Innovations
AS I had agreed to do, I told Nohul Voh and taught him much in exchange
for what he told me. And I have no doubt that he felt he had much
the best of the bargain. He was fascinated, intensely interested in
my descriptions of other lands upon the earth, of the great oceans,
of other races and of our civilizations. Of course there was much of
this that he could not grasp, because so many of our everyday affairs
are based upon principles, mechanics and forces of which he was
entirely ignorant. Not until I tried to explain matters to him did I
fully realize this fact. I could not of course make him understand
steam, electricity, the simplest forms of chemistry. I could not
describe anything that depended upon iron or steel, for there were
no words in his language for these common substances unknown to the
Mayas. And I could not describe or make him understand our means of
travel, our industries, our daily life, because all depended upon
the principle of the wheel, and the wheel was unknown to him and his
race. I drew sketches of various things--at which he was immensely
delighted, for he, like all his race, was an excellent artist and
could grasp the meaning, could visualize the reality of an object by
means of a drawing. But though he thus acquired a perfect idea of the
appearance of our houses, our people, our dress; our trains, boats,
aircraft, motor cars and innumerable other objects, yet to him they
were more than incomprehensible, more than impossible, because of the
ever-present wheel.
The only way in which I could make matters clear was to give him a
demonstration of this simple but most important of man’s inventions,
and I set about doing so. It sounds like a simple matter to make a
wheel; but let my readers try to do so without the aid of a steel
or iron tool--aside from a pocket knife--and see how simple it is!
Here however, I must digress to call attention to the wonder that my
knife had excited. My pistol, of course had been regarded with awe
and terror; to the minds of the people it was the abode of a caged or
captive god of thunder and lightning, and realizing fully the power it
gave me and the fear it inspired, I had kept it hidden from sight in
its holster. But my knife was a necessity. I used it constantly, and
the people never tired of watching me use it, gazing with fascinated
eyes as I cut a stick or pared my nails with the keen blade. Hence it
had been a fairly simple matter to demonstrate the properties of steel
to Nohul Voh.
But the wheel was a very different affair. Had I possessed a watch,
I could have done so easily, but my watch had been lost somewhere in
my wanderings--probably in my tumble down the crater as I fled from
the man-eating dinosaur--and my entire possessions consisted of my
knife, my pistol, my cartridges, my pipe and a lead pencil. Why I had
not discarded my pipe, I cannot say. My tobacco had been exhausted
weeks before I reached the valley, but still I had retained it. And
I had been very glad that I had done so. The people of Mictolan were
inveterate users of tobacco; they smoked both cigars and pipes, and
only an old pipe smoker can appreciate the satisfaction, the enjoyment
that I felt when, after weeks of forced abstinence, I again puffed away
at my seasoned old briar.
But I am getting away from my story and the difficulties I met in
trying to make the first wheel ever seen in Mictolan. The simplest
method, I decided, was to cut a section of a log and fit an axle in
its centre, a method used by many primitive and even civilized people.
Even to cut a section of a log by means of stone and copper tools,
or by burning it off, was a laborious and slow operation. However, I
decided that a model on a small scale would serve just as well, and
selecting a stick of soft wood, I began whittling at it with my knife.
I had cut about half-way through when a woman passed. As she stopped
to look at me, gazing as always at my knife, I noticed that she was
spinning cotton. The next instant I dropped my work and fairly roared
with laughter. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? The spindle she was
using--the spindles every woman used--was a short, round stick with a
hook at one end and a metal disk at the other. Here was a miniature
wheel ready-made, even fitted to an axle! Telling the woman to bring me
two of the spindles, I hurried her off, and as I waited for her return,
I pondered on the strangeness of it all. For centuries--thousands
of years, these people--as well as all other cultured American
aboriginal races--had been using similar spindles--veritable wheels
upon axles--and yet never in all those centuries, those tens of
centuries, had anyone realized that the most important, the most basic
of mechanical inventions was in daily use. It seemed almost incredible
that the wheel should not have been discovered by accident; that
sometime, someone dropping a spindle, should not have seen it roll and
should not have grasped the principle. But I myself had failed utterly
to grasp the possibilities of the spindles, even though I were familiar
with wheels and had been cudgelling my brain as to how to make them.
How many great and epochal discoveries might still remain, undreamed
of, unrecognized, under our very eyes? Certainly, there seemed to me an
endless supply.
* * * * *
MY thoughts were interrupted by the woman, who returned with the two
spindles. I called to Nohul Voh, who was, as usual, busy among his
herbs, and fitting both spindles on one stick, set the affair upon the
ground and rolled it along. For a brief instant he and the woman stared
at it with utter amazement. The next second they burst into shouts
of delight, and, falling on his knees, the white-headed old sorcerer
examined, rolled, turned and played with the thing like a child with a
new toy.
But I was not finished. Two more spindles were secured; I attached a
bit of wood to the axles, placed some stones upon it, and pushed the
laden vehicle along. Never have I seen human beings more excited. They
fairly shrieked with delight, trundled the crude thing back and forth,
pushed each other aside in their eagerness to use it, and gabbled and
chattered like magpies. Several passers-by stopped, people in nearby
fields came hurrying to see what the excitement was about, and in a
few minutes Nohul Voh’s house was surrounded by a crowd of excited,
jabbering, laughing, marveling people.
However, once they had grasped the idea of the wheel, they lost no time
in putting it into use.
Within twenty-four hours there was scarcely a man or woman or even a
child--in the whole of Mictolan--who did not have a wheeled vehicle
of some sort. At first they made only miniatures, copying precisely
the crude thing I had made, but with a little aid and instruction they
learned that size had nothing to do with the new wonder, and carts and
wheeled barrows of useful, practical size began to appear. And never
have I found greater interest or greater amusement and pleasure than
in teaching the people the innumerable useful purposes which the wheel
would serve. I showed them how to pivot the front axle of four-wheeled
carts, how to grease the axles, how to use mill-wheels or arastras for
grinding their giant maize, and I even taught them the principle of
the block and tackle and of the windlass. And always they showed the
greatest interest.
* * * * *
THEN came my greatest triumph--a wind-mill. To be sure, my first was a
mere model set up on a post close to Nohul Voh’s home, and it called
upon all my patience and ingenuity to make this. It was merely a toy,
but to Nohul Voh and his people it was the most astonishing thing ever
seen. For hours at a time they would stand entranced, watching it whirl
in the breeze, swinging from side to side as the wind veered; wrapt in
silent wonder at the thing. The old sorcerer, moreover, was the most
fascinated of all. He could make nothing of it; the source, or rather
the principle of its motion was as inexplicable to him as his green
sphere had been to me, and I marveled that a man of such superior
intelligence and wisdom should not be able to reason out the puzzle.
But it was in perfect accord with all matters pertaining to these
people.
Probably no race in the world’s history presented more contradictory,
paradoxical and mysterious features than the Mayas. How or why did the
race develop the most perfect arithmetical system the world has ever
known, invent and perfect a calendar by means of which any date could
be definitely fixed within a space of more than five million years, and
devise a written language, perhaps the most remarkable in the world,
and yet fail utterly to discover the most elemental facts of chemistry,
mechanics and other sciences? The Mayas of Mictolan had of course gone
a great deal farther. They had learned to use the radium ores; Nohul
Voh had created a marvelous miniature solar system; they--or their
priest rather--had, as I had reason to believe, learned the secret of
that amazing Bridge of Light, and Nohul Voh could either read one’s
thoughts or could actually look into the past and future. But, as far
as I could see, not one of these strange and truly marvelous things was
of the least practical value to the people. They still tilled their
field with crooked sticks and stone-tipped implements, they still wove
their cotton on crude hand looms, they still performed all labor by
hand and, aside from the nobles, the priests and the favored few, not
a man nor woman in the valley could either write or read their races’
characters. But I intended--provided I was forced to remain long enough
in Mictolan--to change all this. I would erect windmills, would make
water-wheels, would manage to build simple machinery and would see what
happened. And in doing this, I would enlist the cooperation of Nohul
Voh and of Azcopil.
I tried to explain my ideas to the old sorcerer, and I was amazed to
find how quickly he grasped the matter. Once the mechanical side of his
brain was aroused, he was as apt a pupil as one could wish. He might
have puzzled his brains for years before he discovered how the windmill
worked, but it didn’t take him three minutes to master the principle
once I explained it to him. And he was an excellent mechanic, as was
Azcopil. Indeed, like most Indians, the Mayas of Mictolan were born
artizans and most painstaking workers. Moreover they could perform
wonders and produce miracles with their crude, inefficient, primitive
tools.
Very rapidly a six-foot windmill grew into being under my guidance,
and while a vast amount of patience and perseverance was needed before
I succeeded in getting the rods, cranks and other portions of its
mechanism made from copper, silver and even gold, yet the final result
was beyond my expectations.
I had given no little thought to what sort of a machine I would install
for a demonstration of wind power. A pump was the simplest, of course,
but on the other hand a mill of some sort--a pair of roller crushers
for corn and cane or a pair of stones for grinding maize, would be more
impressive and useful. But there were serious obstacles in the way of
constructing these. They would require gear-wheels and gears were out
of the question. I finally decided that the pump was the only feasible
apparatus.
To be sure a pump was not greatly needed. The stream ran past the
town, and ollas or pots on the women’s backs had served every purpose
for transporting water for centuries. Still a town pump was not a bad
scheme, and as the breeze blew continually across the valley, it would
seldom fail. So the wind-mill was set up near the stream, the pump--a
crude affair that would have brought roars of laughter from any real
mechanic--was rigged up, and as the last connection was made and the
big wheel began to revolve, the entire population fell upon their faces
and made obeisance to what to them seemed actuated by the gods. And
when, a few moments later, a stream of water began to gush from the
pump’s spout, pandemonium broke loose. Pushing, shoving, struggling,
laughing, splashed with water, the women milled and crowded to fill
ollas and jars at the miraculous stream brought by the power of the
God of Air from the river to their doors. Like children they filled
their vessels, emptied them and refilled them for the mere delight of
watching the water come gurgling into the earthenware jars. But in a
few hours the novelty wore off, the pump became as much a part of their
everyday life as anything else, and though the windmill was always
spoken of as Mulac, or the God of Wind, and although offerings of
flowers and fruits were placed at its base each day, yet apparently the
people never actually regarded it as a god or deity.
* * * * *
THE windmill was such an immense success that I determined to build a
water-wheel. This was a far more ambitious undertaking, but I was glad
indeed to have something to occupy my time and mind, for the weeks
and months were passing, and I seemed no nearer making my escape from
the valley than when I entered it, and I was getting more and more
impatient to have Itza as my bride. Moreover, the old priest troubled
me not a little. Frequently he asked, a crafty expression in his wicked
eyes, when I planned to lead the people forth as provided in the
prophecy. But I put an end to this query by suggesting that, if he was
so anxious to have the prophecy fulfilled, he should ask his gods to
restore the Bridge of Light so that they might pass out of the valley.
I saw him give a start when I said this. Evidently he feared that I had
guessed that he controlled the bridge, but he quickly recovered himself
and promised to ask his god. But I was now thoroughly convinced that,
from the first, he had feared I might lead the people from the valley
and had cut off the bridge to prevent my doing so. I could scarcely
believe that he wished to prevent _me_ from leaving by myself. He
had every reason to want to be rid of me. But I did not know the old
rascal, had no conception of his mental processes, and never suspected
the lengths to which he would go to attain something which compared to
other things would seem a matter of little importance.
But by keeping myself occupied with my mechanical work, I managed to
forget other troubles, to put the old priest’s hateful presence from my
thoughts, and to make time pass more quickly. Moreover, I had Itza with
me constantly, for at my suggestion, Azcopil had taken up his residence
with his wife and sister in the palace; Itza and the Princess Mitchi
Ina had become inseparable, and we were a happy and intimate household.
But to return to the water-wheel. As there was an abundance of water
and a natural fall where the stream tumbled over a six-foot ledge, I
decided to construct a back-pitch wheel as being the simplest. Nearly
two weeks were consumed in the construction of the wheel itself, but in
the end I had the satisfaction of looking upon a water wheel such as no
human eyes had ever before seen. Its metal fastenings, the heavy bands
about its wooden axle, the collars that secured the spokes in place,
were of solid silver and its thirty-five buckets or paddles were of
gold!
Meanwhile work on the wooden gears and the massive stone rollers had
been going on, and by the time the heavy, cumbersome wheel was set up,
the various units of the mill itself were complete. I had no intention
of using wooden gear-wheels, but meant merely to employ the wooden ones
as patterns with which to make moulds for casting metal gears. For this
purpose I used an alloy of copper and silver--a sort of bronze--which
was used by the natives for many purposes, and which was the hardest
metal obtainable in the valley.
All went well and when, the sluice-way having been opened, the great
wheel commenced ponderously to revolve and the gears meshed and rumbled
and I fed a bundle of cane stalks into the rollers and the juice
streamed out into the waiting trough, the ovation accorded the seeming
miracle exceeded my wildest expectations. The people seemed actually
to have gone mad. They fought merely to bathe in the water that flowed
from below the wheel, they struggled for the privilege of sipping the
muddy juice that flowed from the rollers; they cast flowers, fruits,
even their most prized possessions into the sluice-way. Even the prince
and Itza, who knew it was nothing more than a thing of wood and metal,
were awed and made obeisance to it, while old Nohul Voh, who had had
a hand in its construction and understood it perfectly, held up his
arms, threw back his leonine mane and shouted praises and thanks to
Chac-Mool, the God of Waters, for so manifesting his favor to the
people of Mictolan.
Even old Kinchi Haman had come to witness the new marvel, but no
pleasure, no delight, no surprise showed upon his horrible features.
His eyes burned, I saw his hands clench and unclench, and I knew that
my success had only added to his hatred and his jealousy. But Kinchi
Haman was no longer of any great importance to anyone. The people
who had formerly feared him seemed no longer in dread of him. His
temple was almost deserted when he held his ceremonies, few even made
obeisance to him. Ever since I had humiliated him at the temple of
Kukulcan, he had lost prestige, respect, the power to instill fear
or obedience. I could not blame him for detesting me, for feeling
jealous, and I rather pitied him. But it was his own fault. Had he been
reasonable, decent, existing conditions never would have occurred. From
the first he had been tyrannical, overbearing, threatening and jealous.
But neither the people nor myself had time to bother our heads over the
priest. The people had gone mechanics mad. Wonderful imitators that
they were, they worked like beavers making windmills and water-wheels
for themselves, and in an incredibly short time, the valley was
dotted with windmills; at every available point on the river and its
tributaries a water-wheel rumbled and ground; hand-carts and barrows
were trundled through the streets and across the fields, and I was
besieged with requests, prayers and supplications to show new wonders
to the people. As I gazed across the valley and saw these signs of a
dawning use of laborsaving devices, I chuckled at my own thoughts.
* * * * *
WHAT an incongruous, paradoxical situation it was, to be sure. Here
were the people, going mad with excitement over the most primitive
forms of utilizing the most obvious forces of nature, while all
about them, unnoticed, undeveloped, were forces ten thousand times
more powerful, more economical, and which would have caused as much
excitement in the outside world as did the crude wind and water engines
in this hidden valley. Would these people, I wondered, ever learn
to adapt the strange unknown forces of radium to mechanical needs?
In years to come, would they go through the long, slow evolution of
wind, water, steam, electricity, and in the end discover the terrific
forces so long neglected? Would some future Mictolanian rediscover the
inventions of old Nohul Voh and resurrect his name and immortalize
the ancient sorcerer as the greatest scientist of his race? Would his
discoveries be lost and forgotten? Or would some brilliant genius
stumble upon the natural forces of the valley, solve the problem
of controlling and using them and, in a single day--figuratively
speaking--jump his people ages ahead of all other races?
Who could say? Who could foretell what might happen? Possibly old Nohul
Voh. But when I half-jokingly asked him if his Book of the Future had
foretold the wheels and the mills he shook his head and admitted it had
not.
“The Book of the Future holds only those things to do with the race
of the Kitche Maya,” he said. “These things are of another race. As
I could read nothing of your past ere you spoke with Katchilcan, as
I could read nothing of the future beyond the end of the road of the
symbols, neither could I read of these things that dwelt within the
mind of a man of another race.”
I smiled. “You draw a fine line, O, Nohul Voh,” I said. “Though these
things are, as you say, of my race, yet now they have to do with your
people, so they should have been told to you in your Book of the
Future.” “Who can say,” he replied. “It is the will of the gods.” And
he admitted freely that he could not foretell what I next planned to do.
I had noticed that there was iron ore in the valley and there was
also lime. I had no doubt I could build a furnace and smelt the ore,
but there was a simpler method. The natives had smelted copper, gold
and silver for countless ages. Whenever they had done so, they had of
necessity smelted a small quantity of iron at the same time, for all
their ores contained iron. In the bottom of every crucible of the other
metals, there must have been a tiny iron button, and why or how they
had overlooked these bits of the much harder and more useful metal
was a puzzle I could not explain. But that the iron was there I felt
sure, and an examination of the broken clay crucibles and slag that had
accumulated, confirmed my suspicions.
It was slow work picking over the heaps and separating the iron
nodules, but I employed boys to do it, and so greatly were they
impressed with everything I had done, that they looked upon the tedious
work as the greatest privilege and vied with one another to secure the
greatest quantities of the desired metal. Once I had obtained a fairly
adequate supply, the rest was simple. The iron was easily refined,
welded and forged, and to my surprise and delight I discovered that,
due to the presence of some other metal, no doubt--the resultant was an
excellent steel capable of taking a good temper and edge.
But I was bitterly disappointed at the reception the new metal
received. Gold, silver and copper had answered every need of the
people for countless generations. They had not lived long enough in a
mechanical age to appreciate the value of a harder metal. They had long
ago given up sculpturing rocks and had substituted painted decorations,
and though the new iron tools were immeasurably superior to anything
they had known for cutting wood, yet they did not impress the people as
either remarkable or wonderful. To be sure they took to them readily
enough, but they looked upon them as a matter of course. No doubt this
was largely because they realized that the iron, like the other metals,
was a natural product of the earth, whereas the mills and wheels were
the product of man. But at any rate I felt I had done the people a good
turn, and moreover, I made good use of the iron myself.
I had, of course, been planning and preparing for my escape. I had
accumulated torches and a store of parched corn to serve Itza and
myself on our journey, and now, with iron at my disposal, I could
provide myself with efficient weapons. My pistol must be reserved for
emergencies--I had only a dozen extra cartridges left--and I busied
myself making iron arrow-heads, spear-heads, a couple of light axes or
hatchets and a machete or sword. Bows and arrows were in universal use
and I had learned to use them as well as the Indians, so I felt that I
was well equipped. But my hardest job was to fashion fish-hooks. I had
always looked upon fish-hooks as simple things and had never given a
thought as to how they were made. But when I came to try my hand at it,
I realized that a fish-hook is, in its way, a masterpiece. Of course,
if I had possessed wire, my task would have been much simpler, but with
bar steel I had my work cut out for me. However, in the end, I managed
to make some barbed objects that might have passed for fish-hooks, and
having tested them out in the stream and found them efficient, I felt
perfectly satisfied.
* * * * *
FOR the first time in my life I began fully to realize what a vast
advance had been made when man stepped from the bronze to the iron
age, and how each step in man’s progress had made the next step easier
and greater. When at last I had made steel, I could foresee machinery,
steam engines, yes, even electricity, and in my day dreams I could
visualize the valley humming with industry, with mills, factories,
perhaps a railway and even motor propelled vehicles. Anything seemed
within the bounds of possibility, and only patience and time were
needed to make such visions come true. But time was what I most
sincerely hoped I would _not_ have.
And, after all, I wondered, would such things really be a blessing or a
curse to the people? Were they any better off, any happier with their
wheeled vehicles, their wind and water power than they had been before?
I could not see that they were. Their every need, every want had been
fully satisfied; their lives had been busy, happy, content, and I could
not for the life of me see whereby I had in the least degree added to
their happiness and well-being by teaching them what I had. But I must
qualify that.
One thing I had shown them--perhaps the simplest of all--had
undoubtedly benefited them. This was the means of making fire by flint
and steel. Hitherto their only means of kindling fire had been by
patiently rubbing two sticks together by means of a bow-drill, and the
primitive flint and steel was a veritable godsend to them.
I had thought, when I first demonstrated the method, that they would
regard it as a divine or supernatural thing, but I was vastly mistaken.
The stone and the metal were natural products, and while they marveled
at my ability or superior knowledge in knowing how to produce fire by
striking the two together, they accepted it much as they had accepted
iron.
It must not be thought that I devoted all my time and energies to my
experiments and mechanical contrivances. I had my religious duties
to attend to, I explored the valley--and in so doing proved to my
satisfaction that there was no egress other than by the Bridge of
Light; I visited and talked with the people, I spent many hours with
Nohul Voh, and, of course, I devoted much of my time to Itza. She was
very anxious to learn my language, and she, like all her race, being a
born linguist and exceedingly quick to learn anything, proved a most
apt pupil and rapidly learned to speak, read and write English. Very
delightful were the hours I devoted to teaching her, reproving her
for her mistakes by kisses, laughing merrily with her over her funny
efforts to pronounce the new sounds, guiding her little fingers as she
tried to form the various strange characters.
It was a wonderful satisfaction, too, to be able to converse with Itza
in a dialect that no one else could understand; to be able to exchange
our thoughts, our hopes, our desires and to make love without others
overhearing us. Moreover, the fact that she could understand and
converse in the strange language, which the people implicitly believed
was the secret dialect of the Tutul Zius, raised Itza tremendously in
the estimation of her people. To them, she was now semi-divine. She was
the chosen mate of the son of Kukulcan, she conversed in the language
of the gods, she could read the magic, sacred writing of Itzimin Chac,
and she was accorded the homage, the respect and the reverence due a
queen and a goddess. We wanted for nothing, there was no earthly reason
why I should not have been happy, content, willing to remain forever in
the lovely valley with Itza.
I had no kith or kin in the outside world; among my own people I would
be forced to struggle, to work in order to maintain even a modest
existence; I would be but a rather obscure unit among millions of my
fellows; I could never hope for great wealth, position or prominence.
Here in Mictolan my life was easy, work was rather a recreation
than a necessity; I had everything man could ask--wealth, position,
power, and, most precious of all, a loving devoted and most beautiful
companion. Why could I not be content, satisfied to remain here, to
accept conditions as they were, to forget the outside world, to resign
myself to remaining the virtual ruler of these lovable, peaceful,
simple people? It was not that I lacked anything, that I was not happy,
that I could not marry Itza. I had long since cast the obstacle of
that formality aside as an unreasonable, nonsensical and illogical
impediment to our happiness. The ceremony of the priest--even had he
been willing to go through with it--would have had no true significance
to me or to my people; even had we been married according to the rites
of the Mictolan faith, I should have wanted a Christian wedding if we
ever escaped from the valley. Arguing to myself along these lines, I
scrapped all my obsolete, old, narrow-minded, puritanical ideas aside
and took Itza for my bride by the simple Scotch custom of declaring
her my wife in the presence of the prince and the princesses, and
subsequently announced it from the temple.
So I had no valid reason, no excuse for wishing to leave the valley.
Indeed, strive as I might to analyze my mind, to psychoanalyze myself,
I could not discover why I still longed to return to my own people,
my own country. And yet I did. I was uneasy, discontented, and chafed
at my enforced stay in the valley. But such is human nature. I had
gone through hardships, sufferings, dangers, to find Mictolan. I had
succeeded. I had found love, happiness--everything man longs for,
strives for and holds dear--and yet I was as anxious to get away
from the place as I had been to reach it. Possibly it was merely the
inherited, ineradicable homing instinct of human beings. Perhaps
some sixth sense warned me of impending disaster, or it may be that
my scientific instinct, my desire to give the world the benefit of
my discoveries was at the bottom of my unrest. However that may be,
always, at the back of my brain, was the desire, the longing to escape,
and not an hour passed that I did not glance, expectantly, at the
temple, hoping each time to see the lambent fire that would mark the
time for my safe escape with Itza.