It was some three weeks after this before Briggs was able to assume his
duties. The sudden shock of the news of his wife’s death over-weighted
a brain already strained to the utmost. More than once they despaired
of his life--Professor Stone and Vance, who had put aside his own grief
to care for his friend. Slowly the strong man had returned to life once
more. He did not rave or protest; Fate had no power to move him more;
the point of anguish was passed, and in its place succeeded a dumb
stupidity more terrible by far, though far more blessed.
His love was dead. He himself was dead for any sensibility of suffering
that he possessed. So for many days longer he lay in his hammock
seemingly without a thought of responsibility.
They had carried him back to the camp across the river, and there he
spent the long days of convalescence. What did he think of all day
as he moved like a shadow among the men or swung listlessly in the
hammock? Many of the men asked themselves that question as they gazed
at Briggs. One thought repeated itself over and over in his brain,
“Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.”
“Many waters”--“many waters”--the words whispered and sung appealingly,
invitingly, in his ears all day and all night. “Many waters, many
waters.”
One day he heard them tell of the removal of the door in the pyramid
two and one-half miles on the hill. They had found the Sphinx’ head
as described in the manuscript, but had been unable to move it with
any instrument in their possession. Much to his regret, Professor
Stone felt obliged to give the matter up and content himself with the
valuable relics he had found. The gold mines, if such there were, were
successfully hidden from searchers, and would remain a mystery.
The white orb of the moon was high in the heavens; the echoless sand
gave back no sound; that night Reuel rose, took his revolver and
ammunition, and leaving a note for Vance telling him he had gone to the
third pyramid and not to worry, he rowed himself over to Meroe. He had
no purpose, no sensation. Once he halted and tried to think. His love
was dead:--that was the one fact that filled his thoughts at first.
Then another took its place. Why should he live? Of course not; better
rejoin her where parting was no more. He would lose himself in the
pyramid. The manuscript had spoken of dangers--he would seek them.
As he went on the moon rose in full splendor behind him. Some beast of
the night plunged through a thicket along the path.
The road ascended steadily for a mile or more, crossing what must
have once been carriage drives. Under the light of the setting moon
the gradually increasing fertility of the ground shone silver-white.
Arrived at the top of the hill, he paused to rest and wipe the
perspiration from his face. After a few minutes’ halt, he plunged
on and soon stood before the entrance of the gloomy chamber; as he
stumbled along he heard a low, distinct hiss almost beneath his feet.
Reuel jumped and stood still. He who had been desirous of death but an
hour before obeyed the first law of nature. Who can wonder? It was but
the reawakening of life within him, and that care for what has been
entrusted to us by Omnipotence, will remain until death has numbed our
senses.
The dawn wind blew all about him. He would do no more until the dawn.
Presently the loom of the night lifted and he could see the outlines
of the building a few yards away. From his position he commanded the
plain at his feet as level as a sea. The shadows grew more distinct,
then without warning, the red dawn shot up behind him. The sepulchre
before him flushed the color of blood, and the light revealed the
horror of its emptiness.
Fragments of marble lay about him. It seemed to the lonely watcher that
he could hear the sound of the centuries marching by in the moaning
wind and purposeless dust.
The silence and sadness lay on him like a pall and seemed to answer to
the desolation of his own life.
For a while he rambled aimlessly from wall to wall examining the
gigantic resting place of the dead with scrupulous care. Here were
ranged great numbers of the dead in glass cases; up and up they mounted
to the vaulted ceiling. His taper flickered in the sombreness, giving
but a feeble light. The air grew cold and damp as he went on. Once upon
a time there had been steps cut in the granite and leading down to a
well-like depression near the center of the great chamber. Down he went
holding the candle high above his head as he carefully watched for the
Sphinx’ head. He reached a ledge which ran about what was evidently
once a tank. The ledge ran only on one side. He looked about for the
Sphinx; unless it was here he must retrace his steps, for the ledge ran
only a little way about one side of the chamber.
He was cold and damp, and turned suddenly to retrace his steps, when
just in front of him to the left the candle’s light fell full on the
devilish countenance of the Ethiopian Sphinx.
He moved quickly toward it; and then began an examination of the
figure. As he stepped backward his foot crushed through a skull; he
retreated with a shudder. He saw now that he stood in a space of
unknown dimensions. He fancied he saw rows of pillars flickering
drunkenly in the gloom. The American man is familiar with many things
because of the range of his experience, and Reuel Briggs was devoid of
fear, but in that moment he tasted the agony of pure, physical terror.
For the first time since he received his letters from home, he was
himself again filled with pure, human nature. He turned to retrace his
steps; something came out of the darkness like a hand, passed before
his face emitting a subtle odor as it moved; he sank upon the ground
and consciousness left him.
From profound unconsciousness, deep, merciful, oblivious to pain and
the flight of time, from the gulf of the mysterious shadows wherein
earth and heaven are alike forgotten, Reuel awoke at the close of the
fourth day after his entrance into the Great Pyramid. That Lethean
calm induced by narcotic odors, saved his reason. Great pain, whether
physical or mental, cannot last long, and human anguish must find
relief or take it.
A soft murmur of voices was in his ears as he languidly unclosed his
eyes and gazed into the faces of a number of men grouped about the
couch on which he lay, who surveyed him with looks of respectful
admiration and curiosity mingled with awe. One of the group appeared to
be in authority, for the others listened to him with profound respect
as they conversed in low tones, and were careful not to obtrude their
opinions.
Gradually his senses returned to him, and Reuel could distinguish his
surroundings. He gazed about him in amazement. Gone were all evidences
of ruin and decay, and in their place was bewildering beauty that
filled him with dazzling awe. He reclined on a couch composed of silken
cushions, in a room of vast dimensions, formed of fluted columns of
pure white marble upholding a domed ceiling where the light poured in
through rose-colored glass in soft prismatic shades which gave a touch
of fairyland to the scene.
The men beside him were strangers, and more unreal than the vast
chamber. Dark-visaged, he noticed that they ranged in complexion from
a creamy tint to purest ebony; the long hair which fell upon their
shoulders, varied in texture from soft, waving curls to the crispness
of the most pronounced African type. But the faces into which he gazed
were perfect in the cut and outline of every feature; the forms hidden
by soft white drapery, Grecian in effect, were athletic and beautifully
moulded. Sandals covered their feet.
The eyes of the leader followed Reuel’s every movement.
“Where am I?” cried Briggs impetuously, after a hurried survey of the
situation.
Immediately the leader spoke to his companions in a rich voice,
commanding, but with all the benevolence of a father.
“Leave us,” he said. “I would be alone with the stranger.”
He spoke in ancient Arabic known only to the most profound students of
philology. Instantly the room was cleared, each figure vanished behind
the silken curtains hanging between the columns at one side of the room.
“How came I here?” cried Reuel again.
“Peace,” replied the leader, extending his arms as if in benediction
above the young man’s head. “You have nothing to fear. You have been
brought hither for a certain purpose which will shortly be made clear
to you; you shall return to your friends if you desire so to do, after
the council has investigated your case. But why, my son, did you wander
at night about the dangerous passages of the pyramid? Are you, too, one
of those who seek for hidden treasure?”
In years the speaker was still young, not being over forty despite
his patriarchal bearing. The white robe was infinitely becoming,
emphasizing breadth of shoulder and chest above the silver-clasped
arm’s-eye like nothing he had seen save in the sculptured figures of
the ruined cities lately explored. But the most striking thing about
the man was his kingly countenance, combining force, sweetness and
dignity in every feature. The grace of a perfect life invested him like
a royal robe. The musical language flowed from his lips in sonorous
accents that charmed the scholar in his listener, who, to his own great
surprise and delight, found that conversation between them could be
carried on with ease. Reuel could not repress a smile as he thought of
the astonishment of Professor Stone if he could hear them rolling out
the ancient Arabic tongue as a common carrier of thought. It seemed
sacrilegious.
“But where am I?” he persisted, determined to locate his whereabouts.
“You are in the hidden city Telassar. In my people you will behold the
direct descendants of the inhabitants of Meroe. We are but a remnant,
and here we wait behind the protection of our mountains and swamps,
secure from the intrusion of a world that has forgotten, for the coming
of our king who shall restore to the Ethiopian race its ancient glory.
I am Ai, his faithful prime minister.”
Hopelessly perplexed by the words of the speaker, Reuel tried to
convince himself that he was laboring under a wild hallucination; but
his senses all gave evidence of the reality of his situation. Somewhere
in Milton he had read lines that now came faintly across his memory:
“Eden stretched her lines
From Auran eastward to the royal tow’rs
Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings,
Or where the sons of Eden long before
Dwelt in Telassar.”
Something of his perplexity Ai must have read in his eyes, for he
smiled as he said, “Not Telassar of Eden, but so like to Eden’s
beauties did our ancestors find the city that thus did they call it.”
“Can it be that you are an Ethiopian of those early days, now lost in
obscurity? Is it possible that a remnant of that once magnificent race
yet dwells upon old mother Earth? You talk of having lived at Meroe;
surely, you cannot mean it. Were it true, what you have just uttered,
the modern world would stand aghast.”
Ai bowed his head gravely. “It is even so, incredible though it may
seem to you, stranger. Destroyed and abased because of her idolatries,
Ethiopia’s arrogance and pride have been humbled in the dust. Utter
destruction has come upon Meroe the glorious, as was predicted. But
there was a hope held out to the faithful worshippers of the true God
that Ethiopia should stretch forth her hand unto Eternal Goodness, and
that then her glory should again dazzle the world. I am of the priestly
caste, and the office I hold descends from father to son, and has so
done for more than six thousand years before the birth of Christ. But
enough of this now; when you are fully rested and recovered from the
effect of the narcotics we were forced to give you, I will talk with
you, and I will also show you the wonders of our hidden city. Come with
me.”
Without more speech he lifted one of the curtains at the side of the
room, revealing another apartment where running water in marble basins
invited one to the refreshing bath. Attendants stood waiting, tall,
handsome, dark-visaged, kindly, and into their hands he resigned Reuel.
Used as he was to the improvements and luxuries of life in the modern
Athens, he could but acknowledge them as poor beside the combination
of Oriental and ancient luxury that he now enjoyed. Was ever man more
gorgeously housed than this? Overhead was the tinted glass through
which the daylight fell in softened glow. In the air was the perfume
and lustre of precious incense, the flash of azure and gold, the
mingling of deep and delicate hues, the gorgeousness of waving plants
in blossom and tall trees--palms, dates, orange, mingled with the
gleaming statues that shone forth in brilliant contrast to the dark
green foliage. The floor was paved with varied mosaic and dotted here
and there with the skins of wild animals.
After the bath came a repast of fruit, game and wine, served him on
curious golden dishes that resembled the specimens taken from ruined
Pompeii. By the time he had eaten night had fallen, and he laid
himself down on the silken cushions of his couch, with a feeling
of delicious languor and a desire for repose. His nerves were in a
quiver of excitement and he doubted his ability to sleep, but in a few
moments, even while he doubted, he fell into a deep sleep of utter
exhaustion.