The Wolf-Men: A Tale of Amazing Adventure in the Under-World by Frank Powell - HTML preview

CHAPTER XXXV.
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-à-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.

END