WHAT NEXT?
For a mile or more, the way led amongst pillars and stalagmites. Oh,
the wonders that we saw in that great cavern! The exigencies of space,
however, will not permit me to dwell upon them. There is, I may remark,
no deposition of sinter going on now; undoubtedly many centuries have
rolled over this old globe since the drip ceased, perhaps thousands
upon thousands of years. Who can say? How little can scientists ever
know, even when their knowledge seems so very great, of those dim and
lost ages of the earth!
"One thing that puzzles me," I remarked, "is that each of these
Hypogeans has nothing but a canteen. So far as I can see, the whole
party hasn't got the makings of a lunch for a ladybug. Can it be that
we have not far to go, after all?"
"I think, Bill, that we'll find the way a long one. My explanation is
that, on starting for the bridge, they disencumbered themselves of
the provision-supply (if they were not in camp) so that, of course,
they could make the greater speed. That the angel had a companion back
there, we know. We know, too, that that companion--in all likelihood,
it was one of the girls--went for help."
"What on earth were they doing there, with the men off some place else?"
"I wish that I could tell you, Bill. And what was the angel doing up in
the Tamahnowis Rocks? And all by her lovely lonesome? I wish that you
would tell me that."
"I wish that I could. And that isn't the only thing that I wish I could
tell you. What in the world are _they_ doing _here_? And what at the
Tamahnowis Rocks?"
"What, Bill, are we?"
"But women!" said I. "Our explorers don't take women along."
"Lewis and Clark took a woman along, Sacajaweah, and took her papoose
to boot. And this isn't _our_ world, remember. Things may be very
different down here. Maybe, in this subterranean land, the lady is the
boss."
"Where," I exclaimed, "isn't she the boss? You don't have to come down
here to find a--a what do you call it?--a gynecocracy. Which reminds me
of Saxe."
"What does Saxe say, sweet misogynist?"
"This, sweet gyneolater:
"'Men, dying, make their wills,
But wives escape a work so sad;
Why should they make, the gentle dames,
What all their lives they've had?'"
"Bravo!" cried Milton Rhodes.
And I saw the angel, who, with the older man, was leading the way, turn
and give us a curious look.
"And that," said Rhodes, "reminds _me_."
"Of what?"
"Who is the leader of this little party? Is it that man, or is it our
angel?"
"I'd say the angel if I could only understand why _she_ should be the
leader."
At length we passed the last pillar and the last stalagmite. All this
time we had been descending at a gentle slope. The way now led into
a tunnel, rather wide and lofty at first. The going was easy enough
for a mile or so; the descent was still a gentle one, and the floor
of the passage was but little broken. The spot was then reached where
that tunnel bifurcates; and there were the packs of our Hypogeans, or,
rather, their knapsacks. There were five, one for each, the men's being
large and heavy.
"You see, Bill?" queried Milton. "Evidently our little hypothesis was
correct."
"I see," I nodded. "We have far to go."
"Very far, I fancy."
Also, in this place were the phosphorus-lamps of the Dromans, one
for each. These were somewhat similar to the ones that Rhodes and I
carried, save that the Droman lamps could be darkened, whereas the
only way we could conceal the light of ours was to put them into
their cylinders. As was the case with our phials, the light emitted
by these vessels was a feeble one. Undoubtedly, though, they would
remain luminous for a long period, and hence their real, their very
great value. Beside the lanterns, oil-burning, of which the Dromans
had three, the phosphorus-lamps were somewhat pale and sorry things;
but, when one remembered that they would shed light steadily for months
perhaps, while the flames of the lanterns were dependent upon the
oil-supply, those pale, ghostly lights became very wonderful things.
"The light," I said as we stood examining one of these objects, "is
certainly phosphorescent. But what is that fluid in the glass?"
"I can't tell you, Bill. It may be some vegetable juice. There is, by
the way, a Brazilian plant, called _Euphorbia phosphorea_, the juice of
which is luminous. This may be something similar. Who knows?"[9]
[Footnote 9: "One dark night, about the beginning of December, while
passing along the streets of the Villa de Natividada, I observed some
boys amusing themselves with some luminous object, which I at first
supposed to be a kind of large fire-fly; but on making inquiry, I found
it to be a beautiful phosphorescent Fungus, belonging to the genus
Agaricus.... The whole plant gives out at night a bright phosphorescent
light, of a pale greenish hue, similar to that emitted by the larger
fire-flies, or by those curious soft-bodied marine animals, the
Pyrosomae. From this circumstance, and from growing on a palm, it is
called by the inhabitants 'Flor de Coco.' The light given out by a
few of these Fungi in a dark room was sufficient to read by."--George
Gardner.]
Each of the Dromans took up his or her knapsack, and we were under way
again. It was the right branch of the tunnel into which the route led
us. That fact Rhodes put down in his notebook. I could see no necessity
for such a record, for surely we could not forget the fact, even if we
tried.
"We'll record it," said Milton, "certitude to the contrary
notwithstanding. And we'll keep adding to the record as we go down,
too. There's no telling, remember. It may not be so easy to find the
way out of this place as it seems."
"You said," I reminded him, "that we may never want to return."
"And I say it again. But I say this too: we may be mighty glad indeed
to get out!"
To which I added the quite supererogatory remark that it was clearly
within the realm of possibility that we should.
Soon the slope of the passage was no longer gentle. An hour or so,
and the descent was so steep and difficult that we had to exercise
every caution and care in going down it. "Noon" found us still toiling
down that steep and tortuous way. We then halted for luncheon. The
Dromans ate and drank very sparingly, though this work gives one a most
remarkable appetite. Rhodes and I endeavored to emulate their example.
I am afraid, however, that it was not with any remarkable success. As
it was, the lunch left me as hungry as a cormorant.
As we sat there resting, the Dromans held a low and earnest colloquy.
The two girls, though, had but very little to say. The subject of the
dialogue was an utter mystery to us. Only one thing could we tell, and
that was that the matter which they were revolving was one of some
gravity. Once and only once did we hear the word Drome.
Also, it was then that we first heard--or, at any rate, first made
out--the name of our angel. We could not, indeed, at the time be
certain that it was _her_ name; but there was no uncertainty about the
name itself--Drorathusa. Ere the afternoon was far advanced, however,
we saw our belief become a certitude. Drorathusa. I confess that there
was in my mind something rather awesome about that name, and I wondered
if that awesome something was existent only in my mind. Drorathusa. It
seemed to possess some of that Sibylline quality which in the woman
herself was so indefinable and mysterious.
Drorathusa. Sibylline certainly, that name, and, like the woman
herself, beautiful too, I thought.
In our world, it would, in all likelihood, be shortened to Drora or
Thusa. But it was never so here. No Droman, indeed, would be guilty
of a barbarism like that. It was always Drorathusa, the accent on the
penultimate and every syllable clear and full. Drorathusa. Milton
Rhodes declared that it was the most beautiful name he had ever heard
in all his life!
It was about four o'clock when we issued from that passage, steep to
the last, and found ourselves in a great broken cavern. The rock was
granite, the place jagged and savage-looking as though seen in some
strange and awful dream.
Here we rested for a while, and I, for one, was glad enough to do so. I
was tired, sore and stiff from head to foot--especially to foot.
Just by the tunnel's mouth, there was some writing on the wall. Before
this, Drorathusa and the older man (his name, we had learned, was
Ondonarkus) stood for some moments. This examination, and the short
dialogue which followed it, left them, I noticed even more grave of
aspect and demeanor than we had ever seen them.
I wondered what it could mean. I felt a vague uneasiness; a nameless
foreboding was creeping over me.
It was futile to think and wonder what it meant, and yet I could not
help doing it. Glad had I been to stop, but, strangely enough, glad I
was to get under way once more. For 'twas only so that we could hope to
get the answer.
Well, we got it--an answer that I wish never to know again.