IN SHADOWLAND.
Weary body, aching brain,
Tortured mind, and heavy soul,
Fourfold being, one existence!
Life with troublous insistence,
To ye brings but constant dole,
Ceaseless weeping, endless pain;
Yet is all this sorrow vain
When the waves of slumber roll
Over body, over soul.
In such slumber should ye list, hence
Flies the spirit to attain
That far land of dreams and stories,
Misty realms of airy glories,
Where the body hath no being,
Nor the eyes an earthly seeing
And the mind makes no resistance
To events which overleap
Nature's laws, which bind existence;
From our sphere the spirit fleeing
Dwells but in the realm of sleep.
After that extraordinary interview with Don Hypolito in the prison,
Jack ceased to take any interest in earthly matters, and went for a
space into shadow-land. He was not dead, but delirious. As a captive
balloon is anchored to earth, so Jack's soul had flown into the realms
of dream, yet was held to his body by a small amount of life.
Yet curiously enough he retained a dull impression of earthly events.
All things actually done to his body coloured his dreams and decided
his visions. As the fancies of the sleepers are determined by external
actions, so as through a veil the wounded man faintly perceived the
every-day life going on around his inert body. Through the chain
extending from body to soul which held the latter captive to earth
passed the thrills hinting at corporeal-existence, and these dominating
his spirituality whirled him hither and thither, according as they
happened. We in health feel in slumber the power of the unseen world
guiding our every action; this man, in sickness dwelt, spiritually
speaking, in the world of shadows, whereof we have no knowledge, and
therefrom felt rather than saw the happening of earthly events which
coloured his ghostly being.
Oh those dreams, those visions apocalyptical, what agonies, what
ecstacies, what feelings did they not beget? Now of earth, now of
heaven, frequently of hell. Years afterwards, Jack remembering portions
of these fantasies, would shudder and turn pale at the mere thought of
having endured them. Wild as the visions of Ezekiel, gorgeous as the
Arabian Nights, hideous as De Quincey's dreamings, delicate and
spiritual as the songs of Aeriel, those chimeras, at once terrible and
fascinating, racked his spiritual being with the pangs of pleasure and
pain. As thus:--
... Darkness! the infinite darkness of chaos, before the light-creating
word was spoken by the Deity. Ages and ages and ages of gloom, of
horror, of thick opacity. No light, no glimmer, no glow to break this
all-pervading blackness. No earth beneath, no sky above, nothing but
clinging gloom on all sides. So chill, so freezing--surely hell were
not more terrible....
Ha! a burst of light penetrating the gloom. The word is spoken, the
light is here.... Day divides itself from night ... from the womb of
the darkness springs the faint radiance of dawn. Then the sun, the
glorious sun, rises like a god to conquer the foul fiends of shadow.
See how his arrows fly, golden and swift, from his never-empty bow ...
east, west, north, south ... and the glory of light spreads over all
creation.... I am borne along on the wings of a mighty wind blown from
the gates of the dawn ... faster and faster and faster.... I swim
through the crystalline air.... I poise myself like a bird in the
opaline glories of a whirling sphere.... In the heart of the rainbow
... still no earth ... but air and the coruscation of infinite
colours--red and yellow and green and blue.... They swirl in circles,
they shoot on all sides from a spot of brilliance as the spokes of a
wheel.... They range themselves in lines of ever-changing hues ... and
now I am blown resistlessly onward by that mighty wind....
The sea! gloom once more! I can see nothing but darkness, yet
penetrated by faint gleams of light.... The wash of many waves break on
my ears.... Overhead a sky veiled in clouds, beneath the black breast
of ocean, heaving restlessly in white lines of foam.... I smell the
salt brine of the ocean.... The keen wind lashes my face as with a
whip.... Ho! yeo, ho!... the sailors are at work.... Hark! the throb of
a heart. Beat! beat! beat! beat! It is the beating of the propeller
blades now striking the water ... I am in the engine-room ... the
pistons slide silently in and out of the cylinders.... Now the giant
cranks rise and fall with monotonous motion ... and yon gleaming steel
shaft, revolving rapidly, turns the screw in the dark waters without
... the hiss of escaping steam ... the whirling of wheels ... the
sudden burst of red flame from the furnace ... I am carried across the
ocean ... whither?
Earth! at last the land.... Mother of all things, I salute thee ...
this bleak beach on which dash the waves ... the soft odour of the wind
sways the trees on yonder promontory.... I hear the measured dip of
oars ... the grating of the boat's keel on the stones.... Ha! I am in
the hands of demons ... their eyes glare as they lift me from boat to
litter.... The curtains are dropped, and I feel the swing and sway of
the litter being carried up steep heights....
This is a primeval forest ... green as the sea ... scarcely so restless
... the warm wind stirs the giant branches ... what crowded hues ...
and lo! the flash of brilliant flowers ... the odour of spices....
Brilliant birds flit from branch to branch like flying gems.... I hear
the singing of choirs invisible ... the birds!... Yes, birds only....
Garlands of flowers trail from the trees ... beneath their shadow the
grass is crowded with blossoms ... wherever I step a flower springs to
being ... those pools of still water blue as turquoise ... the Indian
conjurer!... I see him hiding amid the frondage ... look!... the
saurian!... Oh, the frightful monster.... Preadamite!... begotten in
chaos slime.... Trees! trees! trees without end.... The earth is one
vast forest, and I alone wander therein....
Snow!... a vast expanse of snow ... for miles and leagues.... No! it is
salt lying in thin flakes on the brown earth ... the surface glitters
in the moonlight as if it were ice.... Far and wide whirl thin white
pillars of salt in the grip of the wind.... Lot's wife! Ha! Ha! Nay, no
woman do I see, but salt on all hands ... like snow ... and moon
freezing crystals....
The forest again ... more trees ... birds ... odours.... Hark! a song
... 'tis the dancing-girls who sing ... I heard them call ... I see
them shake their anklets of gold ... the cymbals crash ... the trinkets
shine. Can you not hear the roll of the serpent-skin drums?...
Oh, this interminable avenue of stone gods ... on either side the faces
of solemn sphinxes.... I am in Egypt ... I go up to offer sacrifice to
the god Thoth ... lines of sphinxes ... statues of kings with their
hands placed on their knees ... then this great flight of steps.... Up,
and up and up.... Are we going to heaven?... I will bow down to my
God.... Horror! Huitzilopochtli.... This is not my God.... I sacrifice
to Thoth.... To Isis.... Ah, you would make of me the victim.... Oh,
foul priest, knife in hand ... the stone of the sacrifice ... you raise
the obsidian knife ... Again the chant of the priests ... the light
clash of the dancing-girls' anklets ... drums ... cymbals and death....
I am in the tomb ... yes; fold my hands on my breast, for I have done
with life ... straight and white I lie, with cerements swathing my form
... this is a king's tomb ... these walls are painted with many colours
... yonder are gods and kings and heroes walking in long files ... here
they sacrifice to their god ... there they lead captive trains of
prisoners.... A splendid tomb, but the roof crushes me down ... oh,
Heaven! can those pillars, those caryatides support the cyclopean
architecture?... It will fall and crush me, like Samson.... Yes, I
thirst! I am dead, but I thirst.... Dives in hell ... give me....
... What! a woman's face?... I have seen that face before ... those
dark eyes, that smiling mouth ... it is thou! Dolores! Oh, my heart's
best love, I again find you,--in the tomb?... we have done with life
... then we were divided; but Death, more merciful, has joined us
again.... Place your cool white hand on my brow ... it burns ... it
burns.... No, no! do not leave me ... oh, I see you fade in the
darkness like a vision ... and this phantom which rises between us?...
Oh, Xuarez! liar! thief! murderer!... thus do I slay thee!... So weak;
so weary; I know nothing ... where am I?... what am I?... whither have
my visions fled?... I am dead! not in hell, nor heaven ... but where? I
know not ... I am dead ... you, Dolores ... you, Xuarez ... you all,
dreams.... I lie here dead and still ... in my ear the chant of a
slave.... Could I only turn my head ... ah! the slave rises ... he
bends over me.... Cocom!...
"Yes, Señor, it is Cocom," said a well-known voice, as a gentle hand
skilfully adjusted the bandages.
"Cocom!" repeated Jack, in a weak voice. "Am I dead? Do I dream? Am I
dead?"
"No, Señor Juan. You were nearly dead, and for days you have dreamed of
many things. Now you are better, and will live."
"Still on earth?"
"Yes, Don Juan. Still do you live, thanks be to the gods. Teoyamiqui
has not yet brought you to her kingdom. Now, lie you still, Señor. So!
Drink this, and speak not; you are so weak."
Jack raised his head from the pillow, and greedily drank the contents
of the cup held to his lips by Cocom. Then he closed his eyes, and fell
into a refreshing sleep, while the old Indian sat quietly by the side
of the couch, muttering some strange old song of a forgotten
civilisation. Now and then a form would glide into the room and look at
Jack sleeping in the bed, so still, so deathlike. Sometimes a man, more
often a woman, and ever beside the couch sat the stolid Cocom, watching
the face of his patient with intense interest.
How long he slept thus Jack did not know, but when he woke from a
refreshing slumber all his delirium had departed. He felt weak, truly,
but clear-headed and calm in his mind. Opening his eyes, he listened
vaguely to the murmuring song of his attendant, and thought over the
events which had preceded his illness. The entry into Acauhtzin; the
dismissal of the deputation at the Palacio Nacional; the fight at the
sea-gate; the interview in prison with Don Hypolito; and then utter
blankness. He remembered fainting in the cell at Acauhtzin, and now he
had wakened--where? With an effort he raised his head and looked round
him.
In his delirium he had thought he was in a tomb, and truly the room
wherein he now found himself was not unlike one of those strange
Egyptian sepulchres, houses of the dead, wherein the highest art of
that sombre civilisation was displayed. This low roof, formed of
Titanic masses of stone; these heavy walls, gaudy with mural paintings,
representing gods, kings, heroes strange sacrifices, and mystical
ceremonies; all were redolent of the land of the Nile. Through a narrow
slit in the wall filtered a pale light; skins of jaguar and puma
carpeted the stone floor; rich coverlets of featherwork lay over the
couch, and the entrance was draped with gaudy tapestries, dyed with
confused tints, hinting at barbaric art. Jack, for the moment, thought
he was indeed in Egypt, when, suddenly, at the side of the room he saw
the hideous image of Huitzilopochtli, and heard the monotonous chant of
his Watcher. Then, his true situation came vividly to his mind; this
was a room in some Indian dwelling, yonder was the fierce god of the
Aztecs, and by his bedside knelt Cocom.
"Where am I?" asked the young man, raising himself on his elbow, and
looking at the Indian with a puzzled expression of countenance.
"In good hands, Señor," was the evasive answer.
"Yes, yes! I know that. But am I still in Acauhtzin?"
"No. You are many miles from Acauhtzin."
"But I was there last night."
Cocom shook his head, and, producing a cigarette, lighted it carefully,
blew some smoke through his nostrils, and looked steadily at Jack with
his melancholy eyes.
"You were there five days ago, Señor."
"What do you mean, Cocom?"
"Ah! the Señor forgets that he has been ill. For five days he has been
in the land of everlasting darkness. Cocom has watched many hours by
this couch and listened to the crying of the Señor. You have seen
visions and heard voices, Don Juan. On the borders of Teoyamiqui's land
have you been, yet not within her kingdom. But Cocom knows many things,
and by his art has cheated the goddess of one Americano. You are out of
danger now, Señor, and I, Cocom, have cured you."
"Mucha gracias!" murmured Jack, patting the Indian on the shoulder with
a weak hand; "but tell me where I am now."
"Where does your memory fail, Don Juan?"
Jack passed his hand across his brow. The confusion of his brain had
departed. His senses were clear now, and he could recall everything up
to a certain point.
"I remember the embassy from Tlatonac to Acauhtzin--the fight at the
sea-gate. There I was struck down, and recovered my senses in prison.
With Don Hypolito I held a long conversation, and, I suppose, fainted
with his voice still in my ears. I wake here at a place you tell me is
far from Acauhtzin, and find you by my side--you, Cocom, whom I
supposed to be at Tlatonac!"
"Listen, Don Juan," said Cocom, with great deliberation. "I will tell
you many things that have taken place since your soul was in the realm
of shadows. When you became insensible at Acauhtzin, a doctor was sent
to attend to you by Don Hypolito. That doctor did what he could for
you, but thought you would die as your soul was not within your body.
Wildly did you cry, Don Juan, and many strange things did you say.
Then, by the order of Don Hypolito, you were carried away on board a
war-ship down the coast. At a certain point your body was taken ashore
in a boat, and there delivered to certain people, who expected your
coming. Having been placed on a litter, you were carried through the
forest, across the salt desert, and again through the forest till you
were placed on that bed. For two days have you tossed and turned, and
cried, and fought. But now you are well, Don Juan--you will live;
thanks be to the gods."
Jack listened to all this as in a dream. The explanation fitted in with
those vague visions which had haunted his delirious brain. The
darkness--that was the cell at Acauhtzin; the light came when he was
carried on board the war-ship. Then the sea-vision, the landing on the
coast--that mirage of a tropical forest--the snowy plains of salt, and
the climbing of many steps up to an antique temple. A sudden thrill
shot through his enfeebled frame as he recalled the vision of the
sacrifice, he recollected Cocom's last words referring to the gods, he
glanced terrified at the frightful image of Huitzilopochtli, and
turning slowly towards the Indian, repeated his often-asked question,
the answer to which he already guessed.
"What is this place?"
Cocom arose to his feet, drew himself up to his full height, and
pointed majestically towards the idol.
"The temple of Huitzilopochtli! The shrine of the Chalchuih Tlatonac."
"God!" cried Jack, in despair, as he recognised his position. "I am
lost!"
He saw his peril at a glance. The threats of Don Hypolito regarding a
frightful death were not mere words. With devilish ingenuity he had
secured the death of his rival, with no possible chance of the truth
becoming known. Jack saw that Xuarez had preserved his life, had
delivered him to the Indians, to the end that he might be offered up on
the altar of the war-god, as a sacrifice to the opal. No wonder his
usually brave heart quailed at the prospect of such horrors. Captive to
remorseless savages, in the heart of an impenetrable forest, there was
no chance of a rescue by his friends. He was weak, unarmed, unfriended,
in the power of a fanatic race; there was no help for it--he must die.
"Cocom," whispered Jack, clutching the Indian's arm, "why have I been
brought here--why did Don Hypolito deliver me to the Indians? Is it
for--for----"
His dry lips refused to form the horrible word; but Cocom, without the
least emotion, supplied it.
"For sacrifice! Yes, Don Juan; you are to be offered to the god."
"Horrible! When?"
"In three weeks. At the termination of the great cycle."
"What do you mean?" asked Jack, with a shudder.
"Our time," explained Cocom, with stolid apathy, "is divided into
cycles of fifty-two years. This have we received from our Aztec
ancestors. At the end of a cycle the sun will die out in the heavens,
and the earth end, if the new fire is not lighted on the altars of the
gods. When the last day of the cycle comes, you, Don Juan, will be
bound on the stone of sacrifice, your heart will be taken out as an
offering to the great gods, and on your breast will the new fire be
lighted. Then will the sun rise again, and a new cycle begin for the
earth. The gods will be appeased, and mankind will be saved."
Jack had read of this terrible superstition in the fascinating pages of
Prescott, but he never expected that he would one day take an active
part in such a ceremony. With the hope of despair he endeavoured to
evade his doom.
"But the body of a white man will not please the gods. Why not
sacrifice as your ancestors did, on the Hill of the Star?"
"Hitherto, Señor, that has been done. Now, however, the gods have
spoken through the opal, and it is willed that a white man alone can
avert the end of time. A white man must be sacrificed, and you are
chosen."
Jack shuddered, and hid his face in his hands.
"Surely, Señor, you are not afraid!"
"Afraid!" echoed Jack, uncovering his face, with a frown. "No, Cocom;
an Englishman is never afraid of death. But to come in such a form as
this--oh, horrible! horrible!"
Cocom could not understand this alarm. Like all Indians, he regarded
death with stoical resignation, and would have been perfectly willing
himself to have been offered on the altar of sacrifice, seeing such a
death would admit him at once into the Paradise of the sun. But he was
very old, and therefore useless. The gods demanded a man, handsome,
young, in the flower of his age, and therefore was it certain that Jack
would be acceptable to the bloodthirsty Huitzilopochtli.
"Did Don Hypolito know this when he delivered me to your friends?"
"It was for that purpose he delivered you, Señor."
"Oh, fiend! devil!" cried Jack, trying to rise in his bed. "I wish I
had my fingers round his throat!"
"Lie quiet, Señor," said Cocom, forcing him back. "You will make
yourself ill again."
"Why should I not, seeing I am only reserved for this frightful death?"
"That is as it may be, Señor," observed Cocom, significantly.
"What do you mean?" asked Duval, with sudden hope.
"Hush!" replied the old man, laying his finger on his lips, and
glancing apprehensively around. "In this temple the very walls have
ears."
"You can save me?"
"Perhaps. I know not."
"But----"
Cocom bent over Jack on the pretence of arranging the bed-clothes, and
brought his lips close to the young man's ear.
"Say not a word, Señor. If the priests suspect me, you are lost. I come
hither as my fathers came before me, but I worship not the devil-stone.
I am a true Catholic, Señor. The priests wanted a victim, and asked me
to betray to them Don Pedro, when he was with me beyond the walls. Then
I refused, and said I could not do so. The end of the cycle approaches,
and the priests were alarmed, so they sent to Don Hypolito, and
promised to make all the Indians help him in his war, if he procured
them a white man for a victim to the gods. Don Hypolito promised, and
two days ago sent you."
"The fiends!"
"Hush! I am a medicine-man, placed here by the priests to cure you; but
they think I wish to see you sacrificed. I do not. I will save you."
"Oh, Cocom, I thank you."
"Are you mad, Señor?" whispered the Indian, thrusting him hurriedly
back; "eyes may be on us now. The walls of this room are pierced with
secret eye-places."
Jack recognised the wisdom of this reasoning, and sank back on his
couch. It was just as well he did so, for at that very moment the
drapery of the door was swept aside, and a man entered the room.
He was a majestic-looking personage, much taller than the average
Indian. Indeed, he was as huge as Tim himself, but not so bulky. He
wore a long white robe, falling to his feet, over this a mantle of
gaudy leather-work. On his head was set a fresh chaplet of flowers, on
his breast burned the red glimmer of a small opal. Advancing into the
middle of the room, he swung a small incense-burner before Jack,
throwing therein some odoriferous gum, which made a thick, perfumed
smoke. After this, he cast some flowers on the couch, and muttered a
few words with uplifted hands, finally ending the ceremony by falling
on his knees.
"What does this mean?" asked Jack of Cocom, who stood reverently on one
side, observing all this mummery.
"Hush, Señor! He adores you as a god."
"Devil take him and his worship," muttered Jack, crossly, in English.
Then the priest spoke in the Indian tongue, and Cocom translated his
speech to Jack.
"Is my lord better in health?" asked the priest.
"Tell him I am; but I don't care about being preserved for sacrifice."
"Speak not so, Don Juan," said Cocom, in Spanish, with a look of alarm;
"you are not supposed to know anything of that. I told you on the peril
of my life."
"Then tell him whatever lies you please!" said Duval, viciously, and,
rolling over, turned his back on the priest.
"A bad sign!" murmured the priest, looking anxiously at Cocom. "Is my
lord angered?"
"Nay," replied Cocom, in the Indian tongue; "my lord is much improved
in health, oh, Ixtlilxochitl; but as with all who are ill at ease, he
is fretful and wanting in courtesy."
"It is true," replied Ixtlilxochitl, reverently. "The sick are ever
foolish. See that thou make him strong, Cocom, for the gods accept
naught but blooming health."
"Oh, my sacred lord; he will be cured in two days from now. Cocom knows
of magic herbs whereby the favourite of Huitzilopochtli can be made
whole. Let Ixtlilxochitl be content, my lord will be pure and strong
for the sacrifice."
"It is well," said the priest, rising from his knees. "I will leave my
lord to his sleep; but will he not vouchsafe one glance at his
servant?"
Instructed by Cocom, Jack was forced to turn round and smile at the
priest, who knelt down to receive this mark of favour. Then he adored
Jack with more incense and flowers, after which he withdrew with
reverent genuflections.
"The old fiend!" muttered Jack, when the drapery had again veiled the
door. "I should like to have sent a boot at his head."
"Hush, my lord Juan."
"Carrai! why should I? That devil-monkey does not understand Spanish."
"No, Señor. Still, it is wiser to risk nothing."
"You are quite right, Cocom. I place myself entirely in your hands.
Save me, and I promise you I shall not forget you."
"Cocom will save you, for the sake of Don Miguel," said the old man,
proudly; "and for the sake of the lady Dolores."
"Dolores!" repeated Jack, eagerly. "Do you know where she is?"
"I know nothing at present," replied Cocom, with a meaning glance.
"Possess your soul in patience, Don Juan; all will yet be well. Don
Hypolito desires to kill you, and wed Doña Dolores. He shall do
neither. Santissima Virgen, I swear it. Be silent! No words, my lord.
Rest now, and sleep. You will need all your strength."
"For the sacrifice?"
"Nay, Señor, for escape!"