INTO THE SUNLIGHT.
SEYMOUR opened his eyes and gazed around dreamily. What had happened,
he wondered, as he sat up, and what was this strange light that
flooded the vessel? He rubbed his eyes and looked again, then a
thrilling cry burst from his lips.
“Daylight! Great Heaven, daylight!”
He staggered to his feet. He was right. The _Seal_ was
rolling on the swell of the ocean, bathed in the full glory of the
mid-day sun. Into infinite distance the shimmering wave-crests danced
on every hand. No land was visible save one small rocky island,
entirely destitute of verdure, which thrust itself above the surface
of the water some distance away. This much Seymour noted, then with a
fervent prayer of thankfulness he turned to assist his comrades.
Haverly lay senseless beside the wheel; his restoration was a
matter of little difficulty. Neither was the Ayuti much trouble to
bring round. But Mervyn, whom they found at the foot of the steps with
a broken arm and other minor injuries, proved a more difficult
subject.
Hounds as well as men had shared the general oblivion, and the
sun was sinking to its rest ere all were once more restored to a state
of sensibility.
The thankfulness of the explorers was supreme; but so strange had
been the manner of their deliverance from their subterranean prison,
that even yet they could scarcely grasp the fact that their wanderings
and trials amid the wilds of the underworld were really over.
Mervyn, his arm, skilfully set by the American, in a sling, was
bubbling over with enthusiasm, despite his numerous injuries.
“It must have been the birth of that island which released us,”
he observed; “the solid rock, thrust upward by volcanic force,
piercing the ocean bed, and rising above the surface of the
water.”
“It’s the most marvellous thing I ever heard of,” rejoined
Seymour, “though I fear the presence of that great rock will not prove
much of a blessing to the vessels that frequent these seas, especially
as it will be uncharted.”
“It will not remain so long,” retorted the scientist; “but see,
the _Seal_ is drifting towards it. We shall be able to moor her
directly.”
Inch by inch the helpless submarine drifted towards the
boulder-strewn shore of the island, which but lately had formed part
of the subterranean world. Ere long she was close enough for her crew
to moor her, and this Seymour did. As he fastened the rope, the
hounds, weary of the restraint of the turret, leapt ashore, and went
careering madly over the rocks. Suddenly they burst into a clamorous
baying, as a monstrous form emerged from the shelter of a clump of
boulders.
“’Tis Muswani!” cried the Ayuti, and vaulting the rail, he
rushed forward to meet his steed.
“Great Scott!” cried Seymour, “if that don’t beat all. Fancy the
old elk getting through safely.”
Mervyn’s eyes glowed with excitement.
“Grand!” he cried; “it’s just what I needed. The elk’s the very
thing to confirm my story. If----”
“Ship in sight!” bawled Garth at that instant. His comrades
followed the direction of his gaze. Away on the distant horizon,
bathed in the blood-red rays of the dying sun, appeared the masts and
funnels of a large steamer.
“Thank Heaven!” breathed the scientist, joyfully; “our troubles
are over at last!”
“Say, Seymour, how’s this strike yer?”
Haverly skimmed his copy of the “Metropolitan Gazette” across to
the baronet.
“I guess Mervyn’ll have a word or two to say about that,” he went
on; “for sheer impudence the party as is responsible for that classy
drivel takes the biscuit. I reckon, figuratively speaking, he’s just
about mopped the floor with the professor.”
The adventurers sat in the library of Hilton Manor. Mervyn alone
was absent, he being in London, hard at work upon his book.
“What do you mean, Silas?” Garth asked.
“Just what I say,” retorted the American; “but read it out,
William, so’s our pards can grasp the elevatin’ language.”
“Very well,” returned the baronet, smiling, and forthwith
commenced to read the following, which, topped by two staring
head-lines, occupied two columns of the “Gazette’s” centre page.
“‘A scientist’s delusion!’” Seymour began. “‘An up-to-date
fairy story! Truly we are tempted to exclaim with Joseph’s brethren,
‘Behold, that dreamer cometh,’ and we do not doubt that those of our
readers who observed the extraordinary effusion in our contemporary of
yesterday were alike tempted. Never before has such a wildly
improbable story found its way into print. Jules Verne himself could
scarcely have conceived anything more fantastic; yet here we have half
a dozen columns of closely-printed matter, offered to the confiding
public in the guise of sober truth. We marvel that the writer of the
article should have dared append his signature; but, after reading
this masterpiece of modern imagination, we were in no way surprised to
learn that it emanated from the pen of our old rival, Professor James
Mervyn.’”
“Take your breath, old man,” Silas interrupted, cheerfully,
“you’ll need it all ’fore you get through.”
“Dry up, Silas,” retorted the engineer, “you’re spoiling the flow
of language. I should think the beggar must have swallowed a
dictionary.”
“Perhaps he gets paid by the yard for what he turns out,” Garth
suggested, with a grin; “but wade in, Seymour; we’re eager for the
next instalment.”
“You shall have it at once,” rejoined the baronet, and resumed
his reading.
“‘We have only space here to touch upon one or two of the more
flagrant of the series of glaring falsehoods--we can use no other
word--which constitute the whole outrageous story. Whether the
interior of the globe is a huge cavern or no, we are in no position to
state; but hitherto we have been content to believe in the popular
theory of internal fire, and shall continue to do so until we have
_convincing_ proof to the contrary. This, however, we could have
granted, had it not been for the hopelessly impossible stories which
follow. The intellect which could conceive such creatures as the
wolf-men and their hypnotist priest, should find its sphere of labour
in other realms than those of science. The learned professor should
make his mark as a writer of fairy tales. Before his vampires the
flying dragons of the ancients fade into insignificance, while his
megalosaurus--a creature extinct for eras--beats all the
fabled monsters of classical times. But when we read of the giant
spider--Rahee the terrible, as he names it--our disgust
knows no bounds. That he should have supposed for an instant that he
could foist so ridiculous a conception upon a circle of intelligent
readers, destroys our last atom of compunction at the drastic course
we felt called upon to take.
“‘Yet even this pales before his subterranean metropolis, the
city of Ayuti, with its one giant inhabitant. This splendid savage,
this intellectual barbarian, is, in our opinion, the wildest
imagination of all. In the description of the Ayuti’s antlered steed,
obedient to his master’s slightest command, we
recognise----’”
“Oh, hang it all!” Seymour broke off angrily, “I’m sick of the
drivel,” and he flung the paper to the floor.
“I guess you’d better explain the stuff to Chenobi,” remarked
Silas; “he’s looking as if he’d like to be in the know.”
Following this suggestion, Seymour translated the article for the
benefit of the Ayuti.
“So,” the latter cried, his eyes flashing with rage, “the dog not
only doubts our friend’s story, but calls me barbarian and savage!
Were it not that ye say the law of your land forbids killing, the
hound should not live an hour.”
“Best of it is,” Garth broke in at this point, “the party that
wrote that article--Max Dormer--has a place not five miles
from here, and is holding a big meeting there to-day--some
scientific society or other, I believe. It would be a bit of a joke if
Chenobi was to pop over and pay ’em a visit.”
“By Jove! we’ll do it,” cried Seymour, slapping his thigh; “we’ll
stir the beggars up.”
“The king had better go in his tin suit,” suggested Silas; “it’ll
look more like business.”
“He shall,” returned the baronet, and spoke a few rapid words to
his Ayuti friend.
Instantly the latter rose, an even finer figure in his
perfect-fitting suit than he had looked in his mail.
“’Tis well,” he replied to Seymour; “thou and I, Fairhair, will
teach this braggart a lesson. When he sees Muswani, perchance he will
doubt no longer that there be strange beasts in the underworld.” With
that, he and the baronet left the room.
Some time later they rode down the drive upon the back of the
elk--Chenobi armed _cap-a-pie_--and swept out into the
high road, leaving the dull-witted lodge-keeper gaping after them in
blank amazement. Past astonished pedestrians they flashed, Seymour
laughing heartily at the temporary panic their strange appearance
caused; on at a headlong, exhilarating gallop, until they reached the
gates of the place to which Garth had directed them.
And here they were checked. The gates were locked, and the
attendant, alarmed by the unusual dress of the Ayuti, and also by his
strange steed, refused to admit them.
“You don’t come in here,” he bawled, “Sir William Seymour or not.
You look more like a couple of escaped lunatics than anything else, to
my mind.”
Chenobi laughed scornfully as the baronet translated this
insulting answer.
“There are other ways of getting in than by the gates,” he said,
and backed his mount to the further side of the road. A sharp word of
command and Muswani leapt forward like a meteor. Straight for the
eight-foot wall, which joined the gates, Chenobi steered him. Like a
bird he rose, cleared the obstruction magnificently, and dropped
lightly down upon the other side. Affrighted, the attendant vanished
into the lodge, and they swept up the avenue towards the house
unmolested.
It was indeed a big meeting which was being held at Professor Max
Dormer’s place. Earlier in the day, carriage after carriage had rolled
up the drive, and discharged its load beside the great lawn, whereon a
marquee had been erected. Not a few of those present held a foremost
place in the ranks of science, and Dormer’s heart leapt at the thought
of the stunning blow he would be able to deal at his erstwhile rival,
Mervyn. He knew that the returned scientist’s article in the London
daily had attracted almost universal notice, and he was determined to
bring forward this matter at this meeting, and expose before this
representative gathering the daring effrontery of the writer.
That any of the men of science would place any reliance upon
Mervyn’s story he did not for a moment believe; but he determined to
make the blow he was about to deal at the absent professor’s
reputation as crushing as possible. So he arranged his notes with
great care, running over in his mind as he moved amidst his guests the
various points of his discourse.
The meeting was at its height. Savant after savant had mounted
the platform, and had addressed the great gathering. And now came
Dormer’s turn. With all the eloquence that was in him, he was
inveighing against his rival, urging that the man who could pen such a
tissue of falsehoods deserved to be ostracised, when there came the
clatter of hoofs upon the gravel of the drive. All turned at the
sound--the side canvas of the marquee had been rolled up on
account of the heat--wondering who this late-comer might be. A
simultaneous gasp of amazement went up as the giant elk came into view
with his mail-clad driver. Straight across the lawn Muswani pounded,
almost up to the great tent itself. There he pulled up, announcing his
appearance with a bellow that deafened the ears of the assembly. As he
did so, Seymour leapt to earth, followed by the Ayuti. Into the tent
the baronet strode.
“Dormer!” he bawled, “come down here.”
Trembling, the destroyer of Mervyn’s reputation descended from
the platform, and threaded his way amidst his distinguished guests to
where Seymour awaited him.
“Are you responsible for that drivel in to-day’s ‘Gazette’?” the
baronet demanded sternly.
“I wrote that article, if that is what you mean,” retorted the
other, with some show of spirit.
“Then permit me to introduce you to the noble savage, the
intellectual barbarian, His Royal Highness Prince Chenobi of Ayuti,”
was the crushing reply and Seymour motioned for Chenobi to draw
near.
“Is this the dog who called me savage, Fairhair?” thundered the
Ayuti.
“This is he,” replied the baronet.
“Then translate to him these my words: He is a hound, and the son
of a hound. Let him thank his gods that the law of his country forbids
the killing of even such vermin as he, else assuredly I would strangle
him where he stands. Yet he will be wise to beware how he maligns me
hereafter, lest I be tempted to forget the law, to disgrace my own
manhood by laying hands upon his puny carcase. Ask him wherein I am
savage and barbarian? Is not my skin as white as his? is not my brain
as clear? My people were kings and rulers upon the face of the earth
while yet his forefathers burrowed in caves and dens, like unto the
beasts they hunted. Let him beware, I say, or his lying pen shall yet
be the cause of his ruin.”
This scathing torrent of abuse Seymour translated in its full
significance, glossing over nothing; and before it the offending
scientist seemed to shrivel up with mortification. His eyes were fixed
fearfully upon the face of the Ayuti, as if expecting the giant to put
his threats into instant execution.
“Gentlemen,” cried the baronet, when Chenobi had finished, “you
see the Prince, whom I am proud to call my friend; you see also his
antlered steed, Muswani, the giant elk. I ask you now if the story of
my comrade Mervyn is sufficiently proved? If his character as a writer
of the truth is vindicated? Is he to labour hereafter under the stigma
which this malicious fellow has cast upon him, or will his writings be
accepted by you all as actual descriptions of real creatures? I await
your answer.”
An instant’s silence, then as one man the assembly rose.
“We are satisfied,” cried someone, and two hundred voices echoed
the words. Out of the great tent Dormer’s guests poured, all eager to
get a closer look at the giant elk. Note-books came out by the score,
and many a page of descriptive matter was scribbled down for use upon
future occasions.
Many of those present knew Seymour personally, and they crowded
round him eagerly, questioning him concerning his late adventures.
“I must refer you to Professor Mervyn’s article,” he replied to
all their queries, “and to the book which he will shortly publish on
the subject. His description of the Under-world is far more graphic
than anything I can manage. One thing I must ask of you, gentlemen.
Will you see to it that Professor Dormer makes public apology for his
slanderous statements against my comrade Mervyn?”
“He shall acknowledge his mistake at once,” an eminent scientist
exclaimed, “or lose his standing among us.”
“Thank you!” replied the baronet; “_mistake_ is putting it
rather mildly, but it will do. And now I think we will return. Should
any of you wish to examine the elk again, later on, you will find him
at Hilton Manor. His master and I will be there for some weeks to
come. Chenobi”--turning to the Ayuti--“if you are ready, we
will go.”
At a word from his master Muswani dropped to his knees; the two
men leaped to their places. A wave of the hand and they were off,
speeding down the avenue towards the gates. These the keeper flung
hastily open for them--being evidently relieved to see the last
of these escaped lunatics, as he termed them--and they turned
once more for home.
Seymour was in high spirits at the manner in which they had
turned the tables upon Dormer, but Chenobi appeared preoccupied.
“A thought has come to me, Fairhair,” he said at length. “You
remember the fire-message of the son of Nordhu, wherein he vowed to
avenge his sire?”
“I do,” replied Seymour.
“What if he should fulfil his vow?” pursued Chenobi.
“What if he should lead his followers through the fire-mountain
into this upper world? I doubt not that your people would prevail in
the end; yet I fear me much blood would flow ere the wolf-people could
be destroyed.”
“Nay!” returned the baronet decidedly, “I do not think he will
attempt so mad a scheme. Anyway, we have not to concern ourselves with
that. Our troubles are over; our wanderings in the Under-world are a
thing of the past. See, here is the Manor,” and with that they turned
in at the gates.
PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON,
E.C.
Transcriber's note:
Upside down letters have been turned right-side up.
Inconsistent use of hyphenation has been changed to the most often used.
Errors in punctuation have been corrected.