CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE ARROW-HEAD MEMORIAL TO THE LOST MONBAS TRIBES
The legend of Humoo, or the Lost Arrow, associated with the Giant’s Thumb, one of the wonders of the Yo-Semite Valley, had its origin in the building of the enormous arrow-head in a triangular plateau two thousand feet above the level of the sea, in the ribbon-like convolutions of the San Bernardino Mountains, about six miles from the little village bearing the same name.
The Mexican hero, Santa Anna, is immortalized in the name of the valley stretching southward to the peaks of Temescal, where tin and other ore of value was being formed in nature’s laboratory, as Yermah and his men fashioned the arrow-head[18] which would serve as a memorial stone, an arrow-head burial for the lost Monbas tribes.
A circle intersecting Twin Peaks, in Tlamco, and including the North Dome, in the Yo-Semite, and the arrow-head, is exactly one fifth the diameter of the moon. The dual reference to the mind and to people, always ascribed to the influence of the moon, here found adequate expression in this giant monument. It commemorated the loss of a continent, the extinction of a race, and also pictured the mental anguish of the surviving nations.
The arrow, typical of thought, was composed of disintegrated white quartz on light gray granite, and it stands out bold and white against a dark background of entirely different soil. Short white grass and weeds cover the arrow-head proper, while dark shrubbery and trees mark the surrounding country. So perfect is its contour, so elevated its situation, it can be descried from every part of the valley, and is plainly visible at a distance of thirty miles.
So cunningly was the soil mixed for the molding of the arrow, that the ages since have not caused it to diminish, nor can it be made to support vegetation of a larger growth, or of species common to its surroundings.
The flint points downward, and at its base is a cluster of twenty medicinal springs, famous for their curative powers.
Westward Santa Catalina Island had but recently appeared, and although eighty miles away, it still smoked and rocked, animated by the hidden forces which called it into being.
The blue coast line rises out of the purple mists in the distance like spectral silhouettes. And there are deep cañons in the rugged mountains in the immediate vicinity, carrying ice-cold streams in close proximity to the steam and sulphurous vapors issuing from the boiling springs dotting the narrow pass below.
Yermah did wisely to bring his men south—for the northern mountains were still shaking and spitting black vomit over the valleys at their base.
The heat was too fierce for rain, although the moisture-laden breezes were sucked in from the ocean in perfect hurricanes.
Lying well south, inland, and sheltered by a mountain range, the San Bernardino Valley afforded shelter for distressed man and beast. It was here, and while waiting for seed-time, that the arrow-head was outlined so strangely on the mountain side.
Much that is curious in Indian lore clings to this spot. Like a pillar of fire, the arrow is said to have guided their forefathers to this place, where it finally rested. Evil has been put to flight here more than once.
The Azes’ judges drew the death-circle and square over the breast of the condemned with an arrow, and this is why the arrow-head burial was given Kerœcia and her followers.
The Festival of Humiliation began a period of mourning which was continuous and fervid until this curious monument was completed and dedicated.
While Yermah was away from Tlamco, Orondo served in his stead much to the annoyance of Setos, who was as busy as a mole in the dark, stirring up sedition, and adding to the general unrest and suspicion everywhere manifest.
The high-priest, Imos, at the suggestion of Setos, openly charged that the Brotherhood of the White Star were to blame for the destruction of Atlantis. Some solemn vow had been broken, and Deity was mortally offended.
This assertion gave pestiferous, meddlesome Setos the desired opportunity, and he instituted a severe and rigorous investigation into the conduct of all public affairs; also, into the lives of every man and woman in Tlamco.
No one escaped; nor was any situation sacred to the inquisitors, who in the name of morality did not hesitate to go to any length.
Setos did not dare to openly accuse Yermah of breaking a vow made to the Ineffable One.
He refrained from fixing this unpardonable sin on any other person, and by innuendo and insinuation contrived to strengthen every breath of discontent inherent in the unusual conditions arising from a mixture of races, habits and modes of thought.
He urged Yermah to give all refugees asylum in Tlamco, knowing that enforced idleness and nameless dread opened the mind for seditious propaganda. Both he and Imos insisted strenuously that some one had sinned against Divinity.
This accusation made each one distrustful and suspicious, and in their anxiety to clear themselves many an overt act or word was let loose to strengthen the intangible something which hovered in the air. None pretended to name it; nor was there anything but the most circumspect language used.[19]
Setos knew better than to show his hand. He was content, at present, to merely discredit the Dorado. As to his future plans—time would prove them.
Yermah felt, rather than saw, the change, but he was above indulging a personal grief. He had already consecrated his life to his fellows, so that work was the one thing which absorbed and interested him.
He saw that planting must be confined to the southern part of the country, since steady downpours marked the spring and early summer months.
He also knew it would require his best endeavors to procure food for the ensuing year.
Reports from the Valley of the Mississippi stated that heavy floods had prevailed for months, caused by preponderance of hot air blown over the Rocky Mountains and condensed into rainfall early in the season. The winter months set in with unparalleled rigor, and the spring found that whole country under one solid sheet of ice.
Many of the inhabitants had fled to the south. The exodus to Mexico was in full tide. This migration caused the mysterious race, the Toltecs or the Mayas, to leave their mounds and earthworks, their canals and busy centers, their cities and civilization, to puzzle the antiquarian in later ages.
The earth still moaned and sighed under the impulse of subterranean fire, while the surface froze stiff in the accumulation of waters and low temperature. Man, ever the creature of circumstance, was still panic-stricken, oppressed by dismal forebodings, all his settled faiths rudely shaken, and he an easy prey to cunning and unscrupulous design.
Setos flattered himself that he managed the situation very cleverly when he said to every one whom he met:
“It is rumored that our Grand Servitor intends to marry. Traditional law and custom forbid his remaining in supreme control more than a year without giving promise of succession.”
To which his auditor invariably gave tongue with speculation as upon whom his choice could fall.
“Property and descent are traced through the female side; therefore, he should espouse Ildiko,” said the high-priest Imos. “It is better that pure Atlantian blood should be continued in power.”
Flattering things were said to, and of, Ildiko, until her silly head was in a whirl, and she began to take on grand airs of importance. She snubbed Alcamayn unmercifully, not because she really disliked him, but—to be perverse, especially when her woman’s wit discovered that Rahula cherished hopes of supplanting her in her father’s affection.
Like many a child since, she had no intention of cheering her father’s declining years; nor was she unselfish enough to allow any one else to do so.
She would marry, of course, and would place herself to the best possible advantage, thanks to her father’s influence and position; but gratitude to him or to any one else was entirely foreign to her thoughts. She secretly hated Rahula, because the latter had been like a mother to her; and it gave her keen delight to thwart Rahula’s scheme to marry her to Alcamayn. She was not only dazzled by the prospect of occupying Iaqua, but she knew that this would disappoint and hurt a woman who had unwittingly aroused an unwarranted but common phase of jealousy.
As is often the case, Yermah, the most interested man of them all, was the last to hear the gossip. At first he took no notice. But one day Imos asked him pointedly:
“Wilt thou comply with the demands of the people?”
“If thou wilt name thy wish, I shall answer thee truly,” responded Yermah.
It was in the Temple of the Sun, near the noon hour, and the audience chamber was crowded, Yermah presiding.
“If thou art to be the head of this commonwealth, a helpmeet becomes thy station. Ildiko, daughter of Setos, thy councilor, is of pure blood and comely. Her heirs would be acceptable as future rulers.”
Yermah seemed to shrivel and grow small as the words reached him. He unconsciously assumed an attitude of defense, mechanically passed his hand over his ashen face, and said in a low voice:
“Let this honor in service pass me by!”
Instantly there was tremendous excitement, and Setos’s small pig-eyes emitted a dangerous gleam.
“So he refuses the only chance he has to reign in peace. So be it! I—Setos—will make it cost him his position.”
In the hubbub and confusion, Yermah beckoned to Orondo, and the two stood in earnest converse for a few moments. Finally, the Dorado held up his hand for silence.
“By the will of our beloved Akaza, I am made his successor as hierophant in the exalted Brotherhood. The vow of my boyhood still binds me, and my heart lies buried in the lava-flow of the north. My fellows and brothers, will ye not release me from civic service? The dead have laid imperative commands upon me.”
“It is our duty to obey the ‘Voice of the Silence,’” quickly responded Imos, knowing that reverence for the dead, and for their commands and wishes, was an article of faith with the Azes, and one which Atlantian rulers had always respected.
“He will be hierophant only,” muttered Setos. “Good! His order forbids resort to force, and in case of necessity he can be expelled. It is well to resign what thou art in imminent danger of losing.”
There was an angry scowl on Setos’s red face, and his lips curled scornfully.
Yermah stood with bowed head, and when he attempted to speak his voice was shaken with emotion.
“A sense of gratitude unmans me! I have no wish but to serve ye well. In resigning civic honors I desire to name Orondo as my successor.”
The Dorado turned to Orondo, and giving him his hand, drew him forward, as his astonished auditors recovered their presence of mind and began to cheer. Both men, deadly pale, faced about side by side and bowed gravely.
“The fair and gentle Ildiko will find a good husband in Orondo, and the Azes a Servitor worthy of their fullest confidence. Will ye have it so?”
“Haille! Haille! Haille!” The well-known shout of triumph had something of the heartiness of the olden times.
“Does this arrangement please thee, Setos?” asked Yermah, kindly, taking the hand of Setos in both his own, and reading his countenance closely.
“Since thou wilt no longer serve—Orondo is my second choice,” stammered Setos, politely, if not sincerely.
“And wilt thou have me for thy son?” asked Orondo, simply, but without a shade of animation.
The substitution of men was not so rapid as to prevent Setos from realizing the advantage to himself; so he answered readily and with heartiness:
“No man could desire a better or a more worthy son. Come with me to Ildiko.”
There were several degrees of dignity added to Setos as he linked his arm in Orondo’s and passed out of the building.
The crowd manifested some curiosity, which Setos noted out of the corner of his eye as they went by. If he had failed to win all he had played for, he had at least accomplished something.
Gratified ambition sent a glow of satisfaction through Setos which made him feel quite amiable toward Yermah, despite his fixed determination to either rule or ruin the Dorado—beloved of the people.