CHAPTER V
PROFESSOR LESSAUTION’S OPINION
It was a hot, damp, oppressive October evening when our little coasting steamer deposited us at Greytown, whither we had come after being landed by the Pacific Mail at Colon. Gerry and I fought our way ashore amid the crowd of niggers and half-castes of varying degree, while the melancholy Baines brought up the rear, eyeing doubtfully the all too easy porterage afforded our baggage by the longshore loafers who had annexed it tumultuously.
Baines had accompanied us under strong compulsion, and only by the promise of a stipend that many a weary curate would have deemed beyond the dreams of avarice. When the point was mooted—and we felt that his experience was a thing worth struggling for—he had met our proposals with a flat refusal. He had explained emphatically that he had already had sufficient, for one life at least, of irruptions into the tangle of primeval forests where the dark green abyss of jungle made twilight eternally. Where, as he forcibly expressed it, the crawling beasts of peculiar noisomeness were thick as flies upon a butcher’s stall; where the water was soup and the soup water; where the grey mists of malaria enveloped one as with a blanket of ague germs. All these things, as I say, were contrary to him. But the financial allurements held out to him, and the magic of Gerry’s silver tongue had prevailed, and now he conducted us personally, though lugubriously. He it was who hustled a way eventually for us to the wretched inn, and set himself to prepare our morrow’s transport.
Nothing, we ascertained, had been seen or heard of M. Lessaution, and it was therefore to be supposed that he was still encamped amid the ruins of Chichitza. By noon the next day we had accumulated our carriers, and set forth a half-day’s stage in that direction before evening, full of excitement in our quest, and of hopes of adventure in the attaining of it. For now that we found ourselves in these tropic wilds, visions of encounters with savage man and beast loomed largely before our mind’s eye.
A greater disappointment than the reality I have seldom, if ever, had to undergo. Instead of varied and delightful travel, enlivened by brilliant experiences of peril at the hands of the aborigines, or the claws of the forest denizens, the advance was simply one long, perpetual grind. Eternally we hewed our devious way through the thickest brush which exists, as I believe, on this earth. Every moment of the day and night were we devoured by mosquitoes and other noxious beasts, including “jiggers,” which lamed us both for the best part of a week. Nothing did we eat save cassava bread and the perpetual monkey and porcupine steak, and over every portion of our bodies were we covered with enormous tropical boils, by reason of which we rested not day nor night. So in stupendous misery did we proceed to Chichitza, seeing neither man nor beast of the slightest import during the whole ten days we spent in the transit.
Well do I remember our arrival at the ruins. The last few miles we had stumbled on a faint track among the creeping lianas and spiky aloes, and Gerry and I, hearing that the end of our quest was only a matter of an hour or two, had begun to head the party with some small show of élan. Thus as we strode hopefully through the endless gloom, we saw a ray of blessed sunlight flicker down between the masses of dense foliage about a quarter of a mile ahead, and yelled with pure delight at the sight, the monkeys and parrots answering back defiantly. Then we took to our heels and ran like lamplighters down the aisles of rotting logs that lay between us and the gladsome shaft of brightness, shouting uproariously.
Still sprinting we emerged suddenly into an encampment where white civilized tents gleamed in the noon-day sun—oh, the loveliness of open skies—and tripped with startled outcry upon their pegs, rolling at the feet of a little wan, wizened, black-bearded man, who stared down upon us with timorous amazement.
It did not take his invocation of the sacred name of a pig to convince me that we had in very truth stumbled upon our man. I rose and bowed to him with dignity.
“I believe,” said I in French, “that I have the honour to address M. le Professeur Lessaution? Allow me to introduce myself as Lord Heatherslie, and this gentleman as Mr. Gerald Carver, of her Majesty’s Regiment of Foot Guards.”
He flung up his arms ecstatically. “But what a joy!” he shrieked in his native tongue. “Monsieur has not failed me. But I convinced myself that a gentleman of monsieur’s blood would not. I said no, it is not possible that any Englishman with his native love of adventure will forsake this so great quest. Monsieur, I have the honor to embrace you with all my heart,” and he’d have done it too, not only with his heart, but with his lean little arms, if I had not dexterously caught his tempestuous hands and wrung them with an effusion that left him too exhausted for more familiar demonstrations.
When Gerry had also evaded the luscious raptures that the good little man in the fulness of his soul would have inflicted on him also, and the ingenuous abandon had somewhat subsided, we proceeded to explain ourselves, detailing under what circumstances we had received his message, how we had been affected thereby, and how our purpose to visit him had grown into fulfilment. Then tremblingly he demanded if we had with us the original document, and satisfied about this by its exhibition beneath his sparkling eyes, turned to evolve an entertainment worthy of the occasion. Meanwhile we sought changes of raiment—by this time our carriers had overtaken us—baths, and such-like luxuries which we had been without for ten long and weary days.
As we emerged again into the sunlight—and how we revelled in it, hot as it was—we found our host in the full ardour of hospitality. He was dashing about from tent to tent, cuffing relentlessly those of his servants who failed exactly to meet his behests, personally superintending the cook, and flitting from saucepan to saucepan with strange bottles and jars of piquancies like a very cordon-bleu. The result, when we sat ourselves down before it half-an-hour later, was in every way a success.
Finally, as the coffee circulated in choice little cups, and pipes and cigars were lit, and contentment sat upon every brow, the little chap proceeded to open the conference, speaking as one who conducted a very rite, rather than a mere discussion.
“In the first place,” said the little man, speaking in French, “I have to ask your pardon, M. de Heatherslie, for the attempt I made to deprive your uncle’s servant, the good Baines, of the contents of the dispatch-box with which he charged himself so rigorously. My action was inexcusable, I admit. But, on the other hand, put yourself in my place. Look you that your uncle and I together had toiled months—weeks, at the least—to elucidate the symbol of this document—this so ancient document in which many things of the most curious may be recorded. And understand also that we are very near the conclusion of the matter. At this precise moment Monsieur Baines takes from beneath my eyes the prize for which I have toiled so laboriously. Do you not imagine, therefore, that I feel a distress that is cruel—that I bemoan his obstinacy—that I endeavour by any means to alter his decision? Tell me this, and at the same time accord me your forgiveness for my hastiness.”
“I think,” said I, beaming upon him benignantly, “that you must have exercised great restraint, my dear Monsieur Lessaution, in refraining from destroying him and rifling his body. Let us forget this absurd incident. Happily we have returned to you the means of doing so. Here is the paper, and here are we, boiling over with curiosity to get a translation. Are you now in a position to give it?”
He bowed impressively, his soft little brown eyes gleaming gratefully at me from behind his spectacles. Then he continued his discourse.
“It may have come to your ears, my friends, that I have for some time convinced myself that the interpretation of the Mayan cabalistics, which you see here graven upon these mighty ruins”—and he waved his arms solemnly towards the grey walls that showed dimly through the foliage—“is to be found by comparing them with the ancient Egyptian symbol. This I have now proved beyond a doubt to be correct. But this being so, only half the battle is won. I arrive at the language spoken some centuries ago by the inhabitants of the Mayan Empire. To translate this language I must find its connecting link with the Mayan of the present day—and this is but a bastard patois of the original, being corrupted with Indian. But by familiarizing myself with Mayan, as the people of the country speak it to-day, I have made long strides in solving the twisted carvings of these ancient monuments. It was at the point where your late uncle and I had decided that some knowledge of colloquial Mayan was necessary to further our plans that he unfortunately contracted the illness which proved fatal to him. During the last two months I have familiarized myself with this language. I say it with due humility, but I believe with some certainty that in the course of a short time I shall decipher the document. But supposing this done, shall you be guided by the result?”
“That’s just a little too previous a question,” said I. “Don’t you think you had better get the answer to the Mayan conundrum before you embarrass us with plans which have as yet no basis to start from?”
“But surely you have seen the letter of your great ancestor, who was the original discoverer of this document? Naturally the translation will show us where to seek this lost people.”
He was so serious about it, not to say so cock-sure, that I nearly imperilled our friendship by laughing in his face. To my stolid British mind, the conclusive way in which he took my romancing old ancestor’s yarn as gospel truth struck me as humorous. But I preserved a staid demeanor as I answered.
“Let me assure you, monsieur,” said I, “that I shall feel it my duty to be guided in this matter by your advice. But before we discuss hypothetical questions, let us endeavour to deal with facts. Take then this paper and apply to it your knowledge. I have great pleasure in handing it over to your care.”
It might have been an insignia of knighthood at the least, judging by the reverence with which he received the musty relic. In a very fury of grateful protestation he bore it to his tent and surrounded himself with a mass of papers, books, and references. And there through the live-long day he continued to sit amid his piled accumulations of literary matter. The door of his tent was ever open, and our view of his actions unimpeded. Fatigued by the stress of ten days’ marching, Gerry and I were only too glad to rest beneath the shade of a great granadillo tree and smoke the pipe of peace, and the sight of the little man’s energy was a restful tonic to our jaded constitutions. He flung himself upon his task like a navvy. From book to book he flew, and from note to note. He dodged about from one heap of manuscript to another like a little robin picking crumbs in the snow. He jerked his little head from side to side as he annotated and compared with the eager, intelligent air of a fox-terrier before a rabbit-hole. He sweated, he tore his hair, he seized his head between his hands in a very travail of mental effort. The sheets of foolscap flew beneath the touch of his practised fingers. Symbol after symbol gave up its secret as he travelled down the lines of interwoven cabalistics. The copper-plate of his translation grew in volume steadily; the pace increased rapidly as he neared the end. Not a word did we offer, not a suggestion did we make. Apathetically we listened to his curses or smiled at his squeals of triumph as the figures alternately obstructed or fell before him. Finally, as the tropic night closed in with the swiftness of a curtain’s dropping, he gave a yell of frantic joy and bounded out of his lair, waving the completed copy with terrific gesticulation. He thrust it into my hand, still shouting.
“Aha, aha! it is done, it is complete. I have them, the great race of Maya. Before the world we shall present them. We shall say, Behold the glories of so long ago, and to us will be the honour—the so great honor of the discovery. Read, then, read, and say if I have not succeeded,” and with his eyes aflame he hovered round me, waving his ten fingers ecstatically.
Here is what I found writ down in artistic French, and render into my own bald native tongue:
“From Huanhac, leader of the migration of the people of Cay, greeting to Camazmag, priest of Cay and overlord of the people who remain in the land of Mayax.
“This to inform you that to the people of the migration is come prosperity and great honour, for indeed we have found the habitation of the god Cay himself. For having put out into the deep after our departure, behold a great tempest arose swiftly bearing us south, and for the space of fifteen days we saw naught but water and a sky of doom. On the sixteenth day, when both water and victual were vanished from among us, we came to regions of much ice—ice in comparison with which that upon the mountains of the Northland is as naught, at the which were we dismayed, expecting death by cold and hunger, but the purpose of the god was upon us. For as we drifted through the lanes of ice, a great wall rose before us, high and implacable, nor could we anywhere perceive a break therein. So for some hours we were tossed by changing currents, fearing instant destruction against the frowning crags. Then of a sudden Carfag, of the tribe of Xibalab, being in the leading ship, called aloud, saying that round a jutting peak of rock before him a bay was opening, which passage was exceeding intricate, and might pass unnoticed. So following Carfag we rounded the cape and found still water and a sandy sloping beach. There we landed amidst a crowd of sitting sea-birds and sea-beasts of surprising magnitude, the which were not scaled as fish, but furred as foxes. Yet all was rock and pebbles, nor had we means to light a fire, save with such lumber from the ships as we could spare.
“But as we wandered further up the foreshore, there ran ridge-like across the face of rock a line of black stone having the similitude of wood, and with the marks of ferns therein. This some of us knew would burn, having seen the like in the Northland.
“Then lit we fires, and smote over unresisting some of the great birds which without fear sat upon the sand, and roasted them to make a meal therefrom. As the fume of their roasting went up savorily upon the air, and all prepared to satisfy their hunger, behold one lifted up his eyes towards the land and cried aloud in awe and great terror, for thence came down towards us the god Cay himself in flesh apparent, his mouth agape as if demanding sacrifice. Then consulted we hurriedly upon the honor which had thus befallen us of the migration—shown now of a surety to be in direct favor of the god—and selecting Alfa, daughter of Halmac, as fairest, bound her for sacrifice. Her we thrust forth into the path of the god, though Hardal, to whom the maid was promised, would have stayed us. Then came Cay in his bodily shape, and did take the maid, and did eat her in token of blessing and acceptance to us his faithful people, and Hardal, seeing his bride rent and dismembered, ran forth to the feet of the god, and was himself devoured also. After which did Cay withdraw himself from our reverent and astonished eyes, and we gave thanks that he in his mercy had guided us to his own abode, though verily the land is passing savage and barren of every growing thing.
“So we hasted and collected of our stores and put them on our best ship, and have sent unto you Migdal and six of our bravest youth, that you too may come to the land which Cay himself hath deigned to bless. In witness whereof hereunto I subscribe the sign of the god, fervently desiring that to you may be given his protection until you also come to his own seat.
“HUANHAC, priest of Cay, and chief
of the migration.”
I handed the paper on to Gerry without a word of comment, and then turned to Lessaution with questioning eyes. He was sitting opposite me chuckling and bubbling away in an indescribable manner. He beat his little hands together, digging at the soft earth with his restless heels while Gerry also digested this astounding rigmarole, evidently bursting with the desire to speak, but restraining himself till he could spring his fatuous surprises upon us both together. For the next five minutes he made the most hideous and unconscious faces at me, winking and smirking meaningly as he caught the emotions flitting swiftly across Gerry’s features, and finally, as the latter laid down the paper with a low whistle of astonishment and incredulity, he poured forth his abounding triumph boisterously.
“You see, my friends, you see?” he shouted. “It is as plain—but yes—as plain as the great temple behind you. You have heard, you have read of the great wall of the unknown lands of the Antarctic? You have remembered what M. Borchgrevink has told? Of the great cliff that stands up unclimbable from the ocean? There they have gone. It is there they have founded their new empire in the land that no man has discovered. It is all in one with the letter of the good Sir Dorinecourte of long ago. Where but there could it be? Where is the ice? Where else the great cliffs? We will go to them. We will discover them again. To the world we will present this ancient race, and to us will be a glory that we cannot as yet dream of. We shall be the great ones of the century. The discoverers of the peoples of yesterday. What do you say? Hein? Hein? Hein?” and he grunted like an inquiring pig.
“My dear Professor,” said I patiently, “you don’t really mean to imply that you believe that this race exists to the present day? Why, they’ve perished long ago by cold and hunger; or been eaten by their god. I must say that I think I may safely take this document to be—let us say—an allegory, written by some mendacious old priest for wicked purposes of his own. The story of the god Cay is quite sufficient to show the absurdity of it. How on earth could such a monstrous impossibility have ever walked the earth either in the Antarctic or anywhere else?”
“My friend, my friend,” he babbled, his words nearly tripping over each other in his hurry, “it is not so; I assure you of it. Let us even allow that the race is dead. But the remains of the wonderful people exist. We can go, we can dig, we can find the traces. And remember the gold. We go not for honor alone—though for me, I am French, and it is enough—but there will be the gold. Think of the very baling-vessels made of gold in the letter of the great Sir Dorinecourte. There will be wealth, and the fame—oh, the very great, magnificent fame.”
I tried to be tolerant with the enthusiastic little ass, but I will own that his credulity was altogether too much for me.
“You have not yet answered my question about the god Cay,” I replied. “How do you propose to explain that very obvious falsehood?”
“And you think all this is a lie,” he bawled, “just because this priest wove a little religion into his message? And who are we to say that it is not true? Have we been behind that wall of rock where these people remain either alive or dead? How then can we decide what is there or has been there? It will be time enough to say what exists or does not exist when we have made examination.”
Now did one ever hear such nonsense? There may be a queer thing or two loose about the earth, but to ask one to believe that a terror such as that depicted at the foot of the Mayan scroll was alive and being worshipped not much more than three centuries ago was a trifle too much. I said so with no uncertain sound.
“M. de Heatherslie,” answered the little man gravely, “you speak of what you do not know. What is that your poet says? There are more things in heaven and earth than your poor little philosophy thinks of. Why, tell me, are you convinced that such a monster cannot have existed? You but repeat what the ignorant said to M. de Chaillu about the gorilla.”
“Humbug,” said I, getting warm. “Monkeys there always have been, and monkeys there always will be. If this monster was like anything that nature ever invented there might possibly be something in it. But it’s a thing utterly outrageous. Who ever saw a hippopotamus with the neck of a giraffe and the legs of a lizard? and that is practically what the mythological god Cay is, both on the scroll and on the ruins here,” for we had found more representations of the loathsome divinity studded into the twisted inscriptions on the facades and walls of the temples.
As the discussion grew he began to light up as well. “Monsieur,” he squealed, with glowing eyes, “I endeavor to say it with courtesy, but you are ignorant and obstinate. You have slept away your life in the fogs of England; you think that there is nothing worth considering in the world that has not the cachet of Piccadilly. I tell you—I affirm to you—that I believe that far away in the unknown South much may have happened—much may still be happening. We are ignorant, you and I, but there is no reason that we should not learn. I have translated to you this document. I give to you my opinions on it. I say that it should be investigated, and to your family is due the first chance of investigation, if only out of respect to the honour of your uncle, who is unfortunately dead. But if you throw away this chance, then I claim the right to give this honor to France—my country. But I beg you to remember that I beseech you to make use of your knowledge first, that afterwards there may be no recriminations.”
I bowed sneeringly. “You do me too much honor,” I replied sarcastically, “for I can imagine that every savant in France is yearning to stand in my shoes. Why, heavens, man! do you think there’s a fool big enough to back you anywhere between Dunkirk and Marseilles?”
He glowered at me malignantly, flapping his hands against the turf. “Monsieur wishes me to infer then that I am a fool?” he queried coldly. “I accept monsieur’s compliment in the spirit in which it is dealt to me. But let me tell monsieur this. He may have the wealth, he may have the courage, he may think he has the wisdom of the century at his back, but he has no spirituality, and, I say it with assurance, but little intellectuality. He is crusted in conservative unbelief like an oyster in his shell. With all his practical qualities I pity him,” and he swept his hands abroad with a wave of disdain that was dramatic in its haughtiness.
You will perceive that the makings of a good quarrel were here, however absurd the subject. A sentence or two more and I and the little ass would have been, figuratively, at each other’s throats. Here Gerry stepped into the breach.
“Jack, you’re in the wrong; and what’s more, when you’re cool, you’ll own it. What’s the good of looking black at another gentleman simply because he differs from you in a matter of opinion? The remedy lies in your own hands. M. Lessaution tells you that if you sail in a certain direction he has good reason to believe that you will find certain things, or the remains of certain things, which he judges to be of importance. Well, sail there. We’ve a very great desire for something exciting to do just at present, and here you have an ancient family quest ready to your hand. I can’t imagine anything that could possibly improve upon such a providentially given chance. You’ve got the money for it, and the health, and last, but not least, you’ve got two companions ready to accompany you. If you’ve any spirit left in you, go,” and as he concluded his lecture he smote me resoundingly on the back.
I failed to see sense in this any more than in the Frenchman’s hare-brained purposes, but a sudden thought had come with glowing swiftness into my mind. I turned hastily to Lessaution, who was regarding me with anxious inquiry, and asked him a question.
“Supposing,” said I, “only supposing, we were to sail due south to the land which you believe to exist beyond Cape Horn, how should we proceed?”
“We should of course make the Falkland Islands our base, and steer a directly southern course from there. They would be the nearest inhabited land.”
I pondered this information silently, ruminating various matters in my mind. Finally I turned benignantly towards the Professor, and seized his hand.
“Monsieur Lessaution,” said I, “I will say frankly that I do not believe that we shall find a vestige of this extinct race, and I am inclined to think that both the English letter and the Mayan document are frauds. But I want relaxation and excitement, and I believe the cruise may possibly do me all the good in the world. We will return to England and find out the cost of equipping a yacht for sailing in these latitudes. If my man of business advises me that I am in a position to undertake it, I shall do so. And I request the pleasure of your company if this proposal becomes an accomplished fact.”
His sallow little cheeks flushed up with pleasure, and he shook my proffered hand violently.
“I was not mistaken in you, Monsieur de Heatherslie,” he said, with dignity. “I felt that no man of your adventurous race would fail at a chance like this. Receive my congratulations on your decision, and my regrets that I used unpardonable adjectives to goad you into it. You will find me, I trust, not unworthy of the honour you have done me.”
Gerry used less set terms in his address. “Thanks, old man,” he remarked complacently; “I should like to come, though you haven’t asked me. And now all’s settled peacefully, let’s have a drink,” and he headed the procession which advanced with much unanimity upon the dining tent.
But I felt a hypocrite and a pretender. For what had influenced my decision was simply a sentence culled from the published itinerary of the s.s. Madagascar’s winter’s cruise. And it ran thus—
“On or about February 6, Port Lewis in the Falkland Isles, previous to her return home.”