missionary work here, or homes, but they need everything else. I was
just telling Nick a scheme a while ago. We felt a little discouraged,
then, because we couldn’t get word from the ship, but I’m waked up now,
and we’ll make things hum. We’ll get franchises from the government for
electric lights and trolley lines, and steamboat traffic, and we’ll
build some factories, and I’ll put a head-light on this temple, and an
elevator inside, and we’ll lay out additions in all directions. Vacant
property here as far as you can see, and just going to waste. Of course
we’ll have to fix up some easy way to get people over the ice-wall, and
run sledge trains over the snow between here and Bottle Bay, like they
do in the Klondike. It may take a year or two to get the place opened
up, but we can do it, and when we do, it’ll be the greatest spot on
earth. We didn’t know just how we were going to get out of here before,
though we haven’t worried any, but now you and Biff can take the yacht
back to New York and make up a big expedition. You’ll have to bring a
lot of stuff we didn’t have this time, and a lot of money—small
money—silver change, and nickels. These jays haven’t got any, and don’t
know what it is, but it won’t take ’em long to find out when they find
they can get it for some of their stuff and give it back for trolley
rides. Nick and I’ll just camp right up here on this temple, and we’ll
plan the whole thing, so——”
But Ferratoni, who had risen, at this point laid his hand on Gale’s arm.
I did not hear what he whispered, but Gale suddenly handed me the
apparatus, and they drew apart. I was anxious to talk with Edith, but I
had been taking note of those about us, and I had rather more anxiety
just then concerning developments close at hand. Gale and Ferratoni
stood before the Princess and the others assembled near. The Princess
began speaking and Ferratoni translated to Gale, whose knowledge of the
Antarctic converse was an uncertain quantity. Mr. Sturritt and I drew
into the circle to listen. Perhaps not for a thousand years had there
been such a turbulence of spirit in the Land of the Sloping Sun.
The Princess and the others, Ferratoni said, had been able to
understand, through him, something of Mr. Gale’s plans, as briefly
outlined to his daughter. As a people they were opposed to such
innovations, and they earnestly deprecated the state of mind and sudden
change of attitude occasioned in us by the renewal of the telephone
connection with our vessel and friends.
They reasoned, he said, that if a very small thing like the telephone
had produced upon us results so manifest, and so unpleasant to behold,
they were sure that still larger mechanisms—of the size of a trolley
car, for instance—would be a national calamity, and result only in
demoralization and ruin. They therefore protested most vigorously
against a further pursuit of these schemes, and suggested that even the
telephone itself be instantly demolished.
The Princess, personally, was not opposed to any appliance that would
benefit her people without destroying their lives or repose of spirit,
but the radical changes contemplated in the mind of our Admiral were
abhorrent to her, and she would not be responsible for our welfare or
even our personal safety unless these plans were immediately abandoned.
The matter of some new means of dispelling the long dark she would be
glad to consider. Even some easier method of ascending the temple
might——
But this gave Gale an opportunity to present his case, which he did with
considerable force. He made an address in favor of mechanical progress,
well worthy of recording here if I could remember it. Ferratoni
translated rapidly, and I could see that the Princess and her companion
were somewhat impressed. As had been shown by her attempted invention
for lighting, she was really more inclined to such advancement than most
of her race, while those about her were the staunchest of her followers.
She made little reply, however, to Gale’s speech, though her general
attitude suggested that the matter in it might be taken under
advisement. The telephone was not immediately destroyed, and I was now
permitted to have a brief and quiet conversation with Edith Gale—a
conversation which the reader’s imagination will best supply.
At the end I had spoken of the rare beauty and qualities of the Princess
and how we were trying to convert her to our way of thinking.
“Is she really so beautiful? And are the others too? Daddy thought I
wouldn’t care for them——”
“Um—did he? Oh, but you’d love the Princess. She is so beautiful and
so—so gentle——”
A pause, then—
“Nicholas!—_Hello! Nicholas!_”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t try to convert the Princess, if I were you!”
As we prepared to descend to the waiting barges, Gale was inclined to be
in good spirits over the prospect ahead. But I noticed that the Princess
seemed more disquieted than I had ever seen her, and that Ferratoni, and
the others, looked somber and unhappy.
And now, too, for the first time since our arrival, we saw that a
storm-cloud had gathered upon the horizon—a blackness that rose swiftly
and extinguished the sun.
Quick lightning parted it here and there and the roll of distant thunder
came ominously. A portentous dark settled on the lands below us, and the
waters of the lake became spectral. A few drops of rain fell.
A canopy was brought from the temple and lifted above the Princess.
Silence came upon us. The smile faded from Gale’s features, and Mr.
Sturritt’s face grew pale and anxious.
For myself, I had the feeling of being a part of some weird half-waking
dream, in which fact and fantastic imagery mingled with a sense of heavy
foreboding. Only the recent words of Edith Gale lingered as a ray from
some far-off beacon.
XXXIV.
THE PARDON OF LOVE.
In the Antarctic land, news is the one thing that travels fast. Thought
still moves with comparative quickness there, and whatever lies in the
mind of one is as though put on a bulletin board, to become the property
of all.
Through the darkness of the approaching storm we saw before we reached
the foot of the stairway the gathering of many torches on the shore
beyond. Evidently there was some unusual movement abroad which could not
be wholly due to the coming tempest. In the gathering dusk I saw now
that the faces of those about us were filled with deep and increasing
concern. At the water’s edge Ferratoni turned to us and said hurriedly:
“The people are much aroused at the plans we have discussed on the
temple. They believe the innovations proposed would destroy their
present mode of life and result in their downfall as a race. They
believe, too, that the Sun has darkened in anger, and they have joined
it yonder in a great protest against us. The Princess considers it
unsafe that we should cross over until she has pacified them with her
presence. She asks that we keep here the smaller barge, and remain for
the present in the sanctity of the temple, where harm may not befall us.
She will communicate with me mentally, and inform us as to further
advisabilities.”
We gazed across at the torches that were now crowding to the water’s
edge. Gale had said that we would make things hum, but he had not
counted on the humming beginning with such promptness. A medley of
mingled voices and angry shouts was borne to us by the cool air that
preceded the coming storm. We could see faces distorted by the
torch-flare and strange rage until they had lost all semblance to those
of the gentle people we had known. The old savagery of the benighted and
unsceptred race that two thousand years before had been eager to destroy
the gentle prophet risen among them, and that again long afterwards had
sought the life of him who would harness the winds to serve them, was
once more abroad, and its cry was for blood.
“But see here, Tony,” protested Gale. “We’re not going to let the
Princess and these friends of ours go over into that mob. I stirred up
this racket, and I’ll see it through. Any one of us can handle a dozen
of those sissies. They might make a set at their own people, but four
fellows like us can wade through them like a cyclone.”
“Not as they are now,” said Ferratoni. “They are not the people we have
known. As for the Princess, she is holy—they will not harm her—and these
others have in no way offended. It is wiser to accept the advice of the
Princess and remain here. We should only make her task harder by going.”
I had been ready to join with Gale in facing the people beyond the lake,
but I realized the wisdom of Ferratoni’s words and said nothing. Mr.
Sturritt too was silent, though I could see that, as usual, he was “with
the Admiral,” in whatever the latter might undertake or agree upon.
The Princess and the others now embarked without further delay. The
storm overhead was almost upon us. Lightning was more frequent, and the
thunder rolling nearer. Large drops of rain were already falling.
The Princess was first to enter her barge. As she did so, she turned and
took both of Ferratoni’s hands. Whereupon the three maidens to whom we
others had paid some slight attention, likewise turned, and each
followed her royal example. Through the mirk a gentle face for a brief
instant looked up into mine. Then there came a flash of lightning that
turned into an aureola her silken yellow hair. Our attentions had been
the merest courtesies, as I have said, but in the instant of blackness
that followed I leaned hastily down, and——
What the others did I do not know; I could not see well in the darkness.
We watched them until they reached the other side. The torches crowded
thickly to the landing as the barge approached, and a wave of turbulent
voices was borne across to us. We saw the torches go swaying to the
palace, and a flash of lightning showed them crowding through the
gates—the canopy of the Princess borne ahead. Then we retired within the
temple, for the storm broke heavily.
It was dark in there, and the air was heavy with the odor of mingled
flowers. We groped about until we found something that had steps and
cushions on it, where we sat down. We believed it to be the great altar
of the sun, which we had been told was so placed in the center of the
temple that from every point the sun’s rays touched it, and so lingered
throughout the long day. It was probably about the safest spot we could
find for the present. Then we waited, while the thunder roared and
crashed and the rain outside came down.
“Say,” whispered Gale, “but haven’t I set them swarming! Oh, Lord—what’s
a bull without a bee-hive!”
Ferratoni left us presently and went to the doorway, perhaps for a
better mental current. We followed him, but all was dark beyond the
lake. We presently left him there and returned to our comfort within.
The thunder gradually died and the rain slackened, though the darkness
did not pass. Suddenly Ferratoni hurried back to us.
They were coming, he said. They had refused to respect the desires of
the Princess, or even the sanctity of the temple. They considered that
we had violated their hospitality, and they demanded our lives. They had
not put anybody to death in that country for five hundred years, but
they were ready to do so now, and to begin with us. They had condemned
all new mechanisms, and even the invention of the Princess and her
brother—the dark-dispeller—they were at this moment preparing to throw
into the lake. The telephones they had destroyed, utterly.
“Don’t blame ’em much for pitching that lighting machine into the lake,”
muttered Gale, “I wanted to do that, myself. But how about _us_? Are we
going to let ’em pitch _us_ in?”
“There are two chances,” replied Ferratoni. “One is immediate flight to
the court of the Prince, who will endeavor to give protection and
assistance. The other is safety, here. It is pardon—the Pardon of Love.”
“The what?” asked Gale. “Oh, yes, I remember, now. The old law
that—um—yes—who are they?”
“The three,” said Ferratoni, “the three whose hands were pressed in
parting. They are willing to grant life—and love. They are coming even
now, with the others. You must decide—and quickly!”
It had grown very still in the temple. So still that Gale said
afterwards he could hear his hair falling out. It was probably but a few
seconds before he spoke, though it seemed much longer.
“Nick,” he said, “we’re up against it, hard. It’s marry or move; which
will you do?”
My mind was a tumult and a confusion, but the memory of Edith Gale’s
words became a path of light.
“Move!” I said, “and with no waste of time!”
“What about you, Tony? Are you in on the deal, too?”
“I know not. I am at the will and service of the Princess. She has not
yet spoken.”
“And you, Bill, what do you vote for?”
“I—I—that is—I’m with the Admiral, as always.”
“And the Admiral is for getting out of here. I’ve no fault to find with
the young ladies, but I’ve got business in Bottle Bay. Come!”
We hastened outside. It was still dark and a second shower had gathered,
though we did not notice this fact. What we did see was that more than
half-way across the strip of water that separated us from the shore
there was a crowd of torchlit barges, and that they were coming rapidly.
For once in their lives these people had forgotten, and were hurrying.
In front of the others came a smaller barge, driven by the sturdiest of
their rowers. In it sat the Lady of the Lilies, and the three who had
pressed our hands at parting. Clearly, there was no time to lose.
We made a hasty attempt to loosen our boat, but fumbled the knot and
lost time.
“Haste, or you will be too late,” urged Ferratoni.
“Oh, Lord,” groaned Gale, “if we just hadn’t left our propeller boat
down yonder!”
But at that instant the knot untied, and we tumbled in. We had no light
and we did not believe they could see us, though they were now very
near. Ferratoni still lingered on the step, looking at the approaching
barges.
“Come on, Tony,” urged Gale, “don’t take any chances!”
But bending over he caught our boat, and with a push sent us down the
tide.
“Go,” he said, “I am not coming. I wait the will and service of the
Princess!”
Yet we hesitated to leave him. A heavy projection, or coping, extended
from the lower terrace out over the water, and in the blackness beneath
we drifted and waited. We could not see Ferratoni from where we lay, but
we could watch the oncoming barges and were near enough to get quickly
into the midst of things in case of violence. In the end it would almost
certainly mean death to us all, but we felt that with the serviceable
oars as weapons, we could give some previous account of ourselves.
On came the barges. The first with the Princess was presently at the
steps, and almost immediately the others. We saw the Lady of the Lilies
and her three companions ascend hastily to where we had left Ferratoni.
From the other barges poured a horde of wild-faced creatures, curiously
armed with quaint weapons of a forgotten age. We waited until with a
fierce clamor they were rushing up the stairs, then with a push against
the abutment to which we were clinging, we sent our boat up nearer, and
out where we could see.
And now we realized that Ferratoni was no longer where we had left him,
but had retired within the temple that we might have a better
opportunity to escape unseen. The mob was pushing through the entrance
noisily.
“We’ll get round to the north door quick!” whispered Gale. “Mebbe we can
see there what’s going on inside, and it’ll be handier to leave suddenly
if we decide to.”
By north, Gale meant the direction from which we had entered the
country, and by which we now hoped to get out of it. The current ran
strongly in that direction, and a stroke of the oars sent us swiftly
along the wall. A vivid flash of lightning as we turned the corner,
followed by quick thunder, told that the second shower was upon us.
Just below the temple we were caught in a fierce swirl. For a moment it
well-nigh swamped our light craft. Then with scornful violence it flung
us to the landing steps on that side. We leaped out, each with an oar,
and seizing the barge drew it up a little on the lower step, so that it
would hold, without fastening. Then we hurried up the stair, and crept
cautiously to the entrance.
From the great depths within, there came a general babel that seemed to
increase as we approached. By the tone of it they had not yet found
Ferratoni. I believe now that in the turbulence of an anger heretofore
unknown to them, their perceptions must have been disordered, that they
had become mentally blind. But suddenly, just as we slipped into the
dark tunnel-like entrance, and parted the heavy curtains beyond, there
came a wild uproar as of discovery, then—silence.
We had been about to rush in and do what we could to aid our companion,
but Gale, who was ahead and got the first glimpse beyond the curtain,
stopped us. Then he drew the curtain still farther aside, and we all
looked in.
About the center of the vast depths, the crowded torches were swaying.
They made a lurid circle, beyond which the symboled and draped walls
melted into shadows and blackness. But in the midst of the torches rose
the great central altar, still bestrewn with the flowers of their recent
ceremonial. About its base the angry ones had gathered, while above
them, before the very shrine of the Sun itself, there stood two of the
fairest creatures under heaven—our own beautiful Ferratoni, and at his
side, her arms laid about his shoulders, the Princess of the Lilied
Hills.
Chauncey Gale insists that grouped on a lower step of the altar, bowed
like the children of Niobe, were those who would have granted also to us
the sacred Pardon of Love. But I did not see them, nor did Mr. Sturritt,
and I do not believe Gale did, either. Indeed, we had eyes only for
those other two. Like the populace, spellbound and speechless,
forgetting our own existence, we stood and gaped at them. Gale was first
to recall himself.
“Tableau!” he said, “show’s over! Let’s ring down the curtain, now, and
get out of here, quick!”
[Illustration:
THE PARDON OF LOVE.
“There fell upon them a long golden bar of the returning
sunlight.”—Page 288.
]
Yet we lingered for one final look. And lo, all at once, from some high
oriel window, there fell upon them a long golden bar of the returning
sunlight. And the silence about them awakened to a wondering murmur that
grew to a low chant, then quickly increased in volume, bursting at last
into a mighty anthem which we recognized as their marriage chorus.
“Come! Come!” insisted Gale. “That isn’t for us. The orchestra is
playing us out. Let’s take the hint and go before they change their
minds. ’Tisn’t our wedding, and we don’t want it to be our funeral,
either.”
Reluctantly we dropped the curtains then, and hastened down the steps.
It was still raining wispily, but the sun was rifting through, and a
wonderful rainbow arched the black sky opposite. We pushed off our boat,
and bent to the oars with all our strength, sending the light barge
swiftly down the tide that between the Lilied Hills, through the Purple
Fields, and under the Plains of White found its way at last to the
far-off Billowcrest—and home.
XXXV.
DOWN THE RIVER OF COMING DARK.
We were not pursued, or, if we were, we saw nothing of our pursuers.
When the storm had all cleared away, we saw here and there people along
the shore, but they did not offer to interfere with our flight. On the
contrary, they seemed rather interested, and even pleased at our rate of
speed. We believed that with the wedding ceremony of the Princess and
Ferratoni the better nature of the race once more got the upper hand,
and that they were satisfied to know that we were getting out of the
country as rapidly as our skill and muscular development would permit.
Some mental communication to this effect must have passed between the
court of the Lily Princess and that of her brother, the Prince of the
Purple Fields, for when some twenty hours later (we had wound our
watches now) we reached his palace, we found the Prince and his court
assembled at the outer entrance, and our own beautiful propeller boat
waiting in readiness for the immediate continuance of our journey.
Noticing the assembly as we came on we had some doubts as to their
intentions, but we did not hesitate, and we found the Prince and those
about him gentle and kindly as before. Their willingness that we should
continue our journey, however, was quite apparent, and as our boat
contained all our belongings and had been fully provisioned by the
Prince’s household, there was no excuse for delay.
Indeed, we were as eager to get out of their halcyon vale as they were
to have us, and we did not remain longer in it than it took for us to
climb from one boat into the other and touch the button that started the
propeller. The battery had not failed, and aided by the tide we were off
with a speed that seemed to us like that of a torpedo boat. We turned
then and waved our hands and called good-byes to the gentle Prince and
those of his pleasant palace.
And so adieu to the land of my fancy—my isle of lost argosies and
forgotten songs. One among us had found there the ideal he sought—life’s
perfect chord. For the others—the lives we had lived and the lives of
those who had lived before us, had not fitted us for that Port of
Dreams.
We would return to our own. When or by what means we did not know—the
way ahead seemed long and weary—but come what might, we had resolved to
reach once more those who waited beyond the cold desolation between, and
with them to go back to the only life we knew, in a world of growth and
change.
XXXVI.
THE “PASSAGE OF THE DEAD.”
We made time, now. We were not creeping up-stream, delayed by
slow-moving barges. We were going with the tide and all handicaps had
been removed. In less than thirty hours, including all stops, we had
covered the distance that it had taken us days to ascend, and camped
once more in the violet fields above the rapids. I had taken an
observation at this point, and by taking another now I was able from the
position of the sun and a reference to my charts to establish the date
and, approximately, the hour. My calculation showed that it was November
the Ninth. Seven weeks had elapsed since our departure from the
Billowcrest. It seemed as many ages.
The purple flowers that had welcomed us to the enchanted land were
withered, but their leaves remained, and in every direction showed as a
level carpet of green. Reaching the rapids we once more removed our boat
from the water. The snow on the hillside was gone, but we trundled our
craft down over the bare rock and shale without serious difficulty, and
launched it again in the swift current below. Neither was there any snow
on the barren lands ahead as far as we could see, and it was not until
some hours later that it began to show along the banks.
The ice, too, seemed entirely gone from the river, but as the snow
deepened along the shores we knew we must ere long reach the point where
the current plunged beneath the eternal barrier into that darksome
passage by which so many of the Antarctic dead had found their way to
the Land of the Silent Cold.
The walls of ice and snow on either side of us deepened rapidly. Soon we
were sweeping through a chill canyon down whose glittering sides dashed
crystal streams from the melting snow above. Here and there appeared
places by which it seemed possible to ascend to the snow level, but no
one as yet spoke of halting. It would mean the deserting of our boat,
which three of us could hardly attempt to push up the homeward incline,
and the bundling upon our backs of such supplies and comforts as we
could carry, to toil with them across the drifted wastes that lay
between us and the Billowcrest. And at the end of that journey—if we
ever reached the end—lay the huge perpendicular wall down which we must
still find our way. In fact, neither our prospect nor our surroundings
were conducive to conversation, and with the increasing cold, and the
black, semi-transparent walls becoming rapidly loftier, we said not many
words, and these in low voices, as if we were indeed among the dead.
“Do you suppose any of their funeral boats ever get down those rapids
without being upset?” whispered Gale, at last.
“It is possible,” I said, “it is only a question of avoiding the rocks.
No doubt many of them do. They are of course sunken in the tunnel
afterwards. The tide must fill it for a good way up, you know.”
“Nick,” said Gale suddenly, “what would you think of _us_ trying to go
through that tunnel?”
I gave a great spasmodic shudder.
“Don’t! I have already thought of it,” I managed to say. “It makes me
ill!”