the mountain of Buddha, where now stands the temple of the Grand Lama.
This temple is four stories high, and therein dwells the Grand Lama and
his High Priests. Some idea of the magnificence of this temple may be
obtained when I tell you that its great pillars are covered with plates
of pure gold. The Grand Lama can live forever, and many people believe
he does so, but he really does not. After a certain time he reincarnates
himself into a new body. All of the priests, however, are very old. It
is claimed the Pandita is at least one hundred and fifty years old. The
Grand Lama has about him two priests of the highest grades, one the
Pandita and the other Tchoiji. The Grand Lama sits upon an altar or
throne for hours at a time, clothed in gold-woven cloth and jewels of
fabulous value. Over his head is a magnificent peacock's tail composed
entirely of gold and precious stones. It is the custom of the Grand Lama
to receive persons who desire to receive his blessing at certain hours
of the day. For a small amount of money one is allowed to bow before
him; for a little more one may touch his garment, and receive his silent
blessing; but for the sum of twenty rupees he will speak to the person
and touch him with a little wand. The Punjaub A.B. in describing his
interview states that the Grand Lama talks in a hoarse voice which he
tries to make as much as possible like God's.
"'It was during his visit to the temple that my brother learned of the
wonderful treasures preserved there, fabulous stories being told about a
huge emerald with an ancient inscription engraved upon it,--the mystic
seal of the first Lama, which had been handed down for ages, together
with the greatest treasure of them all, known as the Elixir of Life.
"'The wonderful powder was and is used by the high priests, some of whom
are of great age. It is supposed to have been brought into Thibet by
King Srongb Tsan, during the seventh century, and that it originally
came from Nepaul.'
"'How did your brother procure it?' I asked.
"'By bribing one of the priests. My brother was wealthy, and being very
desirous of procuring some of this wonderful powder, he tried to buy
some of it. Under no circumstances, however, would they listen to him or
even allow him to see it. He succeeded, however, as I said, in bribing
one of the priests, paying him a large sum of money, several hundred
rupees, I believe, and was shown the sacred chests containing this
powder, and other treasures, including precious manuscripts and some
jewels of great value. The powder was contained in five little gold
boxes, of beautiful workmanship. While examining them they heard a door
close and the sounds of footsteps in the passageway. The priest became
very much frightened and begged my brother to replace the boxes and
manuscript at once, and was so agitated that he did not notice my
brother when he slipped one of the gold boxes into his pocket. The
person, whoever he was, passed on down the passageway, and as soon as
they dared they hurriedly left the vault. Luckily for my brother he left
Lassa with the Punjaub that evening, and never learned whether the theft
was discovered or not. Probably his powder would have done him little
good had it been so and had he been suspected.'
"'But how,' I asked, 'do you know that this Elixir will really prolong
life?'
"Sing smiled sweetly, and said, 'I myself, my dear sir, am a living
proof of that; I am one hundred and ten years old, and to-day there are
in New York some sixty men who will live to that age, having taken the
powder, unless they die from some form of disease. This elixir will not
protect them against poison or diseases where the poison germ has
entered the system. That is impossible; but it acts upon the nerve
centres and upon the blood corpuscles in such a wonderful way that there
is no degeneration. The person simply lives along the same as he would
between the ages of thirty and forty; he is always the same. He may die
from many causes, but it would not be from old age.'
"'My friend,' I said, 'took the liberty to analyze some of this powder.'
"'Ah! And may I inquire the result of his analysis?'
"A peculiar yellow light came into those eyes, and although he
smiled--Have you ever seen a caged tiger languidly looking at the crowd
of people in front of his cage suddenly discover a dog near him?"
"I don't know that I have," said Robinson.
"Well, if you do you will notice the same yellow light flash into his
eyes, and the sudden change of expression that I saw in the eyes of our
friend Sing. It was gone in a moment, however, and he was again smiling
sweetly.
"'I understand he found it to consist principally of common salt.'
"'Quite so,' answered Sing; 'but he must have discovered that it also
contained something else?'
"'That is true,' I answered, 'there was a small amount of vegetable
matter which gave it a yellow color.'
"'That is the true Elixir,' said Sing; 'salt is merely necessary for the
results. You, as a scientific man, know that the poison which kills so
quickly from the fang of a cobra and the ordinary white of an egg can
hardly be distinguished by the chemist. He finds them both to be
albumen.'
"'Why, then, should one kill and the other be harmless?' I asked.
"'Simply the minute "something else" which is contained in the snake
poison and which is held in solution by the albumen.'
"'Have you any other proof of the power of this Elixir?' I inquired.
"'My dear sir, I trust you do not question the truth of my statement
regarding my own age.'
"He frowned slightly, and those wonderful eyes of his glanced like
lightning towards the two huge attendants standing in plain sight in the
hallway.
"'Not at all,' I hastened to assure him. 'It all seems so wonderful to
me, you must excuse my apparent incredulity.'
"'The most natural thing in the world,' smiled Sing with grave courtesy,
'but I will let your own eyes banish any doubt you may have as to the
wonderful properties of this strange powder.
"'Ashmed,' he called, 'ask my son to come here a moment if he will be so
good.'
"The attendant who had spoken to me when I entered immediately
disappeared, and in a moment a back door opened and the bent figure of a
very old man entered the room and spoke to Sing in a weak voice. The
language was evidently Hindustani, but I caught a word here and there
which sounded familiar. Sing spoke to him sharply, and turning to me
said, 'This is my son; he is nearly eighty years old, but refuses to
take the powder on account of his religious principles--he belongs to
the sect who believes that to die is better than to live, that his
spirit will become incarnate in another body, and in his next life he
will be at least a Kobtchie.'
"My eyes must have betrayed my incredulity.
"'You do not doubt that he is my son?' sweetly asked Mr. Sing.
"'Certainly not,' I answered.
"'I trust, then, that I shall have the pleasure of furnishing you with
some of the wonderful powder? There is not very much of it left, but
luckily it requires a very small dose. I have enough probably to supply
one hundred men to insure them existence for one hundred and fifty
years. When that is gone the supply can never be replenished.'
"He sighed.
"'Thank you,' I answered. 'I shall think the matter over and in all
probability give myself the pleasure of calling upon you again.'
"Then I came away, being bowed out by the sable attendants with all
ceremony possible. There! What do you think of that?"
"Do you intend to return and purchase the powder?" asked Robinson.
"Perhaps," answered Watson, "but I think I will wait awhile and see if
Jones lives to be one hundred and fifty!"
THE VOODOO IDOL.
Jones lay on the sofa watching the consul mix a long, cool drink of
Apollinaris water and crushed sour-sop. His arm pained him a good deal
and the bandages felt hot and uncomfortable. By his side was a little
table on which were piled numerous articles in a manner common to
mankind, among which were a bottle of whiskey, a revolver, several
books, and a plate containing some bananas and sapodillias. A light
breeze stirred the curtains behind him, and under the awning he could
see the long stretch of green palms and waving cocoanuts, back of the
city. A faint white line indicated the road to Lecoup.
"I tell you what, old man," said the consul, as he poured the mixture
from the shaker into the tall, thin glasses, "you are almightly lucky to
get out alive, and you took big chances. Stealing a god of the Voodoo
priests is about as dangerous an experiment as playing with fire over a
barrel of gunpowder. From your description I should judge the place you
found it was about fifteen miles back of Gantier."
Jones nodded in silence.
"Well," continued the consul, "it was somewhere in that vicinity they
killed that Frenchman last year, and how they ever let you get out alive
I don't know. They meant to kill you fast enough, tried to poison you at
Gantier, and knocked out that servant of yours. You escaped by not
drinking the coffee. Then some one shot at you on the road, and even
then you did not have sense enough to throw away the idol; but even if
you had I don't know that it would have made any difference. Then the
day before yesterday they put a bullet through your arm at Lecoup, and
if old Chabeau had not gone himself with you part of the way, I do not
believe you would ever have reached here alive. What on earth made you
monkey with that idol anyway?"
Jones explained that he could not resist the temptation to steal it. He
had been camping on the banks of a nearly dry stream, ten miles or more
east of Gantier, where he had found the little hummingbird, _Mellisuga
minima_, the smallest bird in the world, very abundant. He had also
trapped a specimen of the extremely rare _Solenodon_, and being anxious
to procure more he had stayed there for several days. Within half a mile
of his camp was a small stone tower open at the sides, in the middle of
which stood a little idol on a sort of pedestal. This little idol was
about eighteen inches high and was carved out of stone, the eyes oddly
enough being bone. Jones had cast longing glances on this idol, but did
not dare to touch it, or in fact to go into the tower, as the natives
were sullen and suspicious, and on more than one occasion showed signs
of being decidedly ugly.
Jones saw enough to confirm his impression that these people were a bad
lot, and one dark night he "folded his tent like the Arabs and silently
stole away," taking with him as a souvenir the little idol, which he had
carefully rolled in a blanket and packed on one side of his pack-horse
to balance his box of specimens on the other. Fear of possible
unpleasant consequences had caused Jones to ride fast, but he had been
followed and three separate attempts made on his life by unknown
persons. The last one resulted in a bullet through the upper part of the
left arm. He was safe enough now, however, as he remarked, there being
little likelihood of danger while under the protection of the American
consul in the city of Porto Prince.
"Don't you be too sure of that," said the consul. "There, try that and
see how you like it."
Jones sipped the cool mixture; it seemed like nectar to him in his
feverish condition. The bullet which had passed through his arm had made
a wound, which, while not in itself serious, had left him weak and
feverish.
"Yes," continued the consul, "you were mighty lucky to get off as you
did. You may not know it, but right here in Hayti the people in the
interior are as savage and bloodthirsty as any Central African tribe.
Most of the inhabitants are descendants of negroes brought from the Gold
Coast many years ago. They have reverted to their original wild state,
keeping up many of the ancient customs. Mixing as they have with the
Indians of the interior, the present race is even worse than their
ancestors. From Toussant l'Overture in 1804, when he first ruled, to
Hyppolite Florvil and Salomon, the island has been the scene of
continuous insurrection, intrigue, and murder.
"Salomon was probably the best of them all. He was an immense negro,
some six feet four inches tall, with a pock-marked face, who had
received an education in Paris and married a Frenchwoman. He, like the
rest, however, was superstitious and cruel at heart. Hyppolite was a
Voodoo priest and, it is said, an anthropophagist. The people of the
interior have an intense hatred for the white man, and still retain many
of the barbarous customs of the savages of the African interior.
"The Voodoo dance is presided over by a high priest, who usually
commands a goat or a hen to be killed, but in some of the more
important ceremonies a child is murdered, and its blood mixed with the
_tafia_ and drunk by the dancers. The high priest is called _Papoloy_.
Every two years after the dance of the moon a human sacrifice is
ordered; generally a young girl is killed and eaten. You probably ran up
against one of the Voodoo gods, and the large stone in front was
undoubtedly the sacrificial stone. How you ever got away alive passes my
comprehension. They evidently thought that you would try to leave in the
day-time, and had things all arranged for taking a shot at you
somewhere, but your nocturnal skedaddle knocked their plans galley west.
There is one thing dead sure, those Voodoo priests are bad medicine, as
we used to say out West, and you want to keep your weather-eye open
until you are safe on board a steamer and out of the harbor. I wouldn't
give five cents for your life if you walked about the streets of Porto
Prince. When the time comes to leave I will have you smuggled on board.
The authorities would wink at your assassination, but they would not
openly countenance it."
Jones remarked wearily that he had begun to believe it might be as well
for him to rest quietly in the consulate, and not give them another
chance.
The soft flower-scented breeze blew softly in through the open window
and was soothing to Jones. Lying there on the lounge with his eyes
closed, he soon fell asleep, and the consul left him to attend to his
various duties. When Jones awoke he lay in a sort of drowsy
condition--half asleep and half awake. Through his partly open eyes he
looked through the open door leading out on the broad piazza. There was
a chair in front of the door, and over the top of this he saw a face and
a pair of very black eyes looking at him intently. For a moment he
imagined it was some freak of his imagination, as the face was as still
as though it was carved in wax. Right in line with Jones' eyes, and
within a foot of his half extended arm, was the little table, and the
handle of the revolver seemed to stand out as though placed there for
his especial benefit. That was certainly real, and it required a very
slight movement for his fingers to close over the pistol handle; but he
did not move and lay watching the figure, which began to rise slowly and
developed into the form of a large, ugly-looking negro. Jones remembered
particularly noticing a white scar across the cheek just under the eye.
The man was not looking at him now, but was glancing about with the
stealthy look of a hunted animal. At the same time he drew from under
his coat a long, unpleasant-looking knife. As he did so Jones lifted his
pistol, and, aiming hurriedly at the breast, fired. The man dropped,
grasping at the chair as he did so, but immediately rose to his feet,
swaying unsteadily. Bang! went Jones' pistol again. This time the negro
did not fall, but stood seeming half dazed, steadying himself by holding
on to the back of the chair. Jones fired again, and at the report the
man clapped his left hand tightly over his heart, and with a muttered
imprecation threw the knife at Jones just as he fired his fourth shot,
the thud of the knife driving deep into the wood close to Jones' head
being followed by the sound of a falling body on the hard floor. As the
consul ran into the room followed by one of his men he found Jones
sitting on the lounge, pale and weak from excitement and fever.
"Lucky you had the pistol," remarked the consul; "might have been
unpleasant. See that gummy green stuff on the knife? Well, that is
poison, and a mighty bad poison, too; one little scratch--But all's well
that ends well; the steamer is in, and if I were you I would make a bee
line for the pier, and get on board just as soon as the Lord will let
you!"
Jones rose with some difficulty and went out upon the wide balcony. On
the blue waters of the bay he saw a large steamer, and at her stern,
floating in the breeze, the most beautiful flag in the world, the Stars
and Stripes.
The effect on him, in his half hysterical condition, was to make him
want to cry and cheer at the same time. The room he had just left was
dark in contrast to the bright sunshine outside; but he could see the
knife and the dead body of the negro, from which a narrow dark red
streak was slowly making its way across the floor.
"We can't go any too quick to suit me," said Jones.
AN ARIZONA EPISODE.
I.
Wendell Harrison was a club man with no ambition in life beyond making
his small income pay his club fees, and leave enough for him to live in
the manner peculiar to young men of his class. His one hope in life, as
he often told his particular crony, was to find a rich wife, and it
seemed to Harrison that chance had played into his hands when he
received an invitation from old John Stiversant to join his party on a
trip to the Grand Canyon in Northern Arizona.
Harrison had met old Stiversant on the yacht of a mutual friend a few
weeks before, and knowing how to make himself agreeable he had done so
to the best of his ability, with the result that he had been asked to
make one of a party on this western trip in Mr. Stiversant's private
car.
"Good luck to you, old man," said his chum as he was leaving the club on
his way to the station. "Go in and win."
"Trust me for that," answered Harrison.
The trip out proved a delightful one. Miss Nellie Stiversant, the young
lady who, Harrison had decided, was the most likely catch, did not prove
as easy as he imagined. While charming and agreeable, she had evidently
seen more or less of the world, and was not to be gathered in by the
first man who made up his mind he would like to have her ornament his
home. Likewise, she was a girl with common sense, and knowing her
position and advantages did not lose her head when a man showed an
inclination for her society. In fact, just before the party arrived in
Flagstaff she had made it very evident that she did not care for
serious attentions from any one. She was, however, of a decidedly
romantic nature, and Harrison pondered deep and long as to the best
method of gaining her affections. Late that evening he was reading a
sensational novel, when suddenly he laid it down and a far-away look
came into his eyes.
"By Jove," he muttered, "the very thing--on this very road too. Whether
the story is true or not, it is reasonable enough, although a trifle
dramatic, but that is what is wanted to attract a girl like Nell. She
don't care for me and never will, and all she wants is excitement and
novelty, but if she thinks I saved her life or risked my own in
protecting her, there might be a chance. In this story the chap had led
rather a tough life, but had reformed, and the road-agents recognized
him and knew he meant business. He got pretty well shot up, but the
whole thing cast a halo around him, which would undoubtedly attract any
romantic girl. Damn it, why couldn't I do it? It is that or nothing, the
trip will be over in two weeks, and it is pretty evident that I am not
in it unless something extraordinary happens."
II.
The saloon was pretty well filled with a sprinkling of miners, Mexicans,
and ranchers. Men in blue overalls, flannel shirts, and wide-brimmed
hats were playing the different games of chance or standing in groups in
front of the bar. A harsh brass-sounding piano on a raised platform at
the end of the room was being played by a short-haired individual in a
dress suit, and a young lady who evidently did not object to the
calsomining process to aid nature was singing a topical song. In the
corner stood Wendell Harrison surrounded by four rough-looking men, who
seemed very much interested in what he was saying.
"Now I think you understand thoroughly what is required," said
Harrison. "I am to pay you five dollars each now, and twenty dollars
each when the job is done, likewise if it comes off successfully and the
bluff works I am to give you twenty dollars more upon our return to
Flagstaff. Don't forget to carry out the plan exactly as we have agreed.
When I spring from the coach waving my pistol and firing blank
cartridges, one of you is to shout, 'Fighting Harrison, by God!' and
shoot two or three times as you run. The thing is easy, but requires a
little judgment. I do not care where you stop the stage. Stop it any old
place, but not too near Flagstaff. I shall be alone in the coach with an
old man and two young girls, so there is not the slightest danger, and I
will see that the old man is unarmed."
III.
"Say, Jimmie, I must tell yer something, but let me larf first. Say, I
nearly fell down in a fit. I am going to tell yer all about it, but
don't call me a liar, or I'll kill yer. What do yer think? Oh, Lord, how
my stomach aches!--what _do_ yer think? Wait a minute--I'll tell yer in
a minute, let me larf it out now, or I shall drop down right here!
"Say, I sat in that booth over there having a quiet drink, and what do
yer think? A dude in the next booth commenced putting up a job with four
ducks; one of them is Mexican John and the other is Brady, our assistant
bar-keeper here. As far as I can make it out Brady got the three other
ducks. Say, wait a minute! I don't believe I ever will stop larfin'.
What do yer think? this dude is going up to the Canyon on my next trip,
and is going to have these four fellers stop the stage to put up a
bluff on his girl to show what a fighter he is, and he is to give um
twenty dollars each. He is going to jump out and pull his gun and clean
out the crowd, and then go back and bask in the sunshine and admiration
of the young girls. Oh, Lord! The skunk don't care how much he scares
the girls and the old man who are goin' along, but all he wants is to
pose as a fighter from away back. But say, Jimmie, what do yer think? I
have been thinkin' this thing over, and I don't believe his little
picnic will transpire. He calculates to blow in eighty dollars to make a
monkey of himself, and I am thinkin' that we can use that eighty dollars
in our business and teach the fellow a good lesson all ter wonce. What
breaks me up more than anythin' is that he told Brady to hunt me up and
tell me on the quiet that there was a reformed desperado going with me
who used to be known by the name of 'Fightin' Harrison.' Worked me into
the job too, see? What do yer think?"
IV.
The stage was slowly toiling up a dusty hill some five miles from
Flagstaff. The road was rough and the day was warm. The stage-driver let
the horses take things easy, and from time to time shook with suppressed
emotion. "I hope I may die," said he to himself, "if this ain't the
damndest."
In the back seats the two young girls, the old man, and the would-be
hero were enjoying the scenery and the novelty of the trip in spite of
the dust. Suddenly three men sprang into the road, and a loud voice
commanded the stage to "hold up."
"What is the matter?" asked Nellie excitedly.
"Don't be afraid," said Wendell, pressing her hand, "remember I am with
you."
A rough-looking man appeared at the side of the stage.
"Is your name Harrison?" he said, addressing Wendell.
"It is," answered Harrison boldly; "what do you want?"
"I have a bill here for eighty dollars against you, which will have to
be paid or you will have to get out and go back to town with me."
"What do you mean?" gasped Harrison.
"Just what I say, young man; your name is Wendell Harrison, isn't it?
You used to be known here by the name of 'Fighting Harrison,' didn't
you?"
"Certainly not, you have the wrong party," answered Harrison
indignantly.
"Well, I don't know about that; didn't somebody tell you that this
fellow was 'Fighting Harrison,' Bill?"
"They certainly did," answered the stage-driver.
"It is all a mistake," said Harrison.
"Mistake or not, you will have to pay or go back to town with us; that
is all there is to it. I believe you are the Harrison I want."
"Oh, Mr. Harrison," said Nell, "do pay this man and let us go on; you
can easily recover the money when you go back to town."