve hours, and the
loss of sleep, constant anxiety, the wetting and the
indifferent sustenance had been slowly telling on me
when my weary eyes detected a new, perhaps a
crowning danger.</p>

<p class='c016'>Before me the walls of the canon seemed to close—they
<span class='pageno' id='Page_369'>369</span>always did so in the manner of a perspective
coalescence—but this was now different. There
was a break in the continuity of the channel. The
stream turned to the left, and I saw a wall of rock
before me. At such a point a whirlpool effect was
inevitable, and this, apart from the danger of a
wreck on the rocks in the rapids, I had most
dreaded.</p>

<p class='c016'>I noticed the elbow was rounded towards the
south, forming a sort of pool, and reminding me of
the Niagara whirlpool, but it was not so large, and,
as the raft began to be seized by a stronger current,
it was also evident that the bed sloped again, and
that the stream attained a dangerous velocity.
The waves spanked and broke over the raft, the
distance was white with foam; I was rocked as in a
cradle, and I felt that I must abandon the tiller,
insert myself between the posts, and hold on to the
loops. If the raft escaped or survived engulfment
I might then be saved. The balloons were intact
and their attachments unbroken. They were
doing some service, though a slight one, as they
dragged behind me, restraining my descent.</p>

<p class='c016'>Another feature appeared ahead in the rapidly
nearing vortex, about which all doubt was now
removed; I could see its powerful rotation. This
new feature was a periodic uplift of the water from
the pool in a broad spout or fountain, ejected obliquely
and falling on the waves beyond the whirlpool
itself. At first this outburst alarmed me.
Its discharge seemed so unaccountable and so violent.
A moment later I felt it might mean my
safety.</p>

<p class='c016'>On like an arrow <i>we</i> sped—the raft had become a
companion—and fearing the tiller might in some
way become entangled or deflected and in the turmoil
of our certain submergence play some fatal
trick that would disable me, I cast it loose. I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_370'>370</span>could see it swing past the raft, and dance madly
on the combing surges. Then it was lost but I
strained my eyes to detect, if possible, its emergence
in the spout ahead. I thought I saw it, but now in
the clutches of the ravenous tide, I became blind
with unmistakable terror. The noise of the chaotic
water around me seemed like a low roar, mingled,
too, with an interminable hiss, and in the gloom of
the desolate stony chasm the menace almost
darkened my mind and made me unconscious.</p>

<p class='c016'>A boom struck my ear, low, definite, smothered;
I attributed it to the regurgitant geyser from the
whirlpool. A leap forward, a choking rattle from
the logs beneath, and then a wrenching twist that
threw my feet from under me, and the water rose
solidly over my head. I could reach the air by
pulling myself upward on the straps about my arms.
I saw the balloons tugging desperately and two
reports like the bursting of a bomb immediately
followed. They were in tatters. Again I sank;
this time it seemed like doom. Yet I was still conscious,
and then, as if an omnipotent arm thrust
from below raised us, I felt the raft pressed upward
against the welter and inrush, and then a titanic
convulsion, and the raft, and I dangling to the
posts, were shot bodily out of the maelstrom,
though scarcely lifted above the surface; and,
enveloped in the hill of water that accompanied us,
the raft swam out again upon the descending
stream, in a turbulence of waves that made me
dizzy with its confusion.</p>

<p class='c016'>I hardly realized I was alive, but in a few minutes
every sense attested its reality. I <i>felt</i> the pack on my
back—I had very early secured it there—I <i>heard</i>
that the creaking, groaning logs were still intact,
I <i>looked</i> before me and saw the hamper had been
swept away, I <i>tasted</i> the cold water in my mouth.
I was saturated, it almost seemed, and I was faint,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_371'>371</span>perhaps from shock, in a measure. The sturdy
posts which had been my refuge were unshaken,
and now, straight before me in a shouting turmoil,
the waters put on to me a friendly guise, and seemed
just delirious over my escape. So quickly does the
temperature and spirit of the heart find its reflection
in inanimate nature. For now, though I had
been despoiled I was safe, and my gun, my cartridges,
some food at least, my fishing tackle, the
evidences of Krocker Land, many notes, the compass,
matches—in a watertight box—and, thanks
to my forethought a rug and a sleeping bag were all
with me, as most helpful friends.</p>

<p class='c016'>The recovery had been so unexpected that I felt
gay as a child, and as the French say, everything
about me wore for a little while <i>couleur de rose</i>.
The stream itself, ample and full, sprawled out in a
wider bed; before me a break in the canon walls,
on one side, indicated some tributary valley and
affluent and—I was rummaging my pack—here
was a bottle of undiluted, unwatered wine! I
almost emptied it. A tortilla and some strips of
dried meat completed my banquet. I was myself
again. The poles and paddles lashed to the posts
were still there, and one of the former was soon in
my hands, for the guidance of the boat. The best
I could do now would be to keep her off the shores,
turn and wriggle as she might in the middle stream.</p>

<p class='c016'>My composure now returned, and permitted me
to consider my predicament more calmly. Where
was I? A few minutes after I asked myself this
question, the lateral valley opened to view. It was
a rough, rocky streambed in which now a probably
much shrunken tributary to the river—Homeward
Bound—on which I was, made its way from a bare,
rugged upland. But here I caught a glimpse of
the sluggishly ascending vapors and clouds from
the Perpetual Nimbus. I could not be mistaken.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_372'>372</span>The wall of wavering whiteness seemed to stretch
southward. The confirmation of the Professor’s
hypothesis was complete. The Valley of Rasselas
was an enclosed pit, on all sides of which the terraced
zones we had traversed on the east, would
certainly be found. Here on the west less developed,
compressed and narrower, they still existed.
Radiumopolis at least was excentrically placed in
the valley, but the valley itself was excentric also.
Then I would soon be crossing the Rim, and apprehensions
of new difficulties swarmed in my mind.
The canon I was in cut across the great circular
fissure which surrounded Rasselas, and the position
of the whirlpool perhaps marked the crossing.
Could it be possible? It was an extraordinary
geological situation I was sure, but its explanation
could wait. What terrors of rapids, falls, or cataracts,
or more whirlpools lay before me? I looked
ahead. The light from the stationary sun had
gone, but the friendly luminary that now more
than replaced it, was burning in the sky, and it
showed my future course.</p>

<p class='c016'>To my delight, on either side the canon walls
declined; indeed, it seemed that far off they became
simply high banks and nowhere were there perceptible
disturbances in the stream itself. The
great volume poured its almost unruffled torrent
over a very ancient bed, and the whole aspect of
the river assumed a peculiar sedateness, as it were,
compared with the rushing, headlong haste it had
shown above the whirlpool. And there! On either
side rose the snow crowned pinnacles of the Rim!
The encircling mountain fence of Krocker Land was
opened here by a valley, and in that valley, deeply
entrenched, Homeward Bound was placed. And
now a new and beautiful feature developed.
Brooks or streams, fed perhaps by melting snows or
ice, leaped into my river from the still high cliffs.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_373'>373</span>I could count a dozen or so, the splash of the falling
water breaking the surface of the river into waves,
and the noise of their motion and impact filling the
canon with a half musical roar. It was a fascinating
picture.</p>

<p class='c016'>The river turned, not abruptly, but swinging
southward in a long arm or curve, and then a vista
developed that, for an instant, filled me with fresh
alarm. On the left side the cliffs fell away, and
their place was taken by the face, it looked so, of a
small glacier. I was at sea level perhaps. The
wall rose somewhat on the right, and intermittent
threads of water still seamed their sides with lines
of light and whiteness, but to the left there
appeared the wide mouth of a glacial <i>coulisse</i>, and
from the ice mass in it, little bergs floated in the
now much retarded and widened river. The bergs
scared me. A white or yellowish turbidity spread
from the glacier, the contribution of rock-meal
brought by the river that issued from beneath it.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was quite possible to guide my raft by the
paddle I had, and, though the Homeward Bound
maintained considerable current still, it had but
little directional force. In half an hour I was
opposite the glacier, and amongst its bergs. I
gazed eagerly seaward, trusting I might catch some
glimpse of the coast that must be near at hand.
But the view closed again, there seemed to be a contraction
of the river, the walls rose on both sides,
and now the river’s flow was but little more than
the propulsion caused by its residual momentum.</p>

<p class='c016'>The ice serpent wound upward into the snow
recesses of the mountains. Opposite to me its
riven front glowed with beryl and sapphire veins;
the white calves lazily caught the motion of the
stream, and almost, it seemed to me, resented my
intrusion, so suddenly did they gather about me,
either in derision or in menace. I did indeed feel
<span class='pageno' id='Page_374'>374</span>powerless among them. Ice cakes flecked the
stream. I was in a treacherous company. Anxiously
I steered my craft through them, but in the
mist that sprang from their sides, I would sometimes
fail to see them and an inauspicious bump would
send me sprawling. I felt that the moment of
release was approaching. Soon the pale, haunted,
Arctic Ocean would hold me. I felt its immensity
already, and now that the excitement of the
scramble for liberty, this arrowy voyage down the
strange and majestic chasm of a great new river of
the earth, was behind me, my heart quailed before
the UNKNOWN, that confronted me with what—Deliverance
or Death?</p>

<p class='c016'>The mountains sloped away on either hand, or
were, in fact, already behind me, for I was now
floating with a diminished current that aided my
avoidance of the torpidly drifting bergs. I was in
a canal, literally cut through an ancient gigantic
moraine, the vast scourings of an ancient ice sheet.
It was not long delayed—my emergence on the
ice-bound shore of western Krocker Land. The
banks declined and slowly disappeared, yielding
now to the broad fringe of a coastal plain where the
river, encountering a varying resistance, had succumbed
to the vagaries of mere idleness, and swung
in broad loops to the sea. Yes—there it was—to
quote the graphic words of Nansen—“that strange
Arctic hush, and misty light, over everything,—that
grayish white light caused by the reflection
from the ice being cast high into the air against
masses of vapor, the dark land offering a wonderful
contrast.”</p>

<div id='p3742'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p3742.jpg' alt='a man in torn clothes sits on the shore of some water. There is a gun at his side' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>ERICKSON’S ESCAPE</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>And now the river widened, its banks receded and
dwindled. To the north the high Rim advanced
upon the sea, and black promontories rose in
august severity in the glare of day, desolate and
grim, their skirts fringed with the white surf of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_375'>375</span>inrolling waves. Beyond them open water and
then ice floes, endless prospect! To the south the
Rim declined abruptly into a wide detrital platform
of sand and clay banks, and huge boulders,
and, here and there, like white ships, the icebergs
that had stranded. I was in the Kara Sea. Beyond
that dread, compassionless horizon lay Siberia—but
could I reach it? The awful chill of a realization
of my abject helplessness for the first time
overwhelmed me. I was alone in the Arctic Ocean,
a mere atom before the uncontrollable forces that a
whim of the weather might suddenly summon forth
on their wild errands of destruction; or else a waif
cast on a desert shore to be left with pitiless irony,
in the calm scorn of merciless Nature, to perish.</p>

<p class='c016'>I’m not a praying man, Mr. Link, but somehow
I asked GOD then to help me.</p>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_376'>376</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>CHAPTER XVI<br /> <br /><span class='sc'>The Sequel</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>I worked my tried and still most workable and
useful raft to the shore, and stepped from it to the
sand, between some ragged floes of ice—a kind of
ice foot. The loss of the hamper was a heavy blow,
and to confront the unknown future with a few
morsels of meat and some soaked <i>tortillas</i> seemed
only a desperate and suicidal bravado. I was for a
while stunned into a torpor of inaction. I had
managed to force the raft somewhat up on the
shore, but I took the precaution of further loading
it with stones. Until I had more clearly made up
my mind what would be my next step, I would not
part company with this friend, for somehow to me
<i>then</i>, the mute bundle of logs had become almost
animate with a human affection.</p>

<p class='c016'>And now the reaction against fatigue and all the
sleepless hours made me faint and weak. I must
first sleep. I untied the welcome sleeping bag and
the rug, and disengaging the heavy gold belt—what
a mockery its value seemed in this sterile
solitude—and the small hatchet which it held, I
rolled myself up, and instantly fell into unconsciousness.
I must have slept almost twenty-four
hours, for the sun which had been declining to the
horizon was in almost the same position when I
awoke. I was ravenously hungry, but my courage
had returned, and at least I felt equal to considering
my plans.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_377'>377</span>But first it was food. I made a fire, warmed or
toasted the flat pancakes and roasted the meat
chunks, and these with water contrived to satisfy
my hunger. The contents of the pack were now
my sole resource. They had been well soaked, but
I had spread them on the white sands, and in the
heat of the sun they had dried, even the matches
proving serviceable again. My gun, which had
been well greased (swagged) was uninjured, and the
wax-smeared cartridges retained their murderous
facility of exploding. If game was to be had the
life in my body might yet reasonably expect considerable
prolongation. And why not game?
I recalled our first encounter when we were unceremoniously
introduced to Krocker Land—the musk
oxen. But was I to become a prowling Robinson
Crusoe; were the days, the weeks, the months—there
could not be years—before me to be a savage
struggle to just live and then realize—<i>starvation</i>?
At any rate there must be a plan. What should it
be? It was then that my mind working feverishly
over a few projects—the only ones I could conceive
of, and all of them preposterous—was suddenly
arrested by recalling that this very summer, even
during this month, Coogan and Stanwix, Phillips
and Spent would be pushing the “Astrum” through
that very sea—but farther east—to find us. On
that peg of suggestion I hung my hopes. I would
work eastward if I could, or as far as possible, keep
a watchout, and hope for the best. What else?</p>

<p class='c016'>At first I thought I could make use of the raft, as
there was much open water, but it required only a
little circumspection to show me that the plan was
impracticable; worse, fatal. I must fight my way
somehow along the coast eastward, replenishing
my larder with game, possibly with fish, not going
farther than the inevitable angle—there must be
such a turning point—where the land contours bent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_378'>378</span>northward. That was a <i>plan</i>, it had a significant
value. Immediately my spirits rose, so quickly
does the mind recover its equipoise in an emergency
when it is set about a rational scheme of action. It
was really difficult for me to desert the raft. In
that long drive through the canon of Homeward
Bound, the irrepressible instinct of companionship
had nurtured a curious hallucination of impersonation,
and the bundle of dead logs had assumed an
indefinite but real vitality. Could not I shape or
build from it a serviceable sledge, and still, transformed,
keep it in my service? Then again, could I
spare the time to effect this change? I had only my
hatchet for an implement, and the thongs and
strands, rope and cords that had so stoutly kept it
intact for nails and iron bands.</p>

<p class='c016'>I abandoned the project, but before I started on
my desperate search, I hacked enough timber from
it to build a fire and cooked or roasted my last meal
over it. It partook to me of the fantastic feeling of
a valedictory.</p>

<p class='c016'>The shore along which I now made my way was
favorable for a rapid advance. It was a low upland,
mainly detrital in composition with a beach
apron of sand, gravel, and mud flats. It sloped
upward to a semi-piedmont zone of hills, beyond
which towered the monarchs of the Rim. The view
landward was inspiritingly beautiful, and when the
fogs that rolled inward from the vast ice-flecked
and iceberg-studded sea, were absent the picture
was entrancing. Rich verdure covered the upland,
inundating, like a green flood, the opening valleys,
slopes and sheltered ingles, and bearing on its
bosom the Arctic yellow poppy and even the golden
stars of the dandelion. Surely in this land I might
expect to find game.</p>

<p class='c016'>Nor was I to look long. I could just see, far off
against a protruding dazzling granite mound, a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_379'>379</span>moving spot. It was the <i>Ovibos hopkinsi</i>. I
almost laughed. I recurred to our first encounter
with this new mountain sheep, when Hopkins and
I first saw it, in an almost identical environment,
when we landed at Krocker Land. I watched it
with the eye of a voluptuary. Fresh meat would
taste—Ah! my mouth watered—I could not
venture a simile.</p>

<p class='c016'>I hastened up the beautiful Arctic glen, and the
still unsuspecting animals moved towards me.
Now they saw me, and the bulls ranged themselves
in defence, behind them the still grazing cows,
startled only for a moment into attention. There
was no inclination to escape. Only as I fired and
the foremost bull staggered sideways and then
dropped headlong at my second shot, did the herd
shuffle to one side and then scamper away. Before
I had reached the fallen leader their shaggy heads
had disappeared over a fold of ground that shut in
an adjoining valley.</p>

<p class='c016'>I cut some steaks and loaded myself with the
juicy red masses of flesh. Although Greely and
Peary had failed to smoke-dry meat, perhaps I
might succeed. I returned to the raft. It had
become a base of operations. Here I cooked my
steak and with the tasteless <i>tortillas</i> they made a
feast. But the momentary thought of jerking the
meat was hopeless. It would take too long and
then it might prove futile. If Coogan was looking
for me, I must be looking for him. One more long
sleep and then I must “be going.” I felt sad, and
the glorious dying day bathing the horizon in carmine
and gold, to be shifted a little further on, with
scarcely a change of color, into sunrise, from its
very exorbitant splendor oppressed me. I slept,
but I tossed with forbidding dreams. I WAS
NOT WELL.</p>

<p class='c016'>The next day I started down the coast, but I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_380'>380</span>revisited the <i>ovibos</i>, tore more meat from the carcass,
and with my pack, a sleeping bag, the rug, my
gun, and a bundle of splinters of wood I began my
journey. The heaped up bundles on my back bent
me, and I did not expect to make a record in walking.
I was carrying my household on my back.
But the favoring character of the shore cheered me,
and it almost seemed that the peaks, barricades and
buttresses of the mountains receded. I was on an
extensive morainal or alluvial plain, furrowed by
small valleys and inconspicuous ridges, where it
rose to the amphitheatrical wall of the Krocker
Land Rim. <i>If</i> it would last!</p>

<p class='c016'>The diary of my daily progress for the next few
days need not be rehearsed here. It was satisfactory
on the whole, but the sure signs of scurvy had
begun to show themselves, and some rheumatic
ailment began to make every step I took painful.
I seemed to see the end of it all, and, anticipation
fed disease. My march each day lessened; the
meat had been consumed in a few days, and was
supplemented by ducks, a seal, and another <i>ovibos</i>,
so that for almost ten days I suffered no deprivation
of actual nourishment, but my swelling limbs, the
pasty and aching jaws, the occasional vanishing of
all strength, and temporary collapses gave insistent
warnings that I could not continue. A dull sense
of helplessness supervened, my memory wavered,
delusions visited my brain, and ever and again
the white ice-packed sea seemed a snow covered
tableland on which I might walk safely.
Only some frantic remnant of sanity prevented
this suicidal impulse. I was delirious at times
with pain.</p>

<p class='c016'>And the end of the propitious coast was in sight.
I must have made, Mr. Link, in those ten days, by
superhuman exertions, some one hundred and fifty
miles, furiously driving on, almost unconscious of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_381'>381</span>my motion. And now a black rampart of bold
hills, stretched out like an arresting arm, crossed
the horizon. Higher and higher rose the forbidding
cliffs, and I saw with despair that they entered the
sea in escarpments, whose vertical and gloomy
walls were beaten by waves, or against which the
churned ice was flung in broken cakes. Beyond the
stern barrier my flagging strength could never take
me. And yet, in my feebleness I hastened to reach
it as an ultimate goal over which, I almost thankfully
noted, so worn was I in spirit, I could not pass.
Temperamental decay was at work in me, and I
became inert. <i>I did not care.</i></p>

<p class='c016'>At last—oh how heavily dragged my feet, how
wearingly surged the pains! I had come to the dark
shadow of the cliffs. It was a sheer precipice.
My wandering and scarcely seeing eyes dimly noted
its immensity. It crushed the last vestiges of
effort. Its undeniable prohibition smote me as a
physical violence. I fell headlong. Nothing was
with me but my gun. Pack, rug, sleeping bag, all
had been dropped, the first last, for to its unequivocal
testimony (in the gold and in the radium) of all
I had seen, all I had been through, I clung with an
almost demented obstinacy. And now that was
left behind. Some recurrent spasm of vitality
returned; I struggled to my feet, shaking in an
ague, and just able to support myself against a
detached splinter of rock, almost at the foot of the
overhanging bluff, that seemed to my seared sight
to touch the sky.</p>

<p class='c016'>What was it then that made me seize my gun,
and, steadying myself by some superhuman help—Yes,
Mr. Link, by some help not of this earth—empty
the magazine of cartridges in a crashing
volley against that impenetrable rock? Was it
madness, the last rage of defeated purpose, or was
it inspiration? I do not know, but as the sharp
<span class='pageno' id='Page_382'>382</span>reports multiplied, and to my racked nerves
sounded in terrific <i>crescendos</i> I fell forward. The
sense of hearing was the last to desert me, and
though my eyes had closed, even while the shattering
reverberations from the cliff rang in them, I
HEARD AN ANSWERING SHOT. It was all
I heard. I had swooned.</p>

<p class='c016'>But, Mr. Link, the ebbing tide of life returned,
slowly indeed at first, so slowly that the friendly
faces around me seemed only indefinite, leering
masks, before which I shuddered. Warmth reasserted
its sway, the warmth of life. I felt fresh,
cleanly nourishment, the <i>elixir of whisky</i> slipping
down my throat, and then a delicious thrill of comfort,
and I became conscious, to find myself eating
and drinking and around me the anxious, staring
faces of Coogan, Isaac Stanwix, Bell Phillips, and
Jack Spent.</p>

<p class='c016'>It was for an instant only, the violence of my
return to consciousness weakened me, and I sank
back in their arms, but as I did, the overmastering
care that lay deepest in my heart struggled into
utterance, through all my clouded mind, and I
gasped, pointing to the path over which I had come,
“The pack—the pack.”</p>

<p class='c016'>It was not many hours later that I again awoke,
in the luxurious cabin of the “Astrum,” pillowed in
an easy chair, and watching with grateful eyes the
ministering mercies of my friends. Very gradually
my sapped strength and health were renewed, but
indeed it sometimes occurs to me that I shall never
be quite all I once was. The multiplied strains,
repeated, contrasted, with the unapparent but <i>real</i>
nervous shocks of excitement suffered in the ordeals
of entering Krocker Land, and those less obviously
but most certainly disordering experiences in
Radiumopolis, with the whole effect of the
monstrous unreality of it all, have unhinged my
<span class='pageno' id='Page_383'>383</span>system. And then—the agony of my last humiliation
in this city.</p>

<div id='p3821'  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/p3821.jpg' alt='"the' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic001'>
<p>ERICKSON’S RESCUE</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c016'>The story told by Coogan was a most simple one.
It corroborated my expectations and of course
exactly justified my conduct. The “Astrum”
according to orders left Point Barrow, and steamed
into the ice, which proved to be unusually negotiable,
looking for us. They failed to discover any
signs of us on the ice pack, but in an adventuresome
trip northward, invited to the undertaking by
the open water, they made a landfall, and found
there the “<i>Pluto</i>,” our naphtha launch. It was on
almost exactly the place of our landing from the
storm. They concluded we had skirted the new
land, reconnoitering it edgewise, as it were, or at
any rate their first and prudent course was to do so.
They had managed to creep on safely through broad
leads between the shore ice and the big floes, until
they came to the <i>massif</i>, that, like an out-thrust
arm with clenched fist, cut the land in two. They
had rather gingerly picked their way through the
ice around the frowning headlands when my shots
were heard. The rest is the usual story—the
story I have hinted at—and my pack was safe. <i>It
lay at my feet.</i></p>

<p class='c016'>Now to tell the truth I was rather reticent with
Coogan and the others as to my own adventure. I
did not wish then to tell them everything or even
much. The whole marvel must be elsewhere and
differently unfolded. It must be given to the
world through science, and the national government
of the United States must be empaneled for
the rescue of my companions. I desired the
audience of a nation, and the ears of the world.
And now—deplorable reversion—I am telling it
to you alone. I hid much or all, admitted that the
new continent was large, that we had entered it,
that the Professor and Hopkins were pursuing investigations
<span class='pageno' id='Page_384'>384</span>there, and that I must return in time
with a larger expedition. They seemed to understand
my reticence—or was it commiseration?—and
good-naturedly left me alone. About two
months later we arrived safely in San Francisco.</p>

<p class='c016'>(“Mr. Link”—the voice of the speaker perceptibly
lowered, I might say perceptibly trembled—“it has
been a pleasure to rehearse this wonderful experience,
pleasant to recall my two friends still exiled
in that mysterious continent, pleasant to believe
that through the instrumentality of your publication,
they may be extricated from their bewildering
embarrassments, but—it is not pleasant to finish
my story.”</p>

<p class='c016'>Mr. Erickson was silent for a few moments, as if
he half expected me to release him from the implied
obligation of explaining more completely the origins
of the predicament in which we found him. But I
was relentlessly silent, and after a glance at my
imperturbable and fixed gaze, he turned his head
aside and resumed the “last measure of his tale.”)</p>

<p class='c016'>I was not long in finding my former acquaintance
to whom now instinctively, in my dearth of companionship,
I had recourse for advice, and sensibly
for succor—Carlos Huerta. Nothing could exceed
the boisterous ardor of his welcome. He was overjoyed
and appeared almost rapturous in his demonstrations
of astonishment and delight at seeing me.
Of course I succumbed all too easily to the caresses
of his friendship—and then (the speaker paused
again and a flood of carmine filling his cheeks and
glowing warmly even in his temples, revealed his
confusion), he introduced me to the most beautiful
woman I have ever seen in all my life, Angelica
Sigurda Tabasco, whose intimate, Diaz Ilario
Aguadiente, was a gentleman of marvelous cordiality.
I was literally taken to their hearts. You
see, sir, plainly my state of defencelessness against
<span class='pageno' id='Page_385'>385</span>these scheming reprobates—cunning parasites of
fortune—whose suave geniality disarmed suspicion,
and whose enthusiastic sympathy, not unintelligent
either, warmed my weary heart and opened my lips.</p>

<p class='c016'>They wormed a good deal out of me, they saw the
gold—<i>not the buckle</i>—the radium, and they actually
listened to the recital of our visit to the Gold
Makers. Then they laid their plans. I was to be
coaxed to New York—how many specious inducements
could be given for me to go there. The season
was not too late for any relief expedition, and at
New York all the avenues of approach to capital
could be reached. I was to give a public lecture,
the best social and scientific auspices would protect
it, and from New York the wave of interest would
radiate to all the capitals of the world. It seemed
so simple, it was so inviting, and then it was urged
with such cordial plausibility and fervor, and all
accompanied by that personal suasion of admiration,
and the artifices of encouragement in surroundings
that were sumptuous and enthralling.
I was completely taken in.</p>

<p class='c016'>I came on to New York with Huerta, who
lavished every kindness on me, and whose incessant
questioning as to the process of gold transmutation
which I had seen easily assumed the guise of a
natural curiosity. The merest accident prevented
my bringing on to New York the precious pack in
which the gold souvenirs, the <i>gold buckle</i>, and the
radium mineral masses were preserved. The trio—themselves
deceived by their gloating cupidity—had
urged the necessity of protecting this property
by placing it in a safety-deposit vault, and when
the day arrived for Huerta and me to leave San
Francisco, at the last moment, and just as I
expected to call at the safe deposit company to
claim and remove my property, I was seized with a
chill that rapidly increased into a convulsive fit,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_386'>386</span>followed by a temporary coma. I was alone in the
room of my hotel and the seizure was so sudden
that I was unable to summon assistance. When
it had passed, much time had been lost, and
actually fearing to reclaim the pack in my then
physical condition I concluded to leave it, and have
it forwarded later upon a written order.</p>

<p class='c016'>This was quite feasible, and in some respects, so
I thought at the moment, safer and more preferable,
as I had taken the unusual precaution of enclosing
the pack in a strong metal box.</p>

<p class='c016'>When on the train I explained to Huerta my
mishap he at first changed his demeanor, frowned
and fidgeted and nettled me by his half suppressed
acerbity. I think then I might have been saved,
had his suspicious temper prolonged itself. But
it was gone almost instantly, and his customary
deceptive solicitude and optimistic confidence
replaced it and my doubts vanished. It was also
supposed by me that Angelica and Diaz would
remain some time longer in San Francisco, and
when I encountered them in east Fifty-eighth Street
I was stupefied, though of course, by that time, I
had no reason to feel any surprise over any development
in my relations with these monsters.</p>

<p class='c016'>In New York Huerta conducted me to an eastside
boarding house. It is incredible how I permitted
myself to follow him. Even while suspicion and
distrust began to assail me I accompanied him into
a common sort of house, apparently the resort of
men only, and rather hard looking characters at
that, and yet with these pregnant signs of coming
mischief, I kept alongside of this inhuman brute,
sat with him in a duskily lighted room at a shabby
table, served by some slatternly woman waiters,
under surroundings hopelessly sordid and dull. I
was not myself, Mr. Link; the stamina of resistance
was extirpated in me, and I was led like a child.
The <i>denouement</i> followed quickly.</p>

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_387'>387</span>That very night or evening I went to my room or
what I supposed was my room, only to discover it
was a small bathroom, provided with a sleeping
cot. I had preceded Huerta, who pointed to the
door. As I opened it my surprise caused me to
retreat, but Huerta pushed me in, and instantly he
was joined by two other men from a room near at
hand, and the door was locked. Of course, as by a
flash of light, an unexpected danger was revealed.
I saw that I was trapped.</p>

<p class='c016'>There happened to be one chair in the place.
Huerta, whose whole demeanor now altered,
motioned toward it with a scowl and the other men
stepped forward. Each of them carried a short
leaden pipe. Mr. Link, I am not a timid man—what
I have gone through shows that—but I was
intimidated then. I glanced around me; there
was not a window in the room; it was lighted by a
smoking gas jet.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Well,” I said, collecting my thoughts to meet
the situation, “I guess you have me. What is it?
What do you want?”</p>

<p class='c016'>Huerta’s agreeable style was resumed. “Why
just this, Mr. Erickson. You have got a sort of
knowledge which is rather valuable, and we want
to make an agreement with you; you might call it
a sort of combine. You have got hold of some very
interesting information. Let’s pool it and work it
for our common benefit.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“What information,” I asked and leaped to my
feet, infuriated at the smiling, insulting visage that
he wore as an answer to my question.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Oh! Calm yourself. These gentlemen and
myself are not icebergs, but perhaps we can hit as
hard. The thing is simple enough. Sign this
paper.”</p>

<p class='c016'>He held out a folded sheet which I at once recognized
as having been torn from a writing pad in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_388'>388</span>Pullman in which we had come to New York. It
was an order on the safe deposit company in San
Francisco to forward to him, Carlos Huerta, my
pack, the satchel of gold and radium. Then
followed his address, which was—east Fifty-eighth
Street, the very house in which you found me,
Mr. Link.</p>

<p class='c016'>I threw the paper in his face. It was <i>maladroit</i>.
His temper—and he had the passion of a fiend—broke
loose and he struck me. I jumped at him,
and hurled the chair straight at his head, but it was
intercepted, and, in a trice, the three rushed at me
and held me, kicking, squirming, and shouting, on
the narrow bed. No help came; I was bound and
was knocked almost senseless.</p>

<p class='c016'>(It was some time before Erickson could continue;
he was in a pitiful agitation, walking over and
across the room with a most distressful expression
on his face. At length he pulled himself
together and resumed his story.)</p>

<p class='c016'>Well, they kept me in that room some five days.
I was fed and attended by my captors—I think now
partially drugged by them. But my will remained
stubborn. I had faced death before, I could face
it now, though it seemed more terrifying in this
wretched shape than meeting it undisguised
beneath the open skies. This obstinacy drove
Huerta frantic. I calculated that it would lead to
an outbreak or issue soon. <i>It did.</i></p>

<p class='c016'>The sixth night the room was entered by the
three men to whom, now weakened, dazed, nervous
with disgust, I could offer no resistance. I was
really sick. They tied my arms and legs and
gagged my mouth, and put me in a sack. It was
then, before they completed their task, that I
managed to secrete a few scribbled words on a slip
of paper, which I had kept by me, and later succeeded
in forcing through an aperture in the bag.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_389'>389</span>This paper your boy Riddles found. I was whisked
off in an automobile, unloaded like a sack of
potatoes at the door of—east Fifty-eighth Street,
and taken to the attic floor where you and the
police found me.</p>

<p class='c016'>Before you came I was confronted with Angelica
and Diaz, and the proposition was very attractively
made that nothing should be said in any public way
about Krocker Land, but that my gold specimen
should be sold as bullion, and that we four should
form a transmutation plant with the radium that
I had brought back. Accede to this, they explained
(they were somehow convinced that I was
withholding the secret technique I had learned of
the process of transmutation), and combine with
them, and my life and freedom would be assured.</p>

<p class='c016'>I saw through the ruse, feeble as I had mentally
become. My life, at least its short continuance,
depended upon my resisting their demands. Once
granted, the paper signed, what I knew of the
transmutation revealed—and I now sedulously
encouraged their belief in a more or less recondite
process which demanded physical apparatus and
silver bullion—and my life would be but a flash in
the pan—out—like that. (And Erickson snapped
his fingers.) If I could delay the upshot—inevitable
in any case unless relief came—until some
lucky chance brought me deliverance and I hoped
the paper scribble would—I might yet survive.</p>

<p class='c016'>Therefore I pleaded, I argued, I promised everything
if they would liberate me, and then upon
their savage refusal, I grew dogged and silent. It
was then or a little afterwards that the conversation
occurred that you and the police overheard
and then, when these ruthless, bloodless imps of
Hell were about to inflict their brutal torture—the
door was burst open, <i>and all was over</i>.</p>

<hr class='c024' />

<p class='c016'><span class='pageno' id='Page_390'>390</span>I recall distinctly the evening on which Mr.
Erickson concluded his stupendous narrative. It
had been agreed that, apart from some brief announcements
before the various proper scientific
bodies of the world, no details should precede the
publication in book form of Erickson’s personal
account and the serial report in the <i>Truth Getter</i>.
All this is now a part of history, and a part which
fairly challenges comparison with those thunderstruck
days when Columbus and Cabot, Vespucius,
Hudson, and Verrazani rolled up the curtain that
hid the western world.</p>

<p class='c016'>I say I remember the evening. It was a sombre
dying twilight in March. The servant had just lit
the lamp of the library, and a hoarse wind rose
petulantly outside, like the distant drone of a fog
whistle. A vision stood at the door. It was my
daughter, Sibyl. She was resplendent. I noticed
Erickson’s awed rapture. She held an evening
paper in her hand. Her voice was as beautiful as
her person. Its music conveyed this message:</p>

<p class='c016'>“Father, this paper has a telegram from St.
John’s, Newfoundland, saying that Donald
McMillan has reached Krocker Land, and below it
is one from Point Barrow, saying Stefansson has
reached Krocker Land. Isn’t that a surprising
coincidence?”</p>

<p class='c016'>Erickson sprang toward her, and she handed him
the paper; his face in the red reflection from the
hearth looked sallow. He read the lines.</p>

<p class='c016'>“My God, it’s true—Then Hopkins and the
Professor are saved.”</p>

<p class='c016'>“But,” I interjected with proper journalistic
trepidation, “where do we come in, Mr. Erickson?”</p>

<p class='c016'>He gazed at me as if petrified:</p>

<p class='c016'>“RUSH THE COPY.”</p>

<p class='c016'>It was rushed, and before McMillan or Stefansson
were again heard from, Erickson’s story was the
property of the world.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_391'>391</span>
  <h2 class='c012'>EDITORIAL NOTE</h2>
</div>
<p class='c015'>There are many things in the foregoing pages
that perhaps awaken incredulity. There are
some inconsistencies of statement. There seems
to be discoverable a feeble effort at invention. The
reader will almost instantly, upon reading the last
word of it—and surely he can afford to skip none—feel
that perhaps a little enlightened cross examination
would have confused a veracious chronicler.
I am inclined to suppose that almost mechanically
he might murmur to himself, “Those balloons,
<i>dubious</i>—those tubes, <i>impossible</i>—the Crocodilo-Python,
<i>preposterous</i>—the little Hebrews, <i>madness</i>—the
radium chasm, <i>a nightmare</i>—transmutation,
<i>poppy-cock</i>—the Perpetual Nimbus, <i>deliberate lie</i>,”
and so on, until affected by his own overheated
thoughts and a partially justifiable resentment at
having been made the victim of a fabrication, which
has consumed some ten hours of his time, and
would have, assuming its reality, supplied him with
the most perdurable reasons for rejoicing that his
lot was cast at the beginning of this twentieth
century, he indulges in some specific appeals,
<i>more majorum</i>, to the demon of darkness to make
away with its editor.</p>

<p class='c016'><i>Gentle</i>—pardon the inappropriateness of the
word, but to say <i>Irate</i> might only increase my condemnation—Reader—<i>wait</i>.
<i>We shall all see.</i> Vilhjalmar Stefansson and Donald McMillan are on
the very verge of this new continent.</p>

<p class='c016'>THEY WILL TELL US.</p>

<p class='c016'>“Not so fast, Mr. Editor”—It is the voice of the
wife of the Gentle Reader—“Not so fast! What
connection had Spruce Hopkins with either
Angelica or Diaz? You remember the flat silver
medal that Hopkins flung into the air on Krocker
Land Rim, and which was the last token Erickson
received from the Yankee?”</p>

<p class='c016'><i>Ah—Madame, that is another story.</i></p>
<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c005' />
</div>
<p class='c016'>&nbsp;</p>
<div class='tnbox'>

 <ul class='ul_1 c005'>
    <li>Transcriber’s Notes:
      <ul  class='ul_2'>
        <li>Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
        </li>
        <li>Typographical errors were silently corrected.
        </li>
        <li>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant 
        form was found in this book.
        </li>
      </ul>
    </li>
  </ul>

</div>
<p class='c016'>&nbsp;</p>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69925 ***</div>
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