The Dwellers in the Tomb
By now it was drawing towards sunset, so we made such preparations as
we could for the night. One of these was to collect dry driftwood, of
which an abundance lay upon the shore, to serve us for firing, though
unfortunately we had nothing that we could cook for our meal.
While we were thus engaged we saw a canoe approaching the table-rock
and perceived that in it were the chief Marama and a priest. After
hovering about for a while they paddled the canoe near enough to allow
of conversation which, taking no notice of their presence, we left it
to them to begin.
“O, Friend-from-the-Sea,” called Marama, addressing myself, “we come to
pray you and the Great Healer to return to us to be our guests as
before. The people are covered with darkness because of the loss of
your wisdom, and the sick cry aloud for the Healer; indeed two of those
whom he has cut with knives are dying.”
“And what of the Bellower?” I asked, indicating Bastin.
“We should like to see him back also, Friend-from-the-Sea, that we may
sacrifice and eat him, who destroyed our god with fire and caused the
Healer to kill his priest.”
“That is most unjust,” exclaimed Bastin. “I deeply regret the blood
that was shed on the occasion, unnecessarily as I think.”
“Then go and atone for it with your own,” said Bickley, “and everybody
will be pleased.”
Waving to them to be silent, I said:
“Are you mad, Marama, that you should ask us to return to sojourn among
people who tried to kill us, merely because the Bellower caused fire to
burn an image of wood and its head to fly from its shoulders, just to
show you that it had no power to hold itself together, although you
call it a god? Not so, we wash our hands of you; we leave you to go
your own way while we go ours, till perchance in a day to come, after
many misfortunes have overtaken you, you creep about our feet and with
prayers and offerings beg us to return.”
I paused to observe the effect of my words. It was excellent, for both
Marama and the priest wrung their hands and groaned. Then I went on:
“Meanwhile we have something to tell you. We have entered the cave
where you said no man might set a foot, and have seen him who sits
within, the true god.” (Here Bastin tried to interrupt, but was
suppressed by Bickley.)
They looked at each other in a frightened way and groaned more loudly
than before.
“He sends you a message, which, as he told us of your approach, we came
to the shore to deliver to you.”
“How can you say that?” began Bastin, but was again violently
suppressed by Bickley.
“It is that he, the real Oro, rejoices that the false Oro, whose face
is copied from his face, has been destroyed. It is that he commands you
day by day to bring food in plenty and lay it upon the Rock of
Offerings, not forgetting a supply of fresh fish from the sea, and with
it all those things that are stored in the house wherein we, the
strangers from the sea, deigned to dwell awhile until we left you
because in your wickedness you wished to murder us.”
“And if we refuse—what then?” asked the priest, speaking for the first
time.
“Then Oro will send death and destruction upon you. Then your food
shall fail and you shall perish of sickness and want, and the
Oromatuas, the spirits of the great dead, shall haunt you in your
sleep, and Oro shall eat up your souls.”
At these horrible threats both of them uttered a kind of wail, after
which, Marama asked:
“And if we consent, what then, Friend-from-the-Sea?”
“Then, perchance,” I answered, “in some day to come we may return to
you, that I may give you of my wisdom and the Great Healer may cure
your sick and the Bellower may lead you through his gate, and in his
kindness make you to see with his eyes.”
This last clause of my ultimatum did not seem to appeal to the priest,
who argued a while with Marama, though what he said we could not hear.
In the end he appeared to give way. At any rate Marama called out that
all should be done as we wished, and that meanwhile they prayed us to
intercede with Oro in the cave, and to keep back the ghosts from
haunting them, and to protect them from misfortune. I replied that we
would do our best, but could guarantee nothing since their offence was
very great.
Then, to show that the conversation was at an end, we walked away with
dignity, pushing Bastin in front of us, lest he should spoil the effect
by some of his ill-timed and often over-true remarks.
“That’s capital,” said Bickley, when we were out of hearing. “The enemy
has capitulated. We can stop here as long as we like, provisioned from
the mainland, and if for any reason we wish to leave, be sure of our
line of retreat.”
“I don’t know what you call capital,” exclaimed Bastin. “It seems to me
that all the lies which Arbuthnot has just told are sufficient to bring
a judgment upon us. Indeed, I think that I will go back with Marama and
explain the truth.”
“I never before knew anybody who was so anxious to be cooked and
eaten,” remarked Bickley. “Moreover, you are too late, for the canoe is
a hundred yards away by now, and you shan’t have ours. Remember the
Pauline maxims, old fellow, which you are so fond of quoting, and be
all things to all men, and another that is more modern, that when you
are at Rome, you must do as the Romans do; also a third, that necessity
has no law, and for the matter of that, a fourth, that all is fair in
love and war.”
“I am sure, Bickley, that Paul never meant his words to bear the
debased sense which you attribute to them—” began Bastin, but at this
point I hustled him off to light a fire—a process at which I pointed
out he had shown himself an expert.
We slept that night under the overhanging rock just to one side of the
cave, not in the mouth, because of the draught which drew in and out of
the great place. In that soft and balmy clime this was no hardship,
although we lacked blankets. And yet, tired though I was, I could not
rest as I should have done. Bastin snored away contentedly, quite
unaffected by his escape which to him was merely an incident in the
day’s work; and so, too, slumbered Bickley, except that he did not
snore. But the amazement and the mystery of all that we had discovered
and of all that might be left for us to discover, held me back from
sleep.
What did it mean? What could it mean? My nerves were taut as harp
strings and seemed to vibrate to the touch of invisible fingers,
although I could not interpret the music that they made. Once or twice
also I thought I heard actual music with my physical ears, and that of
a strange quality. Soft and low and dreamful, it appeared to well from
the recesses of the vast cave, a wailing song in an unknown tongue from
the lips of women, or of a woman, multiplied mysteriously by echoes.
This, however, must have been pure fancy, since there was no singer
there.
Presently I dozed off, to be awakened by the sudden sound of a great
fish leaping in the lake. I sat up and stared, fearing lest it might be
the splash of a paddle, for I could not put from my mind the
possibility of attack. All I saw, however, was the low line of the
distant shore, and above it the bright and setting stars that heralded
the coming of the sun. Then I woke the others, and we washed and ate,
since once the sun rose time would be precious.
At length it appeared, splendid in a cloudless sky, and, as I had
hoped, directly opposite to the mouth of the cave. Taking our candles
and some stout pieces of driftwood which, with our knives, we had
shaped on the previous evening to serve us as levers and rough shovels,
we entered the cave. Bickley and I were filled with excitement and hope
of what we knew not, but Bastin showed little enthusiasm for our quest.
His heart was with his half-converted savages beyond the lake, and of
them, quite rightly I have no doubt, he thought more than he did of all
the archaeological treasures in the whole earth. Still, he came,
bearing the blackened head of Oro with him which, with unconscious
humour, he had used as a pillow through the night because, as he said,
“it was after all softer than stone.” Also, I believe that in his heart
he hoped that he might find an opportunity of destroying the bigger and
earlier edition of Oro in the cave, before it was discovered by the
natives who might wish to make it an object of worship. Tommy came
also, with greater alacrity than I expected, since dogs do not as a
rule like dark places. When we reached the statue I learned the reason;
he remembered the smell he had detected at its base on the previous
day, which Bastin supposed to proceed from a rat, and was anxious to
continue his investigations.
We went straight to the statue, although Bickley passed the half-buried
machines with evident regret. As we had hoped, the strong light of the
rising sun fell upon it in a vivid ray, revealing all its wondrous
workmanship and the majesty—for no other word describes it—of the
somewhat terrifying countenance that appeared above the wrappings of
the shroud. Indeed, I was convinced that originally this monument had
been placed here in order that on certain days of the year the sun
might fall upon it thus, when probably worshippers assembled to adore
their hallowed symbol. After all, this was common in ancient days:
witness the instance of the awful Three who sit in the deepest recesses
of the temple of Abu Simbel, on the Nile.
We gazed and gazed our fill, at least Bickley and I did, for Bastin was
occupied in making a careful comparison between the head of his wooden
Oro and that of the statue.
“There is no doubt that they are very much alike,” he said. “Why,
whatever is that dog doing? I think it is going mad,” and he pointed to
Tommy who was digging furiously at the base of the lowest step, as at
home I have seen him do at roots that sheltered a rabbit.
Tommy’s energy was so remarkable that at length it seriously attracted
our attention. Evidently he meant that it should do so, for
occasionally he sprang back to me barking, then returned and sniffed
and scratched. Bickley knelt down and smelt at the stone.
“It is an odd thing, Humphrey,” he said, “but there is a strange odour
here, a very pleasant odour like that of sandal-wood or attar of
roses.”
“I never heard of a rat that smelt like sandal-wood or attar of roses,”
said Bastin. “Look out that it isn’t a snake.”
I knelt down beside Bickley, and in clearing away the deep dust from
what seemed to be the bottom of the step, which was perhaps four feet
in height, by accident thrust my amateur spade somewhat strongly
against its base where it rested upon the rocky floor.
Next moment a wonder came to pass. The whole massive rock began to turn
outwards as though upon a pivot! I saw it coming and grabbed Bickley by
the collar, dragging him back so that we just rolled clear before the
great block, which must have weighed several tons, fell down and
crushed us. Tommy saw it too, and fled, though a little late, for the
edge of the block caught the tip of his tail and caused him to emit a
most piercing howl. But we did not think of Tommy and his woes; we did
not think of our own escape or of anything else because of the marvel
that appeared to us. Seated there upon the ground, after our backward
tumble, we could see into the space which lay behind the fallen step,
for there the light of the sun penetrated.
The first idea it gave me was that of the jewelled shrine of some
mediaeval saint which, by good fortune, had escaped the plunderers;
there are still such existing in the world. It shone and glittered,
apparently with gold and diamonds, although, as a matter of fact, there
were no diamonds, nor was it gold which gleamed, but some ancient
metal, or rather amalgam, which is now lost to the world, the same that
was used in the tubes of the air-machines. I think that it contained
gold, but I do not know. At any rate, it was equally lasting and even
more beautiful, though lighter in colour.
For the rest this adorned recess which resembled that of a large
funeral vault, occupying the whole space beneath the base of the statue
that was supported on its arch, was empty save for two flashing objects
that lay side by side but with nearly the whole width of the vault
between them.
I pointed at them to Bickley with my finger, for really I could not
speak.
“Coffins, by Jove!” he whispered. “Glass or crystal coffins and people
in them. Come on!”
A few seconds later we were crawling into that vault while Bastin,
still nursing the head of Oro as though it were a baby, stood confused
outside muttering something about desecrating hallowed graves.
Just as we reached the interior, owing to the heightening of the sun,
the light passed away, leaving us in a kind of twilight. Bickley
produced carriage candles from his pocket and fumbled for matches.
While he was doing so I noticed two things—firstly, that the place
really did smell like a scent-shop, and, secondly, that the coffins
seemed to glow with a kind of phosphorescent light of their own, not
very strong, but sufficient to reveal their outlines in the gloom. Then
the candles burnt up and we saw.
Within the coffin that stood on our left hand as we entered, for this
crystal was as transparent as plate glass, lay a most wonderful old
man, clad in a gleaming, embroidered robe. His long hair, which was
parted in the middle, as we could see beneath the edge of the
pearl-sewn and broidered cap he wore, also his beard were snowy white.
The man was tall, at least six feet four inches in height, and rather
spare. His hands were long and thin, very delicately made, as were his
sandalled feet.
But it was his face that fixed our gaze, for it was marvelous, like the
face of a god, and, as we noticed at once, with some resemblance to
that of the statue above. Thus the brow was broad and massive, the nose
straight and long, the mouth stern and clear-cut, while the cheekbones
were rather high, and the eyebrows arched. Such are the characteristics
of many handsome old men of good blood, and as the mummies of Seti and
others show us, such they have been for thousands of years. Only this
man differed from all others because of the fearful dignity stamped
upon his features. Looking at him I began to think at once of the
prophet Elijah as he must have appeared rising to heaven, enhanced by
the more earthly glory of Solomon, for although the appearance of these
patriarchs is unknown, of them one conceives ideas. Only it seemed
probable that Elijah may have looked more benign. Here there was no
benignity, only terrible force and infinite wisdom.
Contemplating him I shivered a little and felt thankful that he was
dead. For to tell the truth I was afraid of that awesome countenance
which, I should add, was of the whiteness of paper, although the cheeks
still showed tinges of colour, so perfect was the preservation of the
corpse.
I was still gazing at it when Bickley said in a voice of amazement:
“I say, look here, in the other coffin.”
I turned, looked, and nearly collapsed on the floor of the vault, since
beauty can sometimes strike us like a blow. Oh! there before me lay all
loveliness, such loveliness that there burst from my lips an
involuntary cry:
“Alas! that she should be dead!”
A young woman, I supposed, at least she looked young, perhaps five or
six and twenty years of age, or so I judged. There she lay, her tall
and delicate shape half hidden in masses of rich-hued hair in colour of
a ruddy blackness. I know not how else to describe it, since never have
I seen any of the same tint. Moreover, it shone with a life of its own
as though it had been dusted with gold. From between the masses of this
hair appeared a face which I can only call divine. There was every
beauty that woman can boast, from the curving eyelashes of
extraordinary length to the sweet and human mouth. To these charms also
were added a wondrous smile and an air of kind dignity, very different
from the fierce pride stamped upon the countenance of the old man who
was her companion in death.
She was clothed in some close-fitting robe of white broidered with
gold; pearls were about her neck, lying far down upon the perfect
bosom, a girdle of gold and shining gems encircled her slender waist,
and on her little feet were sandals fastened with red stones like
rubies. In truth, she was a splendid creature, and yet, I know not how,
her beauty suggested more of the spirit than of the flesh. Indeed, in a
way, it was unearthly. My senses were smitten, it pulled at my
heart-strings, and yet its unutterable strangeness seemed to awake
memories within me, though of what I could not tell. A wild fancy came
to me that I must have known this heavenly creature in some past life.
By now Bastin had joined us, and, attracted by my exclamation and by
the attitude of Bickley, who was staring down at the coffin with a
fixed look upon his face, not unlike that of a pointer when he scents
game, he began to contemplate the wonder within it in his slow way.
“Well, I never!” he said. “Do you think the Glittering Lady in there is
human?”
“The Glittering Lady is dead, but I suppose that she was human in her
life,” I answered in an awed whisper.
“Of course she is dead, otherwise she would not be in that glass
coffin. I think I should like to read the Burial Service over her,
which I daresay was never done when she was put in there.”
“How do you know she is dead?” asked Bickley in a sharp voice and
speaking for the first time. “I have seen hundreds of corpses, and
mummies too, but never any that looked like these.”
I stared at him. It was strange to hear Bickley, the scoffer at
miracles, suggesting that this greatest of all miracles might be
possible.
“They must have been here a long time,” I said, “for although human,
they are not, I think, of any people known to the world to-day; their
dress, everything, shows it, though perhaps thousands of years ago—”
and I stopped.
“Quite so,” answered Bickley; “I agree. That is why I suggest that they
may have belonged to a race who knew what we do not, namely, how to
suspend animation for great periods of time.”
I said no more, nor did Bastin, who was now engaged in studying the old
man, and for once, wonderstruck and overcome. Bickley, however, took
one of the candles and began to make a close examination of the
coffins. So did Tommy, who sniffed along the join of that of the
Glittering Lady until his nose reached a certain spot, where it
remained, while his black tail began to wag in a delighted fashion.
Bickley pushed him away and investigated.
“As I thought,” he said—“air-holes. See!”
I looked, and there, bored through the crystal of the coffin in a line
with the face of its occupant, were a number of little holes that
either by accident or design outlined the shape of a human mouth.
“They are not airtight,” murmured Bickley; “and if air can enter, how
can dead flesh remain like that for ages?”
Then he continued his search upon the other side.
“The lid of this coffin works on hinges,” he said. “Here they are,
fashioned of the crystal itself. A living person within could have
pulled it down before the senses departed.”
“No,” I answered; “for look, here is a crystal bolt at the end and it
is shot from without.”
This puzzled him; then as though struck by an idea, he began to examine
the other coffin.
“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed presently. “The old god in here” (somehow
we all thought of this old man as not quite normal) “shut down the
Glittering Lady’s coffin and bolted it. His own is not bolted, although
the bolt exists in the same place. He just got in and pulled down the
lid. Oh! what nonsense I am talking—for how can such things be? Let us
get out and think.”
So we crept from the sepulchre in which the perfumed air had begun to
oppress us and sat ourselves down upon the floor of the cave, where for
a while we remained silent.
“I am very thirsty,” said Bastin presently. “Those smells seem to have
dried me up. I am going to get some tea—I mean water, as unfortunately
there is no tea,” and he set off towards the mouth of the cave.
We followed him, I don’t quite know why, except that we wished to
breathe freely outside, also we knew that the sepulchre and its
contents would be as safe as they had been for—well, how long?
It proved to be a beautiful morning outside. We walked up and down
enjoying it sub-consciously, for really our—that is Bickley’s and my
own—intelligences were concentrated on that sepulchre and its contents.
Where Bastin’s may have been I do not know, perhaps in a visionary
teapot, since I was sure that it would take him a day or two to
appreciate the significance of our discoveries. At any rate, he
wandered off, making no remarks about them, to drink water, I suppose.
Presently he began to shout to us from the end of the table-rock and we
went to see the reason of his noise. It proved to be very satisfactory,
for while we were in the cave the Orofenans had brought absolutely
everything belonging to us, together with a large supply of food from
the main island. Not a single article was missing; even our books, a
can with the bottom out, and the broken pieces of a little pocket
mirror had been religiously transported, and with these a few articles
that had been stolen from us, notably my pocket-knife. Evidently a
great taboo had been laid upon all our possessions. They were now
carefully arranged in one of the grooves of the rock that Bickley
supposed had been made by the wheels of aeroplanes, which was why we
had not seen them at once.
Each of us rushed for what we desired most—Bastin for one of the
canisters of tea, I for my diaries, and Bickley for his chest of
instruments and medicines. These were removed to the mouth of the cave,
and after them the other things and the food; also a bell tent and some
camp furniture that we had brought from the ship. Then Bastin made some
tea of which he drank four large pannikins, having first said grace
over it with unwonted fervour. Nor did we disdain our share of the
beverage, although Bickley preferred cocoa and I coffee. Cocoa and
coffee we had no time to make then, and in view of that sepulchre in
the cave, what had we to do with cocoa and coffee?
So Bickley and I said to each other, and yet presently he changed his
mind and in a special metal machine carefully made some extremely
strong black coffee which he poured into a thermos flask, previously
warmed with hot water, adding thereto about a claret glass of brandy.
Also he extracted certain drugs from his medicine-chest, and with them,
as I noted, a hypodermic syringe, which he first boiled in a kettle and
then shut up in a little tube with a glass stopper.
These preparations finished, he called to Tommy to give him the scraps
of our meal. But there was no Tommy. The dog was missing, and though we
hunted everywhere we could not find him. Finally we concluded that he
had wandered off down the beach on business of his own and would return
in due course. We could not bother about Tommy just then.
After making some further preparations and fidgeting about a little,
Bickley announced that as we had now some proper paraffin lamps of the
powerful sort which are known as “hurricane,” he proposed by their aid
to carry out further examinations in the cave.
“I think I shall stop where I am,” said Bastin, helping himself from
the kettle to a fifth pannikin of tea. “Those corpses are very
interesting, but I don’t see any use in staring at them again at
present. One can always do that at any time. I have missed Marama once
already by being away in that cave, and I have a lot to say to him
about my people; I don’t want to be absent in case he should return.”
“To wash up the things, I suppose,” said Bickley with a sniff; “or
perhaps to eat the tea-leaves.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I have noticed that these natives have a
peculiar taste for tea-leaves. I think they believe them to be a
medicine, but I don’t suppose they would come so far for them, though
perhaps they might in the hope of getting the head of Oro. Anyhow, I am
going to stop here.”
“Pray do,” said Bickley. “Are you ready, Humphrey?”
I nodded, and he handed to me a felt-covered flask of the
non-conducting kind, filled with boiling water, a tin of preserved
milk, and a little bottle of meat extract of a most concentrated sort.
Then, having lit two of the hurricane lamps and seen that they were
full of oil, we started back up the cave.