WE SEEK SAFETY IN FLIGHT
Once outside the palace we found a great concourse of natives awaiting
us, headed by some twenty red-robed priests. In spite of the evil looks
cast upon us there was no insulting word or jibe uttered. I gave the
Itzaex credit for saving their breath when it was not needed.
Although the sky had now begun to lighten and all near-by objects were
fairly distinct, the torches were still carried ahead as we began our
march. This was brief. Soon we came to the lake and were led upon a
large flat-boat which at once set out for the temple, urged by a score
of rowers with long paddles. The people tumbled into hundreds of other
craft, big and little, and followed at our heels.
Arriving at the island the priests took us in charge and escorted us up
the steep steps forming the side of the great temple.
This was the largest building in Itza. It was shaped like a pyramid,
with steps on all four sides leading to the flat top, some hundred feet
from the base. Openings here and there showed that the center of the
pyramid was divided into rooms, where the priests doubtless dwelt and
held their secret rites and ceremonies. All great public events, such as
our proposed carving, were held on top the temple in plain view of the
populace gathered below.
Just as we had reached the top—a long and weary climb—the sun rose red
over the horizon, and at once there was a clang of gongs and bells and a
shrill blowing upon many conch-shells. While this lasted—a full minute,
perhaps—we quietly gazed about us.
We stood upon a platform about fifty feet square, the outer edge being
lined with priests standing in statuesque attitudes. In the very center
of the place was a cube of marble with a hollow space at the top, in
which lay a glistening knife. It was not a pretty sight, I assure you,
and for an instant it made me shudder.
Now the priests set up a low chant, while at the bottom of the steps
appeared the three patriarchs I had noticed at the palace the day
before. This was the holy triumvirate, and they ascended with dignified
deliberation while the multitude below and those still occupying the
fleet of boats all prostrated themselves reverently.
“It’s time to inflate the gas-jackets, boys,” whispered Allerton.
He uncorked a canteen of water and saturated the crystals of themlyne in
his case, afterward handing the canteen to me. One by one we all
followed suit, while the chanting priests eyed us doubtfully but forbore
to interfere. The gas generated freely and began to fill the hollow
jackets, which swelled until we were just able to keep our feet on the
platform. Pedro let in a little too much, and would have floated had not
Chaka quickly shut off the valve and released some of the excess gas.
Pedro, frightened at his own buoyancy, managed to regain his feet with
difficulty, and the incident made the priests surrounding us all the
more suspicious.
“Are your electrites ready?” inquired Paul.
We nodded.
“Use them if necessary,” he commanded.
Then we waited. I looked anxiously for the promised breeze, which so far
had failed to put in an appearance. But it was yet early.
Slowly the holy three mounted the steps and we were all ready for them
when they arrived at the top. Scarcely glancing at us they turned to the
people and commanded them to rise, an order that was speedily obeyed.
Then one of the three began a harangue in a loud impressive voice. He
said they were gathered to witness a sad and solemn but most important
ceremony, decreed by the all-wise gods of their fathers. The former
atkayma, the noble and wise Tcheltzada, a direct descendent of the gods,
who had ruled the nation for many years, had finally met his fate
fighting nobly against their enemies the Mopanes, who had beheaded him.
By the command of the royal Datchapa a terrible revenge had been taken
upon the murderers and the noble victim’s head and body had been
recovered. These now lay at the foot of the pyramid on the funeral pyre,
and in order to please and propitiate the gods, who had loved and
cherished the great Tcheltzada, a number of strangers, including several
of the hated white people, were to be slain and their blood sprinkled
upon the ashes of the lamented atkayma. All this in honor not alone of
the dead, but of his son the new Atkayma Chaka and his most holy
brother, the wise and esteemed Datchapa, who as leader of the royal
council had decreed the interesting ceremony that was about to take
place.
I could see how cleverly the priests favored old Datchapa by giving him
the credit of catering to the people’s hatred and lust for blood. It
boded ill for Atkayma Chaka’s future that his wiley uncle practically
controlled the powerful priesthood.
As the chief priest concluded his speech he turned about and asked:
“Who condemns these prisoners to the sacrifice?”
“I do,” answered a voice, as Datchapa stepped from behind a row of
priests. “As head of the Royal Council of Itzlan I condemn these
prisoners to be slain and their blood mingled with the ashes of
Tcheltzada—if the gods consent to accept the tribute.”
At this all eyes were fixed upon an ugly little image of the god Bacáb,
which was perched upon a shelf about midway up the front of the pyramid.
“Do the gods so consent?” demanded Chaka in a loud voice, taking his
part in the ceremony.
The three priests knelt and stretched their arms toward the grinning
Bacáb, and to my astonishment the image nodded its head in a very
natural way.
“The gods consent!” cried aloud the three, in unison.
At that moment I saw Chaka protrude the nozzle of his electrite from his
robe and point it at his uncle. Every other eye was at that instant
turned intently upon the horrible figure of the god.
Suddenly old Datchapa threw up his arms and toppled backward. He was
standing near the edge of the platform, so the people might observe his
dignified form as he condemned the prisoners, and the result of his fall
was that he began to bound down the steps in an inert heap, slowly at
first and then with more rapid bumps and leaps until at last he fairly
rose into the air and tumbled full upon the funeral pyre of the defunct
Tcheltzada.
A cry of horror went up as priests and populace alike observed this
dreadful scene, none able to interfere. If the gods approved the
sacrifice it seemed like a queer way of attesting their delight.
There had been no sound of firearms, nothing to indicate from whence
came the blow that had felled the royal Datchapa. While the
consternation was at its height Chaka cried aloud:
“The gods disapprove! Beware, oh, Priests, the vengeance of the gods!”
For a silent, repressed people, the Itzaex now indulged in as near an
approach to pandemonium as they will ever come. Some of the natives
sided with the priests and some against them. The priests themselves
were frantic with anger not unmixed with fear, and shrewdly realized
their prestige was at this moment in sore jeopardy. Moreover, Chaka’s
attitude was defiant; he claimed the whites as his friends, and whatever
strange thing had happened to Datchapa might logically be attributed to
his doing.
In a fit of unreasoning fury one of the triumvirate caught up the knife
from the altar and leaping full upon the young atkayma strove to plunge
it into his heart. The armor prevented the blade from penetrating, but
the impact knocked Chaka from his feet and priest and potentate were now
rolling together dangerously near to the steps. Ned caught Chaka’s leg
and saved him, and as the priest clung to his victim and again raised
the wicked blade to strike I sent a charge from my electrite against him
and he quit the struggle then and there.
But it was war, now, and no mistake. With a savage growl the whole posse
of priests was upon us, and what we did in the next few seconds startled
us almost as much as it did our audience. Every man brought his
electrite into full play and we mowed down the red-robed rascals like
blades of grass. So effective was the electric current discharged that
the victims had no time to even gasp: they simply tumbled down and lay
still. Moreover, the charge spread at such close quarters, like small
shot from a blunderbus, and one charge sometimes paralyzed three, or
even four, at a time. A few fell upon the steps, but none experienced
the sensational descent of old Datchapa. Before we realized it the
platform was cluttered with motionless bodies and not one enemy remained
erect or animate.
Our remarkable victory ought to have won the admiration and applause of
the people; but it didn’t. On the contrary the natives burst into a
hoarse roar of ferocious rage and with a single impulse started up the
pyramid.
From all sides they rushed, vengeful and furious, and we decided not to
await their coming.
“Turn on the stop-cocks and let more gas into your jackets,” said Paul.
“Be careful not to get too much—just enough to float us comfortably.”
“Where’s the breeze?” I asked as I obeyed.
“Never mind the breeze. Let’s get off this hill.”
“How about the chests, sir?” inquired Ned.
“Chaka and I will inflate their coverings. Hurry, my lads—there’s no
time to lose.”
Roped together as we were it was funny to see the effect of adding to
the gas already in our jackets. Nux and Bryonia, accustomed to prompt
obedience, were first to float, and each held on to a chest until that,
too, was rendered light enough to float. Ned and his chest soared next;
then Archie, Joe and I went up. Pedro’s chest started upward and he lost
hold of its handles. I don’t know whatever would have become of that
precious box had not Archie grabbed its wheel as it went by and held on
to it like grim death. Next moment Chaka and Allerton together left the
top of the pyramid; but something was wrong with Pedro; he could not
find the cock that admitted the gas to his jacket.
He was roped between Bryonia and Ned, and his weight threatened to hold
us all anchored when Paul and Chaka, on the ends of the string,
appreciating the danger, turned more gas into their own jackets and drew
big Pedro gradually off his feet. Slowly—too slowly, altogether—we rose
into the air.
The Itzaex, during this time, had been scrambling up the sides of the
pyramid. Now the foremost to reach the top, a big, powerful fellow, made
a leap and grasped Pedro by the leg, anchoring the lot of us again,
although the Indian could not drag us down, but hung clinging while
Pedro swore and kicked at him with the other foot.
I thought this was a good time to work my electrite, and down fell the
Indian, crumpling several of his fellows who had rushed forward to help
him, while our anxious bunch gained new headway and slowly mounted
skyward. Ned found the supply cock and gave Pedro’s jacket its full
allowance of gas; so now we kept together better and were soon a good
fifty feet above our starting place and perhaps a hundred and fifty feet
above the ground of the island.
“That’s high enough,” said Paul. “Press the valves gently, each one of
you, and let out gas until we cease to rise—but not enough to start a
descent.”
We did the best we could, but some of course blundered and lost too much
gas, being then obliged to let in a new supply. Finally, however, we had
both the chests and ourselves in a condition of “statue quo” and hung
motionless just above the pyramid. It was a queer sensation to be “up in
the air” like this. I felt a bit dizzy at first, and I noticed poor
Pedro kept his eyes shut as if afraid to look down.
Few of the Itzaex were armed that day, as none had expected a fight; so
except for a few darts hurled toward us with uncertain aim we were not
molested. It was interesting, though, to look down and see that great
pyramid black with human beings who stood in amaze watching our aerial
exhibition. The Itzaex are not easily astonished, but I’m sure we had
them going just then, and small wonder.
“Here comes the breeze!” cried Paul, suddenly. “Get your wings ready,
lads, and head for that tall mountain. Now—all together!”
The breeze came almost directly from the north and caught us so abruptly
that it fluttered our string of adventures like rags on a clothesline
before we collected our wits and made ready to take advantage of it. I
got my arms through the loops, spread my wings and tried my best to flop
them as a bird would.
I now realized the wisdom of connecting us together, for we were all new
to the use of these curious wings and worked them in so many diverse
ways that had we been independent of one another we soon would have
become hopelessly separated. As it was, the more successful flyers
dragged on the others, and the wind impartially dragged us all on
together; so after a few moments, when I remembered to look back, I
found the pyramid and its mass of humanity a good mile distant.
In the last few weeks I’ve been reading about aeroplanes and airships,
and what has been accomplished with them. How imperfect—how futile and
absurd—they all seem when compared with the Wells Gas-Jacket and Fibre
Wings. All their intricate machinery, their rudders and ballast,
accessories and paraphernalia are sure to give place to the eminently
practical and satisfying mode of aerial navigation which I believe we
were the first to employ during our adventurous trip to Yucatan.
Allerton, who was more expert than the others, soon unfastened the cord
and began to fly independently, and the ease with which he did it was
marvelous. Using the wings to guide him, as a bird does, he let the
stiff breeze carry him along with remarkable swiftness, tacking sidewise
as he pleased and following any direction his fancy dictated. He would
not let the rest of us cut loose, though, but explained to us the theory
of his flight and taught us by example how to control our wings.