Darkness and Dawn (45 page)

"You do not know that man!" exclaimed the patriarch. "
I
know him!
Rather would he and his slay every living thing in this community than
yield one smallest atom of power to any other."

He arose wearily and gathered his mantle all about him, then reached
for his staff that leaned beside the outer door.

"Peace!" he exclaimed. "Ah, when shall we have peace and learning and
a better life again? The teaching and the learning of the English
speech and all the arts you know, now lost to us—to us, the abandoned
Folk in the abyss? When? When?"

He raised the curtain to depart; but even then he paused once more,
and turned to her.

"Verily, you have spoken truth," said he, "when you have said that
all, all
here
are with us, with you and this wondrous man now lying
weak and wounded in my house. But Kamrou—is different. Alas, you know
him not—you know him not!

"Watch well over my son, here! Soon must he grow strong again. Soon,
soon! Soon, against the coming of Kamrou. For if the chief returns and
my son be weak still, then woe to him, to you, to me! Woe to us all!
Woe, Woe!"

The curtain fell. The patriarch was gone. Outside, Beatrice heard the
click-click-click of his iron staff upon the smooth and flinty rock
floor.

And to her ears, mingled with the far roaring of the flame, drifted
the words:

"Woe, woe to him! Woe to us all—woe—woe!"

Under the ministering care of Beatrice and the patriarch,
Stern's convalescence was rapid. The old man, consumed with terror
lest the dreaded chief, Kamrou, return ere the stranger should have
wholly recovered, spent himself in efforts to hasten the cure. And
with deft skill he brewed his potions, made his salves, and concocted
revivifying medicines from minerals which only he—despite his
blindness—knew how to compound.

The blow that had so shrewdly clipped Stern's skull must have
inevitably killed, as an ox is dropped in the slaughter-house, a man
less powerfully endowed with splendid energies and full vitality.

Even Stern's wonderful physique had a hard fight to regain its finely
ripened forces. But day by day he gained—we must speak of days,
though there were only sleeping-times and waking-times—until at
length, upon the fifth, he was able for the first time to leave his
seaweed bed and sit a while weakly on the patriarch's bench, with
Beatrice beside him.

Hand in hand they sat, while Stern asked many questions, and the old
man, smiling, answered such as he saw fit. But of Kamrou neither he
nor the girl yet breathed one syllable.

Next day and the next, and so on every day, Stern was able to creep
out of the hut, then walk a little, and finally—sometimes alone,
sometimes with one or both his nurses—go all among the wondering and
admiring Folk, eagerly watch their labors of all kinds, try to talk
with them in the few halting words he was able to pick up, and learn
many things of use and deepest interest. A grave and serious Folk they
were, almost without games or sports, seemingly without religious
rites of any kind, and lacking festivals such as on the surface every
barbarous people had always had.

Their fisheries, netmaking, weaving, ironwork, sewing with long iron
needles and coarse fiber-thread keenly interested him. Accustomed now
to the roaring of the flame, he seemed no longer to hear this sound
which had at first so sorely disconcerted him.

He found out nothing concerning their gold and copper supply; but
their oil, he discovered, they collected in pits below the southern
wall of the village, where it accumulated from deep fissures in the
rock. With joy he noted the large number of children, for this bespoke
a race still vigorous and with all sorts of possibilities when
trained.

Odd little, silent creatures the children were, white-faced and
white-haired, playless and grave, laboring like their elders even from
the age of five or six. They followed him about in little troops,
watching him soberly; but when he turned and tried to talk with them
they scurried off like frightened rabbits and vanished in the
always-open huts of stone.

Thoroughly he explored every nook and corner of the village. As soon
as his strength permitted, he even penetrated parts of the surrounding
region. He thought at times to detect among the Folk who followed and
surrounded him, unless he expressly waved them away, some hard looks
here or there. Instinctively he felt that a few of the people, here
one, there one, still held hate and bitterness against him as an alien
and an interloper.

But the mass of them now outwardly
seemed
so eager to serve and care
for him, so quick to obey, so grateful almost to adoration, that Stern
felt ashamed of his own suspicions and of the revolver that he still
always carried whenever outside the patriarch's hut.

And in his heart he buried his fears as unworthy delusions, as the
imaginings of a brain still hurt. The occasional black looks of one or
another of the people, or perchance some sullen, muttered word, he set
down as the crude manners of a primitive and barbarous race.

How little, despite all his skill and wit, he could foresee the truth!

To Beatrice he spoke no word of his occasional uneasiness, nor yet to
the old man. Yet one of the very first matters he attended to was the
overhauling of the revolvers, which had been rescued out of the melee
of the battle and been given to the patriarch, who had kept them with
a kind of religious devotion.

Stern put in half a day cleaning and oiling the weapons. He found
there still remained a hundred and six cartridges in his bandolier and
the girl's. These he now looked upon as his most precious treasure. He
divided them equally with Beatrice, and bade her never go out unless
she had her weapon securely belted on.

Their life at home was simple in the extreme. Beatrice had the inner
room of the hut for her own. Stern and the patriarch occupied the
outer one. And there, often far into the hours of the sleeping-time,
when Beatrice was resting within, he and the old man talked of the
wonders of the past, of the outer world, of old traditions, of the
abyss, and a thousand fascinating speculations.

Particularly did the old man seek to understand some notions of the
lost machine on which the strangers had come from the outer world;
but, though Stern tried most patiently to make him grasp the principle
of the mechanism, he failed. This talk, however, set Stern thinking
very seriously about the biplane; and he asked a score of questions
relative to the qualities of the native oil, to currents in the sea,
locations, depths, and so on.

All that he could learn he noted mentally with the precision of the
trained engineer.

With accurate scientific observation he at once began to pile up
information about the people and the village, the sea, the
abyss—everything, in fact, that he could possibly learn. He felt that
everything depended on a sound understanding of the topography and
nature of the incredible community where he and the girl now found
themselves—perhaps for a life stay.

Beatrice and he were clad now like the Folk; wore their hair twisted
in similar fashion and fastened with heavy pins or spikes of gold,
cleverly graven; were shod with sandals like theirs, made of the skin
of a shark-like fish; and carried torches everywhere they
went—torches of dried weed, close-packed in a metal basket and
impregnated with oil.

This oil particularly interested Stern. Its peculiar blue flame struck
him as singular in the extreme. It had, moreover, the property of
burning a very long time without being replenished. A wick immersed in
it was never consumed or even charred, though the heat produced was
intense.

"If I can't set up some kind of apparatus to distil that into
gas-engine fuel, I'm no engineer, that's all," said Stern to himself.
"All in time, all in time—but first I must take thought how to raise
the old Pauillac from the sea."

Already the newcomers' lungs had become absolutely accustomed to the
condensed air, so that they breathed with entire ease and comfort.
They even found this air unusually stimulating and revivifying,
because of its greater amount of oxygen to the cubic unit; and thus
they were able to endure greater exertions than formerly on the
surface of the earth.

The air never grew foul. A steady current set in the direction that
Stern's pocket-compass indicated as north. The heat no longer
oppressed them; they were even getting used to the constant fog and to
the darkness; and already could see far better than a fortnight
previously, when they had arrived.

Stern never could have believed he could learn to do without sunlight
and starlight and the free winds of heaven; but now he found that even
these were not essential to human life.

Certain phenomena excited his scientific interest very keenly—such as
the source of the great gas-flare in the village, the rhythmic
variations in the air-current, the small but well-marked tides on the
sea, the diminished force of gravitation—indicating a very great
depth, indeed, toward the center of the earth—the greater density of
the seawater, the heavy vaporization, certain singular rock-strata of
the cliffs near the village, and many other matters.

All these Stern promised himself he would investigate as soon as time
and strength allowed.

The village itself, he soon determined, was about half a mile long and
perhaps a quarter-mile across, measuring from the fortified gate
directly back to the huge flame near the dungeon and the place of
bones.

He found, incidentally, that more than one hundred and sixty freshly
boiled and headless skeletons were now dangling from the iron rods,
but wisely held his peace concerning them. Nor did the patriarch
volunteer any information about the loss of life of the Folk in the
battle. Stern estimated there were now some fifteen hundred people,
men, women and children, still remaining in the community; but since
he knew nothing of their number when he had arrived, he could not form
more than a rough idea of the total slaughter.

He found, however, on one of his excursions outside the walls—which
at a distance of two hundred and fifty yards from the sea stretched in
a vast irregular arc abutting at each end against the cliff—the
graveyard of the Folk.

This awesome and peculiar place consisted of heaps of smooth black
boulders piled upon the dead, each heap surmounted by a stone with
some crude emblem cut upon it, such as a circle, a square, a cluster
of dots, even the rude figure of a bird, a fish, a tortoise, and so
on.

Certain of the figures he could make nothing of; but he concluded
rightly they were totem-signs, and that they represented all which
still remained of the art of writing among those barbarous remnants of
the once dominant, powerful and highly cultured race of Americans.

He counted more than two hundred freshly built piles of stone, but
whether any of these contained more than one body of the Folk he
could, of course, not tell. Allowing, however, that only two hundred
of the Folk and one hundred and sixty of the Lanskaarn had fallen, he
readily perceived that the battle had been, for intensity and high
percentage of killing, sanguinary beyond all battles of his own time.

Under the walls, too, the vast numbers of boulders which had been
thrown down, the debris of broken weapons, long and jaggedly barbed
iron spear-points and so on, indicated the military ardor and the
boldness of the fighting men he now had to dominate and master.

And in his soul he knew the problem of taming, civilizing, saving this
rude and terrible people, was certainly the very greatest ever given
into the hands of one man and one woman, since time began!

Along the beach he found a goodly number of empty revolver-shells.
These he picked up, for possible reloading, in case he should be able
at some later time to manufacture powder and some fulminating mixture.

He asked the patriarch to have search made for all such empty shells.
The Folk eagerly and intelligently cooperated.

With interest he watched the weird sight of scores of men with torches
rolling the great stones about, seeking for the precious cartridges.
From the beach they tossed the shells up to him as he walked along the
top of the fortifications so lately the scene of horrible combat; and
despite him his heart swelled with pride in his breast, to be already
directing them in some concerted labor, even so slight as this.

Save for some such interruption, the life of the community had now
settled back into its accustomed routine.

With diminished numbers, but indomitable energy, the Folk went on with
their daily tasks. Stern concluded the great funeral ceremony, which
must have taken place over the fallen defenders, and the horrible
rites attending the decapitation, boiling, and hanging up of the
trophies of war, the Lanskaarn skeletons, certainly must have formed a
series of barbaric pictures more ghastly than any drug-fiend's most
diabolical nightmare. He thanked God that the girl had been spared
these frightful scenes.

He could get the old man to tell him nothing concerning these terrific
ceremonies. But he discovered, some thirty yards to southward of the
circle of stone posts, a boiling geyserlike pool in the rock floor,
whence the thick steam continually arose, and which at times burst up
in terrific seething.

Here his keen eye detected traces of the recent rites. Here, he knew,
the enemies' corpses—and perhaps even some living captives—had been
boiled.

And as he stood on the sloping, slippery edge of the great natural
caldron, a pit perhaps forty feet in diameter—its margins all worn
smooth and greasy by innumerable feet—he shuddered in his soul.

"Good God!" thought he. "Imagine being flung in there!"