CHAPTER THIRTY
YERMAH RETURNS TO THE MOUNTAIN PEAKS OF ATLANTIS
The remnant of the survivors obeyed the will of Yermah, the leader, and for one year he was a recluse, giving himself up to solitary meditation, save when Gautama came to converse with him.
In that time Yermah developed rectitude of judgment, correct appreciation, breadth of view, and an all-roundness of perception, habitually associated with a well-balanced and perfectly poised mind and character.
As an initiate, he had marvelous sensibility vibrating to, and stirred by the faintest touch, yet remaining steadfast in purpose, because he saw all things in their proper proportion and estimated them at their real value.
Possessed of discrimination, Yermah perceived the relative permanency of all that had befallen him. Measuring all by the standard of the Eternal, he was not swept out of equilibrium by any temporary or illusive appearance.
Exaggeration, over-coloring, all that savored of unreality or falsehood, was absolutely foreign to his nature. Yermah, the hierophant, was no cold abstraction, too self-absorbed to think and to feel deeply—but he was strong in the love that gives, equally joyful though he who received knew not the source. He never repaid injury or scorn. This quality showed itself in many ways.
In quick and ready sympathy; in alertness to see; in watchfulness to note the needs of the hour; in the constant, instinctive attitude of mind which spontaneously saw and felt every opportunity to give—whether it were service or sympathy, silence or speech, presence or absence—in short every attribute of character defining utter selflessness, rounded and molded the strong individuality of YERMAH, THE DORADO.
When the recluse began to mingle freely with the Brotherhood, he was quickly made aware of all that was transpiring, not only in the pueblo of Cholula, but also among outside colonies.
There was never a day when some pilgrim did not climb the zigzag stairways to see, and to receive advice from him. No attention was paid to their comings and goings, and it was not thought unusual when a stranger approached and asked for Yermah.
“Cezardis, why hast thou left Tlamco?” asked Yermah, as he embraced his visitor.
“I am come to request thee to return. Thou hast many devoted friends there to mourn thy absence.”
“Is not Setos master of the councilmen?”
“Yes; and he has most grievously taxed and outraged the Azes.”
“I am not surprised,” said Yermah, calmly. “He is by nature fiery and imperious, combative and bloodthirsty. The restraining influence of Saturn held him in check for a time, but now it will add malefic tendencies.”
“Of late, he has been trying to bring about chemical affinities, investigating secret laws, and dabbling in the knowledge forbidden an earthy mortal. He overeats, and sends in haste for a shaman and priest while all Tlamco waits. He will allow no business transacted when he is sick. Fully half our time is spent in the temples praying for him. We have no choice, as he is the self-appointed guardian of our morals and compels attendance.”
Cezardis’s words, looks and actions betrayed his feelings.
“How is it with Imos?”
“He is given unlimited power, because he allowed Setos to espouse Oahspe, the vestal. This power he uses to advance his own interests.”
“Dost thou say Setos hath another wife? I gave him Rahula.”
“So thou didst. But she bore him no heir; and on this pretext, Setos has two wives, instead of one; and, he makes it lawful for any man to do the same.”
“Poor hot-tempered Rahula! How doth she bear the new affliction?”
“She hath obliterated her own individuality until she is an echo whom Setos values no more than the mats under his feet.”
Yermah sent Cezardis away for rest and refreshment before giving an answer, when he was again urged to return to Tlamco.
As soon as he was alone Yermah’s mind reverted to its normal condition, and he was entirely dispassionate in his reply.
“I cannot comply with thy wishes, Cezardis,” he said. “Not that I dread the conflict inevitable with the overthrow of Setos. I have another and more difficult battle to fight.”
“I have made oath not to return without thee, and I will not. The whole country is preparing to follow thee south, and thou art the only one capable of holding them back.”
“Nothing can stay the exodus. It is the breaking up of old lines. A new dispensation is beginning, and the present order must pass forever.”
“Wilt thou let me serve thee? I would have come with thee in the beginning, had I known.”
Cezardis was aware that Yermah could not refuse to accept his offer. It was an old-time custom for one man to serve another, voluntarily, and the servant’s was the honored position. To serve sweetly in any capacity was the aspiration animating this entire dispensation.
The Dorado smiled as he said:
“Thou wilt be the last to make such an offer. The generations following will reverse our beliefs and practices. Go thou to Ben Hu Barabe, and tell him to give Hanabusa leave to stock his balsa with food and raiment for five men. See to it that there is plenty, for thou art of the company.”
Yermah worked incessantly for several days making a llama of silver, as an emblem of suffering innocence. Its belly was a golden sunburst, and it was seated upon the back of an eagle, rescuing a rabbit from the fangs of a serpent. This represented the unequal conflict between good and evil; but the serpent being obliged to give up its prey, manifested the final triumph of goodness.
There were eight altars in the temple; and, at sunset on the last day of his stay, Yermah placed the llama on the altar facing the east. Simultaneously with this act, Gautama headed a procession at the base of the pyramid, which slowly climbed to the top.
The worshipers performed a sacrifice on each of the four terraces, and did not reach the temple until midnight.
They found Yermah in the great, dark structure, intently watching the constellation of the Pleiades. As Alcyone approached the zenith he sprang forward with a glad cry, and vigorously swinging a copper hammer, made the sparks fly from a granite rock.
The venerable Gautama held the cotton, and carefully nursed the sparks into a blaze. As the light streamed up toward the heavens, shouts of joy and triumph burst forth—for once more the children of men received a direct ray from the spiritual sun.
Carriers with torches lighted at the blazing beacon ran in every direction, carrying the cheering element to every part of the country. Long before sunrise it was brightening the altars and hearthstones everywhere.
Yermah sent up orisons from the eastern altar, and then took an affectionate farewell of the priests in attendance, but before beginning to descend he gazed long at the matchless scenery below.
Soft spring verdure lay everywhere, and he drew courage and inspiration from the fact that the lower forms of creation neither sulked nor held back because the elements had been remorselessly cruel to them.
Wherever there was enough soil to support plantlife, flowers and grasses put forth, and all nature was making a brave effort to swing back into harmony.
Gautama walked with him, and so did an unseen host led by Akaza and Kerœcia.
The Dorado wore all the insignia of his office. He had a cloth-of-gold robe, and a pale violet mantle. On his head was a high cap of the same color crested with jewels. There were jeweled sandals on his feet, and he carried a caduceus of silver running through a circle, which was a gold serpent with its tail in its mouth.
At the foot of the pyramid Yermah found Alcyesta and her infant son waiting for his blessing. Beside her was Ildiko, in the white robes of a high-priestess, surrounded by the few vestals possible to the depleted numbers.
Ben Hu Barabe, Hanabusa and Cezardis were ready to accompany him.
Taking a handful of salt and holding the baby up to the sun with the left hand, Yermah spake:
“By right of initiation, I name thee Gautamozin, and by the power of adeptship endow thee with Brotherhood inheritance. Thou shalt have a long line; but the last of thy name shall be as I am, a sacrifice to another order of being.”
As Yermah ceased speaking, he sprinkled salt over the child’s face, and at this juncture a tamane approached leading Cibolo. With his disengaged arm Yermah drew the horse’s head down until its nose touched the baby’s soft cheek, and when Cibolo had tasted a morsel of the salt his master laid his face close to the horse’s jaw, and said softly:
“Thou wilt be a good and faithful friend to Gautamozin, as thou hast been to me? Thine shalt be a name to conjure with—as thy love and obedience hath been worthy of example. Farewell, my comrade! Thy days shall be as the sunny hours.”
From his breast Yermah drew the locket containing Kerœcia’s ring. Taking Alcyesta’s hand, he silently slipped it on her finger, while unchecked tears coursed down her cheeks.
Turning to Ildiko, he handed her the locket. Facing them all, he said:
“Be of good cheer! A long era of peace and prosperity is for thee and thine. Thou art saved from the floods for a divine purpose. Let this knowledge be thy secret refuge, lest thou be tempted to depart from the way.”
At the water’s edge he embraced and blessed each one.
“Grieve not for me. In the fullness of time I shall come again.”
The young men went out on flower-laden rafts with him, and cast gold and emeralds into the sea in his honor.
The stone of promise signified renewal after the cataclysm, and Yermah was El Dorado,—“He of the golden heart.”
The men on the raft strained their vision to catch a last glimpse of the balsa, as it was known that he was going away for purification, and they believed implicitly that he would come again.
It was not long before the people on shore began the weary watch for his return, which makes Cortez’s conquest of later days so pathetic and pitiful.
The heart aches with the memory of the treachery and cruelty of the Conquistadors at Cholula, after its inhabitants had sent Cortez a helmet filled with gold nuggets, because they saw with surprise that he whom they mistook for their Fair God, valued this metal.
The gold, itself, thrown up in the days of the earth agony, lay untouched for centuries, but every precept of the “golden one”[27] was cherished as priceless gifts over all the Americas.
The tribes had different local versions of him, where they built pyramids and teocallis in his honor, sculptured his sayings in enduring granite, repeated his exploits in poetry and song, until finally his name and fame excited the cupidity of the European adventurers who sought the Golden Fleece in crusades and voyages of discovery.
The American version of the Argonauts’ expedition for the golden apples, under Columbus, began in violence and ended in crime.
But the search for the fabled El Dorado did not end here.
Like a veritable will-o’-the-wisp, it led some into the fever-infested swamps of the Orinoco, in South America,[28] and finally induced Coronado to push northward into Kansas, after he had nearly perished in the desert sands of the Colorado. He pounced down upon the Zuni pueblo, and tried hard to persuade himself that he had found the land of Quivira, though he vainly tried to locate the seven cities of Cibolo.
The magic words “El Dorado” attracted another bond of gold-seekers, who have made the name and the country their very own.
In their wake are the forerunners of the men and women who will make California[29] a great center of occult knowledge—the alchemical gold, corresponding to her mineral wealth.
“The land! The land! O my beloved country! How art thou humbled by misfortune! I know not thy desolate bosom!” cried Yermah, springing ashore upon the island of Teneriffe, the mountain peak of Poseidon’s kingdom, his lost Atlantis.
“I kiss thy blackened and charred face! Thou mother of the white race! Thou source of all learning! Grant that thy dependencies may not forget and deny thee!”
Gautama, too, had prostrated himself, while a stifled, smothered feeling kept him silent. For a time, Yermah forgot that the three bronzed men who stood looking at the shepherds gathered about the shore were not Atlantians.
It seemed doubtful what kind of a reception they were to receive, until Yermah called to the natives in their own tongue.
“Our Dorado! Come to us out of the sea!” they shouted almost beside themselves with joy.
“O thou blessed one! Dost thou see the scourge laid upon us?
“Thy father, Poseidon, and all thy countrymen, save us, poor Guanches, are perished. Evil days have fallen on Majorata. Dost thou not see the new mountain choking and filling her wide-open mouth? Tell us how thou art come.”
“Thy servant brother, Hanabusa, skilled in sailcraft, is my deliverer.”
“The sun and stars lent countenance to our venture,” said he, “save when obscured by a passing shadow. Then the corposant ran in balls and spirals from sheet to sheet, and we could not fail.”
“I am of the Monbas,” said Ben Hu Barabe, “far to the west, and I am brother to thee in sorrow. The destructive power of the Divine took all my people.”
“And I am of the Mazamas,” said Cezardis, coming forward. “My country lies under sheets of ice mountains high, and no living thing is there.”
“Misfortune is known in the land of Mexi, whence I come,” said Gautama. “Flood and fire hidden in the earth made us tremble for days lest we all should perish.”
“The Azes, too—” Hanabusa was not allowed to finish his sentence.
“Thou art of our blood!” exclaimed the Guanches, in a breath.
“Never again shalt thou depart from us. Thou wert with the Dorado?”
“From the beginning,” he answered.