THE CANYON WITHIN THE MOUNTAIN.
Monella, with the lantern in his hand, led his two companions through
an arched opening into a second cavern which seemed to be larger and
loftier than the first; and this, in turn, opened into a third, at one
end of which they could see that daylight entered. Monella stopped here
and, lifting the light high in one hand, pointed with the other to
side-openings in the rock.
"They are side-galleries, so to speak," he said, "but do not appear to
be of any great extent. I have been to the end of two or three. They
all seem to be perfectly empty too; not so much as a trace of anything
did I see, save loose pieces of stone here and there, that had, no
doubt, fallen from the roof. Now we will go to the entrance on this
side." And he turned and walked on towards the place where they could
see the glimmering of daylight.
Quite suddenly they turned a corner and saw before them a high archway,
leading out into the open air; and, before the two young men had had
time to express surprise, they had stepped out of the gloomy cavern
into a valley, where they stood and stared in helpless astonishment
upon a scene that was as lovely and enchanting as it was utterly
unexpected.
They saw before them the bottom of a valley, or canyon, of about half
a mile in length, and nearly a quarter of a mile in width; its floor,
if one may use the expression, consisted chiefly of fine sand of a warm
tawny hue; its sides, of rocks of white or pinkish white fine-grained
sandstone, with here and there veins, two or three feet wide, of some
metallic-looking material that glistened in the sunlight like masses
of gold and silver. In other places were veins of jasper, porphyry,
or some analogous rock, that sparkled and flashed as though embedded
with diamonds; other parts again were dark-coloured, like black marble,
throwing up in strong relief the ferns and flowers that grew in front
of them.
At the further end of the valley a waterfall tumbled and foamed in
the rays of the sun which, being now almost overhead, threw its beams
along the whole length of the canyon. The stream that flowed below the
fall widened out into clear pools here and there, fringed by stretches
of velvety sward of a vivid green. The water of this stream was of a
wonderful turquoise-blue tint, different from anything, Templemore
thought, that he had ever seen before; and he and Elwood gazed with
admiration at its inviting pellucid pools. But most extraordinary of
all were the flowers that nearly everywhere were to be seen. In shape,
in brilliancy of colouring, and in many other respects, they differed
entirely from even the rare and wonderful orchids and other blossoms
they had come across in the vicinity of Roraima. Of trees there were
not many, though a few were dotted about here and there by the side of
the river; and, in places, graceful palms grew out of the rocky slopes
at the sides and leaned over, somewhat after the fashion of gigantic
ferns. Though the valley was so shut in, and the heat in the sun very
great, yet the amount of green vegetation on all sides, the blue
water, and the light-coloured, cool-looking rocks, made up a scene
that was gratefully refreshing after the gloom of the forest scenes to
which the explorers had been so long accustomed. Moreover, by stepping
back into the cool air of the cavern, they could look out upon it all
without experiencing the drawback of the intense heat.
Elwood was in ecstasies. The triumphant light in his eyes, when he
turned round and looked at his friend, was a thing to see.
"You confounded, wretched old grumbler," he exclaimed, "what have you
to say now? Is not _this_ worth coming for? Or is it that even _this_
will not suit you? Perhaps it is all too bright, the water too blue,
the flowers too highly coloured, or"--here a most delicious scent was
wafted across from some of the flowers--"they are perfumed too highly
to please you! You haven't found fault with anything yet, and we have
been here nearly five minutes!"
Jack laughed; and Leonard noticed that it was more like his old, easy,
good-natured laugh.
"I think you are too severe upon me, Leonard," he replied. "Don't you
think so, Monella?"
Monella, the while, had been standing gazing on the scene like one in a
dream. More than once he passed his hand across his eyes in a confused
way, as though to make sure he was awake. When thus addressed, however,
he seemed to rouse himself, and, without noticing the bantering
question that had been addressed to him, and, extending one hand slowly
towards the valley that lay before them, said,
"I praise Heaven that I have been led, after many days, to the land
that I have seen in my visions. _Now_ do I begin to understand why they
were sent. And you too, my son," he added, looking at Leonard, "you
have had your visions and your dreams. Tell me, does this not remind
you of them?"
[Illustration: "A SCENE THAT WAS GRATEFULLY REFRESHING."
[_Page 72._]
"Indeed it does," returned Leonard seriously. "Though, till you spoke
of it, I had not thought of it. I felt so glad to think we had been
successful so far, and that your expectations were being justified. It
is all very strange."
"I am out of all that," observed Jack, with a comical mixture of
offended dignity and good-natured condescension. "You dreamers of
dreams have the best of such beings as I am. _You_ are led on by
visions of what is in store for you, as it would seem, while _I_ have
to work in the dark, and follow others blindly, and----"
"And think of nothing but how best you can serve and protect your
friends," said Monella, looking at him with a kindly smile. "We are
not all alike, my friend. It is not given to all to 'dream dreams,'
any more than it is given to all to have true manly courage combined
with almost womanly affection for those they call their friends. We
three have little to boast of as between one another, I fancy. Would
it were so more often where three friends are found grouped together
or associated in any undertaking. But now to consider what is next
to be done. It seems to me we could not have a better place for our
head-quarters in our future explorations than this cavern. Here we
have all we want: shelter from rain, and sun, water--pretty well all
we could ask for. We must see about getting our things along here." He
paused for a moment and then continued, "On second thoughts I see no
reason why you should not remain here. There is no more baggage than
the Indians can carry amongst them, and that is all we have to trouble
about. I will go back, and you two stay here."
"That seems scarcely fair," Jack protested. "I have been lazy all the
morning. I propose I go and leave you here."
Monella shook his head.
"You cannot manage the Indians as I can," he answered. "Indeed, that is
one reason why I think you would do better to remain here. When they
find you do not return, and that they have to obey me or remain in the
forest alone, they are more likely to do what we require. But I will
ask you not to go far away, and not to fire off a gun or anything,
unless in case of actual danger and necessity."
"You do not believe that the place is inhabited?" Jack exclaimed in
surprise.
"Who can tell?" was the only reply, as Monella took up the lantern and
turned away.
Left to themselves, Jack pulled out his inevitable pipe, the while that
Elwood sought, and brought in, a couple of short logs from a fallen
tree to serve as seats; and the two then sat down in the shade of the
cavern-entrance.
Jack was very thoughtful; but his thoughtfulness now was of a different
kind from his late moody silence. He, indeed, was ruminating deeply
upon Monella, who was every day--every hour almost--becoming a greater
mystery to him. He had been particularly struck with his manner and
the expression of his face when they had stood together, looking out
upon that curious scene. In Monella's _words_ there had not been much
perhaps, but in other respects he had strangely impressed the usually
unimpressionable Templemore. There had been in his features a sort of
exaltation, a light and fire as of one actuated by a great and lofty
purpose, so entirely opposed to the idea that his end and aim were
connected with gold-seeking, that Jack Templemore confessed himself
more puzzled with him than he had ever been before. Too often, as he
reflected, when a man sets his mind, at the time of life Monella might
be supposed to have reached, upon gold-seeking, he is actuated by sheer
greed and covetousness. But by no single look or action whatever had
Monella ever conveyed a suggestion that the lust of gold was in his
breast. Yet, if that were not so, what was his object? Did he seek
fame--the fame of being a great discoverer? Scarcely. Again and again
he had declared, on the one hand, his contempt for and weariness of
the world in general, and, on the other, his fixed intention never to
return to civilised life. Jack began to suspect that all his talk about
the wealth to be gained from their enterprise had been chiefly designed
to secure their aid, and that for himself it had no weight--offered no
incentive. What, then, _was_ Monella's secret aim or object? What was
the hidden expectation or hope, or belief, or whatever it was, that
had led him into an undertaking that had appeared almost a chimera;
that had so taken possession of his mind as to have become almost a
religion with him; that had enabled him to support fatigue and physical
exertion, privation, hunger and thirst, as probably could few other
men on the face of the earth; and that had become such an article of
faith--had made him such a firm believer in his own destiny, that no
danger seemed to have any meaning for him? Neither storm nor flood,
lightning nor tempest, savage beasts nor deadly serpents--none of
the dangers or risks that the bravest men acknowledged, even if they
faced them, seemed to have existence so far as this strange man showed
any consciousness of them. Never had they known him to step aside
one foot, to pause or hesitate one moment, to avoid any of them. He
simply went his way in supreme contempt of them all; and, until quite
lately--till within the hour almost--Jack had attributed all this
either to madness, or to an inordinate thirst for riches for riches'
sake--which, as he reflected, would be, in itself, a sort of madness.
Now, however, his opinion was altering. The liking he had all along
felt was changing to surprised admiration. He remembered the calm,
unwavering confidence with which Monella had led them through all
their seemingly interminable difficulties and discouragements to their
present success--for success he felt it was, in one sense, if not in
another. In the strange flowers and plants before them, alone, there
were fame and fortune, and what might there not be yet beyond, now that
they had in very truth penetrated into that mysterious mountain that
had so long defied and baffled all would-be explorers? Monella, he
still felt, might be a bit mad--a dreamer or a mystic--but, evidently,
he was a man of great and strange resources. Few engineers, as Jack
himself knew, could have led them thus straight to their goal from
the data he had had to work upon. Yet he showed now neither elation
nor surprise, and in particular, as Jack confessed to himself rather
shamefacedly, no disposition to remind him of his many exhibitions
of contemptuous unbelief. With these thoughts in his mind, and the
remembrance of Monella's unvarying kindness of manner--to say nothing
of the way he had exposed himself to danger on his behalf--Templemore
began to understand better than he ever had before the affection that
the warm-hearted Leonard entertained for their strange friend, and
he became conscious that a similar feeling was fast rooting itself
in his own heart. In fact Monella was now, at last, exercising over
the practical-minded Templemore that mysterious fascination and magic
charm that had made the Indians his devoted slaves, and Leonard his
unquestioning admirer and disciple.
Presently, Leonard, who had fallen into one of his daydreams, woke up
with a slight start and exclaimed,
"What a paradise!"
Jack smiled, and said, "I wonder whether it is a paradise without a
serpent, as it is without an Eve? But your dreams, Leonard, if I
remember, were mixed up with a comely damsel; and there is none here. I
fear we shall have to regard her as the part that goes by contraries,
as they say."
Leonard looked hard at him, and there was evident disappointment in his
glance and tone when he asked,
"Do you then think this place is uninhabited?"
"I do," was the reply. "And I will tell you why. That stone that closed
the entrance from the forest was placed there by some one, no doubt,
and by some one inside. Yes; but how long ago? A very long time!
Hundreds of years, I should say. It has taken quite that time for that
stream of water to hollow out the little channel in the rocky side of
the cave and play upon the cement until it has become loosened. The
wood outside tells the same tale. It must be hundreds of years since
any human beings made their way to and fro through the wood, to or
from this place. _Once_ there were many people here; and they were
not ordinary people either, I can tell you. Not Indians, I mean, for
instance. They were clever workers in stone. That 'window,' as I call
it, through which we came in, is artificial."
Elwood gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Yes; I noticed it, though you did not. I have little doubt that
Monella noticed it too. The cavern was formerly all open, or, at
least, it had a large opening, and I am almost certain its floor was
originally level with the ground outside. If so, the present floor
is artificial, and there are probably vaults beneath. Outside, the
stonework is so artfully done that you see no trace of it; it appears
to be all solid rock; but inside I saw distinctly traces of the joints.
Then, look at these archways, at the one we are now sitting under! They
have been worked upon too--to enlarge them, probably; to give more
head-room when the floor was made higher. See! here are marks of the
chisel!" And Templemore got up and pointed to many places where the
marks left by the tool were clearly to be seen.
"Well," said Elwood, "I suppose we shall solve the problem and set all
doubts at rest before many days are over. For my part I am in a curious
state of mind about it--half impatient, half the reverse. If it is to
turn out as you say, I am in no hurry to terminate the uncertainty.
This strange spot, the fact that we are really, at last, inside the
wonderful mountain--these things open such a vista of marvellous
possibilities that I--it seems to me--I would rather, you know----"
"Oh, yes, I know, you old dreamer," Jack exclaimed, laughing. "You
would rather wait and have time to dream on for a while than have your
dreams rudely dispelled by hard facts. Now suppose we go and take a
look round in the shade over there. We need not go out of sight of this
entrance; so that Monella will find us immediately he returns."
The sun had now moved so far over that one side of the valley was
lying in shadow, and they strolled out to observe more closely the new
flowers and plants they had thus far seen only from a distance.