the protecting shelter of a cave. There, with the juice of shell-fish,
breadfruit, and wild strawberries from the woods, she slowly nursed
him back to life. She dared not leave him very long, as she, unlike
the original Eve, was afraid of the snakes that haunted the jungle.
The space around the cave was bare, but, in the midst of some foraying
expedition, Loa would have a vision of a white body coiled around by
a green snake, and, seized with terror, would race back to the cave,
only to find her charge a little stronger and more roguish than ever.
Gradually the color crept back into his alabaster cheek, for Hawai was
young.
As soon as he was able, he took over his share of the housekeeping
duties. One of the first things he did was to go to work with the
flint. He made the sparks fly, and finally succeeded in getting fire.
That night they had broiled fish for supper, and around the genial
blaze they looked into each other's faces in the flickering light, half
understandingly, half expectantly.
She approved of the poise of his head upon his bare shoulders, and he
watched the firelight play on her expressive features and illumine the
gold of her hair, that fell all around her like a voluminous mantle.
"Are you the princess of this island, or Mother Eve in the Garden of
Eden?" he asked, quizzically.
"Neither, but a poor, ship-wrecked mariner like yourself."
He stared. "Did _you_ come in one of the ships of Hagoth?"
She inclined her head.
"But the others? Where are the others from your boat?"
"The same place that your companions are, I'm afraid. There was a body
washed upon the shore down there, and when I first found you, I thought
you were like it,--dead!"
"Must have been Shem or Mirror. We'll go down and take a look at it."
The woman shuddered. "I believe I'd rather stay here by the fire."
"Poor little girl! So you are all alone, and have had to care for a
lugger like me."
"I was alone--until I found you. That helped me; I had something to do
besides think about myself."
"How long were you--alone?"
"Two days."
"And during that time you found no signs of life? There are no people
living here?"
"No, I saw no evidence whatever. I was afraid to go very far inland, so
stayed mostly on the beach, but I have a feeling that there is no one
alive on this island except you and me."
"How do you know it is an island?" quickly.
"Because I have seen it melt into the haze of the sea on three sides,
and I imagine if we climb that peak over there that we could see the
blue water on the other side."
"Nonsense! There may be big cities in there. When we are better able
we will reconnoiter a little. How was it that you, a girl, of all your
crew was saved?" he asked curiously.
"I do not know. When the boat began to fill, and it was only a question
of a few moments before it would sink, my father lashed me to a large,
flat board. As an afterthought, he took out his big knife and fastened
it at my waist. 'If you should be saved, you can cut yourself loose,'
he explained, while his hand shook. We could see the blue outline of
the land over here, and there was a chance that some of us might reach
it. After that the hulk settled, and I felt a cold wave sweep over my
limbs, and then I was strangling with the salt water in my nose and
throat. I was churned around, and then the plank righted itself, with
me on top. When the salt water got out of my smarting eyes sufficient
for me to see, I noticed that the ship was gone, with most of the
passengers, only a few were floundering around like me. Nowhere could
I see my father, and though I called, no one answered. I could see
one man clinging to a cask that bobbed around, and the black head of
another would appear, only to be submerged again. That swimmer fought
hard, but he stayed under longer each time, till at last he went down
and did not come up again. After that the storm broke, and the rain
lashed us in sheets. I could see nothing, but the cool water was
grateful to my parched throat. Something was singing in my ears, and
then I must have fainted, for I knew no more until I found myself lying
high and dry here on the beach, scorching under a tropical sun. Its
rays warmed me back to life, and then I felt for my father's knife. It
was still there, and with it I cut myself free, rose to my tottering
feet and looked around. The place was pretty enough, with its white
sand and glittering sea. I made my way over to some cocoanut palms and
found a fresh water stream, that emptied into a little cove. I drank
deeply, and bathed my hot forehead in its cool depths. Then I walked
along the beach to see if any others had been saved." She hesitated.
"You found--?"
"Two corpses. When I saw that they were quite dead I went up to the
jungle, but a wailing cry, like a soul in purgatory, issued from the
trees. I went back to the beach, but the bodies were gone."
Hawai jumped.
"I did not know what to do, so I crawled into the cave. Then I was
afraid of snakes. I have since found out that the cries in the woods
were made by the little monkeys. I do not know who carried off the
bodies."
"Probably washed out by the tide," he reassured her.
"I think not," she continued slowly. "The next day was worse--when I
realized that I was alone. I should have died if I had not found you.
My only fear, when I saw you lying so white and still on the sand, was
that you, like the others, were dead." She caught her breath with a
little gasp.
He reached over and impulsively touched her hand.
"Poor little girl! You came up out of the sea and saved my life."
"I don't know what I should have done if you had eaten very much," she
explained, half tearfully. "I could only gather the poor cocoanuts off
the ground; but when you are strong you can climb the trees and get
fresh ones. The bananas were hard to get, and there was strange fruit
I was afraid to try, for fear it might poison you. See, we shall have
eggs for breakfast. They are quite good."
She poked one out from among the ashes where they were roasting.
"Did you lose any other relatives besides your father on the boat?" he
asked suddenly.
She shook her head sadly. "No."
"Then you were not married?"
"No; only betrothed."
His brow darkened. "Was he, to whom you were betrothed, drowned?"
"I think so." But the look of pain which flitted across her face when
he spoke of her father did not return. "It was this way: when we
embarked in one of the ships of Hagoth to seek new homes in a foreign
land, my father, being old, made me promise to marry Isar, when we
reached the new country. I agreed, for Isar was a good man and would
take care of me, though I did not love him, or even know him very well."
Hawai looked relieved, and his eyes glowed as they rested on her.
"You have my story, but you have not told me yours," she burst out.
"Mine is similar to yours. I sailed on another ship of Hagoth's only we
floundered around in the waste of waters in search of land for so long,
that all the crew except three died of famine before she foundered." He
dismissed the subject with a shrug of the shoulders, as if unwilling to
fill the night with further horrors.
"You must sleep now, and gain some rest, for tomorrow we go on a
foraging expedition," he added with gentle raillery.
Loa's eyelids were already drooping, and, soothed with the grateful
warmth, she lay down and was soon fast asleep. Hawai piled dry brush on
the camp fire until it roared and crackled, and then, like a sentinel
on guard, he sat looking moodily into the blaze for hours.
The day dawned auspiciously, and Loa led Hawai down toward the place
where she had seen his companions lying. Suddenly she drew back with
a little cry. At the exact spot where the mariner had lain, reclined
an immense devil fish, with its tentacles wrapped around something.
Hawai watched it a moment. He thought perhaps that explained the
disappearance of the other two bodies. He silently led Loa away.
They went into the woods to hunt for food, and Loa in helping him soon
got back her spirits. They found raspberries and a strange apple, both
of which Hawai pronounced good. The man who first tasted the tomato had
more courage than did Columbus. He decried the date palm afar off, and
remarked that they should soon fare like princes. The man cut sugar
cane, and showed Loa how to chew the pulp and extract the sweetness
thereof.
That was but the beginning of their rambles. Every day they sauntered
forth to gain new strength, and came home laden with their treasures.
One night they dragged in armfuls of bamboo. Another time Hawai brought
a mealy root which he had found by accident. It proved a novelty in
their diet, for it was the sweet potato. One day they skirted the coast
and found a secluded beach where the turtles had come to lay their
eggs. The latter they gathered eagerly, while Hawai jocularly remarked
that, when they had something to cook it in they could have turtle
soup. They had gradually gone over the whole island, and on the night
that completed the circuit, and proved conclusively that they were the
only human beings there, despair descended on them. They had traveled
far that day, and the dusk overtook them, but Hawai insisted on cutting
armfuls of a tough rush that grew in a swamp.
"What do you want that for?" inquired Loa.
The man was a born woodsman, and was very clever.
"To make a net to catch shrimps with," he answered. "The little shrimp
is better than the mussels we have been eating so long."
Loa acquiesced. She was tired of shell fish. So she helped carry the
rushes back to the cave, in the long walk through the night.
The next day Hawai spent fashioning the shrimp net. Loa amused herself
making festoons of brilliant flowers and garlanding them around his
neck. That gave her an idea. She gathered a large quantity of fleshy,
fibrous leaves, and began weaving them together.
"Why can't I make clothing out of these?" she queried.
Hawai glanced at her. Their clothing was rent in strips, and sadly in
need of repair, and Loa had a skin averse to the sun. He watched her
amusedly, until she got tired and threw them aside.
"I believe I could make better things out of feathers." She glanced
at a squawking sea-bird that sailed overhead. "I could make you a
headpiece that would crown a chief."
He smiled at the woman's vanity that would think first of adorning the
head, but humored her by saying gently, "If you will lend me some of
your tresses, I shall try and snare some birds."
She shook out her mane, for she firmly believed him capable of
anything. When she went over to help him tie the net, she voiced the
thought that had haunted both of them.
"If we are the only persons living on this island, how long must we
stay before others come?"
"Perhaps forever." It was no use deceiving her. She might as well know.
"Some of the ships may have reached one of those bodies of land over
there; for owing to the warm current all of Hagoth's crafts came in
the same direction. If some of our compatriots are alive, sooner or
later they may visit this island."
"Or you could build a boat and go to them." Her faith in him was
unlimited.
He shook his head. "I intend to keep you here, and not risk you with
the treacherous sea again." Something in his tone made her drop her
eyes. "Would it then be so distasteful?"
"No," she answered bravely, "I have been very happy here."
"I want you to give me the right to protect you. You must marry me."
"But there is no priest," she subterfuged.
"Kings make their own laws. You and I, by right of possession,
are joint rulers of these islands. We shall effect a union of our
interests. Come, we will ask the Heavenly Father, who watches over even
the outcasts, to guard and protect us."
Kneeling, he invoked a blessing on the new life on which they were
embarking. He prayed fervently that they should not die out, but live
to perpetuate a new race in this paradise of the Pacific.
They arose with rapt faces, and in a spirit of exaltation wandered down
to the beach. It was a glorious, starlit night, and the wind from the
sea was tempered with a summer softness. They gazed upon the glittering
sea, heard the wave's roar and the wind's low moan. They saw each
other's dark eyes darting light into each other. In early days the
heart is lava and the blood ablaze. They were alone, but no feeling of
loneliness oppressed them. Around them lay the white expanse of the
sand; beyond, they heard the drip in the damp caves. They clung to each
other; for them there was no one else in the world.
The shrimp fisher flung in his net, and Loa, afraid to trust him in
the water alone, went surfbathing. The catch was successful, and at
last Hawai, with the consciousness of work well done, threw down his
net and joined her in the sport. Loa took the flat board on which she
had been rescued and rode on it on the crests of the waves, keeping
well to the shallow water, for she dreaded the flitting black fins that
portended the shark. It was a sunlit honeymoon, and, surrounded by
gorgeous flowers and brilliant birds, they imbibed the brightness of
the atmosphere. As Loa did not like the gloom of the cave, Hawai built
her a summer house of bamboo, and thatched it with grass. Gradually
their comforts increased. One night, after they had dined off a young
roast pig, Loa remarked, "Hawai, don't you ever say that you and I are
the only people on this island." She looked him straight in the eyes.
He put his arm around her tenderly, but this thing worried him more
than he liked to show.
"I want you to declare war on the wild boars," she continued, "for this
place must be safe for a little child to play in."
He mentally resolved to do it, although he was at a loss how to
commence. After that he renewed his efforts, and toiled indefatigably
to bring in every necessity his ingenuity could devise.
One night he had gone to look at some traps. One had been dragged
away, and in looking for it he went farther than he intended. When
he returned to the hut he was panic-stricken to find Loa gone. Wild
with fear, he dashed up to the mouth of the cave whence smoke issued.
Inside, guarded by the fire at the entrance, lay Loa. A thin, piping
sound issued from her side.
"Come in," she said, "and see your little son."
"My little son!" he repeated in wonder.
With a mighty thankfulness, Hawai gathered up his family in his arms
and carried it to the house, with a heartfelt prayer that he might not
drop all that he held dear.
Thus Hawai and Loa founded their island kingdom and were progenitors of
a new race in the South Seas.
[Illustration: THE CLIFF DWELLERS' DAUGHTER.]
THE CITY IN THE GLOOM.
I.
THE LAST OF HIS TRIBE
The thing sprawled on the white stone of the Giant's Steps, in the
canyon. Closer scrutiny proved it to be a man who lay on his stomach
drinking out of a blue pool of water. He stood up and showed what a
miserable thing he was. He had been white, and displayed the pitiable
plight of the civilized man reduced to dire extremity. His horny feet
were encased in ungainly moccasins, shaggy goatskin swathed him about
the middle, while his poor shoulders shivered under their covering of
rabbit skins pieced together. The muscles stood out like whip cords
on his emaciated limbs. The head, unkempt and shaggy, had a ferocious
appearance which was enhanced by the eyes that seemed starting out of
his head.
He stooped and filled a misshapen jar with water, then gathered up a
leather pouch that contained wild grapes, and a haunch of venison. They
were all presents for Gualzine, the woman up at the clift house in
gloomy Cave Valley. The deer had cost the life of a man. When the woman
sickened and could no longer munch the corn nor drink the water of
the place, Ulric and his friend Izehara, had ventured forth in search
of fresh meat. A rash undertaking at any time, it was particularly
dangerous when the cave dwellers were expecting an attack from their
inveterate enemies, the Lamanites. So the chief of the tribe told them
when they left, but the remembrance of the woman moaning on her pallet
lent wings to their feet.
They shot the doe on the morning of the second day out. They startled
her at dawn as she grazed. Though the arrow sped true, she ran a
hundred and fifty yards before she fell. They found her panting in the
brush. Ulric left Izehara to carve the meat and prepare the camp while
he went higher up to look at the traps.
When he found that one of them had caught an old silvertip, he wished
that the other man had come along. He beat her to death with his club,
and when the quivering brute lay down, the day was well advanced. "I
will bring Izehara up to help me skin her. It will make a warm robe for
Gualzine." Then panic seized him. What if she were already dead?
Haunted by this new fear, he hurried back to camp where new horrors
awaited him. By the side of the partially dismembered deer, Izehara
lay writhing in the last stages of poisoning. He had been bitten by
a rattle-snake. Ulric flung himself down and applied his lips to the
wound. He was too late; even as he sucked the poison out, his friend
looked at him for the last time, then closed his eyes forever.
The survivor built up the fire and gnawed at the rarely, broiled meat
from a sense of duty, for he knew that he must keep his strength up.
He devoted what daylight remained to getting in the wood. During the
everlasting hours of the night he prodded himself to keep awake to
watch the precious food and the corpse. The coyotes howled in the
distance, but more to be feared was the mountain lion, that sends no
halloo of its coming.
Though seldom seen, wherever the prey is, there will it be. As his
straining ears imagined a padded footfall, he built the fire up until
the flames arose and lighted the rock walls of the canyon. Even the
"cat" fears man's "red flower"--fire.
At dawn he dragged the dead body down to a gully and covered it up
with leaves. He wondered how long the wolves would leave them there.
He regretfully left them most of the deer, for urged on always with
the thought of the woman, he must travel light. If the horrors of
their surroundings palled on him, what must it be to her? A forlorn,
transplanted thing she had come among these wild men and won their rude
hearts.
Even Ulric, a long time before, had lived in a city. It was called
Teotihuacan, which means "House of God," and was famed far and wide for
its great pyramids for worship. This fair city contained many splendid
houses, although Ulric did not know so much about that, as he was only
one of the common people. It had been prophesied that the inhabitants
would be destroyed because of their unbelief. Then the Lamanite hordes
swept down upon them, and the men went out to fight them. The fields
around Teotihuacan were spangled with black bits of obsidian where the
opposing warriors shattered one another's spears. When the Indians
began to massacre the women, they, with children clinging to their
skirts, fought them back. After that Ulric didn't like to remember what
happened.
He, with a few survivors had taken refuge in the subterranean city,
where there were chambers just as above ground, and a black well with
plenty of water. Only they had no sunlight and some of the women
sickened and died. When their enemies had left, they sneaked out and
made their way across the desert to the north until they reached
the Sierra Madres, on the pinnacles of whose peaks they perched
their eyries built of sun dried mud. They carried up handfuls of soil
from the valley and plastered it on the ledges, where they raised a
little stunted maize. There, in deadly fear of the marauding bands of
Lamanites that were wiping out their race, they eked out a miserable
existence, a little lower than the beasts.
So outnumbered were they that only by the utmost caution did they
manage to live. The rooms were dark as the apertures were small and
had to be crawled through by means of rope ladders that they pulled in
after them. They had got so used to climbing over the rocks that they
sprang among them like goats.
People who exist in daily fear of their lives do not go in for art.
So the cave dwellers' implements were crude, their pottery deformed,
and their necessities scant. Obsessed with the idea of keeping the
life in them from one day to another, they had lost their sense of
feeling, when Gualzine came among them. She was sent accompanied by
two attendants, from a neighboring cliff dwelling, for safe keeping
during time of war. The other cliff house was demolished, so Gualzine
took up her abode in the new place. She was the daughter of the High
Priest and the last of her blood. A wan, washed out thing, she took
little interest in her mediocre surroundings. Time was when she had
been beautiful, as her portrait on the wall of the casa of the priests
at Teotihuacan could prove. They called it "Queen of Hearts." But grim
circumstance will leave its impress on the fairest form.
Though she toiled not, a new impetus evinced itself in the colony.
Like the queen bee, others worked for her, and comforts appeared. She
showed the boys how to mould their pottery better, and played with the
children and hushed their wails, so that their dragged out mother might
be less dispondent. She made ready threaded needles out of the thorns
and fibers of the maguey that grows on the foothills, and taught the
men how to make medicine from its juice. She was eyes to old Malcre
when she sewed the skin garments in the poor light, and she cut out
better patterns for their sandals. Because she would eat nothing but
cooked food, the others gave up their way of eating it half raw. The
men brought fresh pine boughs to sleep on, and they hunted up warmer
covering because this frail thing had to be protected. When she fell
sick it was a dire calamity. All the inmates loved her. Little wonder
that Ulric showed such dog-like devotion.
Dropping with exhaustion, every step a pain, he approached Cave
Valley. Finally he lost consciousness of his aching muscles; only one
nagging instinct whipped him on. He must get to the house with his
precious burden, fresh meat and grapes and good water from the Steps.
That ought to put her on her feet again. The water was the hardest to
carry. He was afraid that he might spill it. She would have liked the
big thick bear robe. It would have been so soft while she was sick.
Izehara had died and he couldn't bring it. Poor Izahara, up there in
the cold. Then the old gnawing fear. What if she were gone and all of
his torture were in vain? The thought spurred on his flagging strength,
so he stumbled into the valley. Ulric looked towards the cliffs that
he called home. In the evening haze he could not distinguish the
familiar curl of smoke. Torn by uncertainty, he hurried up the side
of the mountain. He stopped short. The growing feeling that something
was wrong was realized. What was the matter with the garden? The corn,
which was almost ripe, had been trampled down. At the same instant his
foot touched something soft. He reached down, then drew back. The boy
Kohath lay there with an arrow in his breast, stark dead. He had been
shot down while he was carrying wood. Why hadn't they picked him up and
carried him in? Cold chills shook him. What if they were all dead? What
if the Indians were there now, waiting for him. Where was Gualzine?
Cautiously, he crept along the terrace through the maize.
He waited for what to him seemed an age, while the wolves howled in the
distance. No sign of life issued from the place. He could stand it no
longer. He must find out what had happened to Gualzine. Careless of his
own fate, he went down.
[Illustration: THE CORN CRIB OF THE CITY IN THE GLOOM.]
The entrance showed signs of a conflict. Chunks of plaster had been
dislodged. His people had put up a fight. As little things will often
attract attention in dire extremities, so the first thing he noticed on
entering, were the dead white ashes scattered on the hearth. Nearby was
a broken pot of hominy, partly spilled.
The massacre had taken place the day before. One of the men lay dead
by the fireplace, also the thirteen-year-old girl. The marauders
would have no object in slaying her. Ulric wondered if she had killed
herself. The form he sought wasn't there. He passed into the next room.
To do so he had to step over the body of the chief that lay through the
doorway, a hatchet cleaving his skull. In her chamber he found Merari
decapitated. Dear old Merari, Ulric reflected, her servant, who loved
her as much as he. Parts of her pallet were scattered about the room,
but Gualzine was not there.