Who Doesn't Know Beans?

By A. Hyatt Verrill, 1937

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When we use the expression, "He doesn't know beans," we imply that the person referred to is very stupid or ignorant. But if Christopher Columbus had been accused of not knowing beans, it would have been quite true, for neither he nor any other Europeans of his day had ever seen or heard of our beans until the Indians in America were found cultivating the plants.

(The only beans known to Europeans prior to the discovery of America were the "broad-beans," the seeds of a leguminous shrubby plant very different from the American beans. The only other Old World beans were the "soy beans" of the Orient.)

Today beans are cultivated in nearly every part of the entire world, other than the Frigid Zones, and are one of the most important of all food-plants. In fact they are almost indispensable, and we wonder how on earth civilized man ever existed without them. What would the miner, the prospector, the lumberman, the sailor, the explorers and men of scores of other vocations do without beans? And what would Boston be without its famous baked beans?

Probably no one knows how many varieties of beans are cultivated today, yet it is doubtful if there is a type of bean, even if there are many new varieties, which was not known to the Indians long before Europeans reached America.

Like the potato, the maize and a number of other important food-plants, the beans had been cultivated for so long that the original wild ancestors of many of the species are unknown. And like so many other valuable food-plants the majority of the cultivated beans were developed by the pre-Incan races of Peru, although others were the result of centuries of cultivation by the Mayas and Aztecs of Central America and Mexico, while some may have been developed from wild species by the Indians of North America. In fact it is impossible to state with certainty just where some of the beans originated, for when the New World was first visited by the Europeans the Indians everywhere "knew beans" and were cultivating numerous varieties. Even in New England the tribes were using the big, flat Lima beans which originated in far-distant Peru (Fig. 1), and were mixing beans whose original home was South America with maize from the same remote source, to form their sauquaquatash or misequatash, which was as pleasing to the palates of the white men as to the Indians, and still remain a most popular dish under the somewhat corrupted name of succotash. And as ancient pottery figures have been found in Peruvian graves, representing men or women holding corn in one hand and beans in the other, it is evident that "corn and beans" was a favorite dish in that country too. (Fig. 2 shows such a jar from [a] tomb at Nasca, Peru)

In addition to the Lima beans and scarlet runners, which have `become the most popular and widely cultivated of the "flat" beans in England, the Indians raised string beans and shell beans of many varieties. They had white beans and black beans, the old-fashioned horticultural beans, the pea beans, and black-eyed beans, the kidney beans and many others, and they knew how to cook their beans in nearly every style known to us today. From the New England Indians, the Colonial housewives learned the art of preparing the baked beans which have made Boston famous. But no beans, baked in white men's ovens in Boston or elsewhere have ever equalled those baked by the Indian squaws in pits in the earth. As they are one of the easiest crops to raise, as well as one of the quickest to mature, beans were planted extensively by the colonists, and Champlain speaks of planting Brazil beans (which was another name for Lima beans) in Maine. And as beans are about the most portable of provisions and will keep almost indefinitely, and bulk for bulk are one of the most nutritious of foods, they became the favorite and standard rations for hunters, trappers, soldiers, and pioneers. Very quickly, too, men who go down to sea in ships, saw the possibilities of this new food supply. To them beans were a veritable godsend, for prior to the "discovery" of America one of the greatest hindrances to long sea voyages had been the lack of adequate provisions. The "green" vegetables and root-foods of Europe, the turnips, beets, carrots, cabbages, onions, and similar food-plants, could not be kept for more than a few weeks. Salt beef and pork, with wheat and barley meal, which were about the only provisions that could be carried on long voyages lacked the essential vitamins to keep the sailers in good condition and were ruined by salt water. But beans revolutionized this. They were rich in the essentials of a nourishing, perfect food; they withstood great changes in temperature and atmospheric conditions; they kept well and could be stowed in a comparatively small space, and they could be cooked in a great variety of ways. As a result, beans became the typical and universal food of mariners, and during the centuries they have held their own in competition with the vast array of canned, preserved and refrigerated provisions of modern times, and still form the real backbone of sailers' fare. For that matter, no other food has ever yet been found or manufactured which takes the place of beans for many purposes and for men of many professions. No prospector or "desert rat" would dream of setting out on his quest for gold or other minerals without his quota of beans. No explorer venturing into the jungles of the southern continent would omit an adequate supply of beans from his provisions, for even if no bean-eater himself, he would find his porters and his Indian or negro boat crew demanded beans as a part of their daily rations. No lumber-jack would be satisfied unless his baked beans were forthcoming, and cow-punchers on a round-up or a "drive" would be almost as much at a loss without their beans as minus their ropes or "chaps." Even armies "march on beans," while in Mexico and other lands they are the national dish, and the bulk of the working class would starve to death if deprived of their frijoles.

Wherever there are civilized human beings, and in many places where there are only savages, we will find beans of some sort being used. They are equally appreciated upon the tables of millionaires and potentates or in the calabashes of the raggedest, most poverty-stricken peons. They thrive and blossom and bear their store of nutritious seeds on the soil of Africa, Asia, Australia, Malaysia, the Orient, or Europe, as prolifically as in Mexico or their native land of the Incas. Throughout the entire world they form a very large part of man's food supply, and throughout Latin America, as well as on some other lands, they rank next to maize as a staple food.

No other plant-food is so rich in protein as are beans, and they supply more nutriment at a lower price than any other food-plant, hence it is no wonder that they have become so universally popular and essential to mankind everywhere. Although we of the north are familiar with a number of varieties of beans, and cultivate a large array of string beans (Fig. 3), wax beans, kidney beans, navy beans, Lima beans and other, there are as many if not more varieties which we seldom or never see. Some of these are quite gorgeously colored, and are handsomely marked with contrasting hues, like those which so fascinated Jack the Giant Killer that he recklessly exchanged his mother's cow for a single bean. Others are tiny things, jet black or rich purple in color, and there are even big flat beans of the Lima bean type with tender delicate edible pods, while others have slender almost cylindrical edible pods with beans which are scarcely larger than BB shot when fully mature and ripe.

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Notes

• This article is from A. Hyatt Verrill, Foods America Gave the World, L. C. Page & Company, Boston, Ma., 1937, Chapter XII, pp. 88-93.
• Illustrations are by A. Hyatt Verrill.
• This copy reproduced from www.foodhistory.com/foodnotes/leftovers/beans/beans2.htm

Chapter 21 1889 – 1890 Dominica

Chapter 21 1889 – 1890 Dominica

I soon found that collecting in tropical jungles is not by any means all "beer and skittles" as the saying goes. Every morning I was off before daybreak, tramping the "high bush" of the mountain slopes or searching the clearings and gardens for specimens. Returning to the village by nine I would be busy skinning, labelling and cataloging my birds, mammals, reptiles and insects. Then toward sundown, back to the forest until lengthening shadows warned me it was time to head villageward. And until midnight I would be again busy preparing the specimens collected in the afternoon. It made no difference whether the sun was shining or the rain poured down. For that matter had I restricted my collecting to fair weather I would have had few specimens indeed for it rained almost constantly day and night, an average of over 300 inches a year at Laudat.

Sometimes Leon, Jules or Deglassé would take me on long tramps into the distant mountains, trips lasting for several days, in search of the great Imperial Parrot or "Ciceroo", the rare Nicholas Parrot, white-crowned pigeons, blue-headed quail-doves and other rare birds not found near Laudat. On these trips an "ajupa" or tiny lean-to hut of wild plantain and palm leaves would be our only shelter at night, The only provisions we carried with us were a few small loaves of the native bread, coffee and sometimes a piece of salt pork and we depended mainly upon agoutis, wild pigeons, iguanas and other game for food. Naturally we were soaked to the skin the entire time, for even if no rain were falling water dripped constantly from moisture-laden trees and, much of the time, we were in the clouds. But I seemed to thrive on it. I never caught cold and I gained strength and weight and I began at last to realize I was no longer a boy but actually had grown up.

We also made a trip to the famed Boiling Lake - a vast active volcanic crater about eight miles from Laudat, over the highest mountains. It was an awful trip - fording rushing mountain streams, struggling up the slippery precipitous mountain sides, often having to hew a way through dense jungles of bamboo, tree ferns or spine covered palm trees. But I felt that it had been worth while when at last we reached the mighty crater with its geysers, fumaroles, steaming bubbling streams and its great boiling lake. We even descended into the crater and guided by Deglassé picked our way carefully across the throbbing shaky bottom to the verge of the boiling lake itself. But it was a risky business. New steam jets were constantly bursting out and 1 felt that at any moment one might open up under our feet and in many places the floor of the crater was so thin that when Leon poked a stick into it hissing, sulphurous steam appeared. I had taken the trip for the sake of seeing this vast crater and had no expectations of finding any particularly rare or interesting specimens. But within the crater itself, over one thousand feet below the surrounding ridges, I found several species of birds, numerous reptiles and many insects some of which proved new to Science - among them a new species of Hercules beetle.

One of my most interesting and enjoyable experiences was my visit to the Carib settlement at Salybia or La Soir on the windward coast of the island.

It was Beché's home and he took me first to his parents' house. But the next day I was alotted a new thatched hut or ajupa. All the inhabitants were Caribs, with clear yellow skins, round faces and lustrous soft-brown eyes, although there were a few of mixed Carib and Negro blood or "black Caribs” as they were called. All spoke the Creole patois, a few had some knowledge of English of a sort and nearly all spoke the Carib or "Carina” language although only about twenty elderly people used it to any extent. But there was nothing savage nor wild about the villagers, nothing to hint that they were only a few generations removed from cannibalism, and it was hard to believe that these peaceful, timid aborigines defied the armies of

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years until the Europeans decided the game not worth the candle so to speak, and left Dominica to the unconquered and apparently unconquerable Caribs.

At the time of my visit the tribe numbered about two hundred. They lived, dressed and conversed much in the same manner as the colored folk of Laudat but they still wove their wonderful waterproof baskets, they still prepared cassava in the aboriginal manner using woven "metapees” for extracting the poisonous juice from the grated roots, and they still retained some of their tribal customs, tribal laws and tribal religion, although nominally Christians. Also they sold or rather I might say “bound-out” their children for a consideration. Beché himself had been thus purchased and virtually was a slave, although as well treated as any member of his owner's family and I came very near finding myself the owner of a member of the tribe despite my own wishes.

The chief, a fine elderly Indian, became fascinated with a pair of curved bladed surgeon's scissors I used in skinning birds and as I had presented several gifts to Beché’s parents and others I gave the chief the much coveted scissors. He grunted, grinned and hurried off to return in a short time leading his pretty daughter and informed me that the ten year old girl was mine in exchange for the scissors .

In vain I protested and declined the gift who appeared to take the deal as a matter of course. To the chief, my refusal merely meant that I was not satisfied, and he became quite excited, declaring she was the prettiest girl in the village, that she was an expert at basketry and at preparing cassava. In fact he appeared decidedly peeved and quite deeply insulted at my attitude.

I felt it would never do to incur his displeasure and that something must be done to satisfy all parties concerned. So I accepted my involuntary purchase, appeased the chief by giving him a file and a knife for full measure, and then explained that I could not be encumbered by the girl on my long trip to Morne Diablotin and that I would leave her in her father’s keeping until I returned to claim her.

Apparently Carib custom provides that goods left unclaimed beyond a certain time may be otherwise disposed of, for when I next visited the village, nearly twenty years later, I found my feminine chattel married to a strapping Carib, whom I at first failed to recognize as my old friend Beché, and the mother of several yellow-skinned children.

Needless, to say I did not claim her; but she recognized me, recalled the incident and laughing merrily exclaimed: "M'sieu was very stupid not to have know when he had such a good bargain", a statement which tickled Beché immensely.

I had some real adventures, too. On one trip to the northern part of the island our camp, on a small peninsula with the river on two sides, we became isolated by the suddenly-rising stream. The spot was transformed into a tiny island and we were as effectively prisoners as if behind steel bars. The worst of it was we were woefully short of food. Game had been scarce, edible land crabs had been few and far between and we were almost out of coffee, cassava, pork and other provisions, and as I had planned to remain a week longer I had sent Rolles to the nearest settlement for supplies. He should have been back by the third day but there was no sign of him. For that matter even had he appeared he could not have crossed the raging torrent that had marooned us.

Our meals that day consisted of a few land crabs, snails and two small thrushes. The next day our rations were reduced to a few snails, a couple of small lizards and an unwary snake. Even these might have kept us from starving had there been more, but search as we might no more snails or reptiles could be found. Until then I had never known the meaning of real hunger. I was ravenous, as were the others, and could well understand how famishing men could devour the flesh of their comrades. At last, gathering the remains of our past meals, the bones and legs of pigeons, parrots and agoutis, plantain skins and yam rinds, crab shells and other garbage, and quite unmindful of mould, ants and maggots, we made the offal into a thin stew. And never has anything tasted better.

The next morning Rolles appeared on the opposite bank of the river. Although the rain had ceased and the stream had fallen considerably it was still a turgid rushing torrent with good-sized trees tossing on its surface like matchsticks and of course utterly impassable for any living being. But as we gazed with longing hungry eyes at the maelstrom I had an idea. If, I explained to my companions, we attached a bush rope (liana) to a small log and tossed it into the stream some distance above the camp, the current sweeping around the bend, might carry the billet across to within reach of Rolles. Then he had only to tie his basket of food to the line and we could haul it back. Of course the food would be soaked, but what mattered wet bread and cassava, water-logged pork and salt codfish when one was starving? Shouting and gesturing to Rolles we explained our plan. The scheme promised to be a great success. The billet of balsa wood went bobbing down stream, the coil of lianas unwound and it moved swiftly nearer and nearer to Rolles who, up to his armpits in the river was ready to grasp it. With shouts of joy we saw him seize it and a moment later, he had tied the basket to the line and signalled for us to pull in. At last we would have plenty of food, licking our chops in anticipation we hauled in the line. The basket was half way across, nearer and nearer it came. It was almost within reach when, just as we felt certain it was safe, an uprooted tree fern came leaping, twisting down stream. It was all over in an instant. The tossing, gyrating tree swept past carrying our precious food and the severed liana with it.

Utterly discouraged we stood gazing dazed and hopelessly at the swollen river. Rolles shouted to us, waved a hand and turning, vanished in the forest.

For the next two days we starved. But the third day was clear and the river had gone down a lot. To be sure it was still high, it ran like a mill race and branches and other debris covered its surface. But it was just as well to drown as to starve, and with stout staffs to aid us we took our lives in our hands and waded into the stream. Slipping on the rounded stones of the bottom, dodging floating branches, half-swimming at times we forced our way across and at last climbed safely up the farther bank. Half-drowned, famished and exhausted yet we made better time through that forest than ever we had made before. We scarcely noticed how bad the trail was blocked by fallen trees, washed out in places, the hollows miniature lakes, for visions of food at the settlement shut all other thoughts from our minds. Once, Leon stepped on a thorn that penetrated an inch into his bare foot. Scarcely hesitating he muttered an oath, jerked the thorn from his foot and hurried on. Several times I barked my shins against rocks and logs but I did not realize it until at the end of our journey I found my trousers legs red with blood. Five hours of this and with a wild shout Leon pointed ahead to where sunlight showed between the tree trunks. Racing forward we came to a small clearing and a thatched hut. No one was at home but within the deserted house was a jug of molasses and a slab of rank rancid, mouldy salt codfish. Never in my life has any food tasted as delicious as that malodorous salt fish and the black sticky treacle sprinkled with flies. With our worst pangs of hunger eased we took matters more calmly. A lone coconut palm towered above the hut and Jean climbed this and threw down a dozen or more green nuts. Having finished these and thus having completely exhausted the edible resources of the place, we headed for the nearest settlement in the Layou Valley.

All things must have an end and at last the time came to leave Dominica and board ship for home. As a collecting trip my first expedition had been a great success. I had secured an almost complete collection of the birds, mammals and reptiles of the island and hundreds of insects. I had added a number of species of birds to the avifauna and, as it turned out later, had secured four species new to Science.

But the most far reaching and important result of my trip was that it shaped my entire career and my life work. For more than fifty years after, I made scientific explorations throughout tropical America, much of the time making studies of the native Indians and collecting their weapons, artifacts and handiwork. And it was an article on the Dominican Caribs that I wrote for a leading magazine that paved the way for my literary work - my magazine articles and stories and my 108 books.

Many a tropical land have I known since that first trip to Dominica. I have roamed every island of the Caribbean, I have had many an adventure more thrilling than any experience of those youthful days. I have made expeditions into the trackless jungles of the Amazon, across the burning rock-strewn deserts of Peru and Chile, among the snow clad summits of the mighty Andes and to uninhabited island Edens. I have penetrated jungles where no white man had trod before, I have visited savage head-hunting tribes and have been made blood brother to a Carib chief yet my first trip to the West Indies remains the most vivid in my memory and my favorite spot on all this green earth is lovely Dominica. Many times have I revisited the island, many times I have gone hundreds, yes thousands of miles out of my way in order to again visit it. Old Andre and his Carib wife died years ago. Beché is a gray headed dignified chief. Leon's broad shoulders are bent with the years that have passed, and "Jimmy" whom I taught to read and write, is a grizzled, wrinkled, gray-headed great grandfather, But Laudat remains almost unchanged. The same houses are still the homes of the same families as of old, and when we meet, Rolles and Leon and I chuckle over our soup of garbage and our "mange" of molasses and salt codfish. And to them, one and all - to those who were my comrades sixty years ago, to those who then were tiny boys and girls but now are grown up men and women, I always remain “Moin Papa”.

Chapter 20B Dominica

Chapter 20 B 1888 My First Trip to the Caribbean

At time of Henry's disappearance, I was a student in the Yale School of Fine Arts. My father, who held the dual professorships of Zoology and Geology in the Yale Sheffield Scientific School, had hoped that I would follow in his footsteps. But keen as I was on Natural History I could not see myself tied down to a teacher's life. He insisted, however, that I must study the two sciences and finally it was arranged that I should enter Art School and, at the same time take a special course in Zoology and Geology. In later life I found that the thorough training I received in these subjects proved most valuable and I felt deeply grateful to my father for having insisted upon taking the full "Sheff" course.

I doubt if the years I spent in the Art School were of any real benefit other than for knowledge I gained of composition, technique and classic art. I was born with an artistic talent; long before I before I could write down the alphabet I could make recognizable sketches of various beasts, even if the drawings occasionally had five or six legs instead, of four. But I always had a ready explanation when my father called attention to this. "Oh, they're fossils" I would tell him. When seven or eight years old I learned a great deal from Dr. Emerton who was a famous scientific artist, and by the time I was nine I could turn out excellent work. I still have a collection of colored sketches of caterpillars and other insects drawn from life at that time and they are fully as lifelike and accurate as the illustrations in any scientific work.

The art school however, proved to be the real means of shaping my future career. Among my classmates was Frederick Remington who became famous for his western pictures, and another student was a youth from Barbados. I was fascinated by his descriptions of the West Indies and became obsessed with the idea of exploring the islands' jungles and making collections of their fauna. How it was to be managed I could not imagine but Fate played into my hands and almost before I realized it I found my dreams were about to come true. I was to go to the islands to make collections of their fauna for the Yale Museum. Although strictly speaking no longer a boy I was probably the youngest collector to make a one-man expedition into tropical jungles, for I was barely seventeen. I had read every available book on the West Indies and had questioned and cross-questioned my friend Bassett regarding his Caribbean home, for I was anxious to learn everything I could in regard to the Lesser Antilles. Of all the few books on the islands that had been published at that time I found Ober's CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES the most complete and interesting. His descriptions of Dominica, and the fact that its fauna was almost unknown appealed to me and I decided to make that little known island my objective.

Although sixty years have passed since I set out on my first trip to the tropics I can recall every detail, every event, even the most trivial incidents as vividly as though it were but yesterday. In those days tourists and fugitives from northern winters did not flock to the tropics. The West Indies were regarded as remote, wild, uncivilized, pestilential; the homes of poisonous reptiles, noxious insects and savages. The ports were pictured as pest holes of yellow fever and small pox and other diseases and it was considered almost suicidal for a white man to visit them.. So it was not surprising that I felt as though I were setting out on a real adventure when I boarded the "BERMUDA” on a raw cold day in February the 22nd, Washington's birthday.

Sailing ships were still the chief cargo carriers in those days, there were few passengers traveling between the islands and the States and the few steamships that sailed to and from the Caribbean seldom could accommodate a dozen passengers and, even then, were rarely filled up. Today those little ships would appear almost overgrown launches. The BERMUDA, one of the largest of the fleet, being barely over 1000 tons burden. But she was the largest vessel I had ever been on and to my still boyish eyes she seemed a really big ship. As I have never known the sensation of sea sickness I thoroughly enjoyed the voyage. Moreover, I learned a vast amount in regard to the islands for my fellow passengers were West Indians returning home. A Spanish lady and her young son from Trinidad, a young married couple from Grenada who had gone to New York on their honeymoon, a pompous elderly military man from Barbados, a planter and his wife from St. Croix and a girl of about my own age whose home was St. Kitts. Like all West Indians they were most courteous, friendly, informal and only too glad to answer my innumerable questions, and to impart all possible information on the islands. But none had much knowledge of Dominica. It seemed to be a sort of out-of-the-world spot, known mainly for its lime juice; an island of vast mountains and endless forests and more French than British. Even my girl friend, Mabel, knew very little about Dominica and I felt that I was bound for an almost unknown land.

Never shall I forget the wonder and delight with which I gazed shoreward at St. Thomas our first port of call. Although I knew the size of the islands in miles, as recorded in books, nothing had prepared me for the lofty hills, the far-flung shore line, the seeming immensity of the land which on the maps was a mere speck and St. Thomas is one of the smallest of the Antilles.

In those days St. Thomas belonged to the Danes. Everywhere the red and white flag of Denmark flew above homes and public buildings, and the harbor was crowded with ships of every rig and flying the flags of every nation.

But St. Thomas lost all interest when I saw St. Kitts. Here were real mountains, dense forests and the lush vegetation of the tropics and here I saw my first royal palm. Never will I forget my amazement as I gazed at the great crown over 100 feet above my head and examined the mighty gray trunk that might as well have been a column turned from solid granite. I often think how much boys of today must miss without knowing it. Motion pictures, travel guides, color photographs have made far distant lands and strange scenes so familiar that there is no “kick”, no surprise or thrill at seeing the real thing, while airplane travel has destroyed all the sensation of adventure and exploration that pertains to a long ocean voyage. To be sure many miles of sea lie between our shores and the Antilles but there is a vast difference between traveling ten days by ship and as many hours by plane. Moreover, in my youth not one boy in a million had ever visited the West Indies and few indeed were the grown-ups who had ever been ''down the islands". So, feeling almost as if I were on another planet, exited, thrilled and delighted, I gazed at the lofty forest-covered mountains, their summits hidden in the clouds, as the Bermuda steamed slowly along the coast of Dominica and dropped anchor off the picturesque little town of Roseau.

There is no need to describe the loveliest of the Antilles or to recall my impressions during the few days that I remained in Roseau. To me it was all one great and glorious adventure and then and there I fell madly in love with the island and its delightful people - a youthful love that none the less has endured and is as strong and constant today as sixty years ago.

The resident physician, Dr. Alford Nicholls, who was deeply interested in the avifauna of the island, advised me to make my headquarters at Laudat - a tiny hamlet on the slopes of Morne Macaque nearly 3000 feet above the sea and about eight miles over the mountains from Roseau. So, the friendly doctor having sent a message to Laudat to let the people arrange my accommodations, I started out the next morning at daybreak with a husky black porter named Charles Rose carrying my heavy chest of clothes, ammunition and supplies atop his wooly head.

Never will memory of that first tramp become dim. Following the lovely Roseau Valley with the broad silver ribbon of the river far below us, the trail led ever upward and soon, leaving the lime orchards and cultivated lands behind us, we entered a forest of giant bamboos. Never had I imagined anything like these great, polished, jointed reeds eight inches or more in diameter soaring upward for nearly one hundred feet, their leaves like delicate green lace forming a roof impenetrable to the sun while the mighty stems, swaying gently in the breeze, emitted low bell-like musical sounds. But greater wonders were just ahead when we reached the beginning of the jungle forest or "high bush" as the natives call it. I had read many descriptions of tropical forests yet nothing had prepared me for the reality. The incredibly enormous trees with their far-flung, hip-like roots with the lowest branches eighty feet or more above the earth; the lianas draping the branches and hanging downward like the tangled rigging of a ship, the great masses of air plants, orchids and begonias clinging to trunks and branches, the huge tree ferns with fifty foot fronds, the flaming crimson and yellow spokes of the "wild plantains” all held me spellbound. Here and there gorgeous emerald and ruby throated humming birds fluttered and chirped and then, suddenly from the dark depths of the forest came a clear, flute-like, silvery song - the sweetest most appealing bird note in the world. Rose, who was a talkative chap and had entertained me by weird tales of jumbies, goblins and obeah and had told me the native "Patois" names of the birds we had seen, grinned as he saw my rapt expression.

"He sing too pretty, mon," he observed, "he Siffleur montagne (Mountain Whistler) Oui, M'sieu he spirit bird for true. No mon see he but hear he sing plenty."

I did not blame Rose for attributing the wonderful melody to a spirit, but later on I collected many specimens of the shy dove-gray bird although I always felt like a criminal when I shot one, even if it was in the cause of Science.

So fascinated did I become in my surroundings and the vast forest through which the trail was a dusky damp cool tunnel that the steady upward climb and the miles we traveled passed unnoticed. But at last Rose reminded me that it was ''brekfus" time and calling a halt asked me to "ease me down" with his heavy burden. How he could carry a hundred and fifty pounds for hour after hour with apparently little effort or inconvenience was a mystery, but in Dominica everything is "headed". A cake of soap, a bottle of rum, sticks of sugar cane or the heaviest burdens all are transported on the men's and women's heads. Even at the hotel in Roseau the maids carried the water jars and lamps to and from the bedrooms on their heads while the waitresses "headed" their trays of dishes and food which left their hands free to serve.

It is a common thing to see mountain women hurrying along the road with two huge bunches of plantains or bananas on their heads and so heavily laden that they cannot walk slowly but must keep up a steady trot and can only rest when they meet some one who will "ease them down". Their load being far too heavy-for them to lower it with their own hands.

As Rose and I seated ourselves beside a crystal clear spring gushing from the rocky cliff and proceeded to eat our "brekfus mange" two of these heavily-laden mountain girls arrived and in the odd native Creole or patois asked us to "ease me down". They were pretty girls, golden-skinned with high cheek bones and fawn-like black eyes. On their heads they wore the bright colored "Madras" or turban coquettishly tied with the ends like a cockade. Neither spoke English but they chattered away with Rose, laughing and exclaiming "Eh! Eh!" and staring at me.

Evidently I was as strange to them as they were to me for aside from the few white men or women were seldom seen in those days and a white boy or rather I might say a "youth" was a real novelty. "He from win'ard side the islan’” Rose explained. "He" indicating the younger of the girls "pure Ca’ib an’ nex’ one he part Ca’ib an' part capresse." I had read of the few remaining Caribs still living on Dominica and here, laughing and chatting and still studying me as if I were a new species of bird or insect, was a member of the once-warlike tribe whose name gave the word "Cannibal" to our language. Later on, when 1 had learned to converse in Patois, I visited the Carib settlement at La Souir on the windward side of the island and made, life-long friends of some of the tribe.

Having finished our lunch and having lifted their loads to the girls’ heads I helped Rose "head" my dunnage and we continued on our way.

A few hours later we left the main road and following a narrow trail through the jungle, reached the cleared fields and clustered houses of Laudat. Had I been the Governor of the island I could not have received a warmer or more hospitable welcome. Men, women, boys and girls came hurrying from their homes as Rose stopped at the largest house and was eased of his load. Nearly all spoke English quite well and all but a few elderly people could converse after a manner in my language. Old Andre at whose house we had stopped, told me that everything had been arranged and the largest room had been made ready for my use. It was spotlessly clean, furnished with a chair, a table, a stool and a bed, all hand made of native wood, and on the table was an earthenware "monkey jar" holding a bouquet of fragrant frangipani and jasmine.

Although Andre, himself was almost pure African his gray-haired wife, was unmistakably Carib. His buxom daughter, LeBrun, was more Carib than Negro and his two sons- Leon and Jean - had kinky wool of the African but features of the Caribs. Wherever I looked I found the same mixture - and later learned that all in the village were related, that all belonged to either the Laudat or the Rolles family and that all had more or less Carib blood. It was a patriarchal village - almost a little country by itself, of which Andre was the ruler.

Everyone had to be officially introduced by Andre who did the honors in a strange mixture of English and Patois. But it made little difference, for the names were all French and, subsequently, I found that everyone had at least two names - one that with which they had been christened, the other, the name by which they were commonly known, a custom derived directly from the Caribs.

I was amazed at the friendliness and the hospitality of these mountain people. Gifts of flowers, fruit, poultry, eggs, fresh vegetables, jars of fresh milk; a freshly killed agouti and several wild pigeons or "ramier” were pressed upon me. Obviously it was impossible for one youthful American to consume the wealth of edibles for there was more than enough to feed Andre's family and Rose as well. And as my arrival seemed to call for a celebration I suggested a feast to which all were invited. We had a really wonderful time even if I was handicapped by my ignorance of Patois, for Rose or someone was always ready to act as my interpreter. I soon found that they were a most superstitious lot - thoroughly believing in Qbeah, jumbies , all sorts of spirits and supernatural beings, and practically all conversation consisted of hair-raising or shivery tales of spectres, vampires, obeah spells and they worked themselves up to such a state that the slightest unexpected sound or movement would send them into a panic.

Not yet having outgrown my boyish love of pranks I took advantage of their highly nervous state a few weeks later. One of the boys had brought me some live Hercules beetles - giant insects six inches or more in length. Not having had time to kill and prepare them I had temporarily tethered them to my stool by means of strings fastened about the thorax. In the midst of a most breath-taking tale being related by Jules I stepped into my darkened room, carefully unfastened the string to one of my giant beetles and released him. The instant the huge insect saw the lighted candles in the next room he spread his wings and headed for the candles. At the sudden loud whirr of the beetle's wings the already nervous people screamed and screeched in fright and little wonder for the immense beetle passing over their heads cast a gigantic shadow on the walls - a black demoniacal form that might well have been a jumbie. Then, before anyone had time to gather his or her wits, the candle was snuffed out by the beetle’s onrush.

Huddled together, moaning and whimpering in abject terror the people waited for what might happen next. I realized I had overdone my joke. Shouting that it was only one of my beetles that had escaped I managed to reach and relight the candles and capturing the dazed insect showed it to them. I admit I was terribly afraid that I had offended my friends and committed an unpardonable offense but to my relief and surprise they seemed to consider it a great joke, laughing merrily over their terror. But to tell the truth I do not think it ever occurred to them that I was responsible.

Pages upon pages might be filled with narratives of incidents, experiences, yes, even adventures that were my lot while on the island. And there were many firm friends that I made and interesting experiences with the loveable people. There was Beche, the Carib boy - an orphan adopted by old Andre. He was a natural born artist - like so many of the Indians - and while his "art" was primitive it was highly effective and his men and animals conveyed real “action" even though he was limited to a charred stick and hand-split shingles. Never have I seen a youngster more delighted than when I presented him with a couple colored pencils- red and blue, and a blank book. I still have some of the pictures that he drew for me and they remind me strongly of some of my own masterpieces that I turned out when Beche's age. Then there was Jimmy - stocky, copper-skinned, kinky-haired with his inquisitive eyes almost Simian in their questing expression. Although six years old Jimmy knew his alphabet, but could neither read nor write and he was utterly fascinated whenever I opened a book, especially if it contained pictures. "Moi des'e M'sieu" he would whisper. And how delighted he was when I allowed him to look at a book by himself. But he was anxious to learn English, still more anxious to learn to read and write so, having bought an English primer I took on the job of teaching Jimmy to read.

It was not as simple as I had hoped. Jimmy’s mind was all Patois. Even when he had learned the English names of the letters of the alphabet he would point at a picture of a cat and proudly exclaim “C-A-T-Chat" or indicating a dog "D-O-G-Chien". Even after he had mastered our language after a fashion and could talk, write and read English quite fluently, for that matter even today - Jimmy always has a tendency to call all living creatures by their Patois names. And when, as I often times do, I revisit Dominica and meet gray-headed, bent-shouldered old Jimmy he always recalls the days when D-O-G- spelled Chien and M-A-N was M'sieur.

Through the Crater's Rim

THROUGH THE CRATER'S RIM[1]

By A. HYATT VERRILL

Original Illustrated by FRANK R. PAUL -

In this story we find a strange race living within an extinct volcanic crater somewhere in Central America.

When it is remembered that only a Few years ago an entirely new race was discovered by scientists in Panama, which are now known better under the name of White Indians, it should be understood that Mr. Verrill is not taxing your credulity by the strange race which he pictures in this story.

Chapter I THROUGH THE CRATER'S RIM

I tell you it's there," declared Lieutenant Hazen decisively. "It may not be a civilized city, but it's no Indian village or native town. It's big —at least a thousand houses—and they're built of stone or something like it and not of thatch."

"You've been dreaming, Hazen," laughed Fenton. "Or else you're just trying to jolly us."

"Do you think I'd hand in an official report of a dream?" retorted the Lieutenant testily. "And it's gospel truth I've been telling you."

"Never mind Fenton," I put in. "He's a born pessimist and skeptic anyhow. How much did you actually see?"

We were seated on the veranda of the Hotel Washington in Colon and the aviator had been relating how, while making a reconnaissance flight over the unexplored and unknown jungles of Darien, he had sighted an isolated, flat topped mountain upon whose summit was a large city—of a thousand houses or more—and without visible pass, road or stream leading to it.

"It was rotten air," Hazen explained in reply to my question. "And I couldn't get lower than 5,000 feet. So I can't say what the people were like. But I could see 'em running about the first time I went over and they were looking mightily excited. Then I flew back for a second look and not a soul was in sight—took to cover I expect. But I'll swear the buildings were stone or 'dobe and not palm or thatch."

"Why didn't you land and get acquainted?" enquired Fenton sarcastically.

"There was one spot that looked like a pretty fair landing," replied the aviator. "But the air was bad and the risk too big. How did I know the people weren't hostile? It was right in the Kuna Indian country and even if they were peaceable they might have smashed the plane or I mightn't have been able to take off. I was alone too."

"You say you made an official report of your discovery," I said. "What did the Colonel think about it?"

"Snorted and said he didn’t see why in blazes I bothered reporting an Indian village."

"It's mighty interesting," I declared. "I believe you've actually seen the Lost City, Hazen. Balboa heard of it. The Dons spent years hunting for it and every Indian in Darien swears it exists."

"Well, I never heard of it before," said Hazen, "What's the yarn, anyway?"

"According to the Indian story there's a big city on a mountain top somewhere in Darien. They say no one has ever visited it, that it's guarded by evil spirits and that it was there ages before the first Indians."

"If they've never seen it how do they know it's there?" Fenton demanded. "In my opinion it's all bosh. How can there be a 'lost city' in this bally little country and why hasn't someone found it? Why, there are stories of lost cities and hidden cities and such rot in every South and Central American country. Just fairy tales-pure bunk!"

"I know there are lots of such yarns," I admitted. "And most of them I believe are founded on fact. Your South American Indian hasn't enough imagination to make a story out of whole cloth. It's easy to understand why and how such a place might exist for centuries and no one find it. This 'little country' as you call it could hide a hundred cities in its jungles and no one be the wiser. No civilized man has ever yet been through the Kuna country. But I'm going. I'll have a try for that city of Hazen's."

"Well, I wish you luck," said Fenton. "If the Kunas don't slice off the soles of your feet and turn you loose in the bush and if you do find Hazen's pipe dream, just bring me back a souvenir, will you?"

With this parting shot he rose and sauntered off towards the swimming pool.

"Do you really mean to have a go at that place?" asked Hazen as Fenton disappeared.

"I surely do," I declared, "Can you show me the exact spot on the map where you saw the city?"

For the next half hour we pored over the map of Panama and while-owing to the incorrectness of the only available maps—Hazen could not be sure of the exact location of his discovery, still he pointed out a small area within which the strange city was located.

"You're starting on a mighty dangerous trip," he declared as I talked over my plans. "Even if you get by the Kunas and find the place how are you going to get out? The people may kill you or make you a prisoner. If they've been isolated for so long I reckon they won't let any news of 'em leak out."

"Of course there's a risk," I laughed. "That's what makes it so attractive. I'm not worried over the Kunas though. They're not half as bad as painted. I spent three weeks among them two years ago and had no trouble. They may drive me back, but they don't kill people offhand. Getting out will be the trouble as you say. But I've first got to get in and I'm not making plans to get out until then."

"Lord, but I wish I were going too!" cried Hazen. "Say, I tell you what I'm going to do. I'll borrow that old Curtiss practice boat and fly over there once in a while. If you're there, just wave a white rag for a signal. Maybe the people'll be so darned scared if they see the plane that they'll not trouble you. Might make a good play of it—let 'em think you're responsible for it you know."

"I don't know but that's mighty good scheme, Hazen," I replied, after a moment's thought. "Let's see. If I get off day after tomorrow I should be in the Kuna country in a week. You might take your first flight ten days from now. But if things go wrong I don't see as you can help me much if you can't land,"

"We'll worry over that when the time comes," he said cheerfully. A few days later I was being paddled and poled up the Canazas River with the last outposts of civilization many miles behind and the unknown jungles and the forbidden country of the wild Kunas ahead.

It was with the greatest difficulty that I had been able to secure men to accompany me, for the natives looked with the utmost dread upon the Kuna country and only two, out of the scores I had asked, were willing to tempt fate and risk their lives in the expedition into the unknown.

For two days now we had been within the forbidden district—the area guarded and held by the Kunas and into which no outsider is permitted to enter—and yet we had seen or heard no signs of Indians. But I was too old a hand and too familiar with the ways of South American Indians to delude myself with the idea that we had not been seen or our presence known. I well knew that, in every likelihood, we had been watched and our every movement known since the moment we entered the territory. No doubt, sharp black eyes were constantly peering at us from the jungle, while bows and blowguns were ever ready to discharge their missiles of death at any instant. As long as we were not molested or interfered with, however, I gave little heed to this. Moreover, I believed, from my brief acquaintance with the Kunas of two years previously, that they seldom killed a white man until after he had been warned out of their country and tried to return to it.

At night we camped beside the river, making our beds upon the warm dry sand and each day we poled the cayuca up the rapids and deeper into the forest. At last we reached the spot where, according to my calculations, we must strike through the jungle overland to reach the mountain seen by Hazen. Hiding our dugout in the thick brush beside the river we packed the few necessities to be carried with us and started off through the forest.

If Hazen were not mistaken in his calculations, we should reach the vicinity of the mountain in two days' march, even though the going was hard and we were compelled to hew a way with our machetes for miles at a stretch.

But it's one thing to find a mountain top when flying over the sea of jungle and quite another to find that mountain when hidden deep in the forest and surrounded on every side by enormous trees. I realized that we might wander for days, searching for the mountain without finding it. It was largely a matter of luck after all. But Hazen had described the surrounding country so minutely, that I had high hopes of success.

By the end of the first day in the bush we had reached rough and hilly country, which promised well, and it was with the expectation of reaching the base of the mountain the following day that we made camp that night. Still we had seen no Indians, no signs of their trails or camps, which did much to calm the fears of my men and which I accounted for on the theory that the Kunas avoided this part of the country through superstitious fears of the lost city and its people.

At daybreak we broke camp and had tramped for perhaps three hours when, without warning, Jose, who was last in line, uttered a terrified cry. Turning quickly I was just in time to see him throw up his hands and fall in a heap with a long arrow quivering in his back. The Kunas were upon us.

Scarcely had the realization come to me when an arrow thudded sharply into a tree by my side and Carlos, with a wild yell of deadly fear, threw down his load and dashed madly away. Not an Indian could be seen. To stand there, a target for their missiles was suicidal, and turning, I fled at my utmost speed after Carlos. How we managed to run through that tangled jungle is still a mystery to me, but we made good time, nevertheless Fear drove us and dodging between the giant trees, leaping over rocks, we sped on.

And now, from behind, we could hear the sounds of the pursuing indians; their low guttural cries, the sounds of breaking twigs and branches; constantly they were drawing nearer. I knew that in a few minutes they would be upon us—that at any instant a poisoned blowgun dart or a barbed arrow might bury itself in my body; but still we strove to escape.

Then, just as I felt that the end must be at hand—just as I had decided to turn and sell my life dearly —the forest thinned. Before us sunlight appeared and the next moment we dashed from the jungle into a space free from underbrush but covered with enormous trees draped with gnarled and twisted lianas. The land here rose sharply and, glancing ahead between the trees, I saw the indistinct outlines of a lofty mountain against the sky.

Toiling up the slope, breathing heavily, utterly exhausted, I kept on. Then, as a loud shout sounded from the rear, I turned to see five hideously painted Kunas break from the jungle. But they did not follow. To my utter amazement they halted, gave a quick glance about, and, with a chorus of frightened yells, turned and dashed back into the shelter of the jungle.

But I had scant time to give heed to this. The Kunas' cries were still ringing in my ears when a scream from Carlos drew my attention. Thinking him attacked by savages I rushed toward him, drawing my revolver as I ran.

With bulging, rolling eyes, blanched face and ghastly, terror stricken features he was struggling, fighting madly, with a writhing, coiling gray object which I took for a gigantic snake. Already his body and legs were bound and helpless in the coils. With his machete he was raining blows upon the quivering awful thing which slowly, menacingly wavered back and forth before him, striving to throw another coil about his body.

And then as I drew near, my senses reeled, I felt that I was in some awful nightmare. The object, so surely, relentlessly, silently encircling and crushing him was no serpent but a huge liana drooping from the lofty branches of a great tree!

It seemed absolutely incredible, impossible, unbelievable. But even as I gazed, transfixed with horror, paralyzed by the sight, the vine threw its last coil about the dying man and before my eyes drew the quivering body into the trees above.

Then something touched my leg. With a wild yell of terror I leaped aside. A second vine was writhing and twisting over the ground towards me! Crazed with unspeakable fear I struck at the thing with my machete. At the blow the vine drew sharply back while from the gash a thick, yellowish, stinking juice oozed forth. Turning, I started to rush from the accursed spot but as I passed the first tree another liana writhed forward in my path.

Utterly bereft of my senses, slashing madly as I ran, yelling like a madman, 1 dodged from tree to tree, seeking the open spaces, evading by a hair's breadth the fearful, menacing, serpent-like vines, until half-crazy, torn, panting and utterly spent dashed forth into a clear grassy space. Before me, rising like a sheer wall against the sky was a huge precipitous cliff of red rock. Now I knew why the Kunas had not followed us beyond the jungle. They were aware of the man-killing lianas and had left us to a worse death than any they could inflict. I was safe from them I felt sure. But was I any better off? Before me was an impassable mountain side. On either hand and in the rear those awful, bloodthirsty, sinister vines and, lurking in the jungles, were the savage Kunas with their fatal poisoned darts and powerful bows. I was beset on every side by deadly peril, for I was without food, I had cast aside my gun and even my revolver in my blind, terror-crazed escape from those ghastly living vines, and to remain where I was meant death by starvation or thirst.

But anything was better than this nightmare-like forest. At the thought I glanced with a shudder at the trees and my blood seemed to freeze in my veins.

The forest was approaching me? I could not believe my eyes. Now I felt I must be mad, and fascinated, hypnotized, I gazed, striving my utmost to clear my brain, to make common sense contradict the evidence of my eyes. But it was no delusion. Ponderously, slowly, but steadily the trees were gliding noiselessly up the slope! Their great gnarled roots were creeping and undulating over the ground while the pendant vines writhed and swayed and darted forth in all directions as if feeling their way. And then I saw what had before escaped me. The things were not lianas as I thought—huge, lithe, flexible tentacles springing from a thick, fleshy livid-hued crown of branches armed with stupendous thorns and which slowly opened and closed like hungry jaws above the huge trunks.

It was monstrous, uncanny, supernatural. A hundred yards and more of open ground had stretched between me and the forest when I had flung myself down, but now a scant fifty paces remained. In a few brief moments the fearsome things would be upon me. But I was petrified, incapable of moving hand or foot, too terrified and overwhelmed even to cry out.

Nearer and nearer the ghastly things came. I could hear the pounding of my heart. A cold sweat broke out on my body. I shivered as with ague. Then a long, warty, tentacle darted towards me and as the loathsome stinking thing touched my hand the spell was broken. With a wild scream I turned and dashed blindly towards the precipice, seeking only to delay, only to avoid for a time the certain awful death to which I was doomed, for the cliff barred all escape and I could go no further.

Chapter II Amazing Discoveries

A dozen leaps and I reached the wall of rock beyond which all retreat was cut off. Close at hand was an outjutting buttress, and thinking that back of this I might hide and thus prolong my life, I raced for it.

Panting, unseeing, I reached the projection, ducked behind it, and to my amazement and unspeakable delight, found myself in a narrow canyon or defile, like a huge cleft in the face of the precipice.

Here was safety for a time. The terrible man-eating trees could not enter, and striving only to put a greater distance between myself and the vegetable demons I never slackened my pace as I turned and sped up the canyon.

Narrower and narrower it became. Far above my head the rocky walls leaned inward, shutting out the light until soon it was so dim and shadowy that, through sheer necessity, I was forced to stop running and to pick my way carefully over the masses of rock that strewed the canyon's floor. Presently only a narrow ribbon of sky was visible between the towering walls of the pass. Then this was blotted out and I found myself in the inky blackness of a tunnel—an ancient watercourse—leading into the very bowels of the mountain.

But there was no use in hesitating. Anything was preferable to the cannibal trees, and groping my way 1 pressed on. Winding and twisting, turning sharply, the passageway led, ever ascending steeply and taxing my exhausted muscles and overwrought system to the utmost. Then, far ahead, I heard the faint sound of dripping, falling water and with joy at thought of burying my aching head in the cold liquid, and of easing my parched, dry throat, I hurried, stumbling, through the tunnel.

At last, I saw a glimmer of light in the distance and in it the sparkle of the water. Before me was the end of the tunnel and sunlight and with a final spurt of speed I rushed towards it. Then, just as I gained the opening, and so suddenly and unexpectedly that he seemed to materialize from thin air, a man rose before me.

Unable to check my speed, too thunderstruck at the apparition to halt. I dashed full into him and together we rolled head over heels upon the ground,

I have said he was a man. But even in that brief second that I glimpsed him, before I bowled him over, I realized that he was unlike any man I or anyone else had ever seen. Barely three feet in height, squat, with enormous head and shoulders, he stood shakily upon the tiniest of bandy legs and half supported his weight by his enormously long muscular arms. Had it not been that he was partly clothed and that his face was hairless, I should have thought him an ape. And now, as I picked myself up and stared at him, my jaws gaped in utter amazement. The fellow was running from me at top speed upon his hands, his feet waving and swaying in the air!

So utterly dumbfounded was I at the sight that I stood there silently gazing after the strange being until he vanished behind a clump of bushes. Then as it dawned upon me that as he had shown no sign of hostility, they were likely peaceable, I hurried after him.

A narrow trail led through the brush and running along this I burst from the shrubbery and came to an abrupt halt, utterly astounded at the sight which met my eyes. I was standing at the verge of a little rise beyond which stretched an almost circular, level plain several miles in diameter. Massed upon this in long rows, compact groups and huge squares, were hundreds of low, flat-roofed, stone buildings, while upon a smooth green plot at a little distance, stood a massive truncated pyramid.

Unwittingly I had reached my goal.

Before me was the lost city of Darien. Hazen had been right!

But it was not this thought not the strange city and its buildings that held my fascinated gaze, but the people. Everywhere they swarmed. Upon the streets, the housetops, even on the open land of the plain, they crowded and each and every one an exact counterpart of the one with whom 1 had collided at the mouth of the tunnel. And, like him too, all were walking or running upon their hands with their feet in air!

All this I saw in the space of a few seconds. Then, to add to my astonishment, I saw that many of the impossible beings actually were carrying burdens in their upraised feet! Some bore baskets, others jars or pots, others bundles, while one group that was approaching in my direction, held bows and arrows in their toes, and held them most menacingly at that!

It was evident that I had been seen. The excitement of the beings, their gestures and the manner in which they peered toward me from between their arms, left no doubt of it, while the threatening defensive attitude of the bowmen proved that they were ready to attack or defend at a moment's notice.

No doubt, to them, my appearance was as remarkable, as inexplicable and as amazing as they were to me. The greater portion were evidently filled with terror and scurried into their houses, yet many still stood their ground, while a few were so overcome with curiosity and surprise that they dropped feet to earth and rested right side up in order to stare at me more intently.

I realized that it behooved me to do something. To stand there motionless and speechless, gazing at the strange folk while they stared back, would accomplish nothing. But what to do, what move to make? That was a serious question. If I attempted to approach them a shower of arrows might well end my career and my investigations of the place then and there. It was equally useless to retrace my steps, even had I been so minded, for only certain death lay back of me. By some means I must win the confidence or friendship of these outlandish beings if only temporarily. A thousand ideas flashed through my mind.

If only Hazan would appear the creatures of the city might think I had dropped from the sky and so look upon me as a supernatural being. But it was hopeless to expect such a coincidence or to look for him. I had told him to fly over on the tenth day and this was only the seventh. If only I had retained my revolver the discharge of the weapon might frighten them into thinking me a god. But my firearms lay somewhere in the demon forest, I had heard no sounds of voices, no shouting, and I wondered if the beings were dumb. Maybe, I thought, if I should speak—should yell—I might impress them. But, on the other hand, the sound of my voice might break the spell and cause them to attack me. A single mistake, the slightest false move, might seal my doom. I was in a terrible quandary. All my former experiences with savage unknown tribes passed through my mind, and I strove to think of some incident, some little event, which had saved the day in the past and might be put to good use now.

And as I thus pondered I unconsciously reached in my pocket for my pipe, filled it with tobacco and placing it between my lips, struck a match and puffed forth a cloud of smoke. Instantly, from the weird-creatures, a low, wailing, sibilant sound arose. The archers dropped their bows and arrows and, with one accord, the people threw themselves grovelling on the ground. Unintentionally I had solved the problem. To these beings I was a fire-breathing, awful god!

Realizing this, knowing that when dealing with primitive races full of superstitions one must instantly follow up an advantage, I hesitated no longer. Puffing lustily at my pipe I strode forward and approached the nearest prostrate group. Motionless they buried their faces in "the dust, bodies pressed to earth, not daring to look up or even steal a surreptitious glance at the terrible, smoke-belching being who towered over them. Never had I seen such a demonstration of abject fear, such utter debasement. It really was pitiful to see them, to view their trembling, panting bodies quivering with nameless terror; terror so great they dared not flee, even though they knew by my footsteps that I was among them, and feared that at any moment an awful doom might descend upon them.

But their very fright defeated my purpose. I had won safety and even adoration perhaps, but there could be no amity, no intercourse, no means of mingling with them, of securing food, of learning anything if they were to remain cowering on the ground. By some means I must win a measure of their confidence, I must prove that I was a friendly beneficent deity and yet I must still be able to impress them with my powers and control through fear.

It was a delicate matter to accomplish, but it had to be done. Almost at my feet lay one of the archers — a leader or chieftain I thought from the feather ornaments he wore—and stooping, I lifted, him gently. At my touch he fairly palpitated with terror, but no frightened scream, no sound save an indrawn snake-like hiss, escaped his lips, and he offered no resistance as I lifted him to a kneeling position.

Hitherto I had had no opportunity to obtain a good view of these people, but now I saw this fellow close at hand I was amazed at his repulsive ugliness. I have seen some rather ugly races, but all of them combined and multiplied a hundredfold would be beauties compared to these dwarfed, topsy-turvy, denizens of the lost city. Almost black, low browed, with tiny, shifty eyes like those of a reptile, with enormous, thick lipped mouths, sharp, fang-like teeth and matted hair, the bowman seemed far more like an ape than like a human being. And then I noticed a most curious thing. He had no ears! Where they should have been were merely round, bare spots covered with light colored thin membrane like the ears of a frog. For an instant I thought it a malformation or an injury. But as I glanced at the others I saw that all were the same. Not one possessed a human ear! All this I took in as I lifted the fellow up. Then as he tremblingly raised his head and eyed me I spoke to him, trying to make my tones gentle and reassuring. But there was no response, no sign of intelligence or understanding in his dull, frightened eyes. There was nothing to do but to fall back on sign language and rapidly I gestured, striving to convey to him that I would do no injury or harm, that I was friendly and that I wished the people to rise. Slowly a look of comprehension dawned upon his ugly face and then, to prove my friendship, I fished in my pocket, found a tiny mirror and placed it in his hand. At the expression of utter astonishment that overspread his ugly features as he looked in the glass I roared with laughter. But the mirror won the day. Uttering sharp, strange, hissing sounds, the fellow conveyed the news to his companions and slowly, hesitatingly and with lingering fear still on their faces, the people rose and gazed upon me with strangely mingled awe and curiosity.

Mainly they were men, but scattered among them were many who evidently were women, although all were so uniformly repulsive in features that it was difficult to distinguish the sexes. All too, were clad much alike in single garments of bark-cloth resembling gunny sacks with, holes cut at the four corners for legs and arms and an opening for the head.

But while there was no variation in the form or material of the clothing yet some wore ornaments and others did not. Leg and arm bands of woven fibre were common. Many of the men had decorations of bright hued feathers attached to arms or legs or fastened about their waists and many were elaborately tattooed. That such primitive dwarfed, ugly, degenerate creatures could have built the city of stone houses, could have laid out the broad paved streets and could have developed so much of civilization, seemed incredible.

But I had little time to devote to such thoughts. The fellow I had presented with the mirror was hissing at me like a serpent and by signs was trying to indicate that I was to follow him. So, with the crowd trailing behind us, we started up the road towards the centre of the city.

Chapter III Before the King

Truly no stranger procession had ever been seen by human eyes.

Before me, the chief archer led the way, walking upon his great calloused hands and with his bow grasped firmly in one prehensile foot and his precious mirror in the other. On either side and in the rear were scores of the weird beings hurrying along on their hands, keeping up an incessant hissing sound like escaping steam; black legs and feet waving and gesticulating in air and, at first glance, appearing like a crowd of headless dwarfs. How I wished that Fenton might have been there to see!

Apparently my actions had been closely watched from the safe retreats of the houses and word passed that I was not to be feared, for as we reached the first buildings, the edges of the roofs and the tiny window slits were lined with curious, ugly faces peering at us. It was then that I noticed that none of the buildings had doors, the walls rising blank to the roofs save for the narrow windows, while ladders, here and there in place, proved that the inhabitants, like the Pueblo Indians, entered and left their dwellings through the roofs.

Now and then as we passed along, some of the more venturesome beings would join the procession, scrambling nimbly down the ladders, sometimes upside down on their hands, often using both hands and feet, but always using hands only as soon as they reached the ground.

How or why they had developed this extraordinary mode of progression puzzled me greatly, for there seemed no scientifically good reason for it. Among tribes who habitually use boats, weak legs and enormously developed shoulders, chests and arms are common, and I could well understand how a race, depending entirely upon water for transportation, might, through generations of inbreeding and isolation, lose the use of legs.

But here was a people who apparently had no conveyances of any kind, who must of necessity travel about to cultivate their crops, who must carry heavy burdens in order to construct their buildings and to whom legs would seem a most important matter, and yet with legs and feet so atrophied and arms so tremendously developed that they walked on their hands and used their feet as auxiliaries. It was a puzzle I longed to solve and that I would have investigated thoroughly had fate permitted me to dwell longer in the strange city. But I am getting ahead of my story.

Presently we reached a large central square surrounded by closely set buildings. Approaching one of these, my guide signalled that I was to follow him as he swiftly ascended the ladder to the roof. Rather hesitatingly, for I doubted if the frail affair would support my weight, I climbed gingerly up and found myself upon the broad, flat roof. Before me were several dark openings with the ends of ladders projecting from them and down one of these my guide led the way. At the bottom of the ladder I was in a large, obscure room, lit only by the slits of windows high in the walls, and for a moment I could see nothing of my surroundings, although from all sides issued the low hissing sounds that I now knew were the language of these remarkable people. Then, as my eyes became accustomed to the dim light, I saw that a score of beings were squatted about the sides of the room, while, directly before me, on a raised dais or platform, was seated the largest and ugliest individual I had seen.

That he was a ruler, a king or high priest, was evident. In place of the sack-like garment of his people he was clad in a long rove of golden green feathers. Upon his head was a feather crown of the same hue. About his wrists and ankles were golden bands studded with huge uncut emeralds, and a string of the same stones hung upon his chest.

The throne, if such it could be called, was draped with a green and gold rug and everywhere, upon the walls of the chamber, were paintings of strange misshapen, uncouth creatures and human beings all in the same green and yellow tints. Something in the surroundings, in the drawings and the costume of the king, reminded me of the Aztecs or Mayas and while quite distinct from either I felt sure that, in some long past time, these dwellers of the lost city had been influenced by or had been in contact with, these ancient civilizations.

As I stood before the dais my guide prostrated himself before the green robed monarch and then rising, carried on what appeared to be an animated account of my arrival and the subsequent happenings.

As he spoke, silence fell upon those present and the king listened attentively, glancing now and then at me and regarding me with an expression of combined fear, respect and enmity. I could readily understand what his feelings were. No doubt he was a person of far greater intelligence than his subjects, and while more or less afraid of such a strange being as myself, and superstitious enough to think me supernatural, yet in me he saw a possible usurper of his own power and prominence and, if he had dared, he would have been only too glad to have put me out of the way.

At the end of the archer's narrative the fellow handed his mirror to the king who uttered a sharp exclamatory hiss as he saw his own ugly countenance reflected in it. Forgetting court etiquette and conventions in their curiosity, the others gathered about and as the mirror passed from hand to hand their amazement knew no bounds.

All of these men I now saw were clad in green or green and white and were evidently of high rank, priests or courtiers I took it, but otherwise were as undersized and repulsive as the common people on the streets.

Suddenly I was aroused from my contemplation of the room and its occupants by my guide who came close and by signs ordered me to perform the miracle of smoking. Very ceremoniously and deliberately I drew out my pipe, filled it and struck a match. At the bright flare of the flame king and courtiers uttered a wailing hiss of fear and threw themselves upon the floor. But they were of different stuff from their people, or else the guide had prepared them for the event, for the king soon raised his head, and glancing dubiously at me and finding I had not vanished in fire and smoke, as he no doubt expected, he resumed his sitting posture and in sharp tones ordered his fellows to do likewise.

But despite this it was very evident that he and his friends were in dread of the smoke from my mouth and nose while the tobacco fumes caused them to sputter and cough and choke. This at last was more than even the king could stand, and by signs he made it clear that he wished me to end the demonstration of my fire eating ability. Then he rose, and, to my unbounded surprise, stood erect and stepped forward like an ordinary mortal upon his feet. Here was an extraordinary thing. Was the king of a distinct race or stock or was the use of nether limbs for walking confined to the royal family or to individuals?

It was a fascinating scientific problem to solve. I had no time to give it any consideration, however, for the king was now addressing me in his snake-like dialect and was trying hard to make his meaning clear by signs. For a moment I was at a loss, but presently I grasped his meaning. He was asking whence I had come, and from the frequency with which he pointed upward I judged he thought I had dropped from the sky.

Then a brilliant idea occurred to me as I remembered Hazan's story and his suggestion regarding his return by plane. Pointing upward I made the best imitation of a motor's exhaust that I could manage. There was no doubt that the monarch grasped the meaning. He grinned, nodded and swept his arm in a wide semicircle around his head, evidently to represent the course of the plane when Hazen had flown over the city.

Seemingly, satisfied and, I judged, deeply impressed as well, he resumed his seat, gave a few orders to his fellows and summoning my guide spoke a few words to him. Thereupon the archer signalled me to follow and led the way across the room. But I noticed that the king had not returned the mirror.

Ascending the ladder to the roof the fellow hurried across to a second building, scrambled down another ladder and we entered a large room. In one corner swung a large fiber hammock; in the centre was spread cloth decorated in green and gold, and as we entered two women appeared, each carrying handsome earthenware dishes of food whose savory odors whetted my already ravenous appetite.

Marvelous as it was to see these impossible beings carrying food in thier uplifted feet and walking on their hands, yet I had now become somewhat accustomed to the people and I was so famished that I hardly gave the upside down serving maids a second glance.

The food was excellent—consisting of vegetables, some sort of fricassee game and luscious fruits—and as I ate my guide squatted near and regarded me with the fixed, half adoring, half frightened look that one sees on the face of a strange puppy.

I judged that he had been appointed my own personal guard or valet—it mattered little which—and I was not sorry, for he seemed a fairly decent specimen of his race and we already had become pretty well accustomed to each other's signs and gestures. Wishing to still further establish myself in his confidence, and feeling rather sorry for him because of the loss of his treasured mirror, I searched my pockets for some other trinket. My possessions however were limited. They consisted of a stub of a lead-pencil, a note book, a few coins, my handkerchief, my watch, my pocket-knife, a few loose pistol cartridges, my pipe and tobacco and a box of matches. As I drew all these out a sudden fear gripped me. I had barely a dozen matches remaining and my supply of tobacco was perilously low, What would happen when I could no longer produce fire and smoke when called upon to do so?

But I controlled my fears and comforted myself with the thought that possibly, after having felt the effects of tobacco smoke, the king would not soon demand another miracle at my hands and that, before either matches or tobacco was exhausted, something might well happen to solve any problems that might arise. Nevertheless I heartily wished that I had arranged with Hazen to bring supplies in case they were needed and which he could have easily dropped as he flew over.

It would, I now realized, have proved an extremely impressive thing for the people to have seen me secure my magic from the giant roaring bird in the sky. But I had never of course dreamed of such adventures as I had met and could not possibly have foreseen the need of such things. Just the same I cursed myself for a stupid fool for not having provided for any contingency and especially for not having arranged a series of signals with Hazen, However, I was familiar with wigwagging and decided that, if necessity arose, it would be quite feasible for me to signal to him by means of my handkerchief tied on a stick. Also, I felt a bit easier in my mind from knowing that near the city was a splendid landing place for the plane and that Hazen, if signalled, would unquestionably attempt a descent.

Truly it was not every explorer in a predicament like mine who could count on being able to summon aid from the clouds if worst came to worst or who knew that a friend in an airplane would keep track of his whereabouts, indeed, I almost chuckled at these incredible folk and yet within two hundred miles of the Canal and civilization and with another American due to hover above—and even communicate with me—within the next three days. It was all so dreamlike, so utterly preposterous that I scarcely could force myself to believe it and, having dined well and feeling desperately tired, I flung myself into the hammock and almost instantly dropped off to sleep.

It was still daylight when I awoke and the room was empty. Ascending the ladder to the roof without meeting anyone, I climbed down the other ladder to the street. Many people were about and while a few, especially the women and children, threw themselves on their faces or scampered into their houses at my approach, yet the majority merely prostrated themselves for a moment and then stood, supporting themselves in their ape-like way, and stared curiously at me. I had gone but a short distance when my valet came hurrying to my side. But he made no objections to my going where I wished and I was glad to see that my movements were not to be hampered as I was anxious thoroughly to explore the city and its neighborhood. Curious to learn the purpose of the pyramidal structure I had noticed I proceeded in that direction and was soon in a part of the town given over to stalls, shops and markets. There were also several workshops, such as pottery makers', a woodworking shop and a weaver's shop and I spent some time watching the artisans at their work. Somehow, from seeing the people walk upon their hands, I had expected to see them perform their tasks with their feet and it came as something of a surprise to see these fellows using their hands like ordinary mortals.

Beyond this portion of the city the houses were scattered, the outlying buildings were more or less patched and out of repair and were very evidently the abode of the poorer classes, although the inhabitants I saw, and who retreated the instant they saw me, were exactly like all the others as far as I could see, both in dress and feature. Passing these huts, I crossed the smooth green field, which I now saw was a perfect landing place for the plane. Tethered to stakes and grazing on the grass were a number of animals which, as I first noticed them, I had taken for goats and cattle. But now I discovered that they were all deer and tapirs. It was a great surprise to see these animals domesticated but, after all, it was not remarkable, for I should have known, had I stopped to give the matter thought, that goats, sheep and cattle were unknown to the aboriginal Americans and that this city and its people, who had never been visited and had never communicated with other races, would of necessity be without these well known animals.

Moreover, I knew that the Mayas were supposed to have used tapirs as beasts of burden, and while I was standing there watching the creatures a man approached riding astride a big tapir and driving a second one loaded with bags of charcoal and garden produce. Here then was a partial solution of the manner by which these weak, dwarfed people built their stone houses. For with the powerful elephant-like tapirs—and I noticed all were the giant Baird's tapir which reaches a weight of seven or eight hundred pounds—they could easily haul the blocks of stone from a quarry and by means of tackle and inclined planes, could readily hoist the stones to the tops of the walls.

I had now reached the base of the pyramid and found it a massive structure of the same flinty stone as the other buildings. Running from base to summit was a spiral path or stairway and instantly I knew that it was a sacrificial pyramid exactly like those used by the Aztecs and on which unfortunate beings were killed and sacrificed. This discovery still further confirmed my suspicions that these people were either of Aztec or Maya blood or had been influenced by those races. Filled with curiosity to see the altar on the summit I started up the sloping stairs. I was at first doubtful if my companion would permit this for the structure was sacred and doubtless only priests of the highest order were permitted upon it. Evidently, however, my guide thought that such a supernatural being or god as myself had every right to invade the most sacred places, and he offered no objection, but prostrated himself at the base of the pyramid as I ascended. At the summit I found, as I had expected, the sacrificial stone, a huge block elaborately carved in hieroglyphs and with channels to permit the blood to drain off, while, close at hand, was a massive carved stone collar or yoke exactly like those which have been found in Puerto Rico and have so long puzzled scientists. From the blood stains upon this I felt sure it was used to hold down the victim's head and neck, while strong metal staples, set into the stone, indicated that the man destined for sacrifice was spread-eagled and his ankles and wrists bound fast to the rings.

It was a most interesting spot from a scientific standpoint, but decidedly gruesome, while the stench of putrefied blood and fragments of human flesh clinging to the stones was nauseating and I was glad to retrace my steps and descend to the ground.

From the top of the pyramid I had obtained a fine view of the plain and city and I had noted that the former was surrounded on all sides with steep cliffs, and I realized that the plain was not a flat topped mountain as I had thought but the crater of an extinct volcano.

I saw no path, pass or opening by which the crater-valley could be entered, but I knew there was the one by which I had arrived. As the sun, here on the mountain top, was still well above the horizon I decided to visit the entrance to the tunnel, for I was anxious to know what the people should leave this avenue open when, on every other side, they were completely cut off from the outer world. Possibly, I thought, they knew of those horrible man-eating trees and trusted to them to guard the city from intruders. Or again, they might keep the entrance guarded, for the fellow I had knocked over as I dashed in had been at the tunnel mouth and for all I knew he might have been an armed guard and was merely so thunderstruck at my precipitate appearance that he forgot his duties and his weapons.

With such thoughts running through my mind I strolled across the plain, past well-tilled gardens and fields, in several of which I saw men ploughing with well made plows drawn by tapirs. Even the farmers stopped their work and prostrated themselves as I passed, and it was evident that word of my celestial origin and supernatural character had gone forth to every inhabitant of the valley.

Following the path, I reached the little rise from which I had first viewed the city and soon came to the spot where I had entered. Imagine my utter surprise when I saw no sign whatever of the opening. I was positive that I had not missed my way. I recognized the clumps of bushes and the forms of the rocks, but there was no dark hole, no aperture in the cliff. Then, as I drew near to the precipice, I made an astounding discovery. Closely fitted into the rock and so like it that it had escaped my attention, was an enormous stone door. How it was operated, whether it was hinged or slid or whether it was pivoted, I could not determine. But that it covered and concealed the entrance to the tunnel I was convinced. Why the people had left the tunnel open as though to clear the way for me, why they should have fitted a door to it, why they should ever use the tunnel which could bring them only to the death-dealing forest, were problems which I could not solve.

At any rate there was nothing to be gained by staying there and I started back towards the city. Thinking to return by another route, I took a path that led towards the opposite mountain side and presently from ahead, I distinctly heard the sound of metal striking stone.

Oddly enough my mind had been so filled with other matters that I had hardly wondered how these people cut or worked the hard stone. But now that my attention was attracted by the sound my curiosity was aroused and I hurried forward. What metal I wondered, did these people use? For metal I knew it must be from the ringing, clinking noise. Was I about to see hardened bronze tools in actual use or had these marvelous folk discovered the use of iron or steel? So astounding had been all my experiences, so paradoxical and incredible everything I had seen, that I was prepared for almost anything. I, or rather we, soon came to the verge of a deep pit wherein, laboring at great masses of white stone, were scores of workmen. Standing like skeletons among the blocks were derricks; hitched to sledge-like drags loaded with stone were teams of tapirs and on the further side was a big outjutting. Hurrying down the steep trail I reached the bottom of the pit to find every man flat on the ground. Signalling to my companion that I wished to have the fellows go on with their work, I approached the nearest slab of rock. It was the same fine grained whitish rock of which the city was built, and, lying upon it where they had been dropped by the stone cutters, were several small hammers, chisels and an adze-like tool. That they were not bronze or any alloy of copper I knew at the first glance. Their color was that of tempered steel and they seemed ridiculously small for the purpose of working this hard stone. If these people used steel then I had indeed made a discovery, and intent on this matter I picked up one of the tools to examine it. No sooner had I lifted it that I uttered an involuntary exclamation of surprise. The hammer, although hardly larger than an ordinary tack hammer, weighed fully ten pounds! It was heavier than if made of solid gold. There was only one known metal that could be so heavy and that was platinum. But platinum it could not be, for that metal is softer than gold and would be of no more use for cutting rock than so much lead. The tools, however, were undoubtedly hard—the polished surface of the hammer-head and the chisels, and the unscarred keen edges of the latter, showed this, and, anxious to test their hardness, I held a chisel against the rock and struck it sharply with a hammer.

Once more I cried out in wonder, for the chisel had bitten fully half an inch into the stone! It had cut it as easily as if the rock were cheese! What marvel was this? What magic lay in these tools? And then the secret dawned upon me and a moment's examination of the stone confirmed my suspicions. It was not that the tools were so very hard or keen but that the rock was soft—so soft that I could readily cut it with my pocket knife, a wax-like earthy rock which no doubt became hard upon exposure to the air exactly like the coral rock of Bermuda, which may be quarried with saws and even planed, but becomes as hard as limestone after exposure to the elements. Still, the tools were far harder than any metal except tempered steel, and for some time I puzzled over the matter as I watched the workmen, now over their fright and adoration, skillfully cutting and squaring the blocks of stone. It was one more conundrum I could not solve, and it was not until long afterwards, when a careful analysis of the metal was made, that I knew the truth. The metal was an alloy of platinum and iridium—the later one of the hardest of all known metals.

As we left the quarry and made our way toward the city I noticed an immense aqueduct stretching across the land from the apparently solid mountain side just above the quarry. I had given little thought to how the people secured water here in the crater. But it was now apparent that it was brought from some source by the stone conduit. Keenly curious to know whence it came, for I could not imagine how a river, lake or spring could exist on the crater rim, I wished to investigate, but darkness was coming on, I was tired and I deferred further exploration until another day.

Although I suppose I should have been grateful for being able to communicate with the people at all, yet I keenly felt the lack of a common medium of conversation, for the sign language was limited and I could not secure information I so much desired about many matters that puzzled me.

Nothing further of interest transpired that night. I was supplied with food, I slept soundly and did not awaken until roused by the women with my breakfast. Very soon afterwards I was summoned to the throne room by Zip, as I called my companion, and once more I had to strike a match and smoke my pipe for the king's benefit. This time a second personage of high rank was beside him, a villainous looking hunchbacked dwarf with red, vicious eyes and cruel mouth but who, like the king, walked on his feet. From his elaborately decorated white robes and the mitre-like crown of quetzal feathers on his gray head, I concluded he was a high priest, for in the designs upon his costume and the form of his crown, I saw a decided resemblance to the Aztec priests as shown in the picturegraph of that race. Moreover, the quetzal or resplendant trogon was, I knew, the sacred bird of the Aztecs and Mayas, and while I was aware that it was common in the northern portions of Panama, I had never heard of its occurrence in Darien, a fact which still further confirmed in my belief that these people were of Aztec stock. But if this were the case it was a puzzle as to why they should be so undersized, malformed and physically degenerate, for both the Aztecs and Mayas were powerful, well-formed races. The only solution I could think of was the supposition that isolation and intermarriage through centuries had brought about such results.

But to return to my audience with the king. I was not all pleased at thus having to use my precious matches and tobacco and I foresaw some very unpleasant developments in store for me if the performance was to be of daily occurrence. It was manifest that I must devise some new and startling exhibition of my powers if I were to retain my prestige and my freedom, for I well knew, from past experiences with savage races, and from the character of these potentates, that if I failed to perform miracles, and became, in their eyes, an ordinary mortal, my career would come to an abrupt end.

To be sure, there was the reassuring fact that Hazen would or should appear within the nest forty-eight hours, but it was decidedly problematical as to whether I could communicate with him or could receive any aid from the air. However, there was nothing to be done but obey and puff away at my pipe. With the idea of cutting the exhibition short I stepped closer to the throne and blew the smoke towards the faces of the king and the priest. The monarch was soon coughing and spluttering, but he was game, while the priest, to my amazement, sniffed the smoke and seemed to enjoy it. Here was trouble. Evidently he had a natural taste for tobacco and this fact caused me a deal of worry, for if the old rascal took it into his head to acquire the habit and demanded I should let him try a puff at the pipe I would be in a pretty fix indeed.

However, my fears on this score were groundless, and presently the king, who could stand it no longer, signalled for me to depart, which I did most gladly.

I still had it in mind to investigate the water supply, and with Zip—reminding me of an acrobatic clown— beside me, headed for the aqueduct. This I found was of stones, dovetailed together in water tight joints, and built like an open trough and the speed of the water flowing though it proved the supply well above the city's level. It was an easy matter to follow the conduit, for a well-trodden path was beside it, but it was a steep upgrade climb for nearly a mile before I gained the spot where the aqueduct tapped the mountain rim. Here the water gushed from a hole in the solid rock and from its volume I knew it must come from some large reservoir. From where I stood I could look directly down into the quarry and the thought flashed through my mind that if the people continued to quarry in the place for many more years they would undermine and weaken the foundations of the aqueduct.

It was their lookout not mine, however, and still intent on tracing the water to its source I turned up a trail that appeared to lead to the mountain top. In places this was excessively steep and here Zip exhibited a new habit of his people. Dropping his feet first and his prehensile toes grasping every projection and bit of rock to draw him along while his immense, powerful hands supported his weight; and pushed him onward. He looked more like a gigantic spider than anything, and not in the least human. Panting and blown I at last gained the summit and looked down upon a lake of dismal black water filling a circular crater about half a mile in diameter. Close by was an aperture in the rock and half-filled with water, and it was evident that this was connected with the outlet below by means of a shaft. Whether this was a natural formation or had been laboriously cut by hand I could not tell, but I was prepared for almost anything by this time and was not greatly surprised to find a cleverly constructed sluice gate arranged above the opening to regulate the flow of water. I had seen similar crater lakes in the extinct volcanoes of the West Indies, but I was surprised that Hazen had not mentioned it. But on second thought I realized that when flying over it, the dark water surrounded by vegetation would hardly be visible and might easily be mistaken for heavy shadow or an empty crater, while the aviator's surprise at the city would fix his attention upon it to the exclusion of all surroundings.

Standing upon the rock ridge several hundred feet above the city I had almost the same view as Hazen had from his plane and I could understand how, at an elevation of 5000 feet or more, he had been unable to obtain any very accurate idea of the buildings or people. I also realized, with a sinking of my heart, that it would be next to impossible for him to recognize me or to see any signals I might make.

The most prominent spot in the entire valley was the pyramid, for this was isolated upon the green plain and the sun, striking through a gap in the eastern rim of the crater, shone directly upon the altar's summit, this bringing it out in sharp relief. Indeed, it looked for all the world like a pylon on an aviation field. If I expected to make my presence known to Hazen or to signal to him, my best point of vantage would be the summit of the pyramid and I determined to climb there and await his arrival when he should be due, two days later.

Little did I dream at the time of the conditions under which I would await him upon that gruesome altar.

Chapter IV The Sacrifice

By the time we had descended the mountain and had reached the city it was noon, and going to my quarters I was glad to find an excellent meal. Having finished eating I threw myself into the hammock and despite my scarcity of matches and tobacco, indulged in a smoke. Then, feeling drowsy, I took off my coat, placed it on the floor beside my hammock and closed my eyes.

I awoke refreshed and reached for my coat only to leap from the hammock with a cry of alarm. The coat was gone! Quickly I searched the room, thinking Zip might have placed the garment elsewhere while I slept, but the place was bare. Zip was nowhere to be seen, and even the rug on which meals were served had been removed.

Here was a pretty state of affairs. My coat contained my matches, pipe, tobacco, pocket knife and handkerchief. Without it I was lost, helpless, incapable of maintaining my prestige of position. Death or worse hovered over me. My life depended on regaining my precious garment and its contents. Who could have taken it? What could have been their object? And instantly the truth flashed upon my mind. It was that rascally high priest. He had seen me take pipe, tobacco and matches from my coat pocket. He had watched me narrowly, perhaps had kept his eyes upon me through some hidden peep-hole or opening, and had seen me remove my coat, and white I slept had seized it. Or perhaps he had ordered Zip to secure it for him. It made little difference which, for if it were in his possession he would have me in his power. He could order by fair means or foul, and knowing that every second I delayed increased my peril, I rushed to the ladder and across the roofs to the throne room.

From beneath me, as I started to descent, came the sounds of the hissing language in excited tones, and as my head came below the level of the roof my heart sank. The dark air of the room was heavy with tobacco smoke!

The next instant my feet were jerked from beneath me, I was seized, tumbled on the floor, and before I could strike or rise I was bound hand and foot. Dazed, startled and helpless I glanced about. Surrounding me were a dozen of the repulsive dwarfs. Gathered about the sides of the room were crowds of people, and seated upon the throne, puffing great clouds of smoke from my pipe, a wicked lear upon his ugly face, and thoroughly enjoying himself, was the priest, while beside him the king coughed and sneezed and looked very miserable.

All this I took in at a glance. Then I was seized and dragged roughly before the throne. I fully realized my doom was sealed. I was no longer a supernatural being to be feared and adored— my treatment proved that— but merely a prisoner, an ordinary mortal. Oddly enough, however, I was no longer frightened. My first fears had given place to anger, and I raged and fumed and prayed that the grinning fiend before me might be stricken with all the torturing sickness, which usually follows the beginner's first smoke.

But apparently he was immune to the effects, and as soon as I was dragged before the throne he rose, and pointing at me, addressed the crowd before him. That he was denouncing me as an imposter and at the same time tremendously increasing his own importance was evident by his tones, his gestures and the expression on his dark face. Moreover, he had another card to play. Pointing upward and waving his arm and making quite creditable imitation of an airplane's exhaust, he spoke vehemently and then pointed to a man who crouched on the dais.

At first I was at a loss to grasp his meaning, and then, as the trembling creature beside the throne spoke in frightened tones and gesticulated vividly, I realized he was the chap I had bumped into upon my arrival. He had spilled the beans and had informed the old scarecrow of a priest, that I had arrived via the tunnel and not from the sky.

I felt sure now that my doom was sealed. But there was nothing I could do or say. There was one chance in a million that I might be escorted from the valley and turned loose in the tunnel; but that gave me no comfort, for I knew that hideous certain death awaited me on that slope covered with the devilish man-eating-trees.

The chances, however, were all in favor of my being tortured and butchered. Strangely enough my greatest regret, the matter which troubled me the most and made me curse my carelessness in removing my coat while I slept, was not that I should be killed —I had faced death too often for that —but the fact that I would be unable to report the wonderful discoveries I had made or give my knowledge of the city and its people to the world. Indeed, my thoughts were so concentrated on this that I gave little attention to the priest, until he stepped forward, and, with a nasty grimace, struck me savagely across the face. Maddened at the blow I lunged forward like a butting ram. My head struck squarely in the pit of his stomach, and with a gasping yell he doubled up and fell sprawling on the dais while the pipe flew from his lips and scattered its contents far and near. Before I could roll to one side, my guards seized and pulled me across the room. Despite my plight and the fate in store for me I laughed loudly and heartily as I saw the priest with hands pressed to stomach, eyes rolling wildly and a sickly greenish pallor on his face. The blow plus the tobacco had done its work. I had evened the score a bit at any rate.

The next moment I was hauled through a low doorway hidden by draperies, and, bumping like a bag of meal over the rough stones, was pitched into an inky black cell. Bruised, scratched and bleeding I lay there unable to move or see while the occasional sounds of shuffling footsteps, or rather handsteps, told me a guard was close at hand. For hour after hour I lay motionless, expecting each minute that I would be dragged out to torture or death and wondering dully what form it would take, until at last—numb, exhausted and worn out, I lost consciousness.

I was brought to my senses by being seized and jerked to a sitting posture, and found the cell illuminated by a spluttering torch, while two of the men supported my shoulders and a third held a gourd of water to my lips. My throat was parched and the liquid was most welcome, and a moment later, a fourth man appeared with food. It was evident that the priest had no intention of letting me die of thirst or starvation, and I wondered why he should be so solicitous of my comfort if I were doomed to an early death.

As soon as I had eaten, the guards withdrew, taking the torch, and I was once more left in stygian blackness with my thoughts. I wondered whether it were day or night, but I had no means of judging. It had been the middle of the afternoon when I had missed my coat, and, reasoning that the food served was probably the evening meal, I decided that it was now about sundown. In that case I should probably be put out of the way the next morning. That would be a full twenty-four hours before Hazen was due and I wondered what he would think when he saw no sign of me in the valley—whether he would surmise that I had not reached the city and had been killed by the Kunas, and what he would report to my friends in Colon.

But Colon, friends and Hazen seemed very far away as I thought of them there in that black hole awaiting death at the hands of the strange black dwarfs and, as far as any aid they could give me, was concerned I might well have been in Mars.

My thoughts were interrupted by my guards reappearing with the torch. Lifting me to my feet they loosened the bonds about my legs and urged me through a small doorway, where I was compelled to bend low to pass, and along a winding, narrow, low-ceilinged stone tunnel. That I was on my way to my execution I was sure, and vague thoughts of selling my life dearly and of overpowering my puny guards crossed my mind. But I dismissed such ideas as useless, for even were I to succeed I would be no better off. There were thousands of the tiny men in the city, it was impossible to escape from the valley unseen, and I had not the least idea where the underground passage led. To attempt to escape meant certain death, and there still remained a faint chance, a dim hope that I might yet be spared and merely deported. So, ducking my head and with stooping shoulders, I picked my way along the tunnel by the fitful glare of the flaming torch.

For what seemed miles the way led on and I began to think that the entrance was outside the valley and that was being led to freedom, when a glimmer of light showed ahead, the floor sloped upward, and, an instant later, I emerged in the open air.

For a moment my eyes were blinded by the light after the darkness of the passage and I could not grasp where I was. I had thought it evening, but I knew the night had passed and another day had come. Then, as I looked about at my surroundings and it dawned upon me where I was, a shudder of horror, a chill of deadly fear swept over me. I was on the summit of the pyramid. The sacrificial altar was within three paces. Beside it stood the fiendish priest and his assistants, and gathered upon the green plain were hordes of people with faces upturned towards me. I was about to be sacrificed, to be bound fast to the bloodstained awful stone, to have my still-beating heart torn from my living body!

Anything were preferable to that and with a sudden bound I strove to gain the altar's edge and hurl myself to certain death. But to no avail. Two of the dwarfs held me fast by the cord which fastened my wrists and I was jerked back to fall heavily upon the stones. Before I could struggle up, four of the priest's assistants sprang forward and, grasping me by legs and shoulders, lifted me and tossed me upon the stinking sacrificial stone. I was helpless, and instantly my ankles were tied fast to the metal staples, the bonds of my wrists were severed, my arms were drawn apart and securely lashed to other staples, the stone collar was placed about my neck forcing my head far back and I was ready for the glowering priest to wreak his awful vengeance.

Stepping close to the altar he drew a glittering obsidian knife—and even in my terrible predicament I noted this, and realized that he was adhering strictly to Aztec customs—and, raising his arms, he began a wailing, blood-curdling chant. Up from the thousands of throats below came the chanting chorus, rising and falling like a great wave of sound. How long I wondered, would this keep on? How much longer must this agony, this torture of suspense be borne? Why did he not strike his stone dagger into my chest and have it over with?

And then, from some dormant cell in my brain, came the answer. I was to be sacrificed to the sun god, and I remembered that, according to the Aztec religion, the blow could not be struck until the rising sun cast its rays upon the victim's chest above the heart. The priest was awaiting that moment. He was delaying until the sun, still behind the crater's rim, should throw its first rays upon me.

How long would it be? How many minutes must pass before the fatal finger of light pointed to my heart? With a mighty effort I turned my head slightly towards the east. Above the rugged mountain edge was a blaze of light. Even as I looked with aching eyes a golden beam shot across the valley and flashed blindingly into my face. It was now only a matter of seconds. The priest raised his knife aloft. The chant from the multitude ceased and over city and valley fell an ominous, awful silence. Upon the sacrificial knife the sun gleamed brilliantly, transforming the glass-like stone to burnished gold. With his free hand the priest tore open my shirt and bared my bosom. I felt that the end had come. I closed my eyes. And then, at the very instant when the knife was about to sweep down, faint and far away, like the humming of a giant bee, I caught a sound. It was unmistakable unlike anything else in all the world—the exhaust of an airplane's engines!

And my straining ears were not the only ones that heard that note. Over the priest's face swept a look of deadly fear. The poised knife was slowly lowered. He turned trembling towards the west and from the waiting throng below rose a mighty sigh of terror.

A new hope sprang up in my breast. Was it Hazen? He was not due until the next day and it might be only some army plane that would pass far to one side of the valley. No, the sound was increasing, the plane was approaching. But even were it Hazen would it help me any? Would he see my plight and descend or would he fly too far above the city to note what was taking place? For a space my life was saved. The fear of that giant, roaring bird would prevent the sacrifice. The priest feared he had made a mistake, that I was a god, that, from the sky, vengeance would swoop upon him and his people for the contemplated butchery. But if the plane passed? Or would his dread of it be greater than his fear of defying the sun god by failing in the sacrifice?

Now the roar of the motor sounded directly overhead and the next moment I glimpsed the plane speeding across the blue morning sky. Then it was gone. The exhaust grew fainter and fainter. All hope was lost. Whoever it was had flown on, all unsuspecting the awful fate of a fellow man upon that sunlit pyramid.

And now the priest was again towering over me. Once more he raised his knife. I could feel the warm sun beating upon my throat and shoulders. I could feel it creeping slowly but surely downward. The knife quivered in the impatient hand of the priest, I saw his muscles tense themselves for the blow, I caught the grim smile that flitted across his face as he prepared to strike.

An instant more and my palpitating heart would be held aloft for all to see.

But the blow never fell. With a deafening roar, that drowned the mighty shout of terror from the people, the airplane swooped like an eagle from the sky and clove the air within a hundred feet of the altar. With a gurgling cry the priest flung himself face down, and his knife fell clattering with the sound of broken glass upon the stones.

Was it Hazen? Would he see me? Would he alight? Was I saved?

The answer was a thunderous, fear maddened cry from below, a swishing whirr as of a gale of wind and a dark shadow sweeping over me.

And then my overwrought senses, my frazzled nerves could stand no more and all went black before my eyes.

Dimly consciousness came back. I heard the sounds of rushing feet, the panting labored breath of men, sharp, half uttered exclamations and terror and a deep drawn sigh of relief. Above my wondering eyes a figure suddenly loomed. A weird uncanny figure with strangely smooth and rounded head and great goggling, glassy eyes. With a jerk the stone collar was lifted from my strained neck and as full consciousness came back I gasped. It was Hazen! By some miracle he was ahead of time!

From somewhere, muffled behind that grotesque mask, came a hoarse: "My God, are you hurt?

Before I could speak the bonds were slashed from my ankles and wrists. A strong arm raised me and pulled me from the slab.

"For God's sake, hurry!" cried Hazen, as ha if supporting me he rushed toward the altar stairs. "I've got 'em buffaloed for a minute, but the Lord alone knows how long it'll hold 'em."

Rapidly as my numbed limbs would permit I rushed down the sloping, spiral way. Half carried by Hazen I raced across the few yards of grass between the base of the pyramid and the plane, and as I did so I caught a fleeting glimpse of a huddled, shapeless, bloody bundle of green and white. It was all that remained of the priest whom Hazen had hurled from the altar top!

The next moment I was in the plane and Hazen was twirling the propeller. There was a roar as the motor started. Hazen leaped like an acrobat to his seat and slowly the machine moved across the plain.

Everywhere the people were prostrate, but as the machine started forward one after another glanced up. Ere we had traveled a score of yards the creatures were rising and with frightful screams were scattering from our pathway. It was impossible to avoid them. With sickening shocks the whirring propeller struck one after another. Blood spattered our faces and becrimsoned the windshield and the wings. But uninjured the plane gathered headway; the uneven bumping over the ground ceased; we were traveling smoothly, lifting from the earth.

Then with a strange wild roar the people rushed for us. Racing on their hands they came. Rocks and missiles whizzed about us. An arrow whirred by my head and struck quivering in a strut. But now we were rising rapidly. We were looking down upon the maddened hosts, their arrows and sling-flung stones were striking the under surface of the fuselage and wings. We were safe at last. A moment more and we would be above the crater rim.

A sudden exclamation from Hazen startled me. I glanced up. Straight ahead rose the precipitous mountain side above the quarry. To clear it we must ascent far more rapidly than we I were doing.

"Must have splintered the blades!" jerked out Hazen. "She's not making it. Can't swing her. Rudder's jammed. Heave out everything you can find. Hurry or we'll smash!"

Before us loomed the ragged, rocky wall. We were rushing to our doom at lightning speed. At Hazen's words I grasped whatever I could find and tossed it over the side. A box of provisions, a roll of tools, a leather jacket, a thermos bottle, canteens, an automatic pistol and a cartridge belt all went, I glanced up. We were rising, faster. A few pounds more overboard, a few feet higher and we would be clear. Was there anything else I could throw out? Frantically I searched. I saw a can-like object resting on a frame. Spare gasoline I decided, but fuel was of no value now. With an effort I dragged it out. I lifted and hurled it over.

With a sudden jerk the plane sprung upward. There was a terrific muffled roar from below and with barely a yard to spare we rose above the crater rim.

"Lord, you must have dropped that old bomb!" cried Hazen. "The concussion jarred the rudder free."

I glanced over the side. Far beneath, a cloud of smoke and dust was drifting slowly aside exposing the aqueduct, broken smashed and in ruins. From the opening in the mountain side a mighty stream of water was roaring in a rushing, tearing torrent. The bomb had landed squarely in the quarry. The aqueduct had fallen, the shock had let loose the gates of the lake and the whole vast crater reservoir was pouring in a mighty flood across the valley.

In a wide arc Hazen swung the plane about. "Poor devils!" he muttered as we soared above the doomed city.

Already the green plain was shimmering with the glint of water. We could see the frantic, frenzied people running and scrambling up their ladders. Again we wheeled and circled far above them and now only the-roof tops of the houses were above the flood. Presently these too sank from sight and above the sunlit waters only the sacrificial stone remained.

"It's all over!" exclaimed Hazen, and heading northward we sped beyond the encircling mountain sides. Beneath us now was forest, and with a shudder I recognized it as that death-dealing, nightmare grove of cannibal trees. Fascinated I gazed down and suddenly from the mountain side behind us burst a frothing yellow torrent. The pressure of the flood had been too great. The overwhelming waters had forced the stone door of the tunnel by which I had entered that incredible valley. Before my wondering eyes the devastating deluge swept down the slope. I saw the monstrous trees shiver and sway and crash before the irresistible force. They gave way and like matchsticks went tossing, tumbling, bobbing down the hillside.

Higher and higher we rose. The water-filled crater was now but a silvery lake. The slope up which I had fought and raced from the ravenous, blood-sucking trees was bare, red earth scarred deep by the plunging stream that flowed over it. Far to the west gleamed the blue Pacific. Like a vast map Darien was spread below us. Northward we sped. Before us was civilization. Behind us death and destruction. The man-eating trees were a thing of the past. The lost city was lost forever.

The End

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[1] Amazing Stories 1926, and