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Title: Through the Crater's Rim
Author: A. Hyatt Verrill
Release Date: February 1, 2022 [eBook #67299]
Language: English
Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH THE CRATER'S
RIM ***
Through the Crater’s Rim
[Illustration]
But even as I gazed, transfixed with horror, paralyzed by
the sight, the vine threw its last coil about the dying
man and before my eyes drew the quivering body into the
tree above. Then something approached my leg. With a wild
yell of terror I leaped aside. A second vine was writhing
and twisting over the ground towards me.
Through the Crater’s Rim
By A. Hyatt Verrill
Author of “Beyond the Pole”
In this story the author of Beyond the Pole gives us another
one of his amazing contributions to Scientifiction. Here we
find a strange race living within an extinct volcanic crater
somewhere in Central America.
When it is remembered that only a few years ago an entirely
new race was discovered by scientists in Panama, which are now
known better under the name of White Indians, it should be
understood that Mr. Verrill is not taxing your credulity by
the strange race which he pictures in this story.
We promise you a good half hour’s reading in this well-told tale.
CHAPTER I
INTO THE UNKNOWN
“I tell you it’s there,” declared Lieutenant Hazen decisively. “It may
not be a civilized city, but it’s no Indian village or native town.
It’s big—at least a thousand houses—and they’re built of stone or
something like it and not of thatch.”
“You’ve been dreaming, Hazen,” laughed Fenton. “Or else you’re just
trying to jolly us.”
“Do you think I’d hand in an official report of a dream?” retorted the
Lieutenant testily. “And it’s gospel truth I’ve been telling you.”
“Never mind Fenton,” I put in. “He’s a born pessimist and skeptic
anyhow. How much did you actually see?”
We were seated on the veranda of the Hotel Washington in Colon and the
aviator had been relating how, while making a reconnoissance flight
over the unexplored and unknown jungles of Darien, he had sighted an
isolated, flat topped mountain upon whose summit was a large city—of a
thousand houses or more—and without visible pass, road or stream
leading to it.
“It was rotten air,” Hazen explained in reply to my question. “And I
couldn’t get lower than 5,000 feet. So I can’t say what the people
were like. But I could see ’em running about first time I went over
and they were looking mightily excited. Then I flew back for a second
look and not a soul was in sight—took to cover I expect. But I’ll
swear the buildings were stone or ’dobe and not palm or thatch.”
“Why didn’t you land and get acquainted?” enquired Fenton
sarcastically.
“There was one spot that looked like a pretty fair landing,” replied
the aviator. “But the air was bad and the risk too big. How did I know
the people weren’t hostile? It was right in the Kuna Indian country
and even if they were peaceable they might have smashed the plane or I
mightn’t have been able to take off. I was alone too.”
“You say you made an official report of your discovery,” I said. “What
did the Colonel think about it?”
“Snorted and said he didn’t see why in blazes I bothered reporting an
Indian village.”
“It’s mighty interesting,” I declared. “I believe you’ve actually seen
the Lost City, Hazen. Balboa heard of it. The Dons spent years hunting
for it and every Indian in Darien swears it exists.”
“Well, I never heard of it before,” said Hazen. “What’s the yarn,
anyway?”
“According to the Indian story there’s a big city on a mountain top
somewhere in Darien. They say no one has ever visited it, that it’s
guarded by evil spirits and that it was there ages before the first
Indians.”
“If they’ve never seen it how do they know it’s there?” Fenton
demanded. “In my opinion it’s all bosh. How can there be a ‘lost city’
in this bally little country and why hasn’t someone found it? Why,
there are stories of lost cities and hidden cities and such rot in
every South and Central American country. Just fairy tales—pure bunk!”
“I know there are lots of such yarns,” I admitted. “And most of them I
believe are founded on fact. Your South American Indian hasn’t enough
imagination to make a story out of whole cloth. It’s easy to
understand why and how such a place might exist for centuries and no
one find it. This ‘little country’ as you call it could hide a hundred
cities in its jungles and no one be the wiser. No civilized man has
ever yet been through the Kuna country. But I’m going. I’ll have a try
for that city of Hazen’s.”
“Well, I wish you luck,” said Fenton. “If the Kunas don’t slice off
the soles of your feet and turn you loose in the bush and if you _do_
find Hazen’s pipe dream, just bring me back a souvenir, will you?”
With this parting shot he rose and sauntered off towards the swimming
pool.
“Do you really mean to have a go at that place?” asked Hazen as Fenton
disappeared.
“I surely do,” I declared. “Can you show me the exact spot on the map
where you saw the city?”
For the next half hour we pored over the map of Panama and while—owing
to the incorrectness of the only available maps—Hazen could not be
sure of the exact location of his discovery, still he pointed out a
small area within which the strange city was located.
“You’re starting on a mighty dangerous trip,” he declared as I talked
over my plans. “Even if you get by the Kunas and find the place how
are you going to get out? The people may kill you or make you a
prisoner. If they’ve been isolated for so long I reckon they won’t let
any news of ’em leak out.”
“Of course there’s a risk,” I laughed. “That’s what makes it so
attractive. I’m not worried over the Kunas though. They’re not half as
bad as painted. I spent three weeks among them two years ago and had
no trouble. They may drive me back, but they don’t kill people
offhand. Getting out will be the trouble as you say. But I’ve first
got to get in and I’m not making plans to get out until then.”
“Lord, but I wish I were going too!” cried Hazen. “Say, I tell you
what I’m going to do. I’ll borrow that old Curtiss practice boat and
fly over there once in a while. If you’re there, just wave a white rag
for a signal. Maybe the people’ll be so darned scared if they see the
plane that they’ll not trouble you. Might make a good play of it—let
’em think you’re responsible for it you know.”
“I don’t know but that’s a mighty good scheme, Hazen,” I replied,
after a moment’s thought. “Let’s see. If I get off day after tomorrow
I should be in the Kuna country in a week. You might take your first
flight ten days from now. But if things go wrong I don’t see as you
can help me much if you can’t land.”
“We’ll worry over that when the time comes,” he said cheerfully. A few
days later I was being paddled and poled up the Cañazas River with the
last outposts of civilization many miles behind and the unknown
jungles and the forbidden country of the wild Kunas ahead.
It was with the greatest difficulty that I had been able to secure men
to accompany me, for the natives looked with the utmost dread upon the
Kuna country and only two, out of the scores I had asked, were willing
to tempt fate and risk their lives in the expedition into the unknown.
For two days now we had been within the forbidden district—the area
guarded and held by the Kunas and into which no outsider is permitted
to enter—and yet we had seen or heard no signs of Indians. But I was
too old a hand and too familiar with the ways of South American
Indians to delude myself with the idea that we had not been seen or
our presence known. I well knew that, in every likelihood, we had been
watched and our every movement known since the moment we entered the
territory. No doubt, sharp black eyes were constantly peering at us
from the jungle, while bows and blowguns were ever ready to discharge
their missiles of death at any instant. As long as we were not
molested or interfered with, however, I gave little heed to this.
Moreover, I believed, from my brief acquaintance with the Kunas of two
years previously, that they seldom killed a white man until after he
had been warned out of their country and tried to return to it.
At night we camped beside the river, making our beds upon the warm dry
sand and each day we poled the cayuca up the rapids and deeper into
the forest. At last we reached the spot where, according to my
calculations, we must strike through the jungle overland to reach the
mountain seen by Hazen. Hiding our dugout in the thick brush beside
the river we packed the few necessities to be carried with us and
started off through the forest.
If Hazen were not mistaken in his calculations, we should reach the
vicinity of the mountain in two days’ march, even though the going was
hard and we were compelled to hew a way with our machetes for miles at
a stretch.
But it’s one thing to find a mountain top when flying over the sea of
jungle and quite another to find that mountain when hidden deep in the
forest and surrounded on every side by enormous trees. I realized that
we might easily pass within a few hundred yards of the spot and never
suspect it and that we might wander for days, searching for the
mountain without finding it. It was largely a matter of luck after
all. But Hazen had described the surrounding country so minutely, that
I had high hopes of success.
By the end of the first day in the bush we had reached rough and hilly
country, which promised well, and it was with the expectation of
reaching the base of the mountain the following day that we made camp
that night. Still we had seen no Indians, no signs of their trails or
camps, which did much to calm the fears of my men and which I
accounted for on the theory that the Kunas avoided this part of the
country through superstitious fears of the lost city and its people.
At daybreak we broke camp and had tramped for perhaps three hours
when, without warning, José, who was last in line, uttered a terrified
cry. Turning quickly I was just in time to see him throw up his hands
and fall in a heap with a long arrow quivering in his back. The Kunas
were upon us.
Scarcely had the realization come to me when an arrow thudded sharply
into a tree by my side and Carlos, with a wild yell of deadly fear,
threw down his load and dashed madly away. Not an Indian could be
seen. To stand there, a target for their missiles, was suicidal, and
turning, I fled at my utmost speed after Carlos. How we managed to run
through that tangled jungle is still a mystery to me, but we made good
time, nevertheless. Fear drove us and dodging between the giant trees,
leaping fallen trunks, tripping over roots and scrambling over rocks,
we sped on.
And now, from behind, we could hear the sounds of the pursuing
Indians; their low gutteral cries, the sounds of breaking twigs and
branches; constantly they were drawing nearer. I knew that in a few
minutes they would be upon us—that at any instant a poisoned blowgun
dart or a barbed arrow might bury itself in my body; but still we
strove to escape.
Then, just as I felt that the end must be at hand —just as I had
decided to turn and sell my life dearly—the forest thinned. Before us
sunlight appeared and the next moment we dashed from the jungle into a
space free from underbrush but covered with enormous trees draped with
gnarled and twisted lianas. The land here rose sharply and, glancing
ahead between the trees, I saw the indistinct outlines of a lofty
mountain against the sky.
Toiling up the slope, breathing heavily, utterly exhausted, I kept on.
Then, as a loud shout sounded from the rear, I turned to see five
hideously painted Kunas break from the jungle. But they did not
follow. To my utter amazement they halted, gave a quick glance about,
and, with a chorus of frightened yells, turned and dashed back into
the shelter of the jungle.
But I had scant time to give heed to this. The Kunas’ cries were still
ringing in my ears when a scream from Carlos drew my attention.
Thinking him attacked by savages I rushed towards him, drawing my
revolver as I ran.
With bulging, rolling eyes, blanched face and ghastly, terror stricken
features he was struggling, fighting madly, with a writhing, coiling
gray object which I took for a gigantic snake. Already his body and
legs were bound and helpless in the coils. With his machete he was
raining blows upon the quivering awful thing which slowly, menacingly
wavered back and forth before him, striving to throw another coil
about his body.
And then, as I drew near, my senses reeled, I felt that I was in some
awful nightmare. The object, so surely, relentlessly, silently
encircling and crushing him was no serpent but a huge liana drooping
from the lofty branches of a great tree!
It seemed absolutely incredible, impossible, unbelieveable. But even
as I gazed, transfixed with horror, paralyzed by the sight, the vine
threw its last coil about the dying man and before my eyes drew the
quivering body into the trees above.
Then something touched my leg. With a wild yell of terror I leaped
aside. A second vine was writhing and twisting over the ground towards
me!
Crazed with unspeakable fear I struck at the thing with my machete. At
the blow the vine drew sharply back while from the gash a thick,
yellowish, stinking juice oozed forth. Turning, I started to rush from
the accursed spot but as I passed the first tree another liana writhed
forward in my path.
Utterly bereft of my senses, slashing madly as I ran, yelling like a
madman, I dodged from tree to tree, seeking the open spaces, evading
by a hair’s breadth the fearful, menacing, serpent-like vines, until
half-crazy, torn, panting and utterly spent I dashed forth into a
clear grassy space.
Before me, rising like a sheer wall against the sky was a huge
precipitous cliff of red rock.
Now I knew why the Kunas had not followed us beyond the jungle. They
were aware of the man-killing lianas and had left us to a worse death
than any they could inflict. I was safe from them I felt sure. But was
I any better off? Before me was an impassable mountain side. On either
hand and in the rear those awful, blood-thirsty, sinister vines and,
lurking in the jungles, were the savage Kunas with their fatal
poisoned darts and powerful bows. I was beset on every side by deadly
peril, for I was without food, I had cast aside my gun and even my
revolver in my blind, terror-crazed escape from those ghastly living
vines, and to remain where I was meant death by starvation or thirst.
But anything was better than this nightmare-like forest. At the
thought I glanced with a shudder at the trees and my blood seemed to
freeze in my veins.
The forest was approaching me! I could not believe my eyes. Now I felt
I must be mad, and fascinated; hypnotized, I gazed, striving my utmost
to clear my brain, to make common sense contradict the evidence of my
eyes. But it was no delusion. Ponderously, slowly, but steadily the
trees were gliding noiselessly up the slope! Their great gnarled roots
were creeping and undulating over the ground while the pendant vines
writhed and swayed and darted forth in all directions as if feeling
their way. And then I saw what had before escaped me. The things were
not lianas as I had thought. They were parts of the trees
themselves—huge, lithe, flexible tentacles springing from a thick,
fleshy livid-hued crown of branches armed with stupendous thorns and
which slowly opened and closed like hungry jaws above the huge trunks.
It was monstrous, uncanny, supernatural. A hundred yards and more of
open ground had stretched between me and the forest when I had flung
myself down, but now a scant fifty paces remained. In a few brief
moments the fearsome things would be upon me. But I was petrified,
incapable of moving hand or foot, too terrified and overwhelmed even
to cry out.
Nearer and nearer the ghastly things came. I could hear the pounding
of my heart. A cold sweat broke out on my body. I shivered as with
ague. Then a long, warty, tentacle darted toward me and as the
loathsome stinking thing touched my hand the spell was broken. With a
wild scream I turned and dashed blindly towards the precipice, seeking
only to delay, only to avoid for a time the certain awful death to
which I was doomed, for the cliff barred all escape and I could go no
farther.
CHAPTER II
AMAZING DISCOVERIES
A dozen leaps and I reached the wall of rock beyond which all retreat
was cut off. Close at hand was an outjutting buttress, and thinking
that back of this I might hide and thus prolong my life, I raced for
it.
Panting, unseeing, I reached the projection, ducked behind it, and to
my amazement and unspeakable delight, found myself in a narrow canyon
or defile, like a huge cleft in the face of the precipice.
Here was safety for a time. The terrible man-eating trees could not
enter, and striving only to put a greater distance between myself and
the vegetable demons I never slackened my pace as I turned and sped up
the canyon.
Narrower and narrower it became. Far above my head the rocky walls
leaned inward, shutting out the light until soon it was so dim and
shadowy that, through sheer necessity, I was forced to stop running
and to pick my way carefully over the masses of rock that strewed the
canyon’s floor. Presently only a narrow ribbon of sky was visible
between the towering walls of the pass. Then this was blotted out and
I found myself in the inky blackness of a tunnel—an ancient
watercourse—leading into the very bowels of the mountain.
But there was no use in hesitating. Anything was preferable to the
cannibal trees, and groping my way I pressed on. Winding and twisting,
turning sharply, the passageway led, ever ascending steeply and taxing
my exhausted muscles and overwrought system to the utmost. Then, far
ahead, I heard the faint sound of dripping, falling water and with joy
at thought of burying my aching head in the cold liquid, and of easing
my parched, dry throat, I hurried, stumbling, through the tunnel.
At last, I saw a glimmer of light in the distance and in it the
sparkle of the water. Before me was the end of the tunnel and sunlight
and with a final spurt of speed I rushed towards it. Then, just as I
gained the opening, and so suddenly and unexpectedly that he seemed to
materialize from thin air, a man rose before me.
Unable to check my speed, too thunderstruck at the apparition to halt,
I dashed full into him and together we rolled head over heels upon the
ground.
I have said he was a man. But even in that brief second that I
glimpsed him, before I bowled him over, I realized that he was unlike
any man I or anyone else had ever seen. Barely three feet in height,
squat, with enormous head and shoulders, he stood shakily upon the
tiniest of bandy legs and half supported his weight by his enormously
long muscular arms. Had it not been that he was partly clothed and
that his face was hairless, I should have thought him an ape. And now,
as I picked myself up and stared at him, my jaws gaped in utter
amazement. The fellow was running from me at top speed upon his hands,
his feet waving and swaying in the air!
So utterly dumbfounded was I at the sight that I stood there silently
gazing after the strange being until he vanished behind a clump of
bushes. Then as it dawned upon me that no doubt there were others
near, and, that as he had shown no sign of hostility, they were likely
peaceable, I hurried after him.
A narrow trail led through the brush and running along this I burst
from the shrubbery and came to an abrupt halt, utterly astounded at
the sight which met my eyes. I was standing at the verge of a little
rise beyond which stretched an almost circular, level plain several
miles in diameter. Massed upon this in long rows, compact groups and
huge squares, were hundreds of low, flat-roofed, stone buildings,
while upon a smooth green plot at a little distance, stood a massive
truncated pyramid.
Unwittingly I had reached my goal. Before me was the lost city of
Darien. Hazen had been right!
But it was not this thought nor the strange city and its buildings
that held my fascinated gaze, but the people. Everywhere they swarmed.
Upon the streets, the housetops, even on the open land of the plain,
they crowded and each and every one an exact counterpart of the one
with whom I had collided at the mouth of the tunnel. And, like him
too, all were walking or running upon their hands with their feet in
air!
All this I saw in the space of a few seconds. Then, to add to my
astonishment, I saw that many of the impossible beings actually were
carrying burdens in their upraised feet! Some bore baskets, others
jars or pots, others bundles, while one group that was approaching in
my direction, held bows and arrows in their toes, and held them most
menacingly at that!
It was evident that I had been seen. The excitement of the beings,
their gestures and the manner in which they peered towards me from
between their arms, left no doubt of it, while the threatening
defensive attitude of the bowmen proved that they were ready to attack
or defend at a moment’s notice.
No doubt, to them, my appearance was as remarkable, as inexplicable
and as amazing as they were to me. The greater portion were evidently
filled with terror and scurried into their houses, yet many still
stood their ground, while a few were so overcome with curiosity and
surprise that they dropped feet to earth and rested right side up in
order to stare at me more intently.
I realized that it behooved me to do something. To stand there
motionless and speechless, gazing at the strange folk while they
stared back, would accomplish nothing. But what to do, what move to
make? That was a serious question. If I attempted to approach them a
shower of arrows might well end my career and my investigations of the
place then and there. It was equally useless to retrace my steps, even
had I been so minded, for only certain death lay back of me. By some
means I must win the confidence or friendship of these outlandish
beings if only temporarily. A thousand ideas flashed through my mind.
If only Hazen would appear the creatures of the city might think I had
dropped from the sky and so look upon me as a supernatural being. But
it was hopeless to expect such a coincidence or to look for him. I had
told him to fly over on the tenth day and this was only the seventh.
If only I had retained my revolver the discharge of the weapon might
frighten them into thinking me a god. But my firearms lay somewhere in
the demon forest. I had heard no sounds of voices, no shouting, and I
wondered if the beings were dumb. Maybe, I thought, if I should
speak—should yell—I might impress them. But, on the other hand, the
sound of my voice might break the spell and cause them to attack me. A
single mistake, the slightest false move, might seal my doom. I was in
a terrible quandary. All my former experiences with savage unknown
tribes passed through my mind, and I strove to think of some incident,
some little event, which had saved the day in the past and might be
put to good use now.
And as I thus pondered I unconsciously reached in my pocket for my
pipe, filled it with tobacco and placing it between my lips, struck a
match and puffed forth a cloud of smoke. Instantly, from the weird
creatures, a low, wailing, sibilant sound arose. The archers dropped
their bows and arrows and, with one accord, the people threw
themselves grovelling on the ground. Unintentionally I had solved the
problem. To these beings I was a fire-breathing, awful god!
Realizing this, knowing that when dealing with primitive races full of
superstitions one must instantly follow up an advantage, I hesitated
no longer. Puffing lustily at my pipe I strode forward and approached
the nearest prostrate group. Motionless they buried their faces in the
dust, bodies pressed to earth, not daring to look up or even steal a
surreptitious glance at the terrible, smoke-belching being who towered
over them. Never had I seen such a demonstration of abject fear, such
utter debasement. It really was pitiful to see them, to view their
trembling, panting bodies quivering with nameless terror; terror so
great they dared not flee, even though they knew by my footsteps that
I was among them, and feared that at any moment an awful doom might
descend upon them.
But their very fright defeated my purpose. I had won safety and even
adoration perhaps, but there could be no amity, no intercourse, no
means of mingling with them, of securing food, of learning anything if
they were to remain cowering on the ground. By some means I must win a
measure of their confidence, I must prove that I was a friendly
beneficent deity and yet I must still be able to impress them with my
powers and control them through fear.
It was a delicate matter to accomplish, but it had to be done. Almost
at my feet lay one of the archers—a leader or chieftain I thought from
the feather ornaments he wore—and stooping, I lifted him gently. At my
touch he fairly palpitated with terror, but no frightened scream, no
sound save an indrawn snake-like hiss, escaped his lips, and he
offered no resistance as I lifted him to a kneeling position.
Hitherto I had had no opportunity to obtain a good view of these
people, but now I saw this fellow close at hand I was amazed at his
repulsive ugliness. I have seen some rather ugly races, but all of
them combined and multiplied a hundredfold would be beauties compared
to these dwarfed, topsy-turvy, denizens of the lost city. Almost
black, low browed, with tiny, shifty eyes like those of a reptile,
with enormous, thick lipped mouths, sharp, fang-like teeth and matted
hair, the bowman seemed far more like an ape than like a human being.
And then I noticed a most curious thing. He had no ears! Where they
should have been were merely round, bare spots covered with light
colored thin membrane like the ears of a frog. For an instant I
thought it a malformation or an injury. But as I glanced at the others
I saw that all were the same. Not one possessed a human ear! All this
I took in as I lifted the fellow up. Then as he tremblingly raised his
head and eyed me I spoke to him, trying to make my tones gentle and
reassuring. But there was no response, no sign of intelligence or
understanding in his dull, frightened eyes. There was nothing to do
but to fall back on sign language and rapidly I gestured, striving to
convey to him that I would do no injury or harm, that I was friendly
and that I wished the people to rise.
Slowly a look of comprehension dawned upon his ugly face and then, to
prove my friendship, I fished in my pocket, found a tiny mirror and
placed it in his hand. At the expression of utter astonishment that
overspread his ugly features as he looked in the glass I roared with
laughter. But the mirror won the day. Uttering sharp, strange, hissing
sounds, the fellow conveyed the news to his companions and slowly,
hesitatingly and with lingering fear still on their faces, the people
rose and gazed upon me with strangely mingled awe and curiosity.
Mainly they were men, but scattered among them were many who evidently
were women, although all were so uniformly repulsive in features that
it was difficult to distinguish the sexes. All too, were clad much
alike in single garments of bark-cloth resembling gunnysacks with
holes cut at the four corners for legs and arms and an opening for the
head.
But while there was no variation in the form or material of the
clothing yet some wore ornaments and others did not. Leg and arm bands
of woven fibre were common. Many of the men had decorations of bright
hued feathers attached to arms or legs or fastened about their waists
and many were elaborately tattooed. That such primitive dwarfed, ugly,
degenerate creatures could have built the city of stone houses, could
have laid out the broad paved streets and could have developed so much
of civilization, seemed incredible.
But I had little time to devote to such thoughts. The fellow I had
presented with the mirror was hissing at me like a serpent and by
signs was trying to indicate that I was to follow him. So, with the
crowd trailing behind us, we started up the road towards the centre of
the city.
CHAPTER III
BEFORE THE KING
Truly no stranger procession had ever been seen by human eyes.
Before me, the chief archer led the way, walking upon his great
calloused hands and with his bow grasped firmly in one prehensile foot
and his precious mirror in the other. On either side and in the rear
were scores of the weird beings hurrying along on their hands, keeping
up an incessant hissing sound like escaping steam; black legs and feet
waving and gesticulating in air and, at first glance, appearing like a
crowd of headless dwarfs. How I wished that Fenton might have been
there to see!
Apparently my actions had been closely watched from the safe retreats
of the houses and word passed that I was not to be feared, for as we
reached the first buildings, the edges of the roofs and the tiny
window slits were lined with curious, ugly faces peering at us. It was
then that I noticed that none of the buildings had doors, the walls
rising blank to the roofs save for the narrow windows, while ladders,
here and there in place, proved that the inhabitants, like the Pueblo
Indians, entered and left their dwellings through the roofs.
Now and then as we passed along, some of the more venturesome beings
would join the procession, scrambling nimbly down the ladders,
sometimes upside down on their hands, often using both hands and feet,
but always using hands only as soon as they reached the ground.
How or why they had developed this extraordinary mode of progression
puzzled me greatly, for there seemed no scientifically good reason for
it. Among tribes who habitually use boats, weak legs and enormously
developed shoulders, chests and arms are common, and I could well
understand how a race, depending entirely upon water for
transportation, might, through generations of inbreeding and
isolation, lose the use of legs.
But here was a people who apparently had no conveyances of any kind,
who must of necessity travel about to cultivate their crops, who must
carry heavy burdens in order to construct their buildings and to whom
legs would seem a most important matter, and yet with legs and feet so
atrophied and arms so tremendously developed that they walked on their
hands and used their feet as auxiliaries. It was a puzzle I longed to
solve and that I would have investigated thoroughly had fate permitted
me to dwell longer in the strange city. But I am getting ahead of my
story.
Presently we reached a large central square surrounded by closely set
buildings. Approaching one of these, my guide signalled that I was to
follow him as he swiftly ascended the ladder to the roof. Rather
hesitatingly, for I doubted if the frail affair would support my
weight, I climbed gingerly up and found myself upon the broad, flat
roof. Before me were several dark openings with the ends of ladders
projecting from them and down one of these my guide led the way. At
the bottom of the ladder I was in a large, obscure room, lit only by
the slits of windows high in the walls, and for a moment I could see
nothing of my surroundings, although from all sides issued the low
hissing sounds that I now knew were the language of these remarkable
people. Then, as my eyes became accustomed to the dim light, I saw
that a score of beings were squatted about the sides of the room,
while, directly before me, on a raised dais or platform, was seated
the largest and ugliest individual I had seen.
That he was a ruler, a king or high priest, was evident. In place of
the sack-like garment of his people he was clad in a long robe of
golden green feathers. Upon his head was a feather crown of the same
hue. About his wrists and ankles were golden bands studded with huge
uncut emeralds, and a string of the same stones hung upon his chest.
The throne, if such it could be called, was draped with a green and
gold rug and everywhere, upon the walls of the chamber, were paintings
of strange misshapen, uncouth creatures and human beings all in the
same green and yellow tints. Something in the surroundings, in the
drawings and the costume of the king, reminded me of the Aztecs or
Mayas and while quite distinct from either I felt sure that, in some
long past time, these dwellers of the lost city had been influenced by
or had been in contact with, these ancient civilizations.
As I stood before the dais my guide prostrated himself before the
green robed monarch and then, rising, carried on what appeared to be
an animated account of my arrival and the subsequent happenings.
As he spoke, silence fell upon those present and the king listened
attentively, glancing now and then at me and regarding me with an
expression of combined fear, respect and enmity. I could readily
understand what his feelings were. No doubt he was a person of far
greater intelligence than his subjects, and while more or less afraid
of such a strange being as myself, and superstitious enough to think
me supernatural, yet in me he saw a possible usurper of his own power
and prominence and, if he had dared, he would have been only too glad
to have put me out of the way.
At the end of the archer’s narrative the fellow handed his mirror to
the king who uttered a sharp exclamatory hiss as he saw his own ugly
countenance reflected in it. Forgetting court etiquette and
conventions in their curiosity, the others gathered about and as the
mirror passed from hand to hand their amazement knew no bounds.
All of these men I now saw were clad in green or green and white and
were evidently of high rank, priests or courtiers I took it, but
otherwise were as undersized and repulsive as the common people on the
streets.
Suddenly I was aroused from my contemplation of the room and its
occupants by my guide who came close and by signs ordered me to
perform the miracle of smoking. Very ceremoniously and deliberately I
drew out my pipe, filled it and struck a match. At the bright flare of
the flame king and courtiers uttered a wailing hiss of fear and threw
themselves upon the floor. But they were of different stuff from their
people, or else the guide had prepared them for the event, for the
king soon raised his head, and glancing dubiously at me and finding I
had not vanished in fire and smoke, as he no doubt expected, he
resumed his sitting posture and in sharp tones ordered his fellows to
do likewise.
But despite this it was very evident that he and his friends were in
dread of the smoke from my mouth and nose while the tobacco fumes
caused them to sputter and cough and choke. This at last was more than
even the king could stand, and by signs he made it clear that he
wished me to end the demonstration of my fire eating ability. Then he
rose, and, to my unbounded surprise, stood erect and stepped forward
like an ordinary mortal upon his feet. Here was an extraordinary
thing. Was the king of a distinct race or stock or was the use of
nether limbs for walking confined to the royal family or to
individuals?
It was a fascinating scientific problem to solve. I had no time to
give it any consideration, however, for the king was now addressing me
in his snake-like dialect and was trying hard to make his meaning
clear by signs. For a moment I was at a loss, but presently I grasped
his meaning. He was asking whence I had come, and from the frequency
with which he pointed upward I judged he thought I had dropped from
the sky.
Then a brilliant idea occurred to me as I remembered Hazen’s story and
his suggestion regarding his return by plane. Pointing upward I made
the best imitation of a motor’s exhaust that I could manage. There was
no doubt that the monarch grasped my meaning. He grinned, nodded and
swept his arm in a wide semicircle around his head, evidently to
represent the course of the plane when Hazen had flown over the city.
Seemingly satisfied and, I judged, deeply impressed as well, he
resumed his seat, gave a few orders to his fellows and summoning my
guide spoke a few words to him. Thereupon the archer signalled me to
follow and led the way across the room. But I noticed that the king
had not returned the mirror.
Ascending the ladder to the roof the fellow hurried across to a second
building, scrambled down another ladder and we entered a large room.
In one corner swung a large fiber hammock; in the centre was spread a
cloth decorated in green and gold, and as we entered two women
appeared, each carrying handsome earthenware dishes of food whose
savory odors whetted my already ravenous appetite.
Marvelous as it was to see these impossible beings carrying food in
their uplifted feet and walking on their hands, yet I had now become
somewhat accustomed to the people and I was so famished that I hardly
gave the upside down serving maids a second glance.
The food was excellent—consisting of vegetables, some sort of
fricasseed game and luscious fruits— and as I ate my guide squatted
near and regarded me with the fixed, half adoring, half frightened
look that one sees on the face of a strange puppy.
I judged that he had been appointed my own personal guard or valet—it
mattered little which—and I was not sorry, for he seemed a fairly
decent specimen of his race and we already had become pretty well
accustomed to each other’s signs and gestures. Wishing to still
further establish myself in his confidence, and feeling rather sorry
for him because of the loss of his treasured mirror, I searched my
pockets for some other trinket. My possessions however were limited.
They consisted of a stub of a lead pencil, a note book, a few coins,
my handkerchief, my watch, my pocketknife, a few loose pistol
cartridges, my pipe and tobacco and a box of matches. As I drew all
these out a sudden fear gripped me. I had barely a dozen matches
remaining and my supply of tobacco was perilously low. What would
happen when I could no longer produce fire and smoke when called upon
to do so?
But I controlled my fears and comforted myself with the thought that
possibly, after having felt the effects of tobacco smoke, the king
would not soon demand another miracle at my hands and that, before
either matches or tobacco was exhausted, something might well happen
to solve any problems that might arise. Nevertheless I heartily wished
that I had arranged with Hazen to bring supplies in case they were
needed and which he could have easily dropped as he flew over.
It would, I now realized, have proved an extremely impressive thing
for the people to have seen me secure my magic from the giant roaring
bird in the sky. But I had never of course dreamed of such adventures
as I had met and could not possibly have foreseen the need of such
things. Just the same I cursed myself for a stupid fool for not having
provided for any contingency and especially for not having arranged a
series of signals with Hazen. However, I was familiar with wigwagging
and decided that, if necessity arose, It would be quite feasible for
me to signal to him by means of my handkerchief tied on a stick. Also,
I felt a bit easier in my mind from knowing that near the city was a
splendid landing place for the plane and that Hazen, if signalled,
would unquestionably attempt a descent.
Truly it was not every explorer in a predicament like mine who could
count on being able to summon aid from the clouds if worst came to
worst or who knew that a friend in an airplane would keep track of his
whereabouts. Indeed, I almost chuckled at the thought of being in this
long lost city among these incredible folk and yet within two hundred
miles of the Canal and civilization and with another American due to
hover above—and even communicate with me—within the next three days.
It was all so dreamlike, so utterly preposterous that I scarcely could
force myself to believe it and, having dined well and feeling
desperately tired, I flung myself into the hammock and almost
instantly dropped off to sleep.
It was still daylight when I awoke and the room was empty. Ascending
the ladder to the roof without meeting anyone, I climbed down the
other ladder to the street. Many people were about and while a few
especially the women and children, threw themselves on their faces or
scampered into their houses at my approach, yet the majority merely
prostrated themselves for a moment and then stood, supporting
themselves in their ape-like way, and stared curiously at me. I had
gone but a short distance when my valet came hurrying to my side. But
he made no objections to my going where I wished and I was glad to see
that my movements were not to be hampered as I was anxious thoroughly
to explore the city and its neighborhood. Curious to learn the purpose
of the pyramidal structure I had noticed I proceeded in that direction
and was soon in a part of the town given over to stalls, shops and
markets. There were also several workshops, such as pottery makers’, a
woodworking shop and a weaver’s shop and I spent some time watching
the artizans at their work. Somehow, from seeing the people walk upon
their hands, I had expected to see them perform their tasks with their
feet and it came as something of a surprise to see these fellows using
their hands like ordinary mortals.
Beyond this portion of the city the houses were scattered, the
outlying buildings were more or less patched and out of repair and
were very evidently the abode of the poorer classes, although the
inhabitants I saw, and who retreated the instant they saw me, were
exactly like all the others as far as I could see, both in dress and
feature. Passing these huts, I crossed the smooth green field, which I
now saw was a perfect landing place for the plane. Tethered to stakes
and grazing on the grass were a number of animals which, as I first
noticed them, I had taken for goats and cattle. But now I discovered
that they were all deer and tapirs. It was a great surprise to see
these animals domesticated but, after all, it was not remarkable, for
I should have known, had I stopped to give the matter thought, that
goats, sheep and cattle were unknown to the aboriginal Americans and
that this city and its people, who had never been visited and had
never communicated with other races, would of necessity be without
these well known animals.
Moreover, I knew that the Mayas were supposed to have used tapirs as
beasts of burden, and while I was standing there watching the
creatures a man approached riding astride a big tapir and driving a
second one loaded with bags of charcoal and garden produce. Here then
was a partial solution of the manner by which these weak, dwarfed
people built their stone houses. For with the powerful elephant-like
tapirs—and I noticed all were the giant Baird’s tapir which reaches a
weight of seven or eight hundred pounds—they could easily haul the
blocks of stone from a quarry and by means of tackle and inclined
planes, could readily hoist the stones to the tops of the walls.
I had now reached the base of the pyramid and found it a massive
structure of the same flinty stone as the other buildings. Running
from base to summit was a spiral path or stairway and instantly I knew
that it was a sacrificial pyramid exactly like those used by the
Aztecs and on which unfortunate beings were killed and sacrificed.
This discovery still further confirmed my suspicions that these people
were either of Aztec or Maya blood or had been influenced by those
races. Filled with curiosity to see the altar on the summit I started
up the sloping stairs. I was at first doubtful if my companion would
permit this, for the structure was sacred and doubtless only priests
of the highest order were permitted upon it. Evidently, however, my
guide thought that such a supernatural being or god as myself had
every right to invade the most sacred places, and he offered no
objection, but prostrated himself at the base of the pyramid as I
ascended.
At the summit I found, as I had expected, the sacrificial stone, a
huge block elaborately carved in hieroglyphs and with channels to
permit the blood to drain off, while, close at hand, was a massive
carved stone collar or yoke exactly like those which have been found
in Porto Rico and have so long puzzled scientists. From the blood
stains upon this I felt sure it was used to hold down the victim’s
head and neck, while strong metal staples, set into the stone,
indicated that the man destined for sacrifice was spread-eagled and
his ankles and wrists bound fast to the rings.
It was a most interesting spot from a scientific standpoint, but
decidedly gruesome, while the stench of putrefied blood and fragments
of human flesh clinging to the stones was nauseating and I was glad to
retrace my steps and descend to the ground.
From the top of the pyramid I had obtained a fine view of the plain
and city and I had noted that the former was surrounded on all sides
with steep cliffs, and I realized that the plain was not a flat topped
mountain as I had thought but the crater of an extinct volcano.
I saw no path, pass or opening by which the crater-valley could be
entered, but I knew there was the one by which I had arrived. As the
sun, here on the mountain top, was still well above the horizon I
decided to visit the entrance to the tunnel, for I was anxious to know
why the people should leave this avenue open when, on every other
side, they were completely cut off from the outer world. Possibly, I
thought, they knew of those horrible man-eating trees and trusted to
them to guard the city from intruders. Or again, they might keep the
entrance guarded, for the fellow I had knocked over as I dashed in had
been at the tunnel mouth and for all I knew he might have been an
armed guard and was merely so thunderstruck at my precipitate
appearance that he forgot his duties and his weapons.
With such thoughts running through my mind I strolled across the
plain, past well-tilled gardens and fields, in several of which I saw
men ploughing with well made plows drawn by tapirs. Even the farmers
stopped their work and prostrated themselves as I passed, and it was
evident that word of my celestial origin and supernatural character
had gone forth to every inhabitant of the valley.
Following the path, I reached the little rise from which I had first
viewed the city and soon came to the spot where I had entered. Imagine
my utter surprise when I saw no sign whatever of the opening. I was
positive that I had not missed my way. I recognized the clumps of
bushes and the forms of the rocks, but there was no dark hole, no
aperture in the cliff. Then, as I drew near to the precipice, I made
an astounding discovery. Closely fitted into the rock and so like it
that it had escaped my attention, was an enormous stone door. How it
was operated, whether it was hinged or slid or whether it was pivoted,
I could not determine. But that it covered and concealed the entrance
to the tunnel I was convinced. Why the people had left the tunnel open
as though to clear the way for me, why they should have fitted a door
to it, why they should ever use the tunnel which could bring them only
to the death-dealing forest, were problems which I could not solve.
At any rate there was nothing to be gained by staying there and I
started back towards the city. Thinking to return by another route, I
took a path that led towards the opposite mountain side and presently
from ahead, I distinctly heard the sound of metal striking stone.
Oddly enough my mind had been so filled with other matters that I had
hardly wondered how these people cut or worked the hard stone. But now
that my attention was attracted by the sound my curiosity was aroused
and I hurried forward. What metal I wondered, did these people use?
For metal I knew it must be from the ringing, clinking noise. Was I
about to see hardened bronze tools in actual use or had these
marvelous folk discovered the use of iron or steel? So astounding had
been all my experiences, so paradoxical and incredible everything I
had seen, that I was prepared for almost anything. I, or rather we,
soon came to the verge of a deep pit wherein, laboring at great masses
of white stone, were scores of workmen. Standing like skeletons among
the blocks were derricks; hitched to sledge-like drags loaded with
stone were teams of tapirs and on the farther side was a big
outjutting ledge from which the stone was being quarried. Hurrying
down the steep trail I reached the bottom of the pit to find every man
flat on the ground.
Signalling to my companion that I wished to have the fellows go on
with their work, I approached the nearest slab of rock. It was the
same fine grained whitish rock of which the city was built, and, lying
upon it where they had been dropped by the stone cutters, were several
small hammers, chisels and an adze-like tool. That they were not
bronze or any alloy of copper I knew at the first glance. Their color
was that of tempered steel and they seemed ridiculously small for the
purpose of working this hard stone. If these people used steel then I
had indeed made a discovery, and intent on this matter I picked up one
of the tools to examine it. No sooner had I lifted it that I uttered
an involuntary exclamation of surprise. The hammer, although hardly
larger than an ordinary tack hammer, weighed fully ten pounds! It was
heavier than if made of solid gold. There was only one known metal
that could be so heavy and that was platinum. But platinum it could
not be, for that metal is softer than gold and would be of no more use
for cutting rock than so much lead. The tools, however, were
undoubtedly hard—the polished surface of the hammer-head and the
chisels, and the unscarred keen edges of the latter, showed this, and,
anxious to test their hardness, I held a chisel against the rock and
struck it sharply with a hammer.
Once more I cried out in wonder, for the chisel had bitten fully half
an inch into the stone! It had cut it as easily as if the rock were
cheese!
What marvel was this? What magic lay in these tools? And then the
secret dawned upon me and a moment’s examination of the stone
confirmed my suspicions. It was not that the tools were so very hard
or keen but that the rock was soft—so soft that I could readily cut it
with my pocket knife, a wax-like earthy rock which no doubt became
hard upon exposure to the air exactly like the coral rock of Bermuda,
which may be quarried with saws and even planed, but becomes as hard
as limestone after exposure to the elements. Still, the tools were far
harder than any metal except tempered steel, and for some time I
puzzled over the matter as I watched the workmen, now over their
fright and adoration, skilfully cutting and squaring the blocks of
stone. It was one more conundrum I could not solve, and it was not
until long afterwards, when a careful analysis of the metal was made,
that I knew the truth. The metal was an alloy of platinum and
iridium—the later one of the hardest of all known metals.
As we left the quarry and made our way toward the city I noticed an
immense aqueduct stretching across the land from the apparently solid
mountain side just above the quarry. I had given little thought to how
the people secured water here in the crater. But it was now apparent
that it was brought from some source by the stone conduit. Keenly
curious to know whence it came, for I could not imagine how a river,
lake or spring could exist on the crater rim, I wished to investigate,
but darkness was coming on, I was tired and I deferred further
exploration until another day.
Although I suppose I should have been grateful for being able to
communicate with the people at all, yet I keenly felt the lack of a
common medium of conversation, for the sign language was limited and I
could not secure the information I so much desired about many matters
that puzzled me.
Nothing further of interest transpired that night. I was supplied with
food, I slept soundly and did not awaken until roused by the women
with my breakfast. Very soon afterwards I was summoned to the throne
room by Zip, as I called my companion, and once more I had to strike a
match and smoke my pipe for the king’s benefit. This time a second
personage of high rank was beside him, a villainous looking
hunchbacked dwarf with red, vicious eyes and cruel mouth but who, like
the king, walked on his feet. From his elaborately decorated white
robes and the mitre-like crown of quetzal feathers on his gray head, I
concluded he was a high priest, for in the designs upon his costume
and the form of his crown, I saw a decided resemblance to the Aztec
priests as shown in the picturegraph of that race. Moreover, the
quetzal or resplendant trogon was, I knew, the sacred bird of the
Aztecs and Mayas, and while I was aware that it was common in the
northern portions of Panama, I had never heard of its occurrence in
Darien, a fact which still further confirmed my belief that these
people were of Aztec stock. But if this were the case it was a puzzle
as to why they should be so undersized, malformed and physically
degenerate, for both the Aztecs and Mayas were powerful, well-formed
races. The only solution I could think of was the supposition that
isolation and intermarriage through centuries had brought about such
results.
But to return to my audience with the king. I was not all pleased at
thus having to use my precious matches and tobacco and I foresaw some
very unpleasant developments in store for me if the performance was to
be of daily occurrence. It was manifest that I must devise some new
and startling exhibition of my powers if I were to retain my prestige
and my freedom, for I well knew, from past experiences with savage
races, and from the character of these potentates, that if I failed to
perform miracles, and became, in their eyes, an ordinary mortal, my
career would come to an abrupt end.
To be sure, there was the reassuring fact that Hazen would or should
appear within the next forty-eight hours, but it was decidedly
problematical as to whether I could communicate with him or could
receive any aid from the air. However, there was nothing to be done
but obey and puff away at my pipe. With the idea of cutting the
exhibition short I stepped closer to the throne and blew the smoke
towards the faces of the king and the priest. The monarch was soon
coughing and spluttering, but he was game, while the priest, to my
amazement, sniffed the smoke and seemed to enjoy it. Here was trouble.
Evidently he had a natural taste for tobacco and this fact caused me a
deal of worry, for if the old rascal took it into his head to acquire
the habit and demanded I should let him try a puff at the pipe I would
be in a pretty fix indeed.
However, my fears on this score were groundless, and presently the
king, who could stand it no longer, signalled for me to depart, which
I did most gladly.
I still had it in mind to investigate the water supply, and with
Zip—reminding me of an acrobatic clown—beside me, headed for the
aqueduct. This I found was of stones, dovetailed together in water
tight joints, and built like an open trough and the speed of the water
flowing through it proved the supply well above the city’s level. It
was an easy matter to follow the conduit, for a well-trodden path was
beside it, but it was a steep up-grade climb for nearly a mile before
I gained the spot where the aqueduct tapped the mountain rim. Here the
water gushed from a hole in the solid rock and from its volume I knew
it must come from some large reservoir. From where I stood I could
look directly down into the quarry and the thought flashed through my
mind that if the people continued to quarry in the place for many more
years they would undermine and weaken the foundations of the aqueduct.
It was their lookout not mine, however, and still intent on tracing
the water to its source I turned up a trail that appeared to lead to
the mountain top. In places this was excessively steep and here Zip
exhibited a new habit of his people. Dropping his feet he proceeded to
climb the path on all fours, his feet first and his prehensile toes
grasping every projection and bit of rock to draw him along while his
immense, powerful hands supported his weight and pushed him onward. He
looked more like a gigantic spider than anything, and not in the least
human. Panting and blown I at last gained the summit and looked down
upon a lake of dismal black water filling a circular crater about half
a mile in diameter. Close by was an aperture in the rock and
half-filled with water, and it was evident that this was connected
with the outlet below by means of a shaft. Whether this was a natural
formation or had been laboriously cut by hand I could not tell, but I
was prepared for almost anything by this time and was not greatly
surprised to find a cleverly constructed sluice gate arranged above
the opening to regulate the flow of water. I had seen similar crater
lakes in the extinct volcanoes of the West Indies, but I was surprised
that Hazen had not mentioned it. But on second thought I realized that
when flying over it, the dark water surrounded by vegetation would
hardly be visible and might easily be mistaken for heavy shadow or an
empty crater, while the aviator’s surprise at the city would fix his
attention upon it to the exclusion of all surroundings.
Standing upon the rock ridge several hundred feet above the city I had
almost the same view as Hazen had from his plane and I could
understand how, at an elevation of 5000 feet or more, he had been
unable to obtain any very accurate idea of the buildings or people. I
also realized, with a sinking of my heart, that it would be next to
impossible for him to recognize me or to see any signals I might make.
The most prominent spot in the entire valley was the pyramid, for this
was isolated upon the green plain and the sun, striking through a gap
in the eastern rim of the crater, shone directly upon the altar’s
summit, thus bringing it out in sharp relief. Indeed, it looked for
all the world like a pylon on an aviation field. If I expected to make
my presence known to Hazen or to signal to him, my best point of
vantage would be the summit of the pyramid and I determined to climb
there and await his arrival when he should be due, two days later.
Little did I dream at the time of the conditions under which I would
await him upon that gruesome altar.
CHAPTER IV
THE SACRIFICE
By the time we had descended the mountain and had reached the city it
was noon, and going to my quarters I was glad to find an excellent
meal. Having finished eating I threw myself into the hammock and
despite my scarcity of matches and tobacco, indulged in a smoke. Then,
feeling drowsy, I took off my coat, placed it on the floor beside my
hammock and closed my eyes.
I awoke refreshed and reached for my coat only to leap from the
hammock with a cry of alarm. The coat was gone! Quickly I searched the
room, thinking Zip might have placed the garment elsewhere while I
slept, but the place was bare. Zip was nowhere to be seen, and even
the rug on which meals were served had been removed.
Here was a pretty state of affairs. My coat contained my matches,
pipe, tobacco, pocket knife and handkerchief. Without it I was lost,
helpless, incapable of maintaining my prestige of position. Death or
worse hovered over me. My life depended on regaining my precious
garment and its contents. Who could have taken it? What could have
been their object? And instantly the truth flashed upon my mind. It
was that rascally high priest. He had seen me take pipe, tobacco and
matches from my coat pocket. He had watched me narrowly, perhaps had
kept his eyes upon me through some hidden peep-hole or opening, and
had seen me remove my coat, and while I slept had seized it. Or
perhaps he had ordered Zip to secure it for him. It made little
difference which, for if it were in his possession he would have me in
his power. He could order me to smoke and when I failed he could
perform the miracle himself and denounce me as an imposter. My only
hope was to regain my possessions by fair means or foul, and knowing
that every second I delayed increased my peril, I rushed to the ladder
and across the roofs to the throne room.
From beneath me, as I started to descend, came the sounds of the
hissing language in excited tones, and as my head came below the level
of the roof my heart sank. The dark air of the room was heavy with
tobacco smoke!
The next instant my feet were jerked from beneath me, I was seized,
tumbled on the floor, and before I could strike or rise I was bound
hand and foot. Dazed, startled and helpless I glanced about.
Surrounding me were a dozen of the repulsive dwarfs. Gathered about
the sides of the room were crowds of people, and seated upon the
throne, puffing great clouds of smoke from my pipe, a wicked leer upon
his ugly face, and thoroughly enjoying himself, was the priest, while
beside him the king coughed and sneezed and looked very miserable.
All this I took in at a glance. Then I was seized and dragged roughly
before the throne. I fully realized my doom was sealed. I was no
longer a supernatural being to be feared and adored—my treatment
proved that—but merely a prisoner, an ordinary mortal. Oddly enough,
however, I was no longer frightened. My first fears had given place to
anger, and I raged and fumed and prayed that the grinning fiend before
me might be stricken with all the torturing sickness, which usually
follows the beginner’s first smoke.
But apparently he was immune to the effects, and as soon as I was
dragged before the throne he rose, and pointing at me, addressed the
crowd before him. That he was denouncing me as an imposter and at the
same time tremendously increasing his own importance was evident by
his tones, his gestures and the expression on his black face.
Moreover, he had another card to play. Pointing upward and waving his
arm and making quite creditable imitation of an airplane’s exhaust, he
spoke vehemently and then pointed to a man who crouched on the dais.
At first I was at a loss to grasp his meaning, and then, as the
trembling creature beside the throne spoke in frightened tones and
gesticulated vividly, I realized he was the chap I had bumped into
upon my arrival. He had spilled the beans and had informed the old
scarecrow of a priest that I had arrived via the tunnel and not from
the sky.
I felt sure now that my doom was sealed. But there was nothing I could
do or say. There was one chance in a million that I might be escorted
from the valley and turned loose in the tunnel; but that gave me no
comfort, for I knew that hideous certain death awaited me on that
slope covered with the devilish man-eating-trees.
The chances, however, were all in favor of my being tortured and
butchered. Strangely enough my greatest regret, the matter which
troubled me the most and made me curse my carelessness in removing my
coat while I slept, was not that I should be killed—I had faced death
too often for that—but the fact that I would be unable to report the
wonderful discoveries I had made or give my knowledge of the city and
its people to the world. Indeed, my thoughts were so concentrated on
this that I gave little attention to the priest, until he stepped
forward, and, with a nasty grimace, struck me savagely across the
face. Maddened at the blow I lunged forward like a butting ram. My
head struck squarely in the pit of his stomach, and with a gasping
yell he doubled up and fell sprawling on the dais while the pipe flew
from his lips and scattered its contents far and near. Before I could
roll to one side, my guards seized and pulled me across the room.
Despite my plight and the fate in store for me I laughed loudly and
heartily as I saw the priest with hands pressed to stomach, eyes
rolling wildly and a sickly greenish pallor on his face. The blow plus
the tobacco had done its work. I had evened up the score a bit at any
rate.
The next moment I was hauled through a low doorway hidden by
draperies, and, bumping like a bag of meal over the rough stones, was
pitched into an inky black cell. Bruised, scratched and bleeding I lay
there unable to move or see while the occasional sounds of shuffling
footsteps, or rather handsteps, told me a guard was close at hand. For
hour after hour I lay motionless, expecting each minute that I would
be dragged out to torture or death and wondering dully what form it
would take, until at last—numb, exhausted and worn out, I lost
consciousness.
I was brought to my senses by being seized and jerked to a sitting
posture, and found the cell illuminated by a spluttering torch, while
two of the men supported my shoulders and a third held a gourd of
water to my lips. My throat was parched and the liquid was most
welcome, and a moment later, a fourth man appeared with food. It was
evident that the priest had no intention of letting me die of thirst
or starvation, and I wondered why he should be so solicitous of my
comfort if I were doomed to an early death.
As soon as I had eaten, the guards withdrew, taking the torch, and I
was once more left in stygian blackness with my thoughts. I wondered
whether it were day or night, but I had no means of judging. It had
been the middle of the afternoon when I had missed my coat, and,
reasoning that the food served was probably the evening meal, I
decided that it was now about sundown. In that case I should probably
be put out of the way the next morning. That would be a full
twenty-four hours before Hazen was due and I wondered what he would
think when he saw no sign of me in the valley—whether he would surmise
that I had not reached the city and had been killed by the Kunas, and
what he would report to my friends in Colon.
But Colon, friends and Hazen seemed very far away as I thought of them
there in that black hole awaiting death at the hands of the strange
black dwarfs and, as far as any aid they could give me was concerned,
I might as well have been in Mars.
My thoughts were interrupted by my guards reappearing with the torch.
Lifting me to my feet they loosened the bonds about my legs and urged
me through a small doorway, where I was compelled to bend low to pass,
and along a winding, narrow, low-ceilinged stone tunnel. That I was on
my way to my execution I was sure, and vague thoughts of selling my
life dearly and of overpowering my puny guards crossed my mind. But I
dismissed such ideas as useless, for even were I to succeed I would be
no better off. There were thousands of the tiny men in the city, it
was impossible to escape from the valley unseen, and I had not the
least idea where the underground passage led. To attempt to escape
meant certain death, and there still remained a faint chance, a dim
hope that I might yet be spared and merely deported. So, ducking my
head and with stooping shoulders, I picked my way along the tunnel by
the fitful glare of the flaming torch.
For what seemed miles the way led on and I began to think that the
entrance was outside the valley and that I was being led to freedom,
when a glimmer of light showed ahead, the floor sloped upward, and, an
instant later, I emerged in the open air.
For a moment my eyes were blinded by the light after the darkness of
the passage and I could not grasp where I was. I had thought it
evening, but my first glance told me it was early morning and I knew
the night had passed and another day had come. Then, as I looked about
at my surroundings and it dawned upon me where I was, a shudder of
horror, a chill of deadly fear swept over me. I was on the summit of
the pyramid. The sacrificial altar was within three paces. Beside it
stood the fiendish priest and his assistants, and gathered upon the
green plain were hordes of people with faces upturned towards me. I
was about to be sacrificed, to be bound fast to the blood-stained
awful stone, to have my still-beating heart torn from my living body!
Anything were preferable to that and with a sudden bound I strove to
gain the altar’s edge and hurl myself to certain death. But to no
avail. Two of the dwarfs held me fast by the cord which fastened my
wrists and I was jerked back to fall heavily upon the stones. Before I
could struggle up, four of the priest’s assistants sprang forward and,
grasping me by legs and shoulders, lifted me and tossed me upon the
stinking sacrificial stone. I was helpless, and instantly my ankles
were tied fast to the metal staples, the bonds of my wrists were
severed, my arms were drawn apart and securely lashed to other
staples, the stone collar was placed about my neck forcing my head far
back and I was ready for the glowering priest to wreak his awful
vengeance.
Stepping close to the altar he drew a glittering obsidian knife—and
even in my terrible predicament I noted this, and realized that he was
adhering strictly to Aztec customs—and, raising his arms, he began a
wailing, blood-curdling chant. Up from the thousands of throats below
came the chanting chorus, rising and falling like a great wave of
sound. How long I wondered, would this keep on? How much longer must
this agony, this torture of suspense be borne? Why did he not strike
his stone dagger into my chest and have it over with?
And then, from some dormant cell in my brain, came the answer. I was
to be sacrificed to the sun god, and I remembered that, according to
the Aztec religion, the blow could not be struck until the rising sun
cast its rays upon the victim’s chest above the heart. The priest was
awaiting that moment. He was delaying until the sun, still behind the
crater’s rim, should throw its first rays upon me.
How long would it be? How many minutes must pass before the fatal
finger of light pointed to my heart? With a mighty effort I turned my
head slightly towards the east. Above the rugged mountain edge was a
blaze of light. Even as I looked with aching eyes a golden beam shot
across the valley and flashed blindingly into my face. It was now only
a matter of seconds. The priest raised his knife aloft. The chant from
the multitude ceased and over city and valley fell an ominous, awful
silence. Upon the sacrificial knife the sun gleamed brilliantly,
transforming the glass-like stone to burnished gold. With his free
hand the priest tore open my shirt and bared my bosom. I felt that the
end had come. I closed my eyes. And then, at the very instant when the
knife was about to sweep down, faint and far away, like the humming of
a giant bee, I caught a sound. It was unmistakable unlike anything
else in all the world—the exhaust of an airplane’s engines!
And my straining ears were not the only ones that heard that note.
Over the priest’s face swept a look of deadly fear. The poised knife
was slowly lowered. He turned trembling towards the west and from the
waiting throng below rose a mighty sigh of terror.
A new hope sprang up in my breast. Was it Hazen? He was not due until
the next day and it might be only some army plane that would pass far
to one side of the valley. No, the sound was increasing, the plane was
approaching. But even were it Hazen would it help me any? Would he see
my plight and descend or would he fly too far above the city to note
what was taking place? For a space my life was saved. The fear of that
giant, roaring bird would prevent the sacrifice. The priest feared he
had made a mistake, that I _was_ a god, that, from the sky, vengeance
would swoop upon him and his people for the contemplated butchery. But
if the plane passed? Or would his dread of it be greater than his fear
of defying the sun god by failing in the sacrifice?
Now the roar of the motor sounded directly overhead and the next
moment I glimpsed the plane speeding across the blue morning sky. Then
it was gone. The exhaust grew fainter and fainter. All hope was lost.
Whoever it was had flown on, all unsuspecting the awful fate of a
fellow man upon that sunlit pyramid.
And now the priest was again towering over me. Once more he raised his
knife. I could feel the warm sun heating upon my throat and shoulders.
I could feel it creeping slowly but surely downward. The knife
quivered in the impatient hand of the priest, I saw his muscles tense
themselves for the blow, I caught the grim smile that flitted across
his face as he prepared to strike.
An instant more and my palpitating heart would be held aloft for all
to see.
But the blow never fell. With a deafening roar, that drowned the
mighty shout of terror from the people, the airplane swooped like an
eagle from the sky and clove the air within a hundred feet of the
altar. With a gurgling cry the priest flung himself face down, and his
knife fell clattering with the sound of broken glass upon the stones.
Was it Hazen? Would he see me? Would he alight? Was I saved?
The answer was a thunderous, fear maddened cry from below, a swishing
whirr as of a gale of wind and a dark shadow sweeping over me.
And then my overwrought senses, my frazzled nerves could stand no more
and all went black before my eyes.
Dimly consciousness came back. I heard the sounds of rushing feet, the
panting labored breaths of men, sharp, half uttered exclamations and
grunting noises. Then a shrill scream of mortal terror and a deep
drawn sigh of relief. Above my wondering eyes a figure suddenly
loomed. A weird uncanny figure with strangely smooth and rounded head
and great goggling, glassy eyes. With a jerk the stone collar was
lifted from my strained neck and as full consciousness came back I
gasped. It was Hazen! By some miracle he was ahead of time!
From somewhere, muffled behind that grotesque mask, came a hoarse: “My
God, are you hurt?”
Before I could speak the bonds were slashed from my ankles and wrists.
A strong arm raised me and pulled me from the slab.
“For God’s sake, hurry!” cried Hazen, as half supporting me he rushed
toward the altar stairs. “I’ve got ’em buffaloed for a minute, but the
Lord alone knows how long it’ll hold ’em.”
Rapidly as my numbed limbs would permit I rushed down the sloping,
spiral way. Half carried by Hazen I raced across the few yards of
grass between the base of the pyramid and the plane, and as I did so I
caught a fleeting glimpse of a huddled, shapeless, bloodly bundle of
green and white. It was all that remained of the priest whom Hazen had
hurled from the altar top!
The next moment I was in the plane and Hazen was twirling the
propeller. There was a roar as the motor started. Hazen leaped like an
acrobat to his seat and slowly the machine moved across the plain.
Everywhere the people were prostrate, but as the machine started
forward one after another glanced up. Ere we had traveled a score of
yards the creatures were rising and with frightful screams were
scattering from our pathway. It was impossible to avoid them. With
sickening shocks the whirring propeller struck one after another.
Blood spattered our faces and becrimsoned the windshield and the
wings. But uninjured the plane gathered headway; the uneven bumping
over the ground ceased; we were traveling smoothly, lifting from the
earth.
Then with a strange wild roar the people rushed for us. Racing on
their hands they came. Rocks and missiles whizzed about us. An arrow
whirred by my head and struck quivering in a strut. But now we were
rising rapidly. We were looking down upon the maddened hosts, their
arrows and sling-flung stones were striking the under surface of the
fuselage and wings. We were safe at last. A moment more and we would
be above the crater rim.
A sudden exclamation from Hazen startled me. I glanced up. Straight
ahead rose the precipitous mountain side above the quarry. To clear it
we must ascend far more rapidly than we were doing.
“Must have splintered the blades!” jerked out Hazen. “She’s not making
it. Can’t swing her. Rudder’s jammed. Heave out everything you can
find. Hurry or we’ll smash!”
Before us loomed the ragged, rocky wall. We were rushing to our doom
at lightning speed. At Hazen’s words I grasped whatever I could find
and tossed it over the side. A box of provisions, a roll of tools, a
leather jacket, a thermos bottle, canteens, an automatic pistol and a
cartridge belt all went. I glanced up. We were rising faster. A few
pounds more overboard, a few feet higher and we would be clear. Was
there anything else I could throw out? Frantically I searched. I saw a
canlike object resting on a frame. Spare gasoline I decided, but fuel
was of no value now. With an effort I dragged it out. I lifted it and
hurled it over.
With a sudden jerk the plane sprung upward. There was a terrific
muffled roar from below and with barely a yard to spare we rose above
the crater rim.
“Lord, you must have dropped that old bomb!” cried Hazen. “The
concussion jarred the rudder free.”
I glanced over the side. Far beneath, a cloud of smoke and dust was
drifting slowly aside exposing the aqueduct, broken, smashed and in
ruins. From the opening in the mountain side a mighty stream of water
was roaring in a rushing, tearing torrent. The bomb had landed
squarely in the quarry. The aqueduct had fallen, the shock had let
loose the gates of the lake and the whole vast crater reservoir was
pouring in a mighty flood across the valley.
In a wide arc Hazen swung the plane about. “Poor devils!” he muttered
as we soared above the doomed city.
Already the green plain was shimmering with the glint of water. We
could see the frantic, frenzied people running and scrambling up their
ladders. Again we wheeled and circled far above them and now only the
roof tops of the houses were above the flood. Presently these too sank
from sight and above the sunlit waters only the sacrificial stone
remained.
“It’s all over!” exclaimed Hazen, and heading northward we sped beyond
the encircling mountain sides.
Beneath us now was forest, and with a shudder I recognized it as that
death-dealing, nightmare grove of cannibal trees. Fascinated I gazed
down and suddenly from the mountain side behind us burst a frothing
yellow torrent. The pressure of the flood had been too great. The
overwhelming waters had forced the stone door of the tunnel by which I
had entered that incredible valley. Before my wondering eyes the
devastating deluge swept down the slope. I saw the monstrous trees
shiver and sway and crash before the irresistible force. They gave way
and like matchsticks went tossing, tumbling, bobbing down the
hillside.
Higher and higher we rose. The water-filled crater was now but a
silvery lake. The slope up which I had fought and raced from the
ravenous, blood-sucking trees was bare, red earth scarred deep by the
plunging stream that flowed over it. Far to the west gleamed the blue
Pacific. Like a vast map Darien was spread below us. Northward we
sped. Before us was civilization. Behind us death and destruction. The
man-eating trees were a thing of the past. The lost city was lost
forever.
(The End)
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 1926 issue
of Amazing Stories magazine.]
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