Part 14

It is noticeable that Mr. Chase furnishes us with no clue as to the astronomical knowledge of the Antarctic people. We are left to surmise that they believe the earth to be a flat circle about which the sun travels, instead of a revolving orb such as we know it to be. Many other things which seem of importance are also overlooked. We would be glad to know more of the yellow metal once referred to, and something of their minerals and precious stones, which are nowhere mentioned.

Each day we have come to the borders of the lake and viewed this wonderful edifice from afar. When I say “each day,” I mean about as often as that, if time were divided in the old way, and when I say “we” I refer to Chauncey Gale, Mr. Sturritt and myself, also to the Princess and Ferratoni when they chose to honor us, and to such others of the court as cared to follow.

We have meant to cross over to this island, but we could come any time, and when we did come we would have to ascend the long Ladder of the Sun—the steps leading to the top—so it was not well to hurry. To-day, however, is a sort of ceremonial—the end, or somewhere near it, of the first period of their long day, which they divide into four parts, as we do our lunar periods. The Princess and Ferratoni and a train of followers are coming, so we have set out ahead, and are resting here on the upper or topmost terrace, awaiting them.

There are four of these terraces, and they are very high. They represent the four divisions of the day period—the Flowers, the Fruitage, the Harvest, and the Farewell. They are connected by long stairs—two series, on opposite sides of the temple—one for the sun to climb, and one by which it is supposed to descend after the midsummer solstice. As I suspected, the people build their habitations to conform, not only to the earth’s surface, but also to the solar phases, and this temple is their great architectural culmination and model.

In the center of the upper terrace there is carved a huge dial, or calendar, somewhat resembling that used by the Aztecs. It is divided into four equal parts, and two of these into smaller divisions by rays from a central sun, each ray signifying a solar circuit—one hundred and eighty-two and one-half such divisions representing their entire summer day. The other half of the dial is left unilluminated, so to speak, thus to signify the long night. In this dial the point of beginning indicates the direction opposite to that from which we came. Here, also, ends the stairway by which the sun is supposed to climb, and from this direction, out of the unknown and uninhabited lands beyond, a fair river flows into the central lake. Between two hills in the far distance its waters touch the sky, thus forming a narrow gateway on the horizon. And through this come the earliest rays of morning after the period of darkness. The first returning gleams are caught and borne to the waiting people by the ripple of the inward flowing stream. And for this they have named it the “River of Living Dawn.”

Directly across from this is the sun’s descending stairway, and there also, and flowing out of the lake, is the river by which we came. It, too, has a horizon gate, and through it, when its last half-circle is complete, linger the feeble rays of the parting sun. So they have named this the “River of Coming Dark,” and down its still current are sent those to whom night and cold no longer matter.

XXXII. AN OFFERING TO THE SUN.

“Which way is north?” asked Gale, as we looked down at the huge compass-like carving.

“All ways,” I said. “We are at the end of South, here. The center of that diagram is the spot we set out to reach. It is the South Pole.”

Gale reflected on this a moment, and then with something of the old spirit said:

“I’d like to know how anybody is ever going to lay out an addition here! Latitudes and longitudes, and directions, and hemispheres, all mixed up, and no difference in east and west fronts, or afternoon sun.” He paused a moment, and seemed reflecting; then he grew even more like the Gale of earlier days. “Say,” he added suddenly, “but wouldn’t this temple make a great hotel, though! Center of everything, and sun in every window once in twenty-four hours. Do you know, if it wasn’t for Ferratoni, I’d try to make some sort of a—a matrimonial alliance with the Princess, and get her interested in developing this country and stirring things up. I’d pitch that jim-crow electric apparatus, that don’t work, into this lake, and I’d put a light on top of this pyramid that would show from here to the snow-line. Then I’d run an elevator up here, and have trolley cars connecting all over, and steam launches going up and down these rivers.” He paused for breath, and then his face saddened. “But what’s the use, Nick?” he said mournfully. “How is anybody going to do business here? Nobody wants any homes and firesides, or trolleys, or steamboats, and if they did, they haven’t got any money to pay for anything with. Think of it! Not a dollar in the whole country! Not a nickel! Not a red penny!”

It was as the flare of the expiring candle. He ceased. The spell of the country once more lay upon him. The ways of progress such as he had known seemed as far off and forgotten as the cold northern pole beneath us.

Mr. Sturritt looked sad, too, and shook his head silently. There seemed no need of his food preparations in a land where people never journeyed afar, and had ample time to consume the ample stores so lavishly provided by nature, and in such uncondensed forms. Like the rest of us, he would forget, and let the world go by.

We loitered back to the edge of the terrace and looked down. Far below, the Princess and her court were just arriving. We watched them alight from their barges and ascend the stairway that led to the first terrace. They were a fair throng, and the sight from above was beautiful in the extreme. In front there came a troop of singing children with garlands of flowers. Just behind these walked the Princess in her robe of state, and by her side, our companion, Ferratoni, her guest of honor. After them followed the people of the court, young men and maids—all laden with great floral bonds, festooned from one couple to the next in a mighty double chain. There was no solemnity. All were chanting gaily. As they reached the top of each stairway, they paused to face the sun and unite in a jubilant chorus. Truly, I thought, theirs is a religion of joy and goodwill.

“I’m sorry, now, we didn’t wait and come up with the crowd,” said Gale. “Still, we get a better view by not being in it. But will you just look at Tony! Talk about catching on! Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a wedding performance and that Tony had the star part.”

They were near enough now for us to see that Ferratoni’s face was lighted with smiles, and that the Princess, too, looked very happy.

“It is hardly that, yet,” I said, “but I think we need not be surprised at anything. Though such an alliance, I suppose, would require some special dispensation or sanction of the sun.”

“Yes,” assented Gale, “and, by the way, Nick, who is that little yellow-haired girl that is setting up to you—the one that sings a good deal and plays on that little bandolin arrangement—and that other one, Bill, that dark-eyed one who walks about with you so much, holding hands, and wondering how old you could live to be, if you really tried?”

I made no immediate reply, and Mr. Sturritt showed languid confusion.

“I—that is——” he began, “she—she is——”

“I think,” I interposed, “she is a cousin to that very delightful little auburn-haired creature, who sits all day at the feet of our Admiral, listening to “How Doth the Little Busy Bee” and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

“Nick,” said Gale, “if anything should happen that we ever did get out of this snap, and back to—to people—the yacht, and Biff, and Johnnie, I mean—I suppose it would be just as well not to mention some of the things that happen down here. They wouldn’t quite understand the conditions, you see—the—the atmosphere, as the artists say—the poetry of it, you know. You wouldn’t want to say anything, yourself——”

He was interrupted at this point by the arrival on our terrace of the singing children. I had no opportunity to reply, but I did not at once join very heartily in the ceremonies.

The latter were very simple, and consisted of little more than a continuance of the marching and singing, with a pause at short intervals to shout a great pæan to their divinity. Then there ensued a wonderfully graceful dance, and after this a marvellous floral decoration of the entire temple, within and without. In this the Princess took but a brief initiatory part, and presently, when the upper terrace was finished, most of her followers descended to the work below, leaving with her only her ladies-in-waiting, a few gentlemen of the court, and ourselves.

We reclined among the flowers, and for a time there was a silence, broken only by the distant singing voices of those still busy below. It seemed a sort of benediction after the offering, and then for some reason there came upon me a feeling like that when at the opera the curtain descends and the chorus dies into the distance; the feeling that something is over and completed—that something new and different is about to begin.

XXXIII. THE TOUCH OF LIFE.

The music below grew fainter and died. Those with us upon the terrace remained silent, awaiting the pleasure of the Princess. When she spoke at last it was to Ferratoni, and then I noticed for the first time that he had brought, or caused to be brought, a little case which I recognized as one of his telephones. We had known that for the entertainment of the Princess he had been experimenting with his materials, and we realized that he was about to demonstrate from the elevation of the temple the practicability of his invention. Remembering what we had been told of the national prejudice against mechanical progress, I momentarily doubted the wisdom of such an exhibition, but reflected that with the approval of the Princess the result could hardly be otherwise than pleasant. Those who remained with us seemed also to encourage the experiment, and showed some interest as to the outcome.

They were those of the inner household. Among them were the three to whom Chauncey Gale, Mr. Sturritt and myself had paid some slight social attention (the merest courtesies, indeed, as courtesies go in that land) since our arrival in the Lilied Hills.

Ferratoni now arranged the telephone apparatus and adjusted it carefully, explaining to us, meantime, that he had constructed another which he had left at the palace below, whence a little party of those returning would presently communicate with us. When all was ready, he touched the annunciator bell, but there came no response. Evidently those who were to answer had not yet reached the palace. We waited a little in expectant silence—then once more he touched the bell. Still no response—our friends at court were proceeding but leisurely, as was their wont. Indeed a mental communication just then established the fact that they had paused for refreshments in the palace gardens. I thought Ferratoni looked a little annoyed. He was anxious, I suppose, to please the Princess, though the latter showed no impatience. Refreshments and pausing were the peaceful characteristics of her gentle race.

While we waited I found myself recalling some of the former times when the little telephone had brought messages from the unseen. I recalled the first trial, when we were frozen in the pack, and Edith Gale and I had carried it to the top of the lonely berg, and so listened to Ferratoni’s mysterious message from the ship—the message all now could understand. I remembered, too, the chill waiting on the top of the Pacemaker when voices from the Billowcrest heartened me and gave me comfort and hope. And then there came the recollection of the weary days when, toiling down the great white way, we had been cheered and encouraged by the voices of those behind, and of the desolate nights when I had found peace and repose in the soothing influence of “Old Brown Cows.”

Recalling these things dreamily, I was almost as much startled as the listless ones about us, when suddenly on the little telephone in our midst there came a sharp returning ring. Not a timid and hesitating signal, as from one unused and half afraid, but emphatic, eager and prolonged. There was something about it that thrilled me, and I saw Chauncey Gale suddenly sit upright. Ferratoni, however, quickly handed the transmitter to the Princess, and held the receiver to her ear. But as she listened there came into her face only a strange, puzzled expression, and she did not answer. Instead, she returned the transmitter to Ferratoni, who now held the receiver to his own ear. For a moment only, then hastily turning, and with eager, outstretched hands he held the telephone complete toward Chauncey Gale and me!

We grabbed for it as children scramble for a toy. It was an unseemly display to those serene ones about us, and in a brief instant must have damaged their good opinion of us, and their regard. We did not think of that, and we did not care. We knew that in that telephone were voices for us only—voices long silent to us—at times almost forgotten,—but that now, from far across the snowy wastes and scented fields, were calling us to awake, and remember, and reply.

I seized the receiver. Gale, who had managed to get hold of the transmitter, commenced shouting in it.

“Hello! Hello, Johnnie! Hello! Hello! Why don’t you answer?” Then, suddenly realizing that I held the receiver, he snatched it to his own ear, but not before I had caught a few brief joyous words in the voice of Edith Gale.

“Yes, it’s us!” he called frantically. “All right, yes!—Yes, as well and happy as—that is, of course we’re awful homesick!—I mean not suffering any.—Yes, warm, and fine country!—Oh, yes, nice people!—Girls? Oh, yes.—N—no, I don’t think you’d think so—some people might, but we don’t. Matter of taste, you know.—How’s the ship?—That’s good.—Biff, too?—What? Oh, ice out of the bay. Bully!—No—it didn’t work till just now. Too low down.—Why, on top of the South Pole.—Ha, ha, yes.—No. Temple of worship.—Yes, high! High as Washington monument!—Why didn’t we try it before?—Why, we—that is—we’ve been busy—very busy!—Doing? Us? Oh, why, we’ve been—that is—we—we’ve been studying habits—and customs—customs of the people.—Yes, interesting.—Yes.”

I had been so absorbed in Gale’s one-sided dialogue that I had forgotten the presence of those about us. He ceased speaking now, for a moment, evidently listening to a lengthier communication. Recalling myself, I glanced about at the others, wondering how much or how little of it they had comprehended. Probably very little, yet the effect upon them had been startling. They had witnessed our sudden transformation from people not greatly different to themselves into what must have appeared to them unholy barbarians—wild untamed savages, awakened to a fierce and to them brutal frenzy by the unseen electric summons. In their faces was a horror and condemnation never before written there. An awakening, indeed, had followed the galvanic touch. Gale, all unconscious of this, now broke loose again.

“No, we haven’t done anything yet in that line. They don’t need any missionary work here, or homes, but they need everything else. I was just telling Nick a scheme a while ago. We felt a little discouraged, then, because we couldn’t get word from the ship, but I’m waked up now, and we’ll make things hum. We’ll get franchises from the government for electric lights and trolley lines, and steamboat traffic, and we’ll build some factories, and I’ll put a head-light on this temple, and an elevator inside, and we’ll lay out additions in all directions. Vacant property here as far as you can see, and just going to waste. Of course we’ll have to fix up some easy way to get people over the ice-wall, and run sledge trains over the snow between here and Bottle Bay, like they do in the Klondike. It may take a year or two to get the place opened up, but we can do it, and when we do, it’ll be the greatest spot on earth. We didn’t know just how we were going to get out of here before, though we haven’t worried any, but now you and Biff can take the yacht back to New York and make up a big expedition. You’ll have to bring a lot of stuff we didn’t have this time, and a lot of money—small money—silver change, and nickels. These jays haven’t got any, and don’t know what it is, but it won’t take ’em long to find out when they find they can get it for some of their stuff and give it back for trolley rides. Nick and I’ll just camp right up here on this temple, and we’ll plan the whole thing, so——”

But Ferratoni, who had risen, at this point laid his hand on Gale’s arm. I did not hear what he whispered, but Gale suddenly handed me the apparatus, and they drew apart. I was anxious to talk with Edith, but I had been taking note of those about us, and I had rather more anxiety just then concerning developments close at hand. Gale and Ferratoni stood before the Princess and the others assembled near. The Princess began speaking and Ferratoni translated to Gale, whose knowledge of the Antarctic converse was an uncertain quantity. Mr. Sturritt and I drew into the circle to listen. Perhaps not for a thousand years had there been such a turbulence of spirit in the Land of the Sloping Sun.

The Princess and the others, Ferratoni said, had been able to understand, through him, something of Mr. Gale’s plans, as briefly outlined to his daughter. As a people they were opposed to such innovations, and they earnestly deprecated the state of mind and sudden change of attitude occasioned in us by the renewal of the telephone connection with our vessel and friends.

They reasoned, he said, that if a very small thing like the telephone had produced upon us results so manifest, and so unpleasant to behold, they were sure that still larger mechanisms—of the size of a trolley car, for instance—would be a national calamity, and result only in demoralization and ruin. They therefore protested most vigorously against a further pursuit of these schemes, and suggested that even the telephone itself be instantly demolished.

The Princess, personally, was not opposed to any appliance that would benefit her people without destroying their lives or repose of spirit, but the radical changes contemplated in the mind of our Admiral were abhorrent to her, and she would not be responsible for our welfare or even our personal safety unless these plans were immediately abandoned. The matter of some new means of dispelling the long dark she would be glad to consider. Even some easier method of ascending the temple might——

But this gave Gale an opportunity to present his case, which he did with considerable force. He made an address in favor of mechanical progress, well worthy of recording here if I could remember it. Ferratoni translated rapidly, and I could see that the Princess and her companion were somewhat impressed. As had been shown by her attempted invention for lighting, she was really more inclined to such advancement than most of her race, while those about her were the staunchest of her followers. She made little reply, however, to Gale’s speech, though her general attitude suggested that the matter in it might be taken under advisement. The telephone was not immediately destroyed, and I was now permitted to have a brief and quiet conversation with Edith Gale—a conversation which the reader’s imagination will best supply.

At the end I had spoken of the rare beauty and qualities of the Princess and how we were trying to convert her to our way of thinking.

“Is she really so beautiful? And are the others too? Daddy thought I wouldn’t care for them——”

“Um—did he? Oh, but you’d love the Princess. She is so beautiful and so—so gentle——”

A pause, then—

“Nicholas!—_Hello! Nicholas!_”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t try to convert the Princess, if I were you!”

As we prepared to descend to the waiting barges, Gale was inclined to be in good spirits over the prospect ahead. But I noticed that the Princess seemed more disquieted than I had ever seen her, and that Ferratoni, and the others, looked somber and unhappy.

And now, too, for the first time since our arrival, we saw that a storm-cloud had gathered upon the horizon—a blackness that rose swiftly and extinguished the sun.

Quick lightning parted it here and there and the roll of distant thunder came ominously. A portentous dark settled on the lands below us, and the waters of the lake became spectral. A few drops of rain fell.

A canopy was brought from the temple and lifted above the Princess. Silence came upon us. The smile faded from Gale’s features, and Mr. Sturritt’s face grew pale and anxious.

For myself, I had the feeling of being a part of some weird half-waking dream, in which fact and fantastic imagery mingled with a sense of heavy foreboding. Only the recent words of Edith Gale lingered as a ray from some far-off beacon.

XXXIV. THE PARDON OF LOVE.

In the Antarctic land, news is the one thing that travels fast. Thought still moves with comparative quickness there, and whatever lies in the mind of one is as though put on a bulletin board, to become the property of all.

Through the darkness of the approaching storm we saw before we reached the foot of the stairway the gathering of many torches on the shore beyond. Evidently there was some unusual movement abroad which could not be wholly due to the coming tempest. In the gathering dusk I saw now that the faces of those about us were filled with deep and increasing concern. At the water’s edge Ferratoni turned to us and said hurriedly:

“The people are much aroused at the plans we have discussed on the temple. They believe the innovations proposed would destroy their present mode of life and result in their downfall as a race. They believe, too, that the Sun has darkened in anger, and they have joined it yonder in a great protest against us. The Princess considers it unsafe that we should cross over until she has pacified them with her presence. She asks that we keep here the smaller barge, and remain for the present in the sanctity of the temple, where harm may not befall us. She will communicate with me mentally, and inform us as to further advisabilities.”

We gazed across at the torches that were now crowding to the water’s edge. Gale had said that we would make things hum, but he had not counted on the humming beginning with such promptness. A medley of mingled voices and angry shouts was borne to us by the cool air that preceded the coming storm. We could see faces distorted by the torch-flare and strange rage until they had lost all semblance to those of the gentle people we had known. The old savagery of the benighted and unsceptred race that two thousand years before had been eager to destroy the gentle prophet risen among them, and that again long afterwards had sought the life of him who would harness the winds to serve them, was once more abroad, and its cry was for blood.

“But see here, Tony,” protested Gale. “We’re not going to let the Princess and these friends of ours go over into that mob. I stirred up this racket, and I’ll see it through. Any one of us can handle a dozen of those sissies. They might make a set at their own people, but four fellows like us can wade through them like a cyclone.”