SOMETHING BESIDES MADNESS
There was a shock, the boat, I thought, was surely going over. Came a
heavy plunge, and she righted, though sluggishly, for water had come
pouring over the side in gallons. Ondonarkus had vanished. The demon
was struggling madly on the surface, one of its great wings almost
shorn clean from the body. An instant, and the head of Ondonarkus was
seen emerging. Almost at that very second, Milton Rhodes fired at the
ape-bat; a convulsive shudder passed through the hideous body, which
slowly sank and disappeared.
Ondonarkus showed the most admirable coolness. He did not dash at the
side of the boat, as nine men out of ten would have done, but swam
quietly to the stern, where he was drawn inboard without shipping a
spoonful of water, unhurt but minus his sword.
Two hours afterwards, we reached firm ground, which soon became high
and rocky. The vegetation there was sparse and dwarfish, and the place
had a look indescribably wild and forbidding. Then at last we came to
the end of the cavern itself. Yes, there before us, beetling up for
hundreds of feet, up to the very roof, rose the rocky wall--into a
cleft in which the river slowly and silently went gliding, like some
monstrous serpent.
We passed the night in that spot and in the morning entered the cleft,
which, in my troubled imagination, seemed to open wider to receive us.
Oh, what a strange and dreadful place was that in which we now found
ourselves! One thought of lost souls and of nameless things. Ere long
there was no perceptible current, and so out came the oars again.
The place was a perfect labyrinth--a place of gloom and at times of
absolute darkness. We were no less than three whole days in that awful
maze of rock and water; but, hurrah, it was to emerge into a landscape
beautiful beyond all description.
The region was a wilderness, but soon--the day after that in which we
issued from the labyrinth, in fact--we sighted our first habitation of
man in this world of Drome. The next day we reached a village, where we
passed the night. We were much struck by that deep respect with which
Drorathusa was received. As for our own reception--well, that really
gave us something to think about.
Not that there was any sign of menace. There was nothing like that. It
was the looks, the very mien of those Hypogeans that, to say the least,
puzzled and worried Rhodes and myself. That Drorathusa endeavored to
allay the suspicion or dread (or whatever it was) in the minds of the
people was as clear to us as if we had understood every word spoken.
The manner, however, in which they received her address but enhanced
our uneasiness. No voice was raised in dissent to what she said; but
there was no blinking the fact that there was no acquiescence whatever
in what she urged so earnestly.
"What in the world, Milton," I asked, "does it mean?"
"Ask me something that I can tell you, Bill," was Rhodes' consoling
answer. "You know, when we came in sight of that first Droman
habitation, I thought that now our troubles were just about over."
"So did I."
"But we see now that we were wrong, Bill, that we were wrong. It is a
queer business, and Goodness only knows what it means."
"It means trouble," I told him.
And the very next day showed that I was right.
We embarked at an early hour the following morning and in another and
larger boat. It had a high ornamented prow and was indeed a lovely
little craft. This day's voyage brought us to the City of Lellolando.
It has a population of about fifteen thousand, and there Rhodes and I
had our first sight of the beautiful Droman architecture, as displayed,
that is, in the public buildings, for the dwellings are in no wise
remarkable. These public buildings are not many, of course, in a place
so small, but their beauty was indeed a surprise and a pleasure.
Incomparably the most wonderful is the temple, built upon the summit
of a great rounded rock in almost the very center of the city. It was
as though we had been transported back to "the glory that was Greece."
Yes, it is my belief, and the belief of Milton Rhodes also, that this
temple would not have suffered could it by some miracle have been
placed beside the celebrated temple of Artemis at Ephesus. Buildings
more wonderful than this we were to see, the grandest of all the great
temple in Nornawnla Prendella, the Golden City, which is the capital
of Drome; but I do not think that anything we saw afterwards struck us
with greater wonder and amazement.
"Some Chersiphron," said Rhodes, "must have wandered from Drome and
finally made his way up into ancient Greece and taught the secrets
of his art there. It is indeed a marvel that the art of the ancient
Hellenes and this of Drome are so very similar. And yet they must have
been autochthonous.
"But," he added, "I wonder what they worship in that splendid place.
Some horrible pantheon, perhaps."
"Let us," said I, "give them the benefit of the doubt. For all that we
know to the contrary, these Dromans may be true monotheists."
And this, I rejoice to say, the Dromans are, though, I regret to
subjoin, there are some very absurd things in their religion, things
dark and even things very terrible.
But I anticipate in this, for it was just after we landed that it
happened.
We had started up one of the principal streets, on our way to the house
of a high functionary, though, of course, Rhodes and I had no idea
whither we were bound. On either side the street, was a solid mass of
humanity--many of the young people, by the way, having hair as white
as snow, like that of our Nandradelphis. Of a sudden a man, lean of
visage and with eyes that glowed like red coals, broke through the
guards (a half dozen or so were marching along on either side of our
little procession) and slashed savagely at the face of Rhodes with a
great curved dagger. My companion sprang aside, almost thrusting me
onto my knees, and the next instant he dealt the man a blow with his
alpenstock. The blow, however, was a slanting one, ineffectual. With a
scream, the fellow sprang again, his terrible knife upraised; but the
guards threw themselves upon him, and he was dragged off, struggling
and screaming like a maniac.
Of a truth, Rhodes had had a very narrow escape.
And what did it mean?
"It might," I said, "have been the act of a madman."
"It might have been," was Milton's answer. "But, unless I am greatly
mistaken, there was something besides madness back of it."