Shortly after midnight Captain Anderson called the sleepers.
"This is the spot, Doctor," he said. "You wanted to see it with your
own eyes."
"What spot?" the Doctor sleepily inquired.
"Where all those big beasts boiled up from the bottom of the sea."
They stood gazing over the rail at the cold, glittering Antarctic waste
of black water. Far to the south the dim shapes of five huge bergs
towered up like vast frozen ghosts in the moonlight.
"The water looks clean enough," the Doctor remarked suspiciously. The
smell having dissipated, his skepticism was returning. "Where's your
oil?"
"Blest if I know. Washed ashore months ago, I expect."
"In what direction is the nearest land?"
"Southeast. Directly in line with the southernmost of those bergs."
"When shall we reach it?"
"Within twelve hours if the wind doesn't rise."
The Doctor glanced at the cloudless sky. "Everything looks serene.
Well, we should see your inlet sometime tomorrow afternoon. By the way,
has the lookout sighted any more dead--whales?"
"Whales? That was no whale we cut through, I tell you. It had four
times the bulk of the biggest whale afloat. Think what you like, that
was one of those brutes that boiled up when I was here before. And the
lookout saw three others."
"How close?"
"About two miles. Of course he couldn't make out exactly what they were
at that distance. But I'll bet they were not floating islands, or ice,
or dead whales. If we sight another I'll steam up close to give you a
whiff if you like."
"For mercy's sake don't," Edith begged. "My cabin is full of the last
one still."
"A mere smell proves nothing," the Doctor remarked dryly.
"Mere smell?" Drake exploded. "Great Scott! What is your idea of
full-blown reek?"
"I mean," the Doctor explained, "the smell may have come from
putrefying whale blubber. The odor is notorious and far reaching I'm
told."
"You bet it is," the Captain asserted. "Twenty years of it have made
me an expert. And I tell you straight that a ripe whale smells like a
bunch of violets beside that beauty we cut through."
Disdaining further argument the Doctor retired to his cabin, and the
others after a last look at the austere grandeur of the icy night
turned in to their warm bunks.
About nine o'clock the next morning the breeze veered and blew from
the icebound land far to the southeast. It was still a mere sigh. The
Captain and Ole anticipated a safe and early arrival at their goal.
That afternoon would bring them to the mouth of the volcanic inlet.
No spot on the oceans of the earth could have been more coldly serene,
more vastly mysterious. The water, almost black in the mass, curled
over in hard glassy waves intensely green as they broke, and far to
the south the airy peaks and pinnacles of huge bergs swam like dreams
athwart the taut horizon. Then the offshore breeze freshening brought
with it the first faint hint of an indescribable pollution.
"Dead whales," the Captain laconically remarked to Lane.
"Undoubtedly," replied the Doctor through his handkerchief.
Edith gazed longingly at the high-powered airplane under its tarpaulins.
"We must have run over another of them," she sighed.
Anderson laughed. "Did you feel a jar, Edith? No? Well, neither did I,
and my sea legs are more sensitive than yours. We're not running over
the rotten brutes; we're running into them."
And with that comforting assurance he swung below to see if the
engineer could crowd on more steam. He was tremendously eager.
Lunch time passed unobserved. Those of the crew who were off duty
followed the example of the passengers and sought seclusion below
decks. But the ever increasing stench found them out like a forgotten
sin. Every mile less between them and the land multiplied their misery
tenfold. To the inexperienced passengers this penetrating torment which
prostrated hardened whalers became unendurable. At last Lane, reaching
his limit, went in search of medical relief.
He had no definite idea of what he wanted, trusting blindly to the
stores for inspiration. And he found it. Presently he returned with
three improvised gas masks of surgical gauze soaked in spirits of
camphor.
"Who ever would have guessed that we should need gas masks in the
Antarctic," he laughed ruefully as he adjusted Drake's. "Edith, get out
your needles and thread and make nosebags for all hands."
Under her father's supervision Edith labored diligently at a new style
of mask designed to filter the tainted air through finely sifted ashes.
If the temperature kept up the ashes might be soaked in deodorizer.
Otherwise the sufferers would have to put up with the lesser efficiency
of the dry material.
Ole, coming in to see how the greenhorns were bearing up, found Edith
at her task. The poor fellow was the sickly hue of cheesy white
phosphorus. Some of the men, he reported, were on the point of mutiny.
"Order them to make masks for themselves," Edith advised. "They can all
sew. Here, take this one as a pattern."
His rotundity drooping from his shoulders in soggy folds, Ole
departed. Although his faith in the vanity of nosebags was slight,
yet in the true scientific spirit he would test any theory before
condemning it as useless. The men, therefore, were soon in the throes
of a sewing bee. And it may be said here that the masks later made
endurable a labor which without them might well have proved impossible.
Land was sighted at two thirty-five. Due south along the horizon
stretched the great barrier cliff of black rock and sheer ice, shadowy
in the distance and unsubstantial as a vision. Anderson joined the
three at the rail and passed Lane his binoculars.
"Look about two points east of south and you will see the opening of
the inlet."
"Ah, I get it. Not very wide, is it?"
"No. Just a twenty mile crack in the Antarctic continent that wasn't
there two years ago. I imagine it narrows down fast after it gets
farther inland."
He turned and left them to go about his business. They stood watching
the distant shadow assume definite outline. Presently Lane hailed the
Captain on the bridge.
"We're getting off our course, aren't we?"
"No. Dead on it."
"But we are going thirty degrees east of the inlet."
"Thirty-three, Doctor. There's an eight mile stony beach over there
that I want to have a look at first. It might give the men fresh seal
meat if there's any way of landing. We have plenty of time to make the
inlet before dark if we decide to go on."
"Oh, all right. You're the captain."
Although their changed course drifted them across the breeze instead of
directly into it, the stench became more terrific. Without their masks
they could not have faced it. Presently the Captain called Lane up on
the bridge and handed him his glasses.
"There's the beach, Doctor. Now if smelling isn't believing perhaps
seeing is. Take a close look at your whales."
Lane almost dropped the Captain's best glasses.
"Good Lord," he gasped, "hundreds and hundreds of them! Full steam
ahead, Captain!"
He ran down the steps to tell the others to keep their eyes open. As
the _Edith_ rapidly neared the long beach they saw at first only a coal
black slope littered with what looked like huge rounded lumps of black
rock. Then a blast from the whistle raised a cloud of scavengers from
the black masses and the truth leapt out before their eyes. The eight
mile beach was a refuse heap of huge oil-soaked carcasses festering in
the sun.
Piled five and six deep where the winter hurricanes had hurled them the
monsters of a forgotten age rotted in the delayed death which should
have been theirs nine million years ago. On that beach there must
have been hundreds of thousands of the gigantic brutes. The smaller
monstrosities wedged and packed between the mountainous carcasses were
without number. The Antarctic cold, their long immersion in the salt
water and their thick coating of oil had but postponed the colossal
corruption which now, at the height of a mild open season, preyed upon
their mountains of rich flesh.
A boat was already being lowered. They sprang in with Ole and the
Captain and were rapidly pulled ashore. The landing on that shelving
beach was easy. They stood up in the oozing slop of oil to gaze as in a
nightmare at the horror of the shambles surrounding them.
"Well," said the Captain, pointing to the sheer black cliffs barring
the beach from the frozen continent, "there's what is left of my oil.
The wind swabbed those rocks with some of it and blew the rest inland
or wasted it all over the ocean from here to Cape Horn. Is there any
money to make out of these carcasses, Doctor? What about blubber?
That big brute over there," he indicated a twisted dragon mailed in
triangular two-foot plates of horn, "looks pretty good to me. He's not
so ripe as some of the others."
"Money be damned!" snapped the Doctor. "This is a bigger thing than the
Standard Oil and Dutch Shell combined. It would be nothing short of an
infamous sacrilege to hack these beautiful things to pieces for the
sake of a few dirty dollars. No sir! I am financing this expedition,
and so long as you are on land you will obey my orders. Aboard ship you
are the master, but only for so long as I choose to employ you. I am
the owner. Now, is that clear?"
"All right, Doctor. Keep your shirt on."
The soft answer mollified the indignant lover of beauty.
"Do as I tell you," he said, "and I'll see that you find your precious
oil. You can go prospecting while the rest of us are discovering our
treasure. And although it isn't in our contract I'll give you gratis
all the very best expert mining and geological advice I can. To begin
now, there is not the ghost of a possibility of striking oil on a beach
like this. For your encouragement, however, I may tell you that I have
already formed a pretty rational theory where to look for the main
reservoir. Your earthquake tapped only a top bubble of it."
"So have I a theory," Ole announced with modest pride.
"Shut up, Ole. I want to hear what the Doctor thinks."
"I was only going to say," Lane continued, "that if my guess is right
all the oil you saw is only a bucketful of the big tank. Unless I'm all
wrong you will stumble into a reservoir of the highest grade oil as
big as the State of California. To settle this thing once for all, I
promise to finance another expedition for oil prospecting if you return
from this a cent poorer than you wish to be. If we don't get your oil
this time we certainly will next. There is no argument about it; I am
positive. Now let us get to something more important and inspect some
of these gorgeous jewels while the light lasts."
They followed him into the thick of the shambles.
"Ole," he continued, "I see you have brought your camera. Get busy.
Begin with the big fellows and be sure you take enough pictures of each
to show clearly the head, neck, position of the legs, pattern of the
scales, and tail--if there is one. Take in the small fry too. They're
just as important as the big fellows."
While Ole industriously clicked away at the mountains before him, the
rest of the party clambered over monsters whose horny armor still
afforded a sure footing, carefully avoiding the inviting slopes of the
colossal three hundred foot lizards. A step on those smooth, bloated
bodies meant a plunge up to the neck in corruption.
From many of the hideous skulls most of the flesh had already
disappeared, leaving only irregular patches of blackened skin above
the arsenals of sabre teeth and around the huge glasslike masses of
lustreless jelly in the eye sockets.
As they passed from monster to monster along that shambles of a beach,
Lane's expression changed gradually from reverent wonder to puzzled
incredulity. His theory was taking shape before his eyes. Yet so
strange was it that he doubted the evidence of tangible proofs. The
thing he had imagined was unbelievable when seen. What, he wondered,
lay behind this veil which his own speculations and those of Drake had
lifted ever so little? Had they guessed the whole truth, or did an
unimagined catastrophe wait for them at the end of their untrodden path
into the unknown? At this first partial confirmation of their theory
his belief in himself faltered. For once he hoped that he had been
misled by reason.
Going up to one huge head he peered into the gaping cavity of the mouth
and began to count the teeth. Their number would either confirm or
destroy Drake's theory and his. Hoping that he had made a mistake he
counted the teeth a second time. He had made no error.
"As I thought," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "These
things are all wrong."
"Is an ugly brute like that ever right?" Anderson asked.
"Always, in nature. At least according to their fossil remains they are
invariably true to type. What would you think of a man with forty-eight
teeth instead of the normal thirty-two?"
"As a practical seaman," said the Captain, "I should advise him to
go to a dentist and have sixteen pulled. It would save him a lot of
toothache on the high seas."
"That wouldn't work on this fellow. It would take a steam shovel to dig
out his eight superfluous molars."
"Perhaps," Drake suggested hopefully, "this one is a freak. Try
another. There are plenty lying about."
"Yes, but I don't see one of the same species. That's another curious
thing about all this. There are not more than a dozen specimens of any
one kind, I should judge, in the whole stew."
"Isn't that one over there the same sort as this?" Edith asked,
pointing to a huger brute that resembled the monster of too many teeth.
The Doctor surveyed its frozen death agony. "I believe you are right,"
he said. "Let's count his teeth."
The count checked. Again the monster had eight molars in excess of what
nature should have given him.
"That settles it," the Doctor muttered, sitting down on the treacherous
tail of a defunct reptile.
"Oh see what a mess you are in!" Edith cried. "Stand up. You can't come
back to the ship till you've burned your clothes."
"Clothes don't matter in a crisis like this. Science is rotting to its
foundations."
"That's no reason why you should sit down in the basement," Edith
retorted. Her mask had slipped, and naturally she was inclined to be
severe.
"If this is science," Drake remarked, "I agree. It's putrid from cellar
to attic."
"Don't play the fool. If you have guessed as much as I think you have,
you should be able to appreciate what this may mean. This is serious.
Not one of these creatures, I'll wager, is all that it should be.
Each at first glance is like its supposed type. When you look at them
closely and begin to apply scientific tests you find they are all
either deformities or new species. Off hand one would say that nature
had been practising and had forgotten her art."
"That," said Drake, "isn't your theory, however. Is it?"
"No," the Doctor admitted. "But the facts, all theories aside, can
be ascertained either to establish or to refute my contention that
these things are not as nature should have made them. Now here is a
crucial test. See that blue brute like a potbellied crocodile over
there? No, not the one with the saw ridge of three-foot spines down
its back, but the one with the red bags hanging down from its jowls.
All right. According to all we know from fossil anatomy that beast was
comparatively harmless. Its only weapons were its teeth and its claws.
I don't know what those obscene looking pouches mean--they don't show
in any fossil remains yet found. Nor do I know whether red is their
natural color, or whether it is due to faster decay owing to all the
oil having dripped down off them. So much for its supposed identity.
"Now I suspect," he continued, "from the shape of that beast's head and
snout that it was venomous when alive. The true animal, the one in the
fossil beds was as innocuous as a tame worm. I'm going over to see.
If that brute has poison glands above its evil fangs the question is
settled. It is some reptile utterly unknown to science."
Accompanying him to the grinning head they watched while he inspected
the rows of yellowish knives bared by the upward snarl of the dry,
scaled lips. The great cavern of the mouth gaped open, revealing
a single five-foot row of teeth on each side of the gums. Having
carefully selected the fang for his test, Lane picked up the largest
stone he could heft and hurled it with all his strength at the point.
The stone rebounded like a pebble from a brick wall.
"Here, Ole!" the Captain shouted. "Come and play hand-ball."
Ole with his knotted strength was more successful. Behind his
thirty-pound pebble he put the full barrel of his strength. The fang
was jarred. The deep musical boom which it emitted died gradually away
and Ole took another shot. At the fifth impact the fang was loose. The
sixth, aimed at the base, sent it crashing out of the monster's head.
Lane peered up in the gaping cavity.
"There's a sac of something up there," he said, "but it may only be a
cushion of fat. Ole, will you fetch an oar from the boat?"
When the oar arrived Lane thrust the blade far up the cavity and
prodded hard. The sac broke, and a heavy oily green liquid oozed down
like cold pitch on the decaying remnants of the reptile's tongue.
"I want some of that," the Doctor exclaimed, hastily emptying the
brandy from his pocket flask. "Ole, scoop up a ladleful on the end of
the oar. I'll hold the flask; you let the stuff pour in like molasses."
"What is the decision?" Drake asked curiously, as the Doctor carefully
tucked away his pint of supposed venom.
"We can't tell until this stuff is tried on some living creature.
Nevertheless I am willing to stake my reputation on the outcome. That
brute, when alive, was as venomous as a regiment of rattlesnakes."
"Then it is like no prehistoric monster known to science?"
"As different as a hen is from a hippopotamus. And so, I am willing
to wager, is every other creature that we have seen on this nightmare
of a beach. They are all new. For one thing the majority of them are
enormously bigger and bulkier than they should be. That in itself,
however, is not conclusive. It would be possible for such a state of
affairs to exist in, say, a herd of cattle. If all suffered from the
same disease of certain glands--those regulating growth--they might all
be enormous giants and yet not unnatural. These are abnormal in a far
more radical way."
"But," Edith protested, "several of them look very much like the
restorations in some of your books on fossils."
"That is the strangest part of all this unearthly dream. They are like
bad copies, botched imitations if you like, of those huge brutes whose
bones we chisel out of the rocks from Wyoming to Patagonia. Nature
must have been drunk, drugged or asleep when she allowed these aborted
beasts to mature. Every last one of them is a freak. It is just like
looking at a shambles of all the deformities of a nation."
"The whole thing is inexpressibly hideous and depressing," Edith
shivered. "And these masks are becoming useless."
"Hideous? Depressing? Why this is Heaven!"
"Then I wish I were in hell," the mate remarked.
"Hadn't we better be getting back to the ship, Doctor? We shan't want
to plough our way through this in the dark."
"Perhaps we had," the Doctor reluctantly admitted, feeling like Adam
when the angel showed him the back door of paradise. "How many pictures
did you get, Ole?"
"Twenty dozen."
"You look it," said Drake with a glance at Ole's bulging sweater. "Are
you always half loaded or is part of it natural?"
"Pinhead," said Ole under his breath, beginning to pull on his oar.
Drake, who had been unusually taciturn on the beach expressed himself
before reaching the ship.
"Doctor," he said, "your conclusion that all those rotten brutes are
only half natural confirms my theory of the inscriptions."
"Mine too," said the Doctor.
"And you still want to go on with this?"
"Of course."
"Well, I don't. I'm beginning to turn back and go home right now."
"When it is just beginning to get interesting?"
"I don't believe you know what you are up against."
"Neither do you. But we both seem to have made a pretty good guess. I'm
going to see it through and find out what is at the other end of the
chain."
"Then I shall have to stick it out too. For I'm hanged if I'll let an
old man like you get the better of me."
"Old man?" Edith exclaimed indignantly. "He's only eleven years older
than you are, baby. And he's not half so frightened of the dark."
8