Part 1

Chapter 13,935 wordsPublic domain

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PIC THE WEAPON-MAKER

BY GEORGE LANGFORD

INTRODUCTION BY HENRY FAIRFIELD OSBORN

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR

BONI AND LIVERIGHT PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

_Printed in the United States of America_

To My Wife and Collaborator SYDNEY HOLMES LANGFORD

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE JOURNEY THROUGH CENTRAL FRANCE _Frontispiece_

PAGE

THE ARRIVAL OF THE MAMMOTH 3

“UGH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?” 26

“WHY DO YOU BEAT THOSE ROCKS TOGETHER?” THE MAMMOTH INQUIRED 37

GRUN WAUGH SPRANG SNARLING TO HIS FEET 53

THE CAVE LION TOOK ONE LOOK—AND WAITED TO SEE NO MORE 64

PIC AT SHA PELL 74

THE MEETING WITH THE SEINE FLINT WORKERS 104

“STAND BACK! FOR YOUR LIVES, STAND BACK!” 129

WITH A HOARSE CRY PIC SPRANG TO HIS FEET 145

HAIRI AND THE CAVE LEOPARD 211

THE TIME CAME WHEN WULLI FAILED TO RESPOND 224

PIC DISCOVERS THE USE OF THE BONE TOOL 240

PLUCKED FROM ITS MOTHER’S ARMS AND WHIRLED ALOFT 268

INTRODUCTION

It has been the tendency of certain anthropologists, of most popular writers, and of most artists in Europe and America to represent the men of the Old Stone Age as scarcely raised above the level of the brutes. I have protested against this point of view on what I believe to be very good grounds, namely, that modern man could not have ascended from a group of brutes. There must have been from the very first, along the various lines of human ascent, a premium on the qualities of mind, on the rudiments of human character, and on the refined tendencies of the best of men as we know them to-day. Such a sprinkling of fine characteristics is observed by travelers who study the most primitive races of mankind with a sympathetic attitude of mind; many are discovered among the Malays, despite their head-hunting propensities, and delightful traits of character are found among the Polynesians, despite their occasional cannibalism.

It is in this sympathetic also appreciative state of mind that the author of the present work approaches his subject, the Mousterians, a very ancient and primitive branch of the human race. The environment in which these people lived was certainly very crude and the conditions were very hard, nevertheless it is reasonable to presume that they possessed many desirable although rudimentary qualities of mind and character. The present author may idealize these primitive men as James Fenimore Cooper idealized the Indians, but I believe he would be nearer the truth than if he brutalized them.

If it is clearly understood that the work of Mr. Langford is an interpretation of prehistoric human nature, an interpretation based on a certain class of facts, a working hypothesis as to the qualities of the Mousterian people which may be contrasted with other working hypotheses and developed with the progress of discovery, then this work is well worth while and may be read and enjoyed in the same way that we enjoy the painted restorations of these people, of their life and times.

HENRY FAIRFIELD OSBORN.

_New York, February 7, 1920._

FOREWORD

Some thirty or forty thousand years ago western Europe was inhabited by a race of human beings now extinct, the Mousterians who differed so much from modern men that they are classed as a distinct species. They were cave-dwellers and flint-workers, living amid hordes of prehistoric beasts; the Hairy Mammoth Elephant, Woolly Rhinoceros, Cave Lion, Cave Bear, Hyena and many others.

The Mousterians were the last of the ancient Neanderthal race whose advent in Europe may have dated to two-hundred thousand years or more B.C. It is my interest in them that I seek to share intimately with my patient readers and my endeavor has been to restore in these pages the men and animal characters of those prehistoric days. Their activities and the circumstances surrounding them are inspired by the following discoveries, now of historic and scientific record:

_Mousterian Civilization._—First recognized in 1863 near Le Moustier, Dordogne Dep’t, southwestern France. Beneath caves in the cliffs, rudely fashioned flints of distinctive pattern lay buried with bones of the Mammoth, Woolly Rhinoceros and other prehistoric animals. Similar discoveries were made later in the Seine, Somme and Thames River Valleys and many other localities in western Europe.

_The Neanderthal Man._—Fossil skeleton accidentally discovered in 1856 in a grotto near the River Düssel, Westphalia, western Germany. The skull-cap with its low forehead and massive eye-ridges, caused a sensation in Europe, it being the first evidence that a primitive species of human being preceded modern Man in western Europe.

_The Boy of Le Moustier._—Skeleton unearthed in 1908 near one of the Moustier caves; a young man. The low forehead, massive eye-ridges and chinless jaw were primitive features, known by this time as characteristics of the Neanderthal race. The skeleton lay amid remains of prehistoric animals with head resting upon a pile of flint-flakes. A fine flint hand-ax was near the right hand.

_The Man of La Chapelle-aux-Saintes._—Complete skeleton of an aged man found buried in 1908 in a grotto near the village of La Chapelle-aux-Saintes, Correze Dept., France. This fine skeleton showed conclusively that the Mousterian differed from modern Man in almost every bone of his body. This discovery is considered as an intentional burial—most ancient record of man’s care for his dead and recognition of an after life. The body lay amid Mousterian flints and bones of prehistoric animals.

_The Maid of La Ferrassie._—Part of one skeleton—a female—exhumed from a rock-shelter near Le Moustier in 1909 and another in 1910. Both were Mousterians and not to be confused with other discoveries of less ancient people of the Old Stone Age.

_Prehistoric Animals._—Remains of the Hairy Mammoth, Woolly Rhinoceros, Cave Lion, Cave Bear, Hyena, Irish Elk, Long-horned Ox, Bison, Reindeer and a host of others have been and are yet frequently discovered in association with Mousterian flint and skeleton relics. Of these brutes, none were more imposing, none more remarkable than the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. Friends? Why, of course. Who can deny it and who would begrudge them their fun—while it lasted?

It is my earnest endeavor to portray intimately the prehistoric life of western Europe as it was during the “Mousterian” Period of 50000-25000 B.C. Mankind’s primitive pioneers cannot fail to win the respect of those who choose to understand them. My characters—men and beasts—were real individuals; their activities, my free translation of the evidence presented by stone relics and fossil bones. Such evidence collected by the world’s leading anthropologists, is ably summarized in Prof. Henry Fairfield Osborn’s immortal work, “Men of the Old Stone Age” which has been of material aid to me in the writing of this book.

GEORGE LANGFORD.

_Joliet, Illinois, March 1, 1920._

PIC THE WEAPON-MAKER

The cold weight of bitter glacial winter lay heavy upon the Dordogne region of southwestern France. Grass and sedge tuft were hidden beneath a mantle of ermine snow. The last withered oak and sycamore leaves had long since fluttered to the ground and only bare branches were left pointing skyward like dead fingers. The bushes stuck straight up like bundles of stiff rods. No sounds could be heard except faint whisperings of sleet blown over the snow-crust and of rending creaking frost gnawing into every hole and crevice.

Bison, moose, stag, ox and every other hoofed and horned beast of meadow, mountain and glade were assembled near the base of the southern slope of a long high ridge bristling with outcropping limestone crags and pinnacles. Every pair of horns and eyes was directed upward and every heart beat fast with great awe and fear.

For a monstrous creature was lumbering down the slope toward them, plowing its way irresistibly through the snow-packs like an avalanche launched from the heights—a strange beast of another world descending as it were from the sky. Its huge head crowned with peaked forepart, nigh equalled in bulk the Bison’s body. A ponderous nose-lip dangled from its face, writhing python-like, between two long cream-colored tusks which swept downward then outward, then upward and forward to their polished tips in three graceful, twisting curves. And yet the colossal head was but a fragment compared with the vast body behind it. Both were thatched with jumbled masses of shaggy hair fluffed and tossed about by the breeze like tasseled plumes. The massive hulk was borne along upon four hairy pillar legs, each rivalling in girth the wrist of a stout oak which stood in the giant’s path, thrust upward through the snow like a great gnarled fist. The lowermost branch rising some twelve feet above the ground, barely cleared the shaggy head-peak as it passed beneath. Such was the Hairy Mammoth, monarch of the bleak northern wastes and largest of all creatures ranging the length and breadth of Europe.

As his eyes fell upon the formidable hedge of bristling horns, he momentarily slackened his pace and took stock of the seemingly overwhelming odds upon which he was advancing. Fight? Yes and no. The Mammoth well knew the full measure of his own gigantic strength and how to make good use of it when occasion demanded; but there are always more ways than one to accomplish desired results—so the Mammoth reasoned—and he was a creature of far from low intelligence.

Crunch, crunch, his ponderous feet rose and fell amid the flying snow-clods as he bore down upon the group of horned animals, calmly and deliberately as though without fear or thought of hostile purpose.

Another and smaller individual trailed in the giant’s wake. Like the latter, its head and body were buried in masses of tangled hair, so thick and matted that the creature resembled a small haystack supported by four short peg-legs, which latter were barely visible beneath the mass. But none heeded this the smaller of the pair. All eyes were centered upon the shaggy giant with the snake-like trunk and curling tusks.

The latter was only ten paces distant when suddenly two of the horned heads detached themselves from their fellows as their owners sprang forward to meet him. One of them was a thick-set individual almost hidden beneath a flowing hair-mantle and bearing two hook-like horns plastered across his brow; the other a more slender animal with short hair and long scraggly antlers. They were the Musk Ox and Reindeer, migrants from the northern ranges.

“The Mammoth!” they cried joyfully. “Hail Hairi, lord of the Tundr! Does the Storm Wind drive the mightiest of the grass-eaters before it as it does us more humble folk?”

The Mammoth, who had halted momentarily with trunk and tasks thrown into a defensive posture, now emitted an astonished bellow. His ears flapped violently and his trunk waved in joyful recognition.

“Hail, old comrades! Peace be with you and yours,” he replied. “Good indeed it is to see once more two of the Northland’s best and bravest. The Storm Wind? Aye. The Mammoth finds no favor there. But it is not from it that I flee, nor snow nor the frost which thickens the waters and makes all trees look like dead sticks. It is because of the ice-mountains that have sealed every drinking hole and food patch. I must eat and drink to live and as Death is my last choice, I made haste to seek this land of plenty—and friends.”

As he concluded, his gaze shifted inquiringly from the Musk Ox and Reindeer to their associates. Sunshine by the cubic yard now exuded from every pore of the huge body—ten-hundred weight of concentrated benevolence and good will. His two friends of the tundras gazed apprehensively at their horned associates, then at the shaggy colossus. In the latter’s beaming features and breezy manner was no vestige of the caution and timidity which might have been expected of him in a situation fraught with such grave uncertainties; but he had staked all on his sound judgment of animal nature and had already determined how the present occasion should be dealt with.

“Comrades,” he began in a deep voice. “Fate was kind to reunite me with two life-long friends and with their friends all gathered together to do me honor. Words fail me; but I am mightily pleased.”

He paused, gazing benignly upon the serried host. Every horned head lifted; every pair of eyes looked up in astonishment. Even the small haystack behind the Mammoth raised its head in amazement at the latter’s eloquent outburst, then its attention shifted to the array of hoofed and horned animals.

“Moo Hooes!” it grunted and without another word, turned away and began rooting about in the snow. It may be inferred that the creature was a pig but although possessing piggy eyes and ears, its nose bore a long glossy horn pointing forward and upward, which in itself was most remarkable and unswinelike. Moo Hoo, by the way, was a name for any hoofed and horned animal. It might be complimentary or otherwise, depending on the way one said it. The small haystack’s way of saying, was far from complimentary.

For a few moments, all was still. The Mammoth stood immobile and expectant—a mountain of majestic grandeur. A slim figure emerged from the throng of horned animals and faced him. It was the Red Deer or Stag.

“Your arrival is—I make bold to say—a surprise to us,” he said timidly. “We, too, are pleased to meet the mighty Mammoth; but caution is our watchword and we look upon all strangers as intruders. We are in the midst of an important meeting which may be proceeded with after your departure. And now what more before we are deprived of your august presence?”

The great Elephant’s gorge began to rise. This was a new and decidedly unpleasant idea—his being left out of any animal doings. His was a sociable nature, ever eager to meet new faces and never forgetting the old ones—you may be sure of that. With an effort he kept back the storm-clouds and continued to bathe all present in the sunshine of his genial personality.

“But my journey’s end is reached,” he remarked cheerily. “Meeting? You see I am just in time; and here I stay to make your better acquaintance.”

The hoofed and horned animals inclined their ears forward to catch every word. This was an unheard-of thing; an elephant trying to enter their charmed circle. They studied his curling tusks and stumpy feet with the greatest care, then shook their heads.

“So you wish to join our herd?” the Stag demanded. “First, you must qualify. Every new member must have hoofs and horns. They are quite important; in fact, necessary.”

“Of course; and so now I may consider myself one of you?”

“Pr-r-op! Not so fast, if you please. Things must follow in their proper order. I see no horns. You do not seem to have brought them with you. Possibly you have shed them for the cold weather.”

“Indeed, no. Here they are almost touching the end of your nose,” and Hairi raised his trunk on high so that his tusks might show to the best advantage.

“Horns?” grunted the Moose; “but they grow from your mouth. Odd; most peculiar, I say.”

“Oomp, oomp; most peculiar.” The Mammoth’s tone and manner now reeked with biting sarcasm. “So you think that my horns should grow from somewhere else; out of my back perhaps or possibly from my heels like lark’s spurs. What would you suggest? I am willing to please anybody within reason.”

The Moose began to feel ridiculous. His pride was hurt. “But they should grow up, not down,” he protested sullenly.

“Indeed! What do the rest of you think about it?” demanded the shaggy giant as he glanced along the rows of curious faces. “Up or down; down or up? Which is proper? My horns grow down then up again, so I am right, either way. But I mean to be reasonable and listen. Can anybody answer?”

None appeared to have enough wits left to give an answer. The Mammoth gazed blandly at the sea of upturned faces before him and resumed:

“Now that everybody is satisfied, I will take my proper place among you. Next comes the choice of my assistant. What is it now, old Bramble-head?” he bellowed at the Moose who showed symptoms of wishing to start an argument. “Would you expect me to manage your affairs alone? I need help. Who will dispute that?”

He looked so huge, stern and overpowering, that several high-strung spirits who were pawing the ground and gathering courage to protest, decided to wait. All stood at attention. The Mammoth paused for a moment to impress them with the importance of what he was about to say.

“My friends,” he began in low deep tones, which grew louder and more dramatic as he proceeded. “Fellow Moo Hooes; People with the split feet; I will now choose as my chief helper, the most famous warrior in all Tundr. His skill, courage and other noble qualities have won the esteem of every creature that creeps or runs. His strength——”

“But who is he? Tell us,” cried a score of impatient voices.

The huge Elephant raised his trunk aloft. “Owk, owk; see all,” he thundered. “Look upon the chosen one, come in all his glory to help me guard your future and preserve the peace! Behold my friend, adviser and fellow-worker, the Woolly Rhinoceros!”

All eyes were now turned upon the small haystack which until this moment had not shown the slightest interest in what was going on. The Mammoth held the center of the stage and meanwhile the Rhinoceros was entirely ignored. His huge companion’s stirring eloquence rumbled like thunder above him, a dull flow of meaningless words; then suddenly his own name rang out loud and clear, followed by death-like silence.

He raised his head from the grass-tufts which had hitherto claimed his attention and blinked at the herd of animals as though observing them for the first time; then with slow and measured steps he advanced to the Mammoth’s side and looked up at him inquiringly. This was the signal for a great buzz of excitement which swept over the vast assemblage like a rustling breeze. A heavy-set individual with flaring nostrils and bloodshot eyes suddenly stepped forward. It was the Bison.

“May the rocks fall upon his head,” he roared in great wrath. “One is enough to swallow; two, more than we can chew. Let this Tundr-pig be cast out in the snow.”

The Mammoth turned quickly to his companion. “There, Wulli, did you hear what he said? It is high time you asserted yourself.”

Wulli’s eyes glistened. He glared savagely at the Bison. The latter caught sight of the sharp horn poised threateningly on the Rhino’s nose. He trembled and looked at the ground.

“I spoke the name of my future helper,” the Mammoth bellowed. “Do you all agree? If not, why not?”

“Your friend is not acceptable,” snorted the Bison, taking fresh courage at the interruption. “His horns are not the same size and they grow out of his nose.”

“Horns?” The Mammoth bent forward and studied Wulli’s face with wondering interest; “How remarkable! I thought he had only one, but there is another—a little horn trying to hide behind the big one. Hold your head down Wulli so that all can see. Two horns; just the right number—no more, no less.”

The Rhinoceros bowed his head, too confused to express the resentment that raged within his breast. What the Mammoth had said was true enough. Horn Number Two was a small affair—no more than a knob—but its silent eloquence was convincing. All gazed upon it wonderingly; all but the Moose and Bison who appeared to have taken a sudden and strong dislike to their new champions.

“Suppose they are horns,” the Bison sniffed. “They grow too queerly to please me. As for his feet; look at them. Do any but turtles have feet like those?”

“But he has horns and two of them,” the Mammoth insisted. “You said so and all can see that you spoke the truth. And now, Moo Hoo with the loud voice, be warned. Use well-chosen words when you speak of the Rhinoceros. He fights silently, but one thrust is usually enough; and if he needs help, I stand beside him.”

No answer. The Mammoth gazed about him with the air of one whose manner of argument is beyond dispute.

“Good; we have heard all that is to be said. The Woolly Rhinoceros can consider himself a full-fledged Moo Hoo from nose to tail. With his help, I intend to preserve order and keep the peace. From now on, quarrelsome and other objectionable characters will be severely dealt with.” He glanced meaningly at the Moose and Bison.

The two trouble-makers thus designated, put their heads together for a moment; then the Bison turned and faced the Mammoth. His eyes sparkled as with the thought of sweet revenge soon to be meted out to his detested rivals.

“So say all of us,” he bawled loudly: “Objectionable characters must be punished. Is it not so?”

He glanced from one face to another amid low murmurs of approval. The Mammoth hesitated before this sudden outburst. In the other’s sneering manner, he sensed mischief directed against the Rhinoceros and himself.

“Quite so,” he cautiously admitted. “To what or whom do you refer? It will be duly considered by one and all of us.”

“We demand action, not mere words,” the Bison roared. “Our leaders and fighters must play the part of their own choosing. I insist that the Mammoth and Rhinoceros do their duty or be cast out into the snow as cowards and braggarts.”

On hearing himself thus fiercely arraigned, Wulli lurched forward and squealed angrily:

“What duty? Oo-wee! do not keep me waiting. Must our talking be done with crossed horns?”

The Bison made haste to respond and thus avoid a clash. “We are surrounded by blood-thirsty beasts,” he bellowed. “One among them is the dread of all grass-eaters. I demand that the Mammoth and Rhinoceros visit the great Rock and drive him from his den.”

Wulli’s jaws set themselves tightly together. He looked straight into the other’s eyes without winking. “And this beast; who is he? His name?”

As if in reply, a faint rumble as of distant thunder was borne from the opposite heights far across the valley—a deep bass roar followed by a hoarse throaty cry:

“Gr-rr-r-un-nn-n Wau-au-gh-h!”

Every hoofed and horned animal trembled at the sound. The Bison was the first to recover his composure. He leered vengefully at the Mammoth and Rhinoceros:

“The Cave Lion himself has spoken. There sounds his challenge. Let our new-found champions go forth and drive him from his den.”

The Valley of the Vézère was a storm-shelter, a haven of refuge for all animals. Only since the last full moon, had a message come telling of tremendous climatic changes going on in the northern world. A strange piercing chill was creeping slowly southward by way of the Baltic Valley. It brought news of the advancing ice-fields and of bitter winter soon to come. To everything through whose veins ran warm life-blood, it whispered:

“Make way for the Storm Wind, all ye who run, swim or fly. To the Vézère, ye creatures of mountain, forest and plain. Seek shelter where even the storm wrath may not enter. Woe to ye who neither hear nor heed!”