A GLACIER CAVE AND WHAT LAY THEREIN
An hour’s labor saw us well over the moraine, and beginning to worm our
way into the deep clefts that gaped in the flanks of the hillside.
Heretofore we had kept rigidly to the neighborhood of the shore, but now
we had to shift our course inland. The mountain breasted up to the
water’s edge sheer and inaccessible. We could see no possible chance of
a break in its surface for miles.
There was nothing to do but cross the ridge before us, and take up our
quest on the far side. If we found the way rough and dangerous, and
deemed it impossible to carry over the sections of our cutter, we should
have to return and recommence our quest along the eastern shores. But as
far as we had gone there was nothing impracticable for men taking fair
precautions and proceeding slowly, though at times the ground was steep
and broken.
Before us a long, deep, shadowy gorge cut into the heart of the
mountain. It led upward toward a narrow pass that dented into the crown
of the ridge. This gave hope of a moderately easy passage to the other
side. About half-a-mile in front of us the cañon narrowed, and the
cliffs grew together, nearly overhanging in parts.
The going, however, was better. At times the path was as smooth as a
paved street. Here and there enormous blocks of granite were ranged
alongside it. They were curiously square, having almost the finished
look of building material.
Gerry was the first to remark upon these things.
“There never was a better imitation of an Edinburgh street,” said he
wearily. “These cobbles are as hard and even as can be.”
They certainly were set together in regular fashion, and we examined
them inquisitively, wondering what geological freak had brought about
their ordered formation. Lessaution clapped his hands and shouted.
“Aha, my friends, aha! What have you to say now? A boulevard, is it not?
Who made this road, my little Iscariots? Did it make itself out of
nothing? Did the stones roll themselves together? Tell me that, my
braves,” and he grunted triumphantly, waggling his hands at the rows of
measured blocks.
“I think,” said I irritably, “that any people who put them here with a
set purpose must have been of a race of engineering idiots. What in the
name of wonder could a road be doing here, leading to nowhere in
particular out of this chaos? It’s simply a geological freak. Some
stratum has slipped.”
“It is a road, I tell you,” shrieked the _savant_, “a road, a road, a
road! It has been begun to fetch stones upon—this stone that we see
ready cut for moving. Is it that you are blind? Can you not see?”
I had no wish to delay the expedition further while he lectured us on
this supposititious discovery. I answered him patiently.
“My dear Professor,” said I, “let us agree that it is a grand staircase,
or anything else you like to think it. But for goodness’ sake let us get
on. What we are looking for is not a highway, but a beach—unless you
would like to stay and investigate the matter by yourself,” I added
hopefully.
He came along muttering many things. He was understood to say that some
people had no more enthusiasm than a slug; that the British nation at
large was utterly wanting in verve and spirituality; that in our poor
company his intellect roamed desolate and companionless. But we regarded
him not, striding upward till we reached the point where the cañon
narrowed and darkened over us.
This defile continued for about a quarter of a mile, and along it still
ran the curious effect as of a cobbled road. At the end of the neck we
could see that the valley divided, one half continuing up the pass, the
other striking away sharply to the right.
We reached the sharp spur of the mountain that hid the second valley
from our sight. We rounded the corner, all five of us abreast. As a
single man we stopped in our surprise.
Almost to our feet a mighty glacier rolled, clear, clean, and blue as
the firmament, still and cold as the shadow of death. A gasp went up
simultaneously from each throat as we stepped so swiftly and unknowingly
into the presence of this mighty ice-river, standing out in such lonely
whiteness and solemnity; for an appreciable moment no one spoke.
Then came a shrill yell from our irrepressible friend. He pointed up the
side of the new valley, his little eyes fairly blazing in their sockets.
“There, there!” he howled, “as I told you, it is there. Name of all the
names, let us climb,” and he scrabbled at the smooth rock face that
fenced the entrance of the far cañon, plucking at it like a caged
squirrel.
We followed the direction of his forefinger, and I will confess that my
first feeling was one of desperate annoyance, for on the edge of the
ice, standing out yellow-gray against the blue crevices, was something
uncommonly like the wall of a ruined or half-finished building. Nothing
could explain this away, and it seemed possible that Lessaution might
have some ground for his fancies. Any wonder or interest I might have
felt in this discovery was swallowed by the irritation I felt in
remembering what scorn I had always thrown upon Gerry’s and Lessaution’s
imaginings, which now might well prove to be borne out by facts. I gaped
upon the phenomenon therefore distrustfully, as if it might be,
perchance, a put-up hoax.
The Frenchman was still extended upon the ice-planed rocks, wriggling
like a worm, but advancing not at all. Gerry seized one of his
outstretched legs and gave him a lusty shove. The ungrateful little
wretch never so much as offered him thanks or a tug in return. He
gathered himself up, and tore across the confusion of the ice-milled
stones like a lapwing.
Parsons respectfully offered a back, as at leap-frog. We took advantage
of it to scale the tiny precipice, and follow in the _savant’s_ tracks.
The slow-blooded Mr. Parsons, after eyeing the unaided ascent that would
be his if he pursued us, sat himself down beside the baggage, and lit
his pipe with solemn content. The rest of us joined Lessaution beside
the building, or whatever it might be.
It was supposedly the rear of a house, and ended with great abruptness
where the glacier began. There was no roof, merely three stone walls
built of excessively solid blocks—not natural, but evidently
quarried—and at the glacier side it broke off suddenly, as if beaten
down by some sudden shock. Inside the walls was nothing but a little
heap of dust.
Lessaution ran round and round it and in and out of it like a monkey
exploring a new cage. He chattered and swore away to himself, paying no
sort of attention to our doings. It was left to Gerry to make the next
discovery. He was standing gaping down into the crevasses of the glacier
edge.
“Great Heavens!” he ejaculated suddenly. “Look here, you chaps.”
Ready for any further astonishment, we flocked to him greedily. He
pointed to the unsullied sides of the ice-wall, and therein we saw a
wonderful sight. Plain to the view, as if cased in a crystal casket,
were more huge blocks of stone, the ice arching over them transparently.
Most evidently they were the masonry that had formed the _facade_ of
this building, which the glacier must have in part destroyed. They had
been swept down into a sort of bay or basin in the rock. In this hollow
they were only covered by a shallow of the mighty river of ice, and it
had rolled its slow current over them for centuries. But lying, as they
did, beneath its sluggish current, they had remained flung up as in a
sort of backwater, and free from injury. And here lay the wonder of the
thing. For carved on these great monoliths were a hundred cabalistic
figures in myriad combinations, every one, as we could clearly trace,
formed of the same symbol that figured in my wonderful scroll.
When you are beaten, the grace of a neat surrender will turn tongues
from your defeat. I went up to Lessaution with an outstretched hand and
an ingratiating smile. He greeted me triumphantly, and with many joyous
outcries, but I will say was handsome enough to forego all superior airs
of patronage. He made no allusion to my previous scepticism.
I told myself that, in some ways, this discovery was a great misfortune
as matters had now turned out. True enough, we had come here to
investigate the possible remains of such a race as was now conclusively
proved to have existed. Had matters gone as we intended we should have
been gratified beyond measure at this result. But as circumstances were,
the discovery of a suitable shore for launching our boat was preferable
to all the antiquities south of the equator. I ventured on a modified
_résumé_ of these sentiments, but the Professor snapped at me like an
angry parrakeet.
“What!” he exploded. “Shall we leave these fine and perfect palaces? Are
we to desert them to search for a beach—a muddy bank of sand? No, it is
not possible. Here we can delve into a buried past, and explore the
relics of a royal race. I plant myself here, and Beelzebub shall not
tear me from the spot. Under correction you must see as I do. A beach
now—but that is absurd,” and he turned to his investigations, waving
aside my suggestions superbly.
Gerry and Denvarre were a bit flushed and excited over the matter. The
former opined that an hour or two’s pottering round these walls might be
interesting, and that discoveries worth making might be made. He
suggested that the mid-day halt for food should now take place, and that
if necessary Lessaution should remain afterward while we strolled
forward on our way. We could pick him up on our return.
I agreed to this compromise sulkily, and marched down to where Parsons
still smoked patiently among the packs. He rose to his feet, and stood
at attention.
“Put up the little cooking tent,” said I, “and light the little stove.
We’re going to camp and lunch.”
He began to unfold the canvas and erect the shelter for our little oil
oven. I busied myself in getting out the meat pie that Baines had
provided, and extracting knives and forks from their various
receptacles. Then I sat down upon a boulder and watched Parsons’ further
operations with a dreamy content in mere idleness and in the sunshine.
“Wonderful pretty, that, m’lord,” said Parsons confidentially, as he
looked up from his labors, crimson with much bending. He pointed with
his finger toward the farthest side of the glacier, whence a stream
rippled out patteringly.
I followed the direction of his hand and saw, what, in the general
distraction of Lessaution’s first find, we had overlooked.
A huge ice-grotto, blue and delicately shaded, ran deeply into the heart
of the glacier. The sun sparkled on the archway that spanned the
entrance, glowing through panes of clear ice in fifty azure shades and
glittering prisms. The stream that purred out, born of the friction on
the granite bed below the ice, looked heartsome and inviting in the
sunlight. It was in contrast to the stony immobility around, and I rose
and took a few steps forward to contemplate it.
The cave ran straight back from its mouth into the ice-hollows, and the
reflections lit it up for some little way back into its dark recesses.
It looked mysteriously fascinating, as its blue shadows melted into the
impenetrable gloom. I stepped a few yards into it, admiring the
delicious tints that filtered through the roof. The thought struck me
that while our lunch was warming it might be amusing to investigate this
sub-glacial waterway. I returned to Mr. Parsons, who had watched my
motion with genuine but repressed interest.
“Have we candles?” I inquired.
“I did happen to put in a couple of dips, m’lord, thinking they might
come in useful if we camped the night. Not that we have what you’d call
much night here,” added the sailor, as if it was an additional grievance
of these outlandish realms.
He produced his greasy little parcel, and we entered the cavern, getting
well dripped on by the way. The little cascades fell freely from the
roof in the increasing heat of the sun.
As the gloom deepened we lit up, and I strode ahead holding my candle
high in the air. Parsons followed behind, gaping. In this order we
plunged into the icy mysteries before us.
The stream was a shallow one—not above four or five inches deep for the
most part—and we splashed and slushed along with ease on its sandy bed.
But the cold was atrocious. It struck home the deeper for our sudden
withdrawal from the full sunlight. As we advanced the clear blue of the
ice above the entrance deepened to a sickly green; as we went on to a
lurid purple. Finally the rays ceased to percolate through the heavy
masses above us. We were in thick darkness—the gloom that has never
known the day.
I heard Parsons shiver behind me as he crept closer. The roof-drippings
fell with a hollow splash in the pools and shallows. A fearsome
stillness filled and pervaded the cave between these patterings. Our
steps and splashings seemed to roar out with indecent echoes on the
awesome quiet. A scene of impertinence—of pushing forwardness—in thus
invading these awful recesses fell upon me. My steps began to slow; a
shudder swept my nerves, making me tremble creepily.
As I slowed and halted I noticed that the drip and trickle from the roof
had ceased. The cave was widening and deepening into a space that the
feeble light of our candles refused to fill. We were in the midst of a
growing emptiness.
I looked above me. The roof was lost in gloom. A thick, velvety
blackness was over us, and no answering flash from ice walls came as I
waved my light. We had strayed from under the glacier, and were overhung
by some huge escarpment of the mountain-side. On the one side of us was
the wall of ice; on the other the sullen gray cliff of granite. The
floor was smooth. The stream oozed along the foot of the ice-wall with a
silent, splashless flow.
We walked half aimlessly forward, hesitating for a direction in this
uniform emptiness. Then the light passed uncertainly upon a yellowish
mass a few fathoms before us—a vague breaking of the dimness of the
void. We drew toward it, and the shadows danced and played upon
clean-cut blocks; there was no mistaking their nature. They were
quarried—the squared masonry of a buried city.
Parsons crept closer again.
“’Anged if it ain’t a ’ouse,” he whispered, and it seemed to me that I
could hear the throb of his pulses in the stillness. “A bloomin’ ’ouse,”
he repeated, with the evident desire to prove to himself that this was
no delusive dream.
We both breathed hard as we continued staring at the yellow gable,
watching the waverings of the dip-light across its stones. Emotions that
varied only in degree filled our minds alike. We were, without any
doubt, horribly afraid. For half a minute we stood unstirring. Then by a
common and inquisitive impulse we advanced shoulder to shoulder to the
doorway.
There was no door. A fungus-smelling pile of sodden pulp showed what
might have been wood long centuries before. Beside the postern lay a
metal bucket, dull and dirt-colored; opposite the doorway was an open
hearth. The floor was inches deep in a curious, strong-smelling, fungoid
litter. Among it lay half-a-dozen or more utensils, all of the same
dull-colored metal. In the ingle nook was a stone seat.
[Illustration:
IT WAS THE FACE OF ONE ALONE WITH DEATH.
_Page 177._
]
Another entrance gave upon an inner room. To this we strode delicately.
At our entry we stayed our oncoming with a great gasp. I stepped back
upon Parsons—shuffling and mowing at him unseeingly. My eyes were glued
upon the far side of the room, while my feet with automatic intelligence
endeavored to carry me out of it.
A stone slab filled the far side of this recess, and on it were heaped
various sad-hued fabrics—bed coverings of sorts. They were discolored
with age, but undecayed by reason of the undying frost. Above the tossed
and furrowed ends of these rags a face appeared—a face lined with a
thousand wrinkles, drawn and yellow as parchment. The features had been
old and agonized or ever the breath left the body. They had been of
noble outline in life, but terror had been laid like a thick mask upon
the dead lineaments. It was the face of one alone with death—a death
that crept to it slowly, while the soul waited in its desolation,
helpless, alone, despairing.
Parsons found a cracked and reedy voice.
“Gawd pity ’im,” he mumbled, closing up to me fearfully; “’e ’ad it
’eavy at the last.”
The flicker of the wavering candle-light was chasing the gray shadows
across and about the fear-haunted face. If was as if the agonies of
centuries back had leaped to life. A drop from the roof fell upon the
wick of a dip, making it hiss and sputter raggedly; the to and fro of
the twittering rays made the dead lips twitch, as it seemed. The shade
that swept the rigid form, as we moved toward it, gave it the horrid
appearance of shuddering, and thereat I heard Parsons’ breath whistle
between his teeth. The black hair fell lank and straight from the
furrowed forehead, and as the thin light gleamed upon it, it seemed as
if it waved in an unfelt draught.
We bent over the poor, distorted apology for a human form. The hands
were crossed upon the wasted chest, each twined within the other
convulsively. The eyes were half closed. The sheen of the dead pupils
seemed to watch us furtively between the wrinkled lids. The lips were
agape, and the teeth set stiffly upon each other. The muscles in the
worn throat stood out like the kinks in the parcelling of a worn hawser.
The whole face and figure gave the impression of despair personified—of
death awaited lingeringly, and the bitter cup thereof drained to the
last dregs.
There was a plash and gurgle from the stream behind me, and the swish of
hasty stumblings through its pools. I was suddenly aware that I was
alone before this gruesomeness—that down the watery pathway we had come
Parsons was making for wholesome light and air at the top of his speed.
He ran staggeringly, holding out his candle before him, and as I saw the
outline of his body diminishingly black through the doorway, a cold
dread caught me by the throat. Horror gripped my pulses clammily.
Somehow, within the next ten seconds, I found myself hunting Parsons
hard down that icy waterway, with fright—pure, unadulterated
funk—following desperately swift upon my footsteps. I stopped to
consider nothing, save that behind me was the shadow of death centuries
old in all its hoary malignancy, while in front was sunlight and
nervous, warm-blooded humanity as personified by the escaping Parsons.
With these considerations carven on my brain I splashed along like a
hunted otter. Reeling, white-faced, shamed, but full of gratitude for
the warm blessings of the sun and sea-borne air, we stumbled out into
the cañon, and squatted again beside our baggage. We looked not each
other in the eyes for the space of a full minute; then I gave a
half-hysteric chuckle.
“It was only a mummy of sorts,” I explained apologetically to James
Parsons, seaman and coward.
“That’s as mebbe, m’lord,” quoth Mr. Parsons with dogged deliberation,
“but it ’appens to be the first I’ve seen of whatever it ’appens to be,
an’ please the Lord I’ll never see another.” He capped this slightly
involved indication of his views with a mighty spit into the clearness
of the stream, the while he shifted his quid thankfully.
“Nonsense,” said I, with a great show of spirit and discipline, “you
must come back with me at once. I dare say there are discoveries to be
made of lots of things. Gold, very likely, and other valuables,” and I
rolled my eyes at him. He only sniffed doubtfully.
“With all due respeck, m’lord,” answered the seaman firmly, “I would not
go back if you dammed the brook with di’monds.”
“You’re a coward, Parsons,” said I disgustedly. “What’s there to be
afraid of? It’s simply the body of a man who was caught by the glacier
when it overwhelmed this valley, as it evidently has done. It’s the cold
that’s kept him fresh.”
“Yes, m’lord,” answered Parsons, without conviction.
“So of course we ought to look into the matter further. Who knows what
there may be besides what we’ve seen? I shall call the others.”
“Yes, m’lord,” quoth Mr. Parsons, with steadfast respect. “I should
certainly call the others.”
I turned away, disgusted with his cowardice, scrambled up the side of
the ravine again, and strolled back to where they were still delving
away among the rubbish. They took no notice of me, and I lit a cigarette
with deliberation before I inquired if they had found anything.
“Ouf! but you annoy me with your questions,” snapped Lessaution. “Is it
that you expect us to examine the whole of this affair in ten minutes?
This is the discovery of the century—the most magnificent one that has
been made about peoples of which we know nothing. And you say have you
found anything? We have found a house, and have been here the littlest
half-hour.”
“Ah,” said I superciliously; “I think you’re wasting your time.”
He boiled over at me, his face the color of beetroot.
“Can you not search for your beach without disturbing the important
investigations of _savants_? What is your beach to me? Go you on and
look for it, and leave us to dig at our leisure.” He snorted with
indignation as he turned away.
“Well,” said I apathetically, “of course you know best. If this roofless
hovel is enough for you, well and good. But when a few hundred yards
away a whole city awaits your inspection, I should have thought——”
“What!” they all bawled, leaping up. “Where? Which?” and they stared
round them as if they expected to see it perched on the adjoining
precipices.
“Anywhere but where you’re looking,” I returned dryly. “_There_, if
you’re so anxious to know,” and I pointed into the depths of the
glacier.
“But how——” began Gerry.
“By the front door,” said I, interrupting. “There’s a passage right into
the heart of it, and here have you all been idling about this one
outlying bothie, while Parsons and I with some show of energy have been
finding out——” It was no use continuing, for they had all forsaken me
and raced down the slope toward the baggage, bawling aloud to Parsons
for the candles. I followed at a more leisurely pace, and before I had
time to overtake them, they had disappeared into the cavern with the
only two lights. As I did not feel inclined to follow in the dark, I sat
myself down to inspect the meat pie, and await their return.
They came staggering out in about half-an-hour, bearing something
between the three of them. What sense of decency or of the fitness of
things they possessed I don’t know, but it was the mummy they’d got,
arranged on a sort of hammock of their coats, which they carried by the
sleeves. The unfortunate corpse rolled and crumbled hideously as it came
thus immodestly out into the sunlight after its centuries of seclusion.
I could not restrain my indignation. Even Parsons was moved.
“It ain’t ’ardly decent,” he observed, looking across at me.
“I think you’re the most disreputable scoundrels I ever came across,”
said I warmly, advancing upon the party. “You’re worse than Burke or
Hare. Why couldn’t you let the wretched carcass sleep in peace?”
“Humbug!” quoth Gerry discourteously. “D’you think we’re going to let
the only Mayan extant rot away in the bowels of a glacier for want of a
little embalming? The Professor’s going to stuff it.”
“Oh, he is, is he?” said I, and smiled into my mustache. I had a good
idea of what would occur when this worn carrion had been out in the
sunlight for an hour or two. “I wish him joy,” I added politely.
They set it down upon a smooth lump of granite, and the Professor
tripped round it ecstatically. Denvarre and Gerry listened to his
chatterings with the solemn attention of profound ignorance, and Parsons
eyed the whole proceeding with melancholy and distrust. The sun was
exceedingly powerful, and I lit another cigarette. After about ten
minutes I sniffed suspiciously.
“Your beastly mummy’s waking up,” I hazarded. “There’s a confounded
smell of musk.”
Lessaution opened his mouth to answer me. His eyes were agleam with
native fire, and his podgy little nostrils and upper lip were curled
into a sneer. I perceived that he proposed to wither me with a torrent
of sarcasm.
As he stood opposite me his gaze took in the whole of the upper valley
over my shoulder. Instead of the volley of winged words that I expected,
the only sound that escaped between his teeth was a raucous croak. His
mouth stayed, gaping widely. The fire died from his eyes, and I saw
terror settle in them like a gray mist. His cap rose distinctly an inch
upon his head, and he splayed out his hands before him, thrusting away
from his white face as if to keep off a horror unimaginable.
We four wheeled in our tracks. Then my throat dried up within me; my
lips twitched; my knees were stricken with sudden palsy. For if ever
nightmare walked abroad embodied on God’s earth, it was there confessed
before my eyes.