The Glyphs/Chapter 8

If it had not been a situation of considerable consternation, I think we might have laughed at the bawling conversation that followed. Ixtual suggested that by cutting up all saddlery, and leather pack cases, and weaving in with it strips of canvas he could make a line that would bear our weight. But he knew that in the meantime we should be compelled to remain underground, and that meantime would probably be a matter of two or three days. There was nothing else for us to do but agree. Wardy had but one admonition which he bellowed upward:

“Don’t you dare to cut that pelt of mine up to get leather! Do you hear me?”

“It shall be cut last of all, señor,” replied Ixtual calmly. “And we shall work fast and hard.”

Both Wardrop and I were much too seasoned campaigners to grumble over a situation that could not be improved, and so extinguished our lantern to economize oil, ate a cold meal, and went to rest as best we could some distance from the opening into the cavern. The last thing I heard him mutter was to thank Heaven that he had never walked in his sleep.

On the morning following we renewed our exploration, not much the worse physically for a night passed on the somewhat cold and hard stones of our prison. We followed one tunnel that proved tiresome, long, and that came to an abrupt and broken end, as if some contemplated work had been abandoned. We tried another that led us into a series of small chambers whose use we could not even surmise. We took the last one in the afternoon and carefully marked our way on the walls at intervals, as we had done with all the others; but this time we found that it led into a broader passage across which a gallery crossed at right angles which was much broader and more liberal than any we had hitherto encountered.

“This shows that whoever built it had some sense,” declared Wardy, stretching himself. “It’s the first time since I came down that rope that I’ve found a place high enough to stretch my head. I’ve got a double joint in my shoulders and neck that will leave me deformed for life!”

It was the first complaint he had made, but only one who has been compelled to stoop for hours on end can appreciate his physical weariness of posture. Our sense of direction was by this time entirely gone and we had no compass, so we tossed a coin to see which side we should explore.

“Heads to the right; tails to the left!”

Tails won, and we started onward with our spirits by this time in that numbed state when everything one does seems useless; but the broad road continued, for which we were thankful. We trudged soberly along without much conversation. We had passed beyond mere words down there in the darkness while surrounded by perplexities and anxieties. Almost groping, and constantly pausing to inspect the floor beneath or the walls and the roof of this stone highway, we must have been walking for nearly an hour when we came to a halt. Our tunnel appeared to end in a most unexpected manner. It was as if we had stepped into the midst of a chamber devoted to huge, crude, archaic machinery consisting of stone levers, wheels, and weights.

“Well, this beats me,” I admitted, staring about me and bringing out the electric torch which I had so carefully economized for emergencies.

“Looks as if it might be the original power plant for Noah’s ark,” Wardy murmured, staring about him through the monocle that had never been dropped even in the heart of a pitch-black darkness. “What do you suppose it’s all for?”

“That’s what I’m curious to learn,” I answered, trying to work out the amazing puzzle done in stone.

For at least an hour we tried to discover the meaning of this mass of stuff. We sat down and talked it over, smoked, and tackled our project anew. Then we decided to crawl upward into its intricacies to learn if anything were concealed behind. Again our efforts proved useless. It was as if we had come upon an unsolvable mystery there in the heart of the mountain. One peculiarity of the chamber was that here for the first time we found dust, heaps of it, and in climbing in and out we had disturbed this until we looked like a pair of road sweepers. We had no inclination to laugh, but Wardy found time for expletives as he took that precious monocle from his eye for about the hundredth time and polished it on his handkerchief. We were both standing on the floor of the tunnel at the moment, somewhat exhausted by our efforts in crawling through that bewildering maze of cut-stone arms, pillars, and rollers.

“I think we’re wasting time here,” said Wardy. “Suppose we have a smoke and then go back the other way? How does that strike you? It’s getting late again—almost six o’clock,” he added as he consulted his watch. “And—I’m deucedly tired!”

“Right-o,” said I. “Smoke it is, and then back to the grub!”

With a sigh of disappointment Wardy fished a pipe from his pocket, filled it, lighted it, and flashed his lamp around for a final survey. His gaze fell upon a huge stone lever that projected outward into a space hollowed like an alcove. He gave a grunt of satisfaction, said there was a seat big enough to keep a man of his size from squatting on the floor, and, putting both hands upon it, swung himself upward and sat down.

The result was amazing. It was as if he had added his weight to the lever by which Archimedes said he could move the earth. Great stones ground suddenly into place, rollers revolved, and with as harsh a noise as if hundreds of long-disused grindstones had been set in motion the whole mass of crude mechanism moved in bewildering complexity until suddenly the end of the closed tunnel lifted and the first daylight we had seen for hours began streaming in. I shouted loudly. And what did J. Dalrymple Wardrop do? He sat still, calm, voiceless, and phlegmatically watching the course of events as he was slowly lowered to the floor of the tunnel. We heard exclamations of astonishment in Italian, Spanish, and Maya; the sounds of men in flight, then returning to see what cataclysm had disturbed them.

I rushed through the opening to learn that I was in the back of the guard chamber, and had disturbed the doctor, Ixtual, and Juan in the midst of leather braiding and that the sun was still shining bravely and brightly outside. For an instant, as if paralyzed by the unexpected, as if spellbound by a miracle, they stood gaping at me, and then the doctor rushed forward and threw his arms about my neck, and I think that he might with Latin fervor have kissed me had I not repelled him and recalled Wardy.

“This way, this way!” I cried, and rushed back through the opening.

Wardrop was still seated on the beam, the great counterpoise that by mechanical cunning had lifted tons of stone, and was still calmly smoking and patiently waiting.

“By Jove!” he said. “By Jove! Some machine this—what? To think that one man like me could move a mountain with it! Who’d have thought it? But what I’d like to know now is if I’ve got to hold this lever down all night, or if you fellows are going to get a pile of rocks that weigh as much as I do to keep it in place so I can get off my perch. My legs are deucedly cramped, you know, sitting here.”

Forgetful of the joy of deliverance and grateful only that we had found a way to reunion, we fell to blocking open that immense stone door and substituting bowlders on the lever for Wardy’s weight. At last we accomplished all this, and stood outside, sweating and panting, to inspect our work. It was Juan, the muleteer, who discovered the secret.

“See, señores,” he cried, “a single block of stone in the wall of the inner room has receded!”

It was true. So delicately poised and balanced was that enormous mechanism of stone weighing tens of tons, that by merely thrusting inward a stone in the wall of the guard chamber the apparently solid wall of the tunnel opened and lifted upward. So carefully was this concealed that when on the following day we removed the impediments to the fall of the door and lowered it to its place, we could not have told save through previous knowledge where the opening was. I had until then never seen so perfect an example of the stone-cutter’s art.

And on the following day Wardy and I conducted, with an air of great experience and certitude, our companions through the chambers we had visited. The reason for the existence of the secret passage was still a mystery. We could be thankful for two features—our escape and the fact that not all the saddles and cases had been destroyed to provide a new line to lift us from the hollows of the cavern.

“If that chap Ixtual had ever laid a knife against that jaguar skin before we got out,” Wardy confided to me, “I’d have murdered him!”

We now turned to further exploration. It was comparatively easy, particularly as far as our minds were concerned when fortified by the knowledge that we could, in ultimate failure to return to the open air of the free mountain side, retreat. We followed the long vaulted way of the single road that Wardrop and I had not traversed. It led, straight and true and without difficulty for more than a mile, when it abruptly turned a right angle and we were aware by the change of sound and reverberation that we were again confronting an open space. Exercising all caution, we moved through an opening. Our lamps again caught no reflection from walls. Our whispered comments again threw back repeated echoes. We moved slowly outward and paused once more on the edge of a fathomless and yawning abyss.

“We’ve come out to the edge of that devilish hole again!” Wardy said. And indeed it looked as if we had done just that, and been disappointed anew. But then we turned to learn whither the other way led and once more traveled in a great natural chamber quite similar to the outer opening of the caverns which we first found. It narrowed as we advanced, but still it was like a comparatively broad street. Its floors were level and white. The lost vault of the roof came lower and lower until we reached a place where nature had been assisted by man to cleave it away; yet still it was thirty feet above our heads. Remarkable stone niches appeared in the walls as if for the disposal of statues, and in them we found the charred sticks as of ancient braziers, and the ashes of long-dead fires. And then, almost at high noon, we came to the end of that marvelous pathway. Again we were confronted by a ponderous mechanism of stone, which we scanned, inch by inch.

“It’s the same as the one we found at the other end,” shouted Wardy. “Just the same. Find the big lever and—if it busts this mountain open and me with it—I’ll sit on it!”

Again we found the alcove in the rock, the great monolithic beam, the carefully adjusted weights of a counterpoise, and again this sportsman, adventurer, and veteran of many vicissitudes threw himself up until his weight was added to the balance. Again a great stone shield slid slowly upward, and again daylight—the light of high noon—momentarily dazzled our eyes. We rushed forward and looked out upon a strange scene, doubtless beheld again by the eyes of man for the first time in centuries.

We were looking down into a deep valley, saucer-shaped and circular, overgrown with forest and jungle through which there gleamed here and there ruins of what had once been important buildings, giving evidence that at some period this whole area had been densely populated and tilled.

In the center of the depression was a lake and an island, and it was this that held our attention the longest and that afforded the greatest surprise; the astonishing feature of the island being that not only was it devoid of vegetation but that it bore stone edifices of impressive magnificence. In the exact center it rose upward in high, pyramidal shape, and the very apex of this eminence was covered with what appeared to be a vast temple gleaming dull gray in the sunlight. Stretching from the entrance beneath our feet was nothing but jungle growth, but our attention was attracted to what seemed a line broken through this at some three hundred yards to our right, and with slight difficulty we made our way thither, to meet with another surprise.

The great main entrance to the cavern in the mountain opened high and wide above us, and its portals were flanked with guard houses and sentry boxes exactly like those we had discovered on the other side of this great natural bore. The line we had seen through the jungle was a wonderful roadway built with such lavish care and fidelity, and with such excellent engineering that not even the jungle, nor storm, nor age, nor weather had ruined its splendid proportions. It swept away in graceful curves to reduce the gradients and invited us to venture upon its surface.

We turned to explore the guard houses, and therein found splendid and intact specimens of Maya ceramics, including the grotesque effigy vases and pitchers and steins in which they delighted, and also the remains of stands of spears, bronze-headed, the shafts of which crumpled away at our touch; for the white-ant pest was here in evidence. But of more gruesome relics of ancient humanity we found not a trace. It was as if the inner portals of the great tunnel had been abandoned without haste, perhaps because there came a time when it was no longer considered necessary to guard it.

“The reason for the great stone posts in the upper sides of the interior is plain now,” said Doctor Morgano. “They had a suspended bridge there that was broad and strong. The passage through which we passed at the sides was kept secret for emergency use. If an overpowering enemy sought to invade them, they could easily destroy the bridge across the chasm above. That is what probably eventually took place. Either that or, when gradually driven here by the ravages of disease, decimation of population, and slowly approaching death of the nation, they deliberately cut themselves off from communication with the outside world save through the secret passage, of which probably but a very few trusted sentinels ever knew. Once the bridge was destroyed the main highway became useless and was abandoned. Think what it must have been like in the great days of Maya prosperity! Think of the traffic that rumbled through this arch and over that road. See, even yet can be noticed the wheel ruts!”

I’ll admit that, unimaginative as I am, I was awed by the thought of all that these old portals must have witnessed through centuries of peace and prosperity; or vicissitude and war. Through these had come the last remnants of a nation that had at one time dominated a country of magnificent extent and offering unlimited room toward both a northern and a southern continent for its expansion. Who could ever know why they had not spread out? Was it impossible for a nation to grow beyond a certain size and strength before meeting with some disaster, or some cancer of arrogance, or some terrible sloth and impotence that must in time destroy it? I think some such thoughts must have been Wardy’s, for he said, quietly, as if to himself:

“To tell the truth, this saddens me. ’Pon honor, I’m sorry for those poor beggars, whoever they were!”

I looked at Ixtual, curious to know of what he was thinking. He had withdrawn from us and stood with his back against a sentry post, with his arms folded across his chest, and his head bent forward, staring at the distant temples of his ancestors and in his eyes was a deep and unfathomable sadness. There was heartbreak in them. As I looked he lifted them to mine and, I fancy, understood the sympathy I felt for him. I think it must have been that; for from that hour onward this strange man who regarded me with some distrust, became my friend. It was as if of a sudden we understood each other entirely without the use of words. I can’t tell to this day why I, so rarely impulsive, stepped quickly to his side and said: “Ixtual, if you wish it, I for one will never take a step in that direction over there, will walk back through that passage, and never through life mention it to a living being!”

Quickly he thrust his hand toward mine, and his immobile, grave face broke into a smile. He said something in Maya that I think was a blessing, then, remembering that I did not speak his tongue, reverted to Spanish.

“I thank you for that. I thought you nothing more than a treasure seeker. I was mistaken. I apologize. You are a man of refinement and feeling.” He hesitated for a moment, sighed deeply, and then, resuming all his habitual gravity and dignity, added: “No, I do not wish you to return. It is written here”—and he tapped his breast—“that we are to advance and that good will come of it for my people. A very poor people, it is true, but—my people!”

I looked around at our companions. Wardy was scanning the distance with a tiny pair of glasses that he invariably carried. Benny was calmly rolling a cigarette. But Doctor Morgano was staring at an inscription over the guardhouse, and looking for all the world like a living question mark endowed with a prodigious scowl.

“It is a royal cipher,” he shouted as if disappointed. “Just a royal cipher and nothing more! And that glyph under it dedicated its guardianship to the royal care of those who keep watch. There isn’t a thing of historical value in it!”

“What more do you want?” demanded Wardy with a dry grin. “A poem, or the lines of the last popular song?”

With lofty disdain Doctor Morgano turned his back and said to me: “Had we better bring the outfit through to this side, or leave it with Juan, where it now is, on the other side?”

“We must bring it with us, of course,” I replied. “We might need something to eat when we get down into this valley. And, moreover, you will require notebooks and cameras, and”

“I’d forgotten all about them. I must have them. But we must lose no time. It is very important that I get over to that island at once. How fortunate it is that it is I, Doctor Paolo Morgano, who am the first to reach here! I, the only living man who can decipher the ancient glyphs.”

We retraced our steps, found Juan sound asleep and entirely incurious and unconcerned regarding us, or what we had seen, or where we were going. We packed our outfits as best we could with what was left of saddle equipment and harness and prepared to pass through the tunnel. Ixtual had assisted with his usual energy but with a certain air of dubiety that was noticeable, somewhat as if his conscience were not entirely easy, and manifested it more plainly just as we were ready to start.

“Señores,” he addressed Wardy and me gravely, “I trust you have no reason to repent the promises you have given me never to lead any one to this spot; for now I do question my own conduct.” Reassured by our replies he turned toward the little archæologist and went on: “Of you, Doctor Morgano, I need have no fear; for you have been accepted as a member of the highest council in my race and by our rites are now a brother of mine. But what of you, Beni Hassan Azdul? Do the men of your tribe ever break the laws of hospitality? Do they betray those who have trusted them?”

“By Allah, no!” declared Benny angrily. “You would have my pledge?” And then turned until he faced the east, suddenly dropped to his knees, bent forward until his forehead touched the earth, raised his hands, and made a vow in rapid Arabic, bowed again, and arose. It was as if something of the Orient had been brought to this strange setting.

“He has sworn to his god in his own tongue, Ixtual,” explained Wardy. “His word will never be broken.”

The Maya bowed his acknowledgment and then turned upon poor Juan, who, stupid and indifferent, appearing almost bored, stood by the side of the mules.

“As for you, peon,” Ixtual said with savage contempt, “if ever you betray by word, sign, or look, that you have passed through the Sacred Gates of the Maya, you shall die unshriven! Your bones shall be scattered like the manure of a traveled road. Your torment shall be passed on to the mother of your children until they curse your name, and by the knife or need for bread they shall die in the streets from which you sprung. I call upon my gods to witness and to watch! Understand?”

Poor Juan! He looked terrified. He was like one beaten to earth under the breath of storm. His eyes bulged, his dark skin turned blue, and his tongue was paralyzed in that moment of stress. All he could do was to swear by all his saints and cross himself, and stammer, and then turn toward his mules as if seeking protection and friendship from those whom he understood.

Ixtual turned to him and said quietly: “All is now well! We go!”

When we again emerged into daylight, we paused for but a few minutes to make certain how the inner gate was raised from outside, and to mark it beyond forgetfulness, then forced our way to the beginning of the great road, above us were many hours of daylight. Beyond us rested an unknown land.