The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lost Continent, by Edgar Rice Burroughs

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The balance bikes for 6 year olds under 10 dollarsLost Continent

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

The Lost Continent was originally published
under the title Beyond Thirty

Contents

CHAPTER I.

Since earliest childhood I have been strangely fascinated by the mysterysurrounding the history of the last days of twentieth century Europe. Myinterest is keenest, perhaps, not so much in relation to known facts as tospeculation upon the unknowable of the two centuries that have rolled by sincehuman intercourse between the Western and Eastern Hemispheres ceased—themystery of Europe’s state following the termination of the GreatWar—provided, of course, that the war had been terminated.

From out of the meagerness of our censored histories we learned that forfifteen years after the cessation of diplomatic relations between the UnitedStates of North America and the belligerent nations of the Old World, news ofmore or less doubtful authenticity filtered, from time to time, into theWestern Hemisphere from the Eastern.

Then came the fruition of that historic propaganda which is best described byits own slogan: “The East for the East—the West for theWest,” and all further intercourse was stopped by statute.

Even prior to this, transoceanic commerce had practically ceased, owing to theperils and hazards of the mine-strewn waters of both the Atlantic and PacificOceans. Just when submarine activities ended we do not know but the last vesselof this type sighted by a Pan-American merchantman was the huge Q 138, whichdischarged twenty-nine torpedoes at a Brazilian tank steamer off the Bermudasin the fall of 1972. A heavy sea and the excellent seamanship of the master ofthe Brazilian permitted the Pan-American to escape and report this last of along series of outrages upon our commerce. God alone knows how many hundreds ofour ancient ships fell prey to the roving steel sharks of blood-frenziedEurope. Countless were the vessels and men that passed over our eastern andwestern horizons never to return; but whether they met their fates before thebelching tubes of submarines or among the aimlessly drifting mine fields, noman lived to tell.

And then came the great Pan-American Federation which linked the WesternHemisphere from pole to pole under a single flag, which joined the navies ofthe New World into the mightiest fighting force that ever sailed the sevenseas—the greatest argument for peace the world had ever known.

Since that day peace had reigned from the western shores of the Azores to thewestern shores of the Hawaiian Islands, nor has any man of either hemispheredared cross 30°W. or 175°W. From 30° to 175° is ours—from 30° to 175° ispeace, prosperity and happiness.

Beyond was the great unknown. Even the geographies of my boyhood showed nothingbeyond. We were taught of nothing beyond. Speculation was discouraged. For twohundred years the Eastern Hemisphere had been wiped from the maps and historiesof Pan-America. Its mention in fiction, even, was forbidden.

Our ships of peace patrol thirty and one hundred seventy-five. What ships frombeyond they have warned only the secret archives of government show; but, anaval officer myself, I have gathered from the traditions of the service thatit has been fully two hundred years since smoke or sail has been sighted eastof 30° or west of 175°. The fate of the relinquished provinces which lay beyondthe dead lines we could only speculate upon. That they were taken by themilitary power, which rose so suddenly in China after the fall of the republic,and which wrested Manchuria and Korea from Russia and Japan, and also absorbedthe Philippines, is quite within the range of possibility.

It was the commander of a Chinese man-of-war who received a copy of the edictof 1972 from the hand of my illustrious ancestor, Admiral Turck, on one hundredseventy-five, two hundred and six years ago, and from the yellowed pages of theadmiral’s diary I learned that the fate of the Philippines was even thenpresaged by these Chinese naval officers.

Yes, for over two hundred years no man crossed 30° to 175° and lived to tellhis story—not until chance drew me across and back again, and publicopinion, revolting at last against the drastic regulations of our long-deadforbears, demanded that my story be given to the world, and that the narrowinterdict which commanded peace, prosperity, and happiness to halt at 30° and175° be removed forever.

I am glad that it was given to me to be an instrument in the hands ofProvidence for the uplifting of benighted Europe, and the amelioration of thesuffering, degradation, and abysmal ignorance in which I found her.

I shall not live to see the complete regeneration of the savage hordes of theEastern Hemisphere—that is a work which will require many generations,perhaps ages, so complete has been their reversion to savagery; but I know thatthe work has been started, and I am proud of the share in it which my generouscountrymen have placed in my hands.

The government already possesses a complete official report of my adventuresbeyond thirty. In the narrative I purpose telling my story in a less formal,and I hope, a more entertaining, style; though, being only a naval officer andwithout claim to the slightest literary ability, I shall most certainly fallfar short of the possibilities which are inherent in my subject. That I havepassed through the most wondrous adventures that have befallen a civilized manduring the past two centuries encourages me in the belief that, however ill thetelling, the facts themselves will command your interest to the final page.

Beyond thirty! Romance, adventure, strange peoples, fearsome beasts—allthe excitement and scurry of the lives of the twentieth century ancients thathave been denied us in these dull days of peace and prosaicprosperity—all, all lay beyond thirty, the invisible barrier between thestupid, commercial present and the carefree, barbarous past.

What boy has not sighed for the good old days of wars, revolutions, and riots;how I used to pore over the chronicles of those old days, those dear old days,when workmen went armed to their labors; when they fell upon one another withgun and bomb and dagger, and the streets ran red with blood! Ah, but those werethe times when life was worth the living; when a man who went out by night knewnot at which dark corner a “footpad” might leap upon and slay him;when wild beasts roamed the forest and the jungles, and there were savage men,and countries yet unexplored.

Now, in all the Western Hemisphere dwells no man who may not find a schoolhouse within walking distance of his home, or at least within flying distance.

The wildest beast that roams our waste places lairs in the frozen north or thefrozen south within a government reserve, where the curious may view him andfeed him bread crusts from the hand with perfect impunity.

But beyond thirty! And I have gone there, and come back; and now you may gothere, for no longer is it high treason, punishable by disgrace or death, tocross 30° or 175°.

My name is Jefferson Turck. I am a lieutenant in the navy—in the greatPan-American navy, the only navy which now exists in all the world.

I was born in Arizona, in the United States of North America, in the year ofour Lord 2116. Therefore, I am twenty-one years old.

In early boyhood I tired of the teeming cities and overcrowded rural districtsof Arizona. Every generation of Turcks for over two centuries has beenrepresented in the navy. The navy called to me, as did the free, wide,unpeopled spaces of the mighty oceans. And so I joined the navy, coming up fromthe ranks, as we all must, learning our craft as we advance. My promotion wasrapid, for my family seems to inherit naval lore. We are born officers, and Ireserve to myself no special credit for an early advancement in the service.

At twenty I found myself a lieutenant in command of the aero-submarineColdwater, of the SS-96 class. The Coldwater was one of the first of the airand underwater craft which have been so greatly improved since its launching,and was possessed of innumerable weaknesses which, fortunately, have beeneliminated in more recent vessels of similar type.

Even when I took command, she was fit only for the junk pile; but the world-oldparsimony of government retained her in active service, and sent two hundredmen to sea in her, with myself, a mere boy, in command of her, to patrol thirtyfrom Iceland to the Azores.

Much of my service had been spent aboard the great merchantmen-of-war. Theseare the utility naval vessels that have transformed the navies of old, whichburdened the peoples with taxes for their support, into the present day fleetsof self-supporting ships that find ample time for target practice and gun drillwhile they bear freight and the mails from the continents to the far-scatteredisland of Pan-America.

This change in service was most welcome to me, especially as it brought with itcoveted responsibilities of sole command, and I was prone to overlook thedeficiencies of the Coldwater in the natural pride I felt in my first ship.

The Coldwater was fully equipped for two months’ patrolling—theordinary length of assignment to this service—and a month had alreadypassed, its monotony entirely unrelieved by sight of another craft, when thefirst of our misfortunes befell.

We had been riding out a storm at an altitude of about three thousand feet. Allnight we had hovered above the tossing billows of the moonlight clouds. Thedetonation of the thunder and the glare of lightning through an occasional riftin the vaporous wall proclaimed the continued fury of the tempest upon thesurface of the sea; but we, far above it all, rode in comparative ease upon theupper gale. With the coming of dawn the clouds beneath us became a glorious seaof gold and silver, soft and beautiful; but they could not deceive us as to theblackness and the terrors of the storm-lashed ocean which they hid.

I was at breakfast when my chief engineer entered and saluted. His face wasgrave, and I thought he was even a trifle paler than usual.

“Well?” I asked.

He drew the back of his forefinger nervously across his brow in a gesture thatwas habitual with him in moments of mental stress.

“The gravitation-screen generators, sir,” he said. “Numberone went to the bad about an hour and a half ago. We have been working upon itsteadily since; but I have to report, sir, that it is beyond repair.”

“Number two will keep us supplied,” I answered. “In themeantime we will send a wireless for relief.”

“But that is the trouble, sir,” he went on. “Number two hasstopped. I knew it would come, sir. I made a report on these generators threeyears ago. I advised then that they both be scrapped. Their principle isentirely wrong. They’re done for.” And, with a grim smile, “Ishall at least have the satisfaction of knowing my report was accurate.”

“Have we sufficient reserve screen to permit us to make land, or, atleast, meet our relief halfway?” I asked.

“No, sir,” he replied gravely; “we are sinking now.”

“Have you anything further to report?” I asked.

“No, sir,” he said.

“Very good,” I replied; and, as I dismissed him, I rang for mywireless operator. When he appeared, I gave him a message to the secretary ofthe navy, to whom all vessels in service on thirty and one hundred seventy-fivereport direct. I explained our predicament, and stated that with what screeningforce remained I should continue in the air, making as rapid headway toward St.Johns as possible, and that when we were forced to take to the water I shouldcontinue in the same direction.

The accident occurred directly over 30° and about 52° N. The surface wind wasblowing a tempest from the west. To attempt to ride out such a storm upon thesurface seemed suicidal, for the Coldwater was not designed for surfacenavigation except under fair weather conditions. Submerged, or in the air, shewas tractable enough in any sort of weather when under control; but without herscreen generators she was almost helpless, since she could not fly, and, ifsubmerged, could not rise to the surface.

All these defects have been remedied in later models; but the knowledge did nothelp us any that day aboard the slowly settling Coldwater, with an angry searoaring beneath, a tempest raging out of the west, and 30° only a few knotsastern.

To cross thirty or one hundred seventy-five has been, as you know, the direstcalamity that could befall a naval commander. Court-martial and degradationfollow swiftly, unless as is often the case, the unfortunate man takes his ownlife before this unjust and heartless regulation can hold him up to publicscorn.

There has been in the past no excuse, no circumstance, that could palliate theoffense.

“He was in command, and he took his ship across thirty!” That wassufficient. It might not have been in any way his fault, as, in the case of theColdwater, it could not possibly have been justly charged to my account thatthe gravitation-screen generators were worthless; but well I knew that shouldchance have it that we were blown across thirty today—as we might easilybe before the terrific west wind that we could hear howling below us, theresponsibility would fall upon my shoulders.

In a way, the regulation was a good one, for it certainly accomplished that forwhich it was intended. We all fought shy of 30° on the east and 175° on thewest, and, though we had to skirt them pretty close, nothing but an act of Godever drew one of us across. You all are familiar with the naval tradition thata good officer could sense proximity to either line, and for my part, I am asfirmly convinced of the truth of this as I am that the compass finds the northwithout recourse to tedious processes of reasoning.

Old Admiral Sanchez was wont to maintain that he could smell thirty, and themen of the first ship in which I sailed claimed that Coburn, the navigatingofficer, knew by name every wave along thirty from 60°N. to 60°S. However,I’d hate to vouch for this.

Well, to get back to my narrative; we kept on dropping slowly toward thesurface the while we bucked the west wind, clawing away from thirty as fast aswe could. I was on the bridge, and as we dropped from the brilliant sunlightinto the dense vapor of clouds and on down through them to the wild, dark stormstrata beneath, it seemed that my spirits dropped with the falling ship, andthe buoyancy of hope ran low in sympathy.

The waves were running to tremendous heights, and the Coldwater was notdesigned to meet such waves head on. Her elements were the blue ether, farabove the raging storm, or the greater depths of ocean, which no storm couldruffle.

As I stood speculating upon our chances once we settled into the frightfulMaelstrom beneath us and at the same time mentally computing the hours whichmust elapse before aid could reach us, the wireless operator clambered up theladder to the bridge, and, disheveled and breathless, stood before me atsalute. It needed but a glance at him to assure me that something was amiss.

“What now?” I asked.

“The wireless, sir!” he cried. “My God, sir, I cannotsend.”

“But the emergency outfit?” I asked.

“I have tried everything, sir. I have exhausted every resource. We cannotsend,” and he drew himself up and saluted again.

I dismissed him with a few kind words, for I knew that it was through no faultof his that the mechanism was antiquated and worthless, in common with thebalance of the Coldwaterl’s equipment. There was no finer operator inPan-America than he.

The failure of the wireless did not appear as momentous to me as to him, whichis not unnatural, since it is but human to feel that when our own little cogslips, the entire universe must necessarily be put out of gear. I knew that ifthis storm were destined to blow us across thirty, or send us to the bottom ofthe ocean, no help could reach us in time to prevent it. I had ordered themessage sent solely because regulations required it, and not with anyparticular hope that we could benefit by it in our present extremity.

I had little time to dwell upon the coincidence of the simultaneous failure ofthe wireless and the buoyancy generators, since very shortly after theColdwater had dropped so low over the waters that all my attention wasnecessarily centered upon the delicate business of settling upon the waveswithout breaking my shipl’s back. With our buoyancy generators incommission it would have been a simple thing to enter the water, since then itwould have been but a trifling matter of a forty-five degree dive into the baseof a huge wave. We should have cut into the water like a hot knife throughbutter, and have been totally submerged with scarce a jar—I have done ita thousand times—but I did not dare submerge the Coldwater for fear thatit would remain submerged to the end of time—a condition far fromconducive to the longevity of commander or crew.

Most of my officers were older men than I. John Alvarez, my first officer, istwenty years my senior. He stood at my side on the bridge as the ship glidedcloser and closer to those stupendous waves. He watched my every move, but hewas by far too fine an officer and gentleman to embarrass me by either commentor suggestion.

When I saw that we soon would touch, I ordered the ship brought aroundbroadside to the wind, and there we hovered a moment until a huge wave reachedup and seized us upon its crest, and then I gave the order that suddenlyreversed the screening force, and let us into the ocean. Down into the troughwe went, wallowing like the carcass of a dead whale, and then began the fight,with rudder and propellers, to force the Coldwater back into the teeth of thegale and drive her on and on, farther and farther from relentless thirty.

I think that we should have succeeded, even though the ship was wracked fromstem to stern by the terrific buffetings she received, and though she were halfsubmerged the greater part of the time, had no further accident befallen us.

We were making headway, though slowly, and it began to look as though we weregoing to pull through. Alvarez never left my side, though I all but ordered himbelow for much-needed rest. My second officer, Porfirio Johnson, was also oftenon the bridge. He was a good officer, but a man for whom I had conceived arather unreasoning aversion almost at the first moment of meeting him, anaversion which was not lessened by the knowledge which I subsequently gainedthat he looked upon my rapid promotion with jealousy. He was ten years mysenior both in years and service, and I rather think he could never forget thefact that he had been an officer when I was a green apprentice.

As it became more and more apparent that the Coldwater, under my seamanship,was weathering the tempest and giving promise of pulling through safely, Icould have sworn that I perceived a shade of annoyance and disappointmentgrowing upon his dark countenance. He left the bridge finally and went below. Ido not know that he is directly responsible for what followed so shortly after;but I have always had my suspicions, and Alvarez is even more prone to placethe blame upon him than I.

It was about six bells of the forenoon watch that Johnson returned to thebridge after an absence of some thirty minutes. He seemed nervous and ill atease—a fact which made little impression on me at the time, but whichboth Alvarez and I recalled subsequently.

Not three minutes after his reappearance at my side the Coldwater suddenlycommenced to lose headway. I seized the telephone at my elbow, pressing uponthe button which would call the chief engineer to the instrument in the bowelsof the ship, only to find him already at the receiver attempting to reach me.

“Numbers one, two, and five engines have broken down, sir,” hecalled. “Shall we force the remaining three?”

“We can do nothing else,” I bellowed into the transmitter.

“They won’t stand the gaff, sir,” he returned.

“Can you suggest a better plan?” I asked.

“No, sir,” he replied.

“Then give them the gaff, lieutenant,” I shouted back, and hung upthe receiver.

For twenty minutes the Coldwater bucked the great seas with her three engines.I doubt if she advanced a foot; but it was enough to keep her nose in the wind,and, at least, we were not drifting toward thirty.

Johnson and Alvarez were at my side when, without warning, the bow swungswiftly around and the ship fell into the trough of the sea.

“The other three have gone,” I said, and I happened to be lookingat Johnson as I spoke. Was it the shadow of a satisfied smile that crossed histhin lips? I do not know; but at least he did not weep.

“You always have been curious, sir, about the great unknown beyondthirty,” he said. “You are in a good way to have your curiositysatisfied.” And then I could not mistake the slight sneer that curved hisupper lip. There must have been a trace of disrespect in his tone or mannerwhich escaped me, for Alvarez turned upon him like a flash.

“When Lieutenant Turck crosses thirty,” he said, “we shallall cross with him, and God help the officer or the man who reproacheshim!”

“I shall not be a party to high treason,” snapped Johnson.“The regulations are explicit, and if the Coldwater crosses thirty itdevolves upon you to place Lieutenant Turck under arrest and immediately exertevery endeavor to bring the ship back into Pan-American waters.”

“I shall not know,” replied Alvarez, “that the Coldwaterpasses thirty; nor shall any other man aboard know it,” and, with hiswords, he drew a revolver from his pocket, and before either I or Johnson couldprevent it had put a bullet into every instrument upon the bridge, ruining thembeyond repair.

And then he saluted me, and strode from the bridge, a martyr to loyalty andfriendship, for, though no man might know that Lieutenant Jefferson Turck hadtaken his ship across thirty, every man aboard would know that the firstofficer had committed a crime that was punishable by both degradation anddeath. Johnson turned and eyed me narrowly.

“Shall I place him under arrest?” he asked.

“You shall not,” I replied. “Nor shall anyone else.”

“You become a party to his crime!” he cried angrily.

“You may go below, Mr. Johnson,” I said, “and attend to thework of unpacking the extra instruments and having them properly set upon thebridge.”

He saluted, and left me, and for some time I stood, gazing out upon the angrywaters, my mind filled with unhappy reflections upon the unjust fate that hadovertaken me, and the sorrow and disgrace that I had unwittingly brought downupon my house.

I rejoiced that I should leave neither wife nor child to bear the burden of myshame throughout their lives.

As I thought upon my misfortune, I considered more clearly than ever before theunrighteousness of the regulation which was to prove my doom, and in thenatural revolt against its injustice my anger rose, and there mounted within mea feeling which I imagine must have paralleled that spirit that once wasprevalent among the ancients called anarchy.

For the first time in my life I found my sentiments arraying themselves againstcustom, tradition, and even government. The wave of rebellion swept over me inan instant, beginning with an heretical doubt as to the sanctity of theestablished order of things—that fetish which has ruled Pan-Americans fortwo centuries, and which is based upon a blind faith in the infallibility ofthe prescience of the long-dead framers of the articles of Pan-Americanfederation—and ending in an adamantine determination to defend my honorand my life to the last ditch against the blind and senseless regulation whichassumed the synonymity of misfortune and treason.

I would replace the destroyed instruments upon the bridge; every officer andman should know when we crossed thirty. But then I should assert the spiritwhich dominated me, I should resist arrest, and insist upon bringing my shipback across the dead line, remaining at my post until we had reached New York.Then I should make a full report, and with it a demand upon public opinion thatthe dead lines be wiped forever from the seas.

I knew that I was right. I knew that no more loyal officer wore the uniform ofthe navy. I knew that I was a good officer and sailor, and I didn’tpropose submitting to degradation and discharge because a lot of old,preglacial fossils had declared over two hundred years before that no manshould cross thirty.

Even while these thoughts were passing through my mind I was busy with thedetails of my duties. I had seen to it that a sea anchor was rigged, and evennow the men had completed their task, and the Coldwater was swinging aroundrapidly, her nose pointing once more into the wind, and the frightful rollingconsequent upon her wallowing in the trough was happily diminishing.

It was then that Johnson came hurrying to the bridge. One of his eyes wasswollen and already darkening, and his lip was cut and bleeding. Without eventhe formality of a salute, he burst upon me, white with fury.

“Lieutenant Alvarez attacked me!” he cried. “I demand that hebe placed under arrest. I found him in the act of destroying the reserveinstruments, and when I would have interfered to protect them he fell upon meand beat me. I demand that you arrest him!”

“You forget yourself, Mr. Johnson,” I said. “You are not incommand of the ship. I deplore the action of Lieutenant Alvarez, but I cannotexpunge from my mind the loyalty and self-sacrificing friendship which hasprompted him to his acts. Were I you, sir, I should profit by the example hehas set. Further, Mr. Johnson, I intend retaining command of the ship, eventhough she crosses thirty, and I shall demand implicit obedience from everyofficer and man aboard until I am properly relieved from duty by a superiorofficer in the port of New York.”

“You mean to say that you will cross thirty without submitting toarrest?” he almost shouted.

“I do, sir,” I replied. “And now you may go below, and, whenagain you find it necessary to address me, you will please be so good as tobear in mind the fact that I am your commanding officer, and as such entitledto a salute.”

He flushed, hesitated a moment, and then, saluting, turned upon his heel andleft the bridge. Shortly after, Alvarez appeared. He was pale, and seemed tohave aged ten years in the few brief minutes since I last had seen him.Saluting, he told me very simply what he had done, and asked that I place himunder arrest.

I put my hand on his shoulder, and I guess that my voice trembled a trifle as,while reproving him for his act, I made it plain to him that my gratitude wasno less potent a force than his loyalty to me. Then it was that I outlined tohim my purpose to defy the regulation that had raised the dead lines, and totake my ship back to New York myself.

I did not ask him to share the responsibility with me. I merely stated that Ishould refuse to submit to arrest, and that I should demand of him and everyother officer and man implicit obedience to my every command until we docked athome.

His face brightened at my words, and he assured me that I would find him asready to acknowledge my command upon the wrong side of thirty as upon theright, an assurance which I hastened to tell him I did not need.

The storm continued to rage for three days, and as far as the wind scarcevaried a point during all that time, I knew that we must be far beyond thirty,drifting rapidly east by south. All this time it had been impossible to workupon the damaged engines or the gravity-screen generators; but we had a fullset of instruments upon the bridge, for Alvarez, after discovering myintentions, had fetched the reserve instruments from his own cabin, where hehad hidden them. Those which Johnson had seen him destroy had been a third setwhich only Alvarez had known was aboard the Coldwater.

We waited impatiently for the sun, that we might determine our exact location,and upon the fourth day our vigil was rewarded a few minutes before noon.

Every officer and man aboard was tense with nervous excitement as we awaitedthe result of the reading. The crew had known almost as soon as I that we weredoomed to cross thirty, and I am inclined to believe that every man jack ofthem was tickled to death, for the spirits of adventure and romance still livein the hearts of men of the twenty-second century, even though there be littlefor them to feed upon between thirty and one hundred seventy-five.

The men carried none of the burdens of responsibility. They might cross thirtywith impunity, and doubtless they would return to be heroes at home; but howdifferent the home-coming of their commanding officer!

The wind had dropped to a steady blow, still from west by north, and the seahad gone down correspondingly. The crew, with the exception of those whoseduties kept them below, were ranged on deck below the bridge. When our positionwas definitely fixed I personally announced it to the eager, waiting men.

“Men,” I said, stepping forward to the handrail and looking downinto their upturned, bronzed faces, “you are anxiously awaitinginformation as to the shipl’s position. It has been determined atlatitude fifty degrees seven minutes north, longitude twenty degrees sixteenminutes west.”

I paused and a buzz of animated comment ran through the massed men beneath me.“Beyond thirty. But there will be no change in commanding officers, inroutine or in discipline, until after we have docked again in New York.”

As I ceased speaking and stepped back from the rail there was a roar ofapplause from the deck such as I never before had heard aboard a ship of peace.It recalled to my mind tales that I had read of the good old days when navalvessels were built to fight, when ships of peace had been men-of-war, and gunshad flashed in other than futile target practice, and decks had run red withblood.

With the subsidence of the sea, we were able to go to work upon the damagedengines to some effect, and I also set men to examining the gravitation-screengenerators with a view to putting them in working order should it prove notbeyond our resources.

For two weeks we labored at the engines, which indisputably showed evidence ofhaving been tampered with. I appointed a board to investigate and report uponthe disaster. But it accomplished nothing other than to convince me that therewere several officers upon it who were in full sympathy with Johnson, for,though no charges had been preferred against him, the board went out of its wayspecifically to exonerate him in its findings.

All this time we were drifting almost due east. The work upon the engines hadprogressed to such an extent that within a few hours we might expect to be ableto proceed under our own power westward in the direction of Pan-Americanwaters.

To relieve the monotony I had taken to fishing, and early that morning I haddeparted from the Coldwater in one of the boats on such an excursion. A gentlewest wind was blowing. The sea shimmered in the sunlight. A cloudless skycanopied the west for our sport, as I had made it a point never voluntarily tomake an inch toward the east that I could avoid. At least, they should not beable to charge me with a willful violation of the dead lines regulation.

I had with me only the boatl’s ordinary complement of men—three inall, and more than enough to handle any small power boat. I had not asked anyof my officers to accompany me, as I wished to be alone, and very glad am I nowthat I had not. My only regret is that, in view of what befell us, it had beennecessary to bring the three brave fellows who manned the boat.

Our fishing, which proved excellent, carried us so far to the west that we nolonger could see the Coldwater. The day wore on, until at last, aboutmid-afternoon, I gave the order to return to the ship.

We had proceeded but a short distance toward the east when one of the men gavean exclamation of excitement, at the same time pointing eastward. We all lookedon in the direction he had indicated, and there, a short distance above thehorizon, we saw the outlines of the Coldwater silhouetted against the sky.

“They’ve repaired the engines and the generators both,”exclaimed one of the men.

It seemed impossible, but yet it had evidently been done. Only that morning,Lieutenant Johnson had told me that he feared that it would be impossible torepair the generators. I had put him in charge of this work, since he alwayshad been accounted one of the best gravitation-screen men in the navy. He hadinvented several of the improvements that are incorporated in the later modelsof these generators, and I am convinced that he knows more concerning both thetheory and the practice of screening gravitation than any living Pan-American.

At the sight of the Coldwater once more under control, the three men burst intoa glad cheer. But, for some reason which I could not then account, I wasstrangely overcome by a premonition of personal misfortune. It was not that Inow anticipated an early return to Pan-America and a board of inquiry, for Ihad rather looked forward to the fight that must follow my return. No, therewas something else, something indefinable and vague that cast a strange gloomupon me as I saw my ship rising farther above the water and making straight inour direction.

I was not long in ascertaining a possible explanation of my depression, for,though we were plainly visible from the bridge of the aero-submarine and to thehundreds of men who swarmed her deck, the ship passed directly above us, notfive hundred feet from the water, and sped directly westward.

We all shouted, and I fired my pistol to attract their attention, though I knewfull well that all who cared to had observed us, but the ship moved steadilyaway, growing smaller and smaller to our view until at last she passedcompletely out of sight.

CHAPTER II.

What could it mean? I had left Alvarez in command. He was my most loyalsubordinate. It was absolutely beyond the pale of possibility that Alvarezshould desert me. No, there was some other explanation. Something occurred toplace my second officer, Porfirio Johnson, in command. I was sure of it but whyspeculate? The futility of conjecture was only too palpable. The Coldwater hadabandoned us in midocean. Doubtless none of us would survive to know why.

The young man at the wheel of the power boat had turned her nose about as itbecame evident that the ship intended passing over us, and now he still heldher in futile pursuit of the Coldwater.

“Bring her about, Snider,” I directed, “and hold her dueeast. We can’t catch the Coldwater, and we can’t cross the Atlanticin this. Our only hope lies in making the nearest land, which, unless I ammistaken, is the Scilly Islands, off the southwest coast of England. Ever heardof England, Snider?”

“There’s a part of the United States of North America that used tobe known to the ancients as New England,” he replied. “Is thatwhere you mean, sir?”

“No, Snider,” I replied. “The England I refer to was anisland off the continent of Europe. It was the seat of a very powerful kingdomthat flourished over two hundred years ago. A part of the United States ofNorth America and all of the Federated States of Canada once belonged to thisancient England.”

“Europe,” breathed one of the men, his voice tense with excitement.“My grandfather used to tell me stories of the world beyond thirty. Hehad been a great student, and he had read much from forbidden books.”

“In which I resemble your grandfather,” I said, “for I, too,have read more even than naval officers are supposed to read, and, as you menknow, we are permitted a greater latitude in the study of geography and historythan men of other professions.

“Among the books and papers of Admiral Porter Turck, who lived twohundred years ago, and from whom I am descended, many volumes still exist, andare in my possession, which deal with the history and geography of ancientEurope. Usually I bring several of these books with me upon a cruise, and thistime, among others, I have maps of Europe and her surrounding waters. I wasstudying them as we came away from the Coldwater this morning, and luckily Ihave them with me.”

“You are going to try to make Europe, sir?” asked Taylor, the youngman who had last spoken.

“It is the nearest land,” I replied. “I have always wanted toexplore the forgotten lands of the Eastern Hemisphere. Here’s our chance.To remain at sea is to perish. None of us ever will see home again. Let us makethe best of it, and enjoy while we do live that which is forbidden the balanceof our race—the adventure and the mystery which lie beyond thirty.”

Taylor and Delcarte seized the spirit of my mood but Snider, I think, was atrifle sceptical.

“It is treason, sir,” I replied, “but there is no law whichcompels us to visit punishment upon ourselves. Could we return to Pan-America,I should be the first to insist that we face it. But we know thatl’s notpossible. Even if this craft would carry us so far, we haven’t enoughwater or food for more than three days.

“We are doomed, Snider, to die far from home and without ever againlooking upon the face of another fellow countryman than those who sit here nowin this boat. Isn’t that punishment sufficient for even the most exactingjudge?”

Even Snider had to admit that it was.

“Very well, then, let us live while we live, and enjoy to the fullestwhatever of adventure or pleasure each new day brings, since any day may be ourlast, and we shall be dead for a considerable while.”

I could see that Snider was still fearful, but Taylor and Delcarte respondedwith a hearty, “Aye, aye, sir!”

They were of different mold. Both were sons of naval officers. They representedthe aristocracy of birth, and they dared to think for themselves.

Snider was in the minority, and so we continued toward the east. Beyond thirty,and separated from my ship, my authority ceased. I held leadership, if I was tohold it at all, by virtue of personal qualifications only, but I did not doubtmy ability to remain the director of our destinies in so far as they wereamenable to human agencies. I have always led. While my brain and brawn remainunimpaired I shall continue always to lead. Following is an art which Turcks donot easily learn.

It was not until the third day that we raised land, dead ahead, which I took,from my map, to be the isles of Scilly. But such a gale was blowing that I didnot dare attempt to land, and so we passed to the north of them, skirtedLandl’s End, and entered the English Channel.

I think that up to that moment I had never experienced such a thrill as passedthrough me when I realized that I was navigating these historic waters. Thelifelong dreams that I never had dared hope to see fulfilled were at last areality—but under what forlorn circumstances!

Never could I return to my native land. To the end of my days I must remain inexile. Yet even these thoughts failed to dampen my ardor.

My eyes scanned the waters. To the north I could see the rockbound coast ofCornwall. Mine were the first American eyes to rest upon it for more than twohundred years. In vain, I searched for some sign of ancient commerce that, ifhistory is to be believed, must have dotted the bosom of the Channel with whitesails and blackened the heavens with the smoke of countless funnels, but as faras eye could reach the tossing waters of the Channel were empty and deserted.

Toward midnight the wind and sea abated, so that shortly after dawn Idetermined to make inshore in an attempt to effect a landing, for we were sadlyin need of fresh water and food.

According to my observations, we were just off Ram Head, and it was myintention to enter Plymouth Bay and visit Plymouth. From my map it appearedthat this city lay back from the coast a short distance, and there was anothercity given as Devonport, which appeared to lie at the mouth of the river Tamar.

However, I knew that it would make little difference which city we entered, asthe English people were famed of old for their hospitality toward visitingmariners. As we approached the mouth of the bay I looked for the fishing craftwhich I expected to see emerging thus early in the day for their labors. Buteven after we rounded Ram Head and were well within the waters of the bay I sawno vessel. Neither was there buoy nor light nor any other mark to show largerships the channel, and I wondered much at this.

The coast was densely overgrown, nor was any building or sign of man apparentfrom the water. Up the bay and into the River Tamar we motored through asolitude as unbroken as that which rested upon the waters of the Channel. Forall we could see, there was no indication that man had ever set his foot uponthis silent coast.

I was nonplused, and then, for the first time, there crept over me an intuitionof the truth.

Here was no sign of war. As far as this portion of the Devon coast wasconcerned, that seemed to have been over for many years, but neither were thereany people. Yet I could not find it within myself to believe that I should findno inhabitants in England. Reasoning thus, I discovered that it was improbablethat a state of war still existed, and that the people all had been drawn fromthis portion of England to some other, where they might better defendthemselves against an invader.

But what of their ancient coast defenses? What was there here in Plymouth Bayto prevent an enemy landing in force and marching where they wished? Nothing. Icould not believe that any enlightened military nation, such as the ancientEnglish are reputed to have been, would have voluntarily so deserted an exposedcoast and an excellent harbor to the mercies of an enemy.

I found myself becoming more and more deeply involved in quandary. The puzzlewhich confronted me I could not unravel. We had landed, and I now stood uponthe spot where, according to my map, a large city should rear its spires andchimneys. There was nothing but rough, broken ground covered densely with weedsand brambles, and tall, rank grass.

Had a city ever stood there, no sign of it remained. The roughness andunevenness of the ground suggested something of a great mass of debris hiddenby the accumulation of centuries of undergrowth.

I drew the short cutlass with which both officers and men of the navy are, asyou know, armed out of courtesy to the traditions and memories of the past, andwith its point dug into the loam about the roots of the vegetation growing atmy feet.

The blade entered the soil for a matter of seven inches, when it struck uponsomething stonelike. Digging about the obstacle, I presently loosened it, andwhen I had withdrawn it from its sepulcher I found the thing to be an ancientbrick of clay, baked in an oven.

Delcarte we had left in charge of the boat; but Snider and Taylor were with me,and following my example, each engaged in the fascinating sport of prospectingfor antiques. Each of us uncovered a great number of these bricks, until wecommenced to weary of the monotony of it, when Snider suddenly gave anexclamation of excitement, and, as I turned to look, he held up a human skullfor my inspection.

I took it from him and examined it. Directly in the center of the forehead wasa small round hole. The gentleman had evidently come to his end defending hiscountry from an invader.

Snider again held aloft another trophy of the search—a metal spike andsome tarnished and corroded metal ornaments. They had lain close beside theskull.

With the point of his cutlass Snider scraped the dirt and verdigris from theface of the larger ornament.

“An inscription,” he said, and handed the thing to me.

They were the spike and ornaments of an ancient German helmet. Before long wehad uncovered many other indications that a great battle had been fought uponthe ground where we stood. But I was then, and still am, at loss to account forthe presence of German soldiers upon the English coast so far from London,which history suggests would have been the natural goal of an invader.

I can only account for it by assuming that either England was temporarilyconquered by the Teutons, or that an invasion of so vast proportions wasundertaken that German troops were hurled upon the England coast in hugenumbers and that landings were necessarily effected at many placessimultaneously. Subsequent discoveries tend to strengthen this view.

We dug about for a short time with our cutlasses until I became convinced thata city had stood upon the spot at some time in the past, and that beneath ourfeet, crumbled and dead, lay ancient Devonport.

I could not repress a sigh at the thought of the havoc war had wrought in thispart of England, at least. Farther east, nearer London, we should find thingsvery different. There would be the civilization that two centuries must havewrought upon our English cousins as they had upon us. There would be mightycities, cultivated fields, happy people. There we would be welcomed aslong-lost brothers. There would we find a great nation anxious to learn of theworld beyond their side of thirty, as I had been anxious to learn of that whichlay beyond our side of the dead line.

I turned back toward the boat.

“Come, men!” I said. “We will go up the river and fill ourcasks with fresh water, search for food and fuel, and then tomorrow be inreadiness to push on toward the east. I am going to London.”

CHAPTER III.

The report of a gun blasted the silence of a dead Devonport with startlingabruptness.

It came from the direction of the launch, and in an instant we three wererunning for the boat as fast as our legs would carry us. As we came in sight ofit we saw Delcarte a hundred yards inland from the launch, leaning oversomething which lay upon the ground. As we called to him he waved his cap, andstooping, lifted a small deer for our inspection.

I was about to congratulate him on his trophy when we were startled by ahorrid, half-human, half-bestial scream a little ahead and to the right of us.It seemed to come from a clump of rank and tangled bush not far from whereDelcarte stood. It was a horrid, fearsome sound, the like of which never hadfallen upon my ears before.

We looked in the direction from which it came. The smile had died fromDelcarte’s lips. Even at the distance we were from him I saw his face gosuddenly white, and he quickly threw his rifle to his shoulder. At the samemoment the thing that had given tongue to the cry moved from the concealingbrushwood far enough for us, too, to see it.

Both Taylor and Snider gave little gasps of astonishment and dismay.

“What is it, sir?” asked the latter.

The creature stood about the height of a tall manl’s waist, and was longand gaunt and sinuous, with a tawny coat striped with black, and with whitethroat and belly. In conformation it was similar to a cat—a huge cat,exaggerated colossal cat, with fiendish eyes and the most devilish cast ofcountenance, as it wrinkled its bristling snout and bared its great yellowfangs.

It was pacing, or rather, slinking, straight for Delcarte, who had now leveledhis rifle upon it.

“What is it, sir?” mumbled Snider again, and then a half-forgottenpicture from an old natural history sprang to my mind, and I recognized in thefrightful beast the Felis tigris of ancient Asia, specimens of which had, informer centuries, been exhibited in the Western Hemisphere.

Snider and Taylor were armed with rifles and revolvers, while I carried only arevolver. Seizing Sniderl’s rifle from his trembling hands, I called toTaylor to follow me, and together we ran forward, shouting, to attract thebeastl’s attention from Delcarte until we should all be quite closeenough to attack with the greatest assurance of success.

I cried to Delcarte not to fire until we reached his side, for I was fearfullest our small caliber, steel-jacketed bullets should, far from killing thebeast, tend merely to enrage it still further. But he misunderstood me,thinking that I had ordered him to fire.

With the report of his rifle the tiger stopped short in apparent surprise, thenturned and bit savagely at its shoulder for an instant, after which it wheeledagain toward Delcarte, issuing the most terrific roars and screams, andlaunched itself, with incredible speed, toward the brave fellow, who now stoodhis ground pumping bullets from his automatic rifle as rapidly as the weaponwould fire.

Taylor and I also opened up on the creature, and as it was broadside to us itoffered a splendid target, though for all the impression we appeared to makeupon the great cat we might as well have been launching soap bubbles at it.

Straight as a torpedo it rushed for Delcarte, and, as Taylor and I stumbled onthrough the tall grass toward our unfortunate comrade, we saw the tiger rearupon him and crush him to the earth.

Not a backward step had the noble Delcarte taken. Two hundred years of peacehad not sapped the red blood from his courageous line. He went down beneaththat avalanche of bestial savagery still working his gun and with his facetoward his antagonist. Even in the instant that I thought him dead I could nothelp but feel a thrill of pride that he was one of my men, one of my class, aPan-American gentleman of birth. And that he had demonstrated one of theprincipal contentions of the army-and-navy adherents—that militarytraining was necessary for the salvation of personal courage in thePan-American race which for generations had had to face no dangers more gravethan those incident to ordinary life in a highly civilized community,safeguarded by every means at the disposal of a perfectly organized andall-powerful government utilizing the best that advanced science could suggest.

As we ran toward Delcarte, both Taylor and I were struck by the fact that thebeast upon him appeared not to be mauling him, but lay quiet and motionlessupon its prey, and when we were quite close, and the muzzles of our guns wereat the animal’s head, I saw the explanation of this sudden cessation ofhostilities—Felis tigris was dead.

One of our bullets, or one of the last that Delcarte fired, had penetrated theheart, and the beast had died even as it sprawled forward crushing Delcarte tothe ground.

A moment later, with our assistance, the man had scrambled from beneath thecarcass of his would-be slayer, without a scratch to indicate how close todeath he had been.

Delcarte’s buoyance was entirely unruffled. He came from under the tigerwith a broad grin on his handsome face, nor could I perceive that a muscletrembled or that his voice showed the least indication of nervousness orexcitement.

With the termination of the adventure, we began to speculate upon theexplanation of the presence of this savage brute at large so great a distancefrom its native habitat. My readings had taught me that it was practicallyunknown outside of Asia, and that, so late as the twentieth century, at least,there had been no savage beasts outside captivity in England.

As we talked, Snider joined us, and I returned his rifle to him. Taylor andDelcarte picked up the slain deer, and we all started down toward the launch,walking slowly. Delcarte wanted to fetch the tigerl’s skin, but I had todeny him permission, since we had no means to properly cure it.

Upon the beach, we skinned the deer and cut away as much meat as we thought wecould dispose of, and as we were again embarking to continue up the river forfresh water and fuel, we were startled by a series of screams from the bushes ashort distance away.

“Another Felis tigris,” said Taylor.

“Or a dozen of them,” supplemented Delcarte, and, even as he spoke,there leaped into sight, one after another, eight of the beasts, fullgrown—magnificent specimens.

At the sight of us, they came charging down like infuriated demons. I saw thatthree rifles would be no match for them, and so I gave the word to put out fromshore, hoping that the “tiger,” as the ancients called him, couldnot swim.

Sure enough, they all halted at the beach, pacing back and forth, utteringfiendish cries, and glaring at us in the most malevolent manner.

As we motored away, we presently heard the calls of similar animals far inland.They seemed to be answering the cries of their fellows at the waterl’sedge, and from the wide distribution and great volume of the sound we came tothe conclusion that enormous numbers of these beasts must roam the adjacentcountry.

“They have eaten up the inhabitants,” murmured Snider, shuddering.

“I imagine you are right,” I agreed, “for their extremeboldness and fearlessness in the presence of man would suggest either that manis entirely unknown to them, or that they are extremely familiar with him astheir natural and most easily procured prey.”

“But where did they come from?” asked Delcarte. “Could theyhave traveled here from Asia?”

I shook my head. The thing was a puzzle to me. I knew that it was practicallybeyond reason to imagine that tigers had crossed the mountain ranges and riversand all the great continent of Europe to travel this far from their nativelairs, and entirely impossible that they should have crossed the EnglishChannel at all. Yet here they were, and in great numbers.

We continued up the Tamar several miles, filled our casks, and then landed tocook some of our deer steak, and have the first square meal that had fallen toour lot since the Coldwater deserted us. But scarce had we built our fire andprepared the meat for cooking than Snider, whose eyes had been constantlyroving about the landscape from the moment that we left the launch, touched meon the arm and pointed to a clump of bushes which grew a couple of hundredyards away.

Half concealed behind their screening foliage I saw the yellow and black of abig tiger, and, as I looked, the beast stalked majestically toward us. A momentlater, he was followed by another and another, and it is needless to state thatwe beat a hasty retreat to the launch.

The country was apparently infested by these huge Carnivora, for after threeother attempts to land and cook our food we were forced to abandon the ideaentirely, as each time we were driven off by hunting tigers.

It was also equally impossible to obtain the necessary ingredients for ourchemical fuel, and, as we had very little left aboard, we determined to stepour folding mast and proceed under sail, hoarding our fuel supply for use inemergencies.

I may say that it was with no regret that we bid adieu to Tigerland, as werechristened the ancient Devon, and, beating out into the Channel, turned thelaunchl’s nose southeast, to round Bolt Head and continue up the coasttoward the Strait of Dover and the North Sea.

I was determined to reach London as soon as possible, that we might obtainfresh clothing, meet with cultured people, and learn from the lips ofEnglishmen the secrets of the two centuries since the East had been divorcedfrom the West.

Our first stopping place was the Isle of Wight. We entered the Solent about teno’clock one morning, and I must confess that my heart sank as we cameclose to shore. No lighthouse was visible, though one was plainly indicatedupon my map. Upon neither shore was sign of human habitation. We skirted thenorthern shore of the island in fruitless search for man, and then at lastlanded upon an eastern point, where Newport should have stood, but where onlyweeds and great trees and tangled wild wood rioted, and not a single manmadething was visible to the eye.

Before landing, I had the men substitute soft bullets for the steel-jacketedprojectiles with which their belts and magazines were filled. Thus equipped, wefelt upon more even terms with the tigers, but there was no sign of the tigers,and I decided that they must be confined to the mainland.

After eating, we set out in search of fuel, leaving Taylor to guard the launch.For some reason I could not trust Snider alone. I knew that he looked withdisapproval upon my plan to visit England, and I did not know but what at hisfirst opportunity, he might desert us, taking the launch with him, and attemptto return to Pan-America.

That he would be fool enough to venture it, I did not doubt.

We had gone inland for a mile or more, and were passing through a park-likewood, when we came suddenly upon the first human beings we had seen since wesighted the English coast.

There were a score of men in the party. Hairy, half-naked men they were,resting in the shade of a great tree. At the first sight of us they sprang totheir feet with wild yells, seizing long spears that had lain beside them asthey rested.

For a matter of fifty yards they ran from us as rapidly as they could, and thenthey turned and surveyed us for a moment. Evidently emboldened by the scarcityof our numbers, they commenced to advance upon us, brandishing their spears andshouting horribly.

They were short and muscular of build, with long hair and beards tangled andmatted with filth. Their heads, however, were shapely, and their eyes, thoughfierce and warlike, were intelligent.

Appreciation of these physical attributes came later, of course, when I hadbetter opportunity to study the men at close range and under circumstances lessfraught with danger and excitement. At the moment I saw, and with unmixedwonder, only a score of wild savages charging down upon us, where I hadexpected to find a community of civilized and enlightened people.

Each of us was armed with rifle, revolver, and cutlass, but as we stoodshoulder to shoulder facing the wild men I was loath to give the command tofire upon them, inflicting death or suffering upon strangers with whom we hadno quarrel, and so I attempted to restrain them for the moment that we mightparley with them.

To this end I raised my left hand above my head with the palm toward them asthe most natural gesture indicative of peaceful intentions which occurred tome. At the same time I called aloud to them that we were friends, though, fromtheir appearance, there was nothing to indicate that they might understandPan-American, or ancient English, which are of course practically identical.

At my gesture and words they ceased their shouting and came to a halt a fewpaces from us. Then, in deep tones, one who was in advance of the others andwhom I took to be the chief or leader of the party replied in a tongue whichwhile intelligible to us, was so distorted from the English language from whichit evidently had sprung, that it was with difficulty that we interpreted it.

“Who are you,” he asked, “and from what country?”

I told him that we were from Pan-America, but he only shook his head and askedwhere that was. He had never heard of it, or of the Atlantic Ocean which I toldhim separated his country from mine.

“It has been two hundred years,” I told him, “since aPan-American visited England.”

“England?” he asked. “What is England?”

“Why this is a part of England!” I exclaimed.

“This is Grubitten,” he assured me. “I know nothing aboutEngland, and I have lived here all my life.”

It was not until long after that the derivation of Grubitten occurred to me.Unquestionably it is a corruption of Great Britain, a name formerly given tothe large island comprising England, Scotland and Wales. Subsequently we heardit pronounced Grabrittin and Grubritten.

I then asked the fellow if he could direct us to Ryde or Newport; but again heshook his head, and said that he never had heard of such countries. And when Iasked him if there were any cities in this country he did not know what Imeant, never having heard the word cities.

I explained my meaning as best I could by stating that by city I referred to aplace where many people lived together in houses.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, “you mean a camp! Yes, there are twogreat camps here, East Camp and West Camp. We are from East Camp.”

The use of the word camp to describe a collection of habitations naturallysuggested war to me, and my next question was as to whether the war was over,and who had been victorious.

“No,” he replied to this question. “The war is not yet over.But it soon will be, and it will end, as it always does, with the Westendersrunning away. We, the Eastenders, are always victorious.”

“No,” I said, seeing that he referred to the petty tribal wars ofhis little island, “I mean the Great War, the war with Germany. Is itended—and who was victorious?”

He shook his head impatiently.

“I never heard,” he said, “of any of these strange countriesof which you speak.”

It seemed incredible, and yet it was true. These people living at the very seatof the Great War knew nothing of it, though but two centuries had passed since,to our knowledge, it had been running in the height of its titanicfrightfulness all about them, and to us upon the far side of the Atlantic stillwas a subject of keen interest.

Here was a lifelong inhabitant of the Isle of Wight who never had heard ofeither Germany or England! I turned to him quite suddenly with a new question.

“What people live upon the mainland?” I asked, and pointed in thedirection of the Hants coast.

“No one lives there,” he replied.

“Long ago, it is said, my people dwelt across the waters upon that otherland; but the wild beasts devoured them in such numbers that finally they weredriven here, paddling across upon logs and driftwood, nor has any dared returnsince, because of the frightful creatures which dwell in that horridcountry.”

“Do no other peoples ever come to your country in ships?” I asked.

He never heard the word ship before, and did not know its meaning. But heassured me that until we came he had thought that there were no other peoplesin the world other than the Grubittens, who consist of the Eastenders and theWestenders of the ancient Isle of Wight.

Assured that we were inclined to friendliness, our new acquaintances led us totheir village, or, as they call it, camp. There we found a thousand people,perhaps, dwelling in rude shelters, and living upon the fruits of the chase andsuch sea food as is obtainable close to shore, for they had no boats, nor anyknowledge of such things.

Their weapons were most primitive, consisting of rude spears tipped with piecesof metal pounded roughly into shape. They had no literature, no religion, andrecognized no law other than the law of might. They produced fire by striking abit of flint and steel together, but for the most part they ate their food raw.Marriage is unknown among them, and while they have the word, mother, they didnot know what I meant by “father.” The males fight for the favor ofthe females. They practice infanticide, and kill the aged and physically unfit.

The family consists of the mother and the children, the men dwelling sometimesin one hut and sometimes in another. Owing to their bloody duels, they arealways numerically inferior to the women, so there is shelter for them all.

We spent several hours in the village, where we were objects of the greatestcuriosity. The inhabitants examined our clothing and all our belongings, andasked innumerable questions concerning the strange country from which we hadcome and the manner of our coming.

I questioned many of them concerning past historical events, but they knewnothing beyond the narrow limits of their island and the savage, primitive lifethey led there. London they had never heard of, and they assured me that Iwould find no human beings upon the mainland.

Much saddened by what I had seen, I took my departure from them, and the threeof us made our way back to the launch, accompanied by about five hundred men,women, girls, and boys.

As we sailed away, after procuring the necessary ingredients of our chemicalfuel, the Grubittens lined the shore in silent wonder at the strange sight ofour dainty craft dancing over the sparkling waters, and watched us until wewere lost to their sight.

CHAPTER IV.

It was during the morning of July 6, 2137, that we entered the mouth of theThames—to the best of my knowledge the first Western keel to cut thosehistoric waters for two hundred and twenty-one years!

But where were the tugs and the lighters and the barges, the lightships and thebuoys, and all those countless attributes which went to make up the myriad lifeof the ancient Thames?

Gone! All gone! Only silence and desolation reigned where once the commerce ofthe world had centered.

I could not help but compare this once great water-way with the waters aboutour New York, or Rio, or San Diego, or Valparaiso. They had become what theyare today during the two centuries of the profound peace which we of the navyhave been prone to deplore. And what, during this same period, had shorn thewaters of the Thames of their pristine grandeur?

Militarist that I am, I could find but a single word of explanation—war!

I bowed my head and turned my eyes downward from the lonely and depressingsight, and in a silence which none of us seemed willing to break, we proceededup the deserted river.

We had reached a point which, from my map, I imagined must have been about theformer site of Erith, when I discovered a small band of antelope a shortdistance inland. As we were now entirely out of meat once more, and as I hadgiven up all expectations of finding a city upon the site of ancient London, Idetermined to land and bag a couple of the animals.

Assured that they would be timid and easily frightened, I decided to stalk themalone, telling the men to wait at the boat until I called to them to come andcarry the carcasses back to the shore.

Crawling carefully through the vegetation, making use of such trees and bushesas afforded shelter, I came at last almost within easy range of my quarry, whenthe antlered head of the buck went suddenly into the air, and then, as thoughin accordance with a prearranged signal, the whole band moved slowly off,farther inland.

As their pace was leisurely, I determined to follow them until I came againwithin range, as I was sure that they would stop and feed in a short time.

They must have led me a mile or more at least before they again halted andcommenced to browse upon the rank, luxuriant grasses. All the time that I hadfollowed them I had kept both eyes and ears alert for sign or sound that wouldindicate the presence of Felis tigris; but so far not the slightest indicationof the beast had been apparent.

As I crept closer to the antelope, sure this time of a good shot at a largebuck, I suddenly saw something that caused me to forget all about my prey inwonderment.

It was the figure of an immense grey-black creature, rearing its colossalshoulders twelve or fourteen feet above the ground. Never in my life had I seensuch a beast, nor did I at first recognize it, so different in appearance isthe live reality from the stuffed, unnatural specimens preserved to us in ourmuseums.

But presently I guessed the identity of the mighty creature as Elephasafricanus, or, as the ancients commonly described it, African elephant.

The antelope, although in plain view of the huge beast, paid not the slightestattention to it, and I was so wrapped up in watching the mighty pachyderm thatI quite forgot to shoot at the buck and presently, and in quite a startlingmanner, it became impossible to do so.

The elephant was browsing upon the young and tender shoots of some low bushes,waving his great ears and switching his short tail. The antelope, scarce twentypaces from him, continued their feeding, when suddenly, from close beside thelatter, there came a most terrifying roar, and I saw a great, tawny body shoot,from the concealing verdure beyond the antelope, full upon the back of a smallbuck.

Instantly the scene changed from one of quiet and peace to indescribable chaos.The startled and terrified buck uttered cries of agony. His fellows broke andleaped off in all directions. The elephant raised his trunk, and, trumpetingloudly, lumbered off through the wood, crushing down small trees and tramplingbushes in his mad flight.

Growling horribly, a huge lion stood across the body of his prey—such acreature as no Pan-American of the twenty-second century had ever beheld untilmy eyes rested upon this lordly specimen of “the king of beasts.”But what a different creature was this fierce-eyed demon, palpitating with lifeand vigor, glossy of coat, alert, growling, magnificent, from the dingy,moth-eaten replicas beneath their glass cases in the stuffy halls of our publicmuseums.

I had never hoped or expected to see a living lion, tiger, orelephant—using the common terms that were familiar to the ancients, sincethey seem to me less unwieldy than those now in general use among us—andso it was with sentiments not unmixed with awe that I stood gazing at thisregal beast as, above the carcass of his kill, he roared out his challenge tothe world.

So enthralled was I by the spectacle that I quite forgot myself, and the betterto view him, the great lion, I had risen to my feet and stood, not fifty pacesfrom him, in full view.

For a moment he did not see me, his attention being directed toward theretreating elephant, and I had ample time to feast my eyes upon his splendidproportions, his great head, and his thick black mane.

Ah, what thoughts passed through my mind in those brief moments as I stoodthere in rapt fascination! I had come to find a wondrous civilization, andinstead I found a wild-beast monarch of the realm where English kings hadruled. A lion reigned, undisturbed, within a few miles of the seat of one ofthe greatest governments the world has ever known, his domain a howlingwilderness, where yesterday fell the shadows of the largest city in the world.

It was appalling; but my reflections upon this depressing subject were doomedto sudden extinction. The lion had discovered me.

For an instant he stood silent and motionless as one of the mangy effigies athome, but only for an instant. Then, with a most ferocious roar, and withoutthe slightest hesitancy or warning, he charged upon me.

He forsook the prey already dead beneath him for the pleasures of thedelectable tidbit, man. From the remorselessness with which the great Carnivoraof modern England hunted man, I am constrained to believe that, whatever theirappetites in times past, they have cultivated a gruesome taste for human flesh.

As I threw my rifle to my shoulder, I thanked God, the ancient God of myancestors, that I had replaced the hard-jacketed bullets in my weapon withsoft-nosed projectiles, for though this was my first experience with Felis leo,I knew the moment that I faced that charge that even my wonderfully perfectedfirearm would be as futile as a peashooter unless I chanced to place my firstbullet in a vital spot.

Unless you had seen it you could not believe credible the speed of a charginglion. Apparently the animal is not built for speed, nor can he maintain it forlong. But for a matter of forty or fifty yards there is, I believe, no animalon earth that can overtake him.

Like a bolt he bore down upon me, but, fortunately for me, I did not lose myhead. I guessed that no bullet would kill him instantly. I doubted that I couldpierce his skull. There was hope, though, in finding his heart through hisexposed chest, or, better yet, of breaking his shoulder or foreleg, andbringing him up long enough to pump more bullets into him and finish him.

I covered his left shoulder and pulled the trigger as he was almost upon me. Itstopped him. With a terrific howl of pain and rage, the brute rolled over andover upon the ground almost to my feet. As he came I pumped two more bulletsinto him, and as he struggled to rise, clawing viciously at me, I put a bulletin his spine.

That finished him, and I am free to admit that I was mighty glad of it. Therewas a great tree close behind me, and, stepping within its shade, I leanedagainst it, wiping the perspiration from my face, for the day was hot, and theexertion and excitement left me exhausted.

I stood there, resting, for a moment, preparatory to turning and retracing mysteps to the launch, when, without warning, something whizzed through spacestraight toward me. There was a dull thud of impact as it struck the tree, andas I dodged to one side and turned to look at the thing I saw a heavy spearimbedded in the wood not three inches from where my head had been.

The thing had come from a little to one side of me, and, without waiting toinvestigate at the instant, I leaped behind the tree, and, circling it, peeredaround the other side to get a sight of my would-be murderer.

This time I was pitted against men—the spear told me that all tooplainly—but so long as they didn’t take me unawares or from behindI had little fear of them.

Cautiously I edged about the far side of the trees until I could obtain a viewof the spot from which the spear must have come, and when I did I saw the headof a man just emerging from behind a bush.

The fellow was quite similar in type to those I had seen upon the Isle ofWight. He was hairy and unkempt, and as he finally stepped into view I saw thathe was garbed in the same primitive fashion.

He stood for a moment gazing about in search of me, and then he advanced. As hedid so a number of others, precisely like him, stepped from the concealingverdure of nearby bushes and followed in his wake. Keeping the trees betweenthem and me, I ran back a short distance until I found a clump of underbrushthat would effectually conceal me, for I wished to discover the strength of theparty and its armament before attempting to parley with it.

The useless destruction of any of these poor creatures was the farthest ideafrom my mind. I should have liked to have spoken with them, but I did not careto risk having to use my high-powered rifle upon them other than in the lastextremity.

Once in my new place of concealment, I watched them as they approached thetree. There were about thirty men in the party and one woman—a girl whosehands seemed to be bound behind her and who was being pulled along by two ofthe men.

They came forward warily, peering cautiously into every bush and halting often.At the body of the lion, they paused, and I could see from their gesticulationsand the higher pitch of their voices that they were much excited over my kill.

But presently they resumed their search for me, and as they advanced I becamesuddenly aware of the unnecessary brutality with which the girl’s guardswere treating her. She stumbled once, not far from my place of concealment, andafter the balance of the party had passed me. As she did so one of the men ather side jerked her roughly to her feet and struck her across the mouth withhis fist.

Instantly my blood boiled, and forgetting every consideration of caution, Ileaped from my concealment, and, springing to the manl’s side, felled himwith a blow.

So unexpected had been my act that it found him and his fellow unprepared; butinstantly the latter drew the knife that protruded from his belt and lungedviciously at me, at the same time giving voice to a wild cry of alarm.

The girl shrank back at sight of me, her eyes wide in astonishment, and then myantagonist was upon me. I parried his first blow with my forearm, at the sametime delivering a powerful blow to his jaw that sent him reeling back; but hewas at me again in an instant, though in the brief interim I had time to drawmy revolver.

I saw his companion crawling slowly to his feet, and the others of the partyracing down upon me. There was no time to argue now, other than with theweapons we wore, and so, as the fellow lunged at me again with thewicked-looking knife, I covered his heart and pulled the trigger.

Without a sound, he slipped to the earth, and then I turned the weapon upon theother guard, who was now about to attack me. He, too, collapsed, and I wasalone with the astonished girl.

The balance of the party was some twenty paces from us, but coming rapidly. Iseized her arm and drew her after me behind a nearby tree, for I had seen thatwith both their comrades down the others were preparing to launch their spears.

With the girl safe behind the tree, I stepped out in sight of the advancingfoe, shouting to them that I was no enemy, and that they should halt and listento me. But for answer they only yelled in derision and launched a couple ofspears at me, both of which missed.

I saw then that I must fight, yet still I hated to slay them, and it was onlyas a final resort that I dropped two of them with my rifle, bringing the othersto a temporary halt. Again, I appealed to them to desist. But they only mistookmy solicitude for them for fear, and, with shouts of rage and derision, leapedforward once again to overwhelm me.

It was now quite evident that I must punish them severely,or—myself—die and relinquish the girl once more to her captors.Neither of these things had I the slightest notion of doing, and so I againstepped from behind the tree, and, with all the care and deliberation of targetpractice, I commenced picking off the foremost of my assailants.

One by one the wild men dropped, yet on came the others, fierce and vengeful,until, only a few remaining, these seemed to realize the futility of combatingmy modern weapon with their primitive spears, and, still howling wrathfully,withdrew toward the west.

Now, for the first time, I had an opportunity to turn my attention toward thegirl, who had stood, silent and motionless, behind me as I pumped death into myenemies and hers from my automatic rifle.

She was of medium height, well formed, and with fine, clear-cut features. Herforehead was high, and her eyes both intelligent and beautiful. Exposure to thesun had browned a smooth and velvety skin to a shade which seemed to enhancerather than mar an altogether lovely picture of youthful femininity.

A trace of apprehension marked her expression—I cannot call it fear sinceI have learned to know her—and astonishment was still apparent in hereyes. She stood quite erect, her hands still bound behind her, and met my gazewith level, proud return.

“What language do you speak?” I asked. “Do you understandmine?”

“Yes,” she replied. “It is similar to my own. I am Grabritin.What are you?”

“I am a Pan-American,” I answered. She shook her head. “Whatis that?”

I pointed toward the west. “Far away, across the ocean.”

Her expression altered a trifle. A slight frown contracted her brow. Theexpression of apprehension deepened.

“Take off your cap,” she said, and when, to humor her strangerequest, I did as she bid, she appeared relieved. Then she edged to one sideand leaned over seemingly to peer behind me. I turned quickly to see what shediscovered, but finding nothing, wheeled about to see that her expression wasonce more altered.

“You are not from there?” and she pointed toward the east. It was ahalf question. “You are not from across the water there?”

“No,” I assured her. “I am from Pan-America, far away to thewest. Have you ever heard of Pan-America?”

She shook her head in negation. “I do not care where you are from,”she explained, “if you are not from there, and I am sure you are not, forthe men from there have horns and tails.”

It was with difficulty that I restrained a smile.

“Who are the men from there?” I asked.

“They are bad men,” she replied. “Some of my people do notbelieve that there are such creatures. But we have a legend—a very old,old legend, that once the men from there came across to Grabritin. They cameupon the water, and under the water, and even in the air. They came in greatnumbers, so that they rolled across the land like a great gray fog. Theybrought with them thunder and lightning and smoke that killed, and they fellupon us and slew our people by the thousands and the hundreds of thousands. Butat last we drove them back to the waterl’s edge, back into the sea, wheremany were drowned. Some escaped, and these our people followed—men,women, and even children, we followed them back. That is all. The legend saysour people never returned. Maybe they were all killed. Maybe they are stillthere. But this, also, is in the legend, that as we drove the men back acrossthe water they swore that they would return, and that when they left our shoresthey would leave no human being alive behind them. I was afraid that you werefrom there.”

“By what name were these men called?” I asked.

“We call them only the ‘men from there,’” she replied,pointing toward the east. “I have never heard that they had anothername.”

In the light of what I knew of ancient history, it was not difficult for me toguess the nationality of those she described simply as “the men from overthere.” But what utter and appalling devastation the Great War must havewrought to have erased not only every sign of civilization from the face ofthis great land, but even the name of the enemy from the knowledge and languageof the people.

I could only account for it on the hypothesis that the country had beenentirely depopulated except for a few scattered and forgotten children, who, insome marvelous manner, had been preserved by Providence to re-populate theland. These children had, doubtless, been too young to retain in their memoriesto transmit to their children any but the vaguest suggestion of the cataclysmwhich had overwhelmed their parents.

Professor Cortoran, since my return to Pan-America, has suggested anothertheory which is not entirely without claim to serious consideration. He pointsout that it is quite beyond the pale of human instinct to desert littlechildren as my theory suggests the ancient English must have done. He is moreinclined to believe that the expulsion of the foe from England was synchronouswith widespread victories by the allies upon the continent, and that the peopleof England merely emigrated from their ruined cities and their devastated,blood-drenched fields to the mainland, in the hope of finding, in the domain ofthe conquered enemy, cities and farms which would replace those they had lost.

The learned professor assumes that while a long-continued war had strengthenedrather than weakened the instinct of paternal devotion, it had also dulledother humanitarian instincts, and raised to the first magnitude the law of thesurvival of the fittest, with the result that when the exodus took place thestrong, the intelligent, and the cunning, together with their offspring,crossed the waters of the Channel or the North Sea to the continent, leaving inunhappy England only the helpless inmates of asylums for the feebleminded andinsane.

My objections to this, that the present inhabitants of England are mentallyfit, and could therefore not have descended from an ancestry of undilutedlunacy he brushes aside with the assertion that insanity is not necessarilyhereditary; and that even though it was, in many cases a return to naturalconditions from the state of high civilization, which is thought to haveinduced mental disease in the ancient world, would, after several generations,have thoroughly expunged every trace of the affliction from the brains andnerves of the descendants of the original maniacs.

Personally, I do not place much stock in Professor Cortoranl’s theory,though I admit that I am prejudiced. Naturally one does not care to believethat the object of his greatest affection is descended from a gibbering idiotand a raving maniac.

But I am forgetting the continuity of my narrative—a continuity which Idesire to maintain, though I fear that I shall often be led astray, so numerousand varied are the bypaths of speculation which lead from the present day storyof the Grabritins into the mysterious past of their forbears.

As I stood talking with the girl I presently recollected that she still wasbound, and with a word of apology, I drew my knife and cut the rawhide thongswhich confined her wrists at her back.

She thanked me, and with such a sweet smile that I should have been amplyrepaid by it for a much more arduous service.

“And now,” I said, “let me accompany you to your home and seeyou safely again under the protection of your friends.”

“No,” she said, with a hint of alarm in her voice; “you mustnot come with me—Buckingham will kill you.”

Buckingham. The name was famous in ancient English history. Its survival, withmany other illustrious names, is one of the strongest arguments in refutal ofProfessor Cortoranl’s theory; yet it opens no new doors to the past, and,on the whole, rather adds to than dissipates the mystery.

“And who is Buckingham,” I asked, “and why should he wish tokill me?”

“He would think that you had stolen me,” she replied, “and ashe wishes me for himself, he will kill any other whom he thinks desires me. Hekilled Wettin a few days ago. My mother told me once that Wettin was my father.He was king. Now Buckingham is king.”

Here, evidently, were a people slightly superior to those of the Isle of Wight.These must have at least the rudiments of civilized government since theyrecognized one among them as ruler, with the title, king. Also, they retainedthe word father. The girl’s pronunciation, while far from identical withours, was much closer than the tortured dialect of the Eastenders of the Isleof Wight. The longer I talked with her the more hopeful I became of findinghere, among her people, some records, or traditions, which might assist inclearing up the historic enigma of the past two centuries. I asked her if wewere far from the city of London, but she did not know what I meant. When Itried to explain, describing mighty buildings of stone and brick, broadavenues, parks, palaces, and countless people, she but shook her head sadly.

“There is no such place near by,” she said. “Only the Camp ofthe Lions has places of stone where the beasts lair, but there are no people inthe Camp of the Lions. Who would dare go there!” And she shuddered.

“The Camp of the Lions,” I repeated. “And where is that, andwhat?”

“It is there,” she said, pointing up the river toward the west.“I have seen it from a great distance, but I have never been there. Weare much afraid of the lions, for this is their country, and they are angrythat man has come to live here.

“Far away there,” and she pointed toward the south-west, “isthe land of tigers, which is even worse than this, the land of the lions, forthe tigers are more numerous than the lions and hungrier for human flesh. Therewere tigers here long ago, but both the lions and the men set upon them anddrove them off.”

“Where did these savage beasts come from?” I asked.

“Oh,” she replied, “they have been here always. It is theircountry.”

“Do they not kill and eat your people?” I asked.

“Often, when we meet them by accident, and we are too few to slay them,or when one goes too close to their camp. But seldom do they hunt us, for theyfind what food they need among the deer and wild cattle, and, too, we make themgifts, for are we not intruders in their country? Really we live upon goodterms with them, though I should not care to meet one were there not manyspears in my party.”

“I should like to visit this Camp of the Lions,” I said.

“Oh, no, you must not!” cried the girl. “That would beterrible. They would eat you.” For a moment, then, she seemed lost inthought, but presently she turned upon me with: “You must go now, for anyminute Buckingham may come in search of me. Long since should they have learnedthat I am gone from the camp—they watch over me very closely—andthey will set out after me. Go! I shall wait here until they come in search ofme.”

“No,” I told her. “I’ll not leave you alone in a landinfested by lions and other wild beasts. If you won’t let me go as far asyour camp with you, then I’ll wait here until they come in search ofyou.”

“Please go!” she begged. “You have saved me, and I would saveyou, but nothing will save you if Buckingham gets his hands on you. He is a badman. He wishes to have me for his woman so that he may be king. He would killanyone who befriended me, for fear that I might become anotherl’s.”

“Didn’t you say that Buckingham is already the king?” Iasked.

“He is. He took my mother for his woman after he had killed Wettin. Butmy mother will die soon—she is very old—and then the man to whom Ibelong will become king.”

Finally, after much questioning, I got the thing through my head. It appearsthat the line of descent is through the women. A man is merely head of hiswife’s family—that is all. If she chances to be the oldest femalemember of the “royal” house, he is king. Very naively the girlexplained that there was seldom any doubt as to whom a childl’s motherwas.

This accounted for the girl’s importance in the community and forBuckinghaml’s anxiety to claim her, though she told me that she did notwish to become his woman, for he was a bad man and would make a bad king. Buthe was powerful, and there was no other man who dared dispute his wishes.

“Why not come with me,” I suggested, “if you do not wish tobecome Buckinghaml’s?”

“Where would you take me?” she asked.

Where, indeed! I had not thought of that. But before I could reply to herquestion she shook her head and said, “No, I cannot leave my people. Imust stay and do my best, even if Buckingham gets me, but you must go at once.Do not wait until it is too late. The lions have had no offering for a longtime, and Buckingham would seize upon the first stranger as a gift tothem.”

I did not perfectly understand what she meant, and was about to ask her when aheavy body leaped upon me from behind, and great arms encircled my neck. Istruggled to free myself and turn upon my antagonist, but in another instant Iwas overwhelmed by a half dozen powerful, half-naked men, while a score ofothers surrounded me, a couple of whom seized the girl.

I fought as best I could for my liberty and for hers, but the weight of numberswas too great, though I had the satisfaction at least of giving them a goodfight.

When they had overpowered me, and I stood, my hands bound behind me, at thegirl’s side, she gazed commiseratingly at me.

“It is too bad that you did not do as I bid you,” she said,“for now it has happened just as I feared—Buckingham hasyou.”

“Which is Buckingham?” I asked.

“I am Buckingham,” growled a burly, unwashed brute, swaggeringtruculently before me. “And who are you who would have stolen mywoman?”

The girl spoke up then and tried to explain that I had not stolen her; but onthe contrary I had saved her from the men from the “ElephantCountry” who were carrying her away.

Buckingham only sneered at her explanation, and a moment later gave the commandthat started us all off toward the west. We marched for a matter of an hour orso, coming at last to a collection of rude huts, fashioned from branches oftrees covered with skins and grasses and sometimes plastered with mud. Allabout the camp they had erected a wall of saplings pointed at the tops and firehardened.

This palisade was a protection against both man and beasts, and within it dweltupward of two thousand persons, the shelters being built very close together,and sometimes partially underground, like deep trenches, with the poles andhides above merely as protection from the sun and rain.

The older part of the camp consisted almost wholly of trenches, as though thishad been the original form of dwellings which was slowly giving way to thedrier and airier surface domiciles. In these trench habitations I saw asurvival of the military trenches which formed so famous a part of theoperation of the warring nations during the twentieth century.

The women wore a single light deerskin about their hips, for it was summer, andquite warm. The men, too, were clothed in a single garment, usually the pelt ofsome beast of prey. The hair of both men and women was confined by a rawhidethong passing about the forehead and tied behind. In this leathern band werestuck feathers, flowers, or the tails of small mammals. All wore necklaces ofthe teeth or claws of wild beasts, and there were numerous metal wristlets andanklets among them.

They wore, in fact, every indication of a most primitive people—a racewhich had not yet risen to the heights of agriculture or even the possession ofdomestic animals. They were hunters—the lowest plane in the evolution ofthe human race of which science takes cognizance.

And yet as I looked at their well shaped heads, their handsome features, andtheir intelligent eyes, it was difficult to believe that I was not among myown. It was only when I took into consideration their mode of living, theirscant apparel, the lack of every least luxury among them, that I was forced toadmit that they were, in truth, but ignorant savages.

Buckingham had relieved me of my weapons, though he had not the slightest ideaof their purpose or uses, and when we reached the camp he exhibited both me andmy arms with every indication of pride in this great capture.

The inhabitants flocked around me, examining my clothing, and exclaiming inwonderment at each new discovery of button, buckle, pocket, and flap. It seemedincredible that such a thing could be, almost within a stone’s throw ofthe spot where but a brief two centuries before had stood the greatest city ofthe world.

They bound me to a small tree that grew in the middle of one of their crookedstreets, but the girl they released as soon as we had entered the enclosure.The people greeted her with every mark of respect as she hastened to a largehut near the center of the camp.

Presently she returned with a fine looking, white-haired woman, who proved tobe her mother. The older woman carried herself with a regal dignity that seemedquite remarkable in a place of such primitive squalor.

The people fell aside as she approached, making a wide way for her and herdaughter. When they had come near and stopped before me the older womanaddressed me.

“My daughter has told me,” she said, “of the manner in whichyou rescued her from the men of the elephant country. If Wettin lived you wouldbe well treated, but Buckingham has taken me now, and is king. You can hope fornothing from such a beast as Buckingham.”

The fact that Buckingham stood within a pace of us and was an interestedlistener appeared not to temper her expressions in the slightest.

“Buckingham is a pig,” she continued. “He is a coward. Hecame upon Wettin from behind and ran his spear through him. He will not be kingfor long. Some one will make a face at him, and he will run away and jump intothe river.”

The people began to titter and clap their hands. Buckingham became red in theface. It was evident that he was far from popular.

“If he dared,” went on the old lady, “he would kill me now,but he does not dare. He is too great a coward. If I could help you I shouldgladly do so. But I am only queen—the vehicle that has helped carry down,unsullied, the royal blood from the days when Grabritin was a mightycountry.”

The old queenl’s words had a noticeable effect upon the mob of curioussavages which surrounded me. The moment they discovered that the old queen wasfriendly to me and that I had rescued her daughter they commenced to accord mea more friendly interest, and I heard many words spoken in my behalf, anddemands were made that I not be harmed.

But now Buckingham interfered. He had no intention of being robbed of his prey.Blustering and storming, he ordered the people back to their huts, at the sametime directing two of his warriors to confine me in a dugout in one of thetrenches close to his own shelter.

Here they threw me upon the ground, binding my ankles together and trussingthem up to my wrists behind. There they left me, lying upon my stomach—amost uncomfortable and strained position, to which was added the pain where thecords cut into my flesh.

Just a few days ago my mind had been filled with the anticipation of thefriendly welcome I should find among the cultured Englishmen of London. Today Ishould be sitting in the place of honor at the banquet board of one ofLondonl’s most exclusive clubs, feted and lionized.

The actuality! Here I lay, bound hand and foot, doubtless almost upon the verysite of a part of ancient London, yet all about me was a primeval wilderness,and I was a captive of half-naked wild men.

I wondered what had become of Delcarte and Taylor and Snider. Would they searchfor me? They could never find me, I feared, yet if they did, what could theyaccomplish against this horde of savage warriors?

Would that I could warn them. I thought of the girl—doubtless she couldget word to them, but how was I to communicate with her? Would she come to seeme before I was killed? It seemed incredible that she should not make someslight attempt to befriend me; yet, as I recalled, she had made no effort tospeak with me after we had reached the village. She had hastened to her motherthe moment she had been liberated. Though she had returned with the old queen,she had not spoken to me, even then. I began to have my doubts.

Finally, I came to the conclusion that I was absolutely friendless except forthe old queen. For some unaccountable reason my rage against the girl for heringratitude rose to colossal proportions.

For a long time I waited for some one to come to my prison whom I might ask tobear word to the queen, but I seemed to have been forgotten. The strainedposition in which I lay became unbearable. I wriggled and twisted until Imanaged to turn myself partially upon my side, where I lay half facing theentrance to the dugout.

Presently my attention was attracted by the shadow of something moving in thetrench without, and a moment later the figure of a child appeared, creepingupon all fours, as, wide-eyed, and prompted by childish curiosity, a littlegirl crawled to the entrance of my hut and peered cautiously and fearfully in.

I did not speak at first for fear of frightening the little one away. But whenI was satisfied that her eyes had become sufficiently accustomed to the subduedlight of the interior, I smiled.

Instantly the expression of fear faded from her eyes to be replaced with ananswering smile.

“Who are you, little girl?” I asked.

“My name is Mary,” she replied. “I am Victoryl’ssister.”

“And who is Victory?”

“You do not know who Victory is?” she asked, in astonishment.

I shook my head in negation.

“You saved her from the elephant country people, and yet you say you donot know her!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, so she is Victory, and you are her sister! I have not heard her namebefore. That is why I did not know whom you meant,” I explained. Here wasjust the messenger for me. Fate was becoming more kind.

“Will you do something for me, Mary?” I asked.

“If I can.”

“Go to your mother, the queen, and ask her to come to me,” I said.“I have a favor to ask.”

She said that she would, and with a parting smile she left me.

For what seemed many hours I awaited her return, chafing with impatience. Theafternoon wore on and night came, and yet no one came near me. My captorsbrought me neither food nor water. I was suffering considerable pain where therawhide thongs cut into my swollen flesh. I thought that they had eitherforgotten me, or that it was their intention to leave me here to die ofstarvation.

Once I heard a great uproar in the village. Men were shouting—women werescreaming and moaning. After a time this subsided, and again there was a longinterval of silence.

Half the night must have been spent when I heard a sound in the trench near thehut. It resembled muffled sobs. Presently a figure appeared, silhouettedagainst the lesser darkness beyond the doorway. It crept inside the hut.

“Are you here?” whispered a childlike voice.

It was Mary! She had returned. The thongs no longer hurt me. The pangs ofhunger and thirst disappeared. I realized that it had been loneliness fromwhich I suffered most.

“Mary!” I exclaimed. “You are a good girl. You have comeback, after all. I had commenced to think that you would not. Did you give mymessage to the queen? Will she come? Where is she?”

The childl’s sobs increased, and she flung herself upon the dirt floor ofthe hut, apparently overcome by grief.

“What is it?” I asked. “Why do you cry?”

“The queen, my mother, will not come to you,” she said, betweensobs. “She is dead. Buckingham has killed her. Now he will take Victory,for Victory is queen. He kept us fastened up in our shelter, for fear thatVictory would escape him, but I dug a hole beneath the back wall and got out. Icame to you, because you saved Victory once before, and I thought that youmight save her again, and me, also. Tell me that you will.”

“I am bound and helpless, Mary,” I replied. “Otherwise Iwould do what I could to save you and your sister.”

“I will set you free!” cried the girl, creeping up to my side.“I will set you free, and then you may come and slay Buckingham.”

“Gladly!” I assented.

“We must hurry,” she went on, as she fumbled with the hard knots inthe stiffened rawhide, “for Buckingham will be after you soon. He mustmake an offering to the lions at dawn before he can take Victory. The taking ofa queen requires a human offering!”

“And I am to be the offering?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, tugging at a knot. “Buckingham has beenwanting a sacrifice ever since he killed Wettin, that he might slay my motherand take Victory.”

The thought was horrible, not solely because of the hideous fate to which I wascondemned, but from the contemplation it engendered of the sad decadence of aonce enlightened race. To these depths of ignorance, brutality, andsuperstition had the vaunted civilization of twentieth century England beenplunged, and by what? War! I felt the structure of our time-honoredmilitaristic arguments crumbling about me.

Mary labored with the thongs that confined me. They provedrefractory—defying her tender, childish fingers. She assured me, however,that she would release me, if “they” did not come too soon.

But, alas, they came. We heard them coming down the trench, and I bade Maryhide in a corner, lest she be discovered and punished. There was naught elseshe could do, and so she crawled away into the Stygian blackness behind me.

Presently two warriors entered. The leader exhibited a unique method ofdiscovering my whereabouts in the darkness. He advanced slowly, kicking outviciously before him. Finally he kicked me in the face. Then he knew where Iwas.

A moment later I had been jerked roughly to my feet. One of the fellows stoppedand severed the bonds that held my ankles. I could scarcely stand alone. Thetwo pulled and hauled me through the low doorway and along the trench. A partyof forty or fifty warriors were awaiting us at the brink of the excavation somehundred yards from the hut.

Hands were lowered to us, and we were dragged to the surface. Then commenced along march. We stumbled through the underbrush wet with dew, our way lighted bya score of torchbearers who surrounded us. But the torches were not to lightthe way—that was but incidental. They were carried to keep off the hugeCarnivora that moaned and coughed and roared about us.

The noises were hideous. The whole country seemed alive with lions.Yellow-green eyes blazed wickedly at us from out the surrounding darkness. Myescort carried long, heavy spears. These they kept ever pointed toward thebeast of prey, and I learned from snatches of the conversation I overheard thatoccasionally there might be a lion who would brave even the terrors of fire toleap in upon human prey. It was for such that the spears were always couched.

But nothing of the sort occurred during this hideous death march, and with thefirst pale heralding of dawn we reached our goal—an open place in themidst of a tangled wildwood. Here rose in crumbling grandeur the firstevidences I had seen of the ancient civilization which once had graced fairAlbion—a single, time-worn arch of masonry.

“The entrance to the Camp of the Lions!” murmured one of the partyin a voice husky with awe.

Here the party knelt, while Buckingham recited a weird, prayer-like chant. Itwas rather long, and I recall only a portion of it, which ran, if my memoryserves me, somewhat as follows:

Lord of Grabritin, we
Fall on our knees to thee,
This gift to bring.
Greatest of kings are thou!
To thee we humbly bow!
Peace to our camp allow.
God save thee, king!

Then the party rose, and dragging me to the crumbling arch, made me fast to ahuge, corroded, copper ring which was dangling from an eyebolt imbedded in themasonry.

None of them, not even Buckingham, seemed to feel any personal animosity towardme. They were naturally rough and brutal, as primitive men are supposed to havebeen since the dawn of humanity, but they did not go out of their way tomaltreat me.

With the coming of dawn the number of lions about us seemed to have greatlydiminished—at least they made less noise—and as Buckingham and hisparty disappeared into the woods, leaving me alone to my terrible fate, I couldhear the grumblings and growlings of the beasts diminishing with the sound ofthe chant, which the party still continued. It appeared that the lions hadfailed to note that I had been left for their breakfast, and had followed offafter their worshippers instead.

But I knew the reprieve would be but for a short time, and though I had no wishto die, I must confess that I rather wished the ordeal over and the peace ofoblivion upon me.

The voices of the men and the lions receded in the distance, until finallyquiet reigned about me, broken only by the sweet voices of birds and thesighing of the summer wind in the trees.

It seemed impossible to believe that in this peaceful woodland setting thefrightful thing was to occur which must come with the passing of the next lionwho chanced within sight or smell of the crumbling arch.

I strove to tear myself loose from my bonds, but succeeded only in tighteningthem about my arms. Then I remained passive for a long time, letting the scenesof my lifetime pass in review before my mindl’s eye.

I tried to imagine the astonishment, incredulity, and horror with which myfamily and friends would be overwhelmed if, for an instant, space could beannihilated and they could see me at the gates of London.

The gates of London! Where was the multitude hurrying to the marts of tradeafter a night of pleasure or rest? Where was the clang of tramcar gongs, thescreech of motor horns, the vast murmur of a dense throng?

Where were they? And as I asked the question a lone, gaunt lion strode from thetangled jungle upon the far side of the clearing. Majestically and noiselesslyupon his padded feet the king of beasts moved slowly toward the gates of Londonand toward me.

Was I afraid? I fear that I was almost afraid. I know that I thought that fearwas coming to me, and so I straightened up and squared my shoulders and lookedthe lion straight in the eyes—and waited.

It is not a nice way to die—alone, with one’s hands fast bound,beneath the fangs and talons of a beast of prey. No, it is not a nice way todie, not a pretty way.

The lion was halfway across the clearing when I heard a slight sound behind me.The great cat stopped in his tracks. He lashed his tail against his sides now,instead of simply twitching its tip, and his low moan became a thunderous roar.

As I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the thing that had aroused the furyof the beast before me, it sprang through the arched gateway and was at myside—with parted lips and heaving bosom and disheveled hair—abronzed and lovely vision to eyes that had never harbored hope of rescue.

It was Victory, and in her arms she clutched my rifle and revolver. A longknife was in the doeskin belt that supported the doeskin skirt tightly abouther lithe limbs. She dropped my weapons at my feet, and, snatching the knifefrom its resting place, severed the bonds that held me. I was free, and thelion was preparing to charge.

“Run!” I cried to the girl, as I bent and seized my rifle. But sheonly stood there at my side, her bared blade ready in her hand.

The lion was bounding toward us now in prodigious leaps. I raised the rifle andfired. It was a lucky shot, for I had no time to aim carefully, and when thebeast crumpled and rolled, lifeless, to the ground, I went upon my knees andgave thanks to the God of my ancestors.

And, still upon my knees, I turned, and taking the girl’s hand in mine, Ikissed it. She smiled at that, and laid her other hand upon my head.

“You have strange customs in your country,” she said.

I could not but smile at that when I thought how strange it would seem to mycountrymen could they but see me kneeling there on the site of London, kissingthe hand of Englandl’s queen.

“And now,” I said, as I rose, “you must return to the safetyof your camp. I will go with you until you are near enough to continue alone insafety. Then I shall try to return to my comrades.”

“I will not return to the camp,” she replied.

“But what shall you do?” I asked.

“I do not know. Only I shall never go back while Buckingham lives. Ishould rather die than go back to him. Mary came to me, after they had takenyou from the camp, and told me. I found your strange weapons and followed withthem. It took me a little longer, for often I had to hide in the trees that thelions might not get me, but I came in time, and now you are free to go back toyour friends.”

“And leave you here?” I exclaimed.

She nodded, but I could see through all her brave front that she was frightenedat the thought. I could not leave her, of course, but what in the world I wasto do, cumbered with the care of a young woman, and a queen at that, I was at aloss to know. I pointed out that phase of it to her, but she only shrugged hershapely shoulders and pointed to her knife.

It was evident that she felt entirely competent to protect herself.

As we stood there we heard the sound of voices. They were coming from theforest through which we had passed when we had come from camp.

“They are searching for me,” said the girl. “Where shall wehide?”

I didn’t relish hiding. But when I thought of the innumerable dangerswhich surrounded us and the comparatively small amount of ammunition that I hadwith me, I hesitated to provoke a battle with Buckingham and his warriors when,by flight, I could avoid them and preserve my cartridges against emergencieswhich could not be escaped.

“Would they follow us there?” I asked, pointing through the archwayinto the Camp of the Lions.

“Never,” she replied, “for, in the first place, they wouldknow that we would not dare go there, and in the second they themselves wouldnot dare.”

“Then we shall take refuge in the Camp of the Lions,” I said.

She shuddered and drew closer to me.

“You dare?” she asked.

“Why not?” I returned. “We shall be safe from Buckingham, andyou have seen, for the second time in two days, that lions are harmless beforemy weapons. Then, too, I can find my friends easiest in this direction, for theRiver Thames runs through this place you call the Camp of the Lions, and it isfarther down the Thames that my friends are awaiting me. Do you not dare comewith me?”

“I dare follow wherever you lead,” she answered simply.

And so I turned and passed beneath the great arch into the city of London.

CHAPTER V.

As we entered deeper into what had once been the city, the evidences ofmanl’s past occupancy became more frequent. For a mile from the archthere was only a riot of weeds and undergrowth and trees covering small moundsand little hillocks that, I was sure, were formed of the ruins of statelybuildings of the dead past.

But presently we came upon a district where shattered walls still raised theircrumbling tops in sad silence above the grass-grown sepulchers of their fallenfellows. Softened and mellowed by ancient ivy stood these sentinels of sorrow,their scarred faces still revealing the rents and gashes of shrapnel and ofbomb.

Contrary to our expectations, we found little indication that lions in anygreat numbers laired in this part of ancient London. Well-worn pathways, moldedby padded paws, led through the cavernous windows or doorways of a few of theruins we passed, and once we saw the savage face of a great, black-maned lionscowling down upon us from a shattered stone balcony.

We followed down the bank of the Thames after we came upon it. I was anxious tolook with my own eyes upon the famous bridge, and I guessed, too, that theriver would lead me into the part of London where stood Westminster Abbey andthe Tower.

Realizing that the section through which we had been passing was doubtlessoutlying, and therefore not so built up with large structures as the morecentrally located part of the old town, I felt sure that farther down the riverI should find the ruins larger. The bridge would be there in part, at least,and so would remain the walls of many of the great edifices of the past. Therewould be no such complete ruin of large structures as I had seen among thesmaller buildings.

But when I had come to that part of the city which I judged to have containedthe relics I sought I found havoc that had been wrought there even greater thanelsewhere.

At one point upon the bosom of the Thames there rises a few feet above thewater a single, disintegrating mound of masonry. Opposite it, upon either bankof the river, are tumbled piles of ruins overgrown with vegetation.

These, I am forced to believe, are all that remain of London Bridge, fornowhere else along the river is there any other slightest sign of pier orabutment.

Rounding the base of a large pile of grass-covered debris, we came suddenlyupon the best preserved ruin we had yet discovered. The entire lower story andpart of the second story of what must once have been a splendid public buildingrose from a great knoll of shrubbery and trees, while ivy, thick and luxuriant,clambered upward to the summit of the broken walls.

In many places the gray stone was still exposed, its smoothly chiseled facepitted with the scars of battle. The massive portal yawned, somber andsorrowful, before us, giving a glimpse of marble halls within.

The temptation to enter was too great. I wished to explore the interior of thisone remaining monument of civilization now dead beyond recall. Through thissame portal, within these very marble halls, had Gray and Chamberlin andKitchener and Shaw, perhaps, come and gone with the other great ones of thepast.

I took Victoryl’s hand in mine.

“Come!” I said. “I do not know the name by which this greatpile was known, nor the purposes it fulfilled. It may have been the palace ofyour sires, Victory. From some great throne within, your forebears may havedirected the destinies of half the world. Come!”

I must confess to a feeling of awe as we entered the rotunda of the greatbuilding. Pieces of massive furniture of another day still stood where man hadplaced them centuries ago. They were littered with dust and broken stone andplaster, but, otherwise, so perfect was their preservation I could hardlybelieve that two centuries had rolled by since human eyes were last set uponthem.

Through one great room after another we wandered, hand in hand, while Victoryasked many questions and for the first time I began to realize something of themagnificence and power of the race from whose loins she had sprung.

Splendid tapestries, now mildewed and rotting, hung upon the walls. There weremural paintings, too, depicting great historic events of the past. For thefirst time Victory saw the likeness of a horse, and she was much affected by ahuge oil which depicted some ancient cavalry charge against a battery of fieldguns.

In other pictures there were steamships, battleships, submarines, and quaintlooking railway trains—all small and antiquated in appearance to me, butwonderful to Victory. She told me that she would like to remain for the rest ofher life where she could look at those pictures daily.

From room to room we passed until presently we emerged into a mighty chamber,dark and gloomy, for its high and narrow windows were choked and clogged byivy. Along one paneled wall we groped, our eyes slowly becoming accustomed tothe darkness. A rank and pungent odor pervaded the atmosphere.

We had made our way about half the distance across one end of the greatapartment when a low growl from the far end brought us to a startled halt.

Straining my eyes through the gloom, I made out a raised dais at the extremeopposite end of the hall. Upon the dais stood two great chairs, highbacked andwith great arms.

The throne of England! But what were those strange forms about it?

Victory gave my hand a quick, excited little squeeze.

“The lions!” she whispered.

Yes, lions indeed! Sprawled about the dais were a dozen huge forms, while uponthe seat of one of the thrones a small cub lay curled in slumber.

As we stood there for a moment, spellbound by the sight of those fearsomecreatures occupying the very thrones of the sovereigns of England, the lowgrowl was repeated, and a great male rose slowly to his feet.

His devilish eyes bored straight through the semi-darkness toward us. He haddiscovered the interloper. What right had man within this palace of the beasts?Again he opened his giant jaws, and this time there rumbled forth a warningroar.

Instantly eight or ten of the other beasts leaped to their feet. Already thegreat fellow who had spied us was advancing slowly in our direction. I held myrifle ready, but how futile it appeared in the face of this savage horde.

The foremost beast broke into a slow trot, and at his heels came the others.All were roaring now, and the din of their great voices reverberating throughthe halls and corridors of the palace formed the most frightful chorus ofthunderous savagery imaginable to the mind of man.

And then the leader charged, and upon the hideous pandemonium broke the sharpcrack of my rifle, once, twice, thrice. Three lions rolled, struggling andbiting, to the floor. Victory seized my arm, with a quick, “This way!Here is a door,” and a moment later we were in a tiny antechamber at thefoot of a narrow stone staircase.

Up this we backed, Victory just behind me, as the first of the remaining lionsleaped from the throne room and sprang for the stairs. Again I fired, butothers of the ferocious beasts leaped over their fallen fellows and pursued us.

The stairs were very narrow—that was all that saved us—for as Ibacked slowly upward, but a single lion could attack me at a time, and thecarcasses of those I slew impeded the rushes of the others.

At last we reached the top. There was a long corridor from which opened manydoorways. One, directly behind us, was tight closed. If we could open it andpass into the chamber behind we might find a respite from attack.

The remaining lions were roaring horribly. I saw one sneaking very slowly upthe stairs toward us.

“Try that door,” I called to Victory. “See if it willopen.”

She ran up to it and pushed.

“Turn the knob!” I cried, seeing that she did not know how to opena door, but neither did she know what I meant by knob.

I put a bullet in the spine of the approaching lion and leaped toVictoryl’s side. The door resisted my first efforts to swing it inward.Rusted hinges and swollen wood held it tightly closed. But at last it gave, andjust as another lion mounted to the top of the stairway it swung in, and Ipushed Victory across the threshold.

Then I turned to meet the renewed attack of the savage foe. One lion fell inhis tracks, another stumbled to my very feet, and then I leaped within andslammed the portal to.

A quick glance showed me that this was the only door to the small apartment inwhich we had found sanctuary, and, with a sigh of relief, I leaned for a momentagainst the panels of the stout barrier that separated us from the rampingdemons without.

Across the room, between two windows, stood a flat-topped desk. A little pileof white and brown lay upon it close to the opposite edge. After a moment ofrest I crossed the room to investigate. The white was the bleached humanbones—the skull, collar bones, arms, and a few of the upper ribs of aman. The brown was the dust of a decayed military cap and blouse. In a chairbefore the desk were other bones, while more still strewed the floor beneaththe desk and about the chair. A man had died sitting there with his face buriedin his arms—two hundred years ago.

Beneath the desk were a pair of spurred military boots, green and rotten withdecay. In them were the leg bones of a man. Among the tiny bones of the handswas an ancient fountain pen, as good, apparently, as the day it was made, and ametal covered memoranda book, closed over the bones of an index finger.

It was a gruesome sight—a pitiful sight—this lone inhabitant ofmighty London.

I picked up the metal covered memoranda book. Its pages were rotten and stucktogether. Only here and there was a sentence or a part of a sentence legible.The first that I could read was near the middle of the little volume:

“His majesty left for Tunbridge Wells today, he ... jesty was stricken... terday. God give she does not die ... am military governor of Lon...”

And farther on:

“It is awful ... hundred deaths today ... worse than the bombardm...”

Nearer the end I picked out the following:

“I promised his maj ... e will find me here when he ret ... alone.”

The most legible passage was on the next page:

“Thank God we drove them out. There is not a single ... man on Britishsoil today; but at what awful cost. I tried to persuade Sir Phillip to urge thepeople to remain. But they are mad with fear of the Death, and rage at ourenemies. He tells me that the coast cities are packed ... waiting to be takenacross. What will become of England, with none left to rebuild her shatteredcities!”

And the last entry:

“... alone. Only the wild beasts ... A lion is roaring now beneath thepalace windows. I think the people feared the beasts even more than they didthe Death. But they are gone, all gone, and to what? How much better conditionswill they find on the continent? All gone—only I remain. I promised hismajesty, and when he returns he will find that I was true to my trust, for Ishall be awaiting him. God save the King!”

That was all. This brave and forever nameless officer died nobly at hispost—true to his country and his king. It was the Death, no doubt, thattook him.

Some of the entries had been dated. From the few legible letters and figureswhich remained I judge the end came some time in August, 1937, but of that I amnot at all certain.

The diary has cleared up at least one mystery that had puzzled me not a little,and now I am surprised that I had not guessed its solution myself—thepresence of African and Asiatic beasts in England.

Acclimated by years of confinement in the zoological gardens, they were fittedto resume in England the wild existence for which nature had intended them, andonce free, had evidently bred prolifically, in marked contrast to the captiveexotics of twentieth century Pan-America, which had gradually become feweruntil extinction occurred some time during the twenty-first century.

The palace, if such it was, lay not far from the banks of the Thames. The roomin which we were imprisoned overlooked the river, and I determined to attemptto escape in this direction.

To descend through the palace was out of the question, but outside we coulddiscover no lions. The stems of the ivy which clambered upward past the windowof the room were as large around as my arm. I knew that they would support ourweight, and as we could gain nothing by remaining longer in the palace, Idecided to descend by way of the ivy and follow along down the river in thedirection of the launch.

Naturally I was much handicapped by the presence of the girl. But I could notabandon her, though I had no idea what I should do with her after rejoining mycompanions. That she would prove a burden and an embarrassment I was certain,but she had made it equally plain to me that she would never return to herpeople to mate with Buckingham.

I owed my life to her, and, all other considerations aside, that was sufficientdemand upon my gratitude and my honor to necessitate my suffering everyinconvenience in her service. Too, she was queen of England. But, by far themost potent argument in her favor, she was a woman in distress—and ayoung and very beautiful one.

And so, though I wished a thousand times that she was back in her camp, I neverlet her guess it, but did all that lay within my power to serve and protecther. I thank God now that I did so.

With the lions still padding back and forth beyond the closed door, Victory andI crossed the room to one of the windows. I had outlined my plan to her, andshe had assured me that she could descend the ivy without assistance. In fact,she smiled a trifle at my question.

Swinging myself outward, I began the descent, and had come to within a few feetof the ground, being just opposite a narrow window, when I was startled by asavage growl almost in my ear, and then a great taloned paw darted from theaperture to seize me, and I saw the snarling face of a lion within theembrasure.

Releasing my hold upon the ivy, I dropped the remaining distance to the ground,saved from laceration only because the lionl’s paw struck the thick stemof ivy.

The creature was making a frightful racket now, leaping back and forth from thefloor at the broad window ledge, tearing at the masonry with his claws in vainattempts to reach me. But the opening was too narrow, and the masonry toosolid.

Victory had commenced the descent, but I called to her to stop just above thewindow, and, as the lion reappeared, growling and snarling, I put a .33 bulletin his face, and at the same moment Victory slipped quickly past him, droppinginto my upraised arms that were awaiting her.

The roaring of the beasts that had discovered us, together with the report ofmy rifle, had set the balance of the fierce inmates of the palace into the mostfrightful uproar I have ever heard.

I feared that it would not be long before intelligence or instinct would drawthem from the interiors and set them upon our trail, the river. Nor had we muchmore than reached it when a lion bounded around the corner of the edifice wehad just quitted and stood looking about as though in search of us.

Following, came others, while Victory and I crouched in hiding behind a clumpof bushes close to the bank of the river. The beasts sniffed about the groundfor a while, but they did not chance to go near the spot where we had stoodbeneath the window that had given us escape.

Presently a black-maned male raised his head, and, with cocked ears and glaringeyes, gazed straight at the bush behind which we lay. I could have sworn thathe had discovered us, and when he took a few short and stately steps in ourdirection I raised my rifle and covered him. But, after a long, tense moment helooked away, and turned to glare in another direction.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and so did Victory. I could feel her body quiveras she lay pressed close to me, our cheeks almost touching as we both peeredthrough the same small opening in the foliage.

I turned to give her a reassuring smile as the lion indicated that he had notseen us, and as I did so she, too, turned her face toward mine, for the samepurpose, doubtless. Anyway, as our heads turned simultaneously, our lipsbrushed together. A startled expression came into Victoryl’s eyes as shedrew back in evident confusion.

As for me, the strangest sensation that I have ever experienced claimed me foran instant. A peculiar, tingling thrill ran through my veins, and my head swam.I could not account for it.

Naturally, being a naval officer and consequently in the best society of thefederation, I have seen much of women. With others, I have laughed at theassertions of the savants that modern man is a cold and passionless creation incomparison with the males of former ages—in a word, that love, as the onegrand passion, had ceased to exist.

I do not know, now, but that they were more nearly right than we have guessed,at least in so far as modern civilized woman is concerned. I have kissed manywomen—young and beautiful and middle aged and old, and many that I had nobusiness kissing—but never before had I experienced that remarkable andaltogether delightful thrill that followed the accidental brushing of my lipsagainst the lips of Victory.

The occurrence interested me, and I was tempted to experiment further. But whenI would have essayed it another new and entirely unaccountable force restrainedme. For the first time in my life I felt embarrassment in the presence of awoman.

What further might have developed I cannot say, for at that moment a perfectshe-devil of a lioness, with keener eyes than her lord and master, discoveredus. She came trotting toward our place of concealment, growling and baring heryellow fangs.

I waited for an instant, hoping that I might be mistaken, and that she wouldturn off in some other direction. But no—she increased her trot to agallop, and then I fired at her, but the bullet, though it struck her full inthe breast, didn’t stop her.

Screaming with pain and rage, the creature fairly flew toward us. Behind hercame other lions. Our case looked hopeless. We were upon the brink of theriver. There seemed no avenue of escape, and I knew that even my modernautomatic rifle was inadequate in the face of so many of these fierce beasts.

To remain where we were would have been suicidal. We were both standing now,Victory keeping her place bravely at my side, when I reached the only decisionopen to me.

Seizing the girl’s hand, I turned, just as the lioness crashed into theopposite side of the bushes, and, dragging Victory after me, leaped over theedge of the bank into the river.

I did not know that lions are not fond of water, nor did I know if Victorycould swim, but death, immediate and terrible, stared us in the face if weremained, and so I took the chance.

At this point the current ran close to the shore, so that we were immediatelyin deep water, and, to my intense satisfaction, Victory struck out with astrong, overhand stroke and set all my fears on her account at rest.

But my relief was short-lived. That lioness, as I have said before, was averitable devil. She stood for a moment glaring at us, then like a shot shesprang into the river and swam swiftly after us.

Victory was a length ahead of me.

“Swim for the other shore!” I called to her.

I was much impeded by my rifle, having to swim with one hand while I clung tomy precious weapon with the other. The girl had seen the lioness take to thewater, and she had also seen that I was swimming much more slowly than she, andwhat did she do? She started to drop back to my side.

“Go on!” I cried. “Make for the other shore, and then followdown until you find my friends. Tell them that I sent you, and with orders thatthey are to protect you. Go on! Go on!”

But she only waited until we were again swimming side by side, and I saw thatshe had drawn her long knife, and was holding it between her teeth.

“Do as I tell you!” I said to her sharply, but she shook her head.

The lioness was overhauling us rapidly. She was swimming silently, her chinjust touching the water, but blood was streaming from between her lips. It wasevident that her lungs were pierced.

She was almost upon me. I saw that in a moment she would take me under herforepaws, or seize me in those great jaws. I felt that my time had come, but Imeant to die fighting. And so I turned, and, treading water, raised my rifleabove my head and awaited her.

Victory, animated by a bravery no less ferocious than that of the dumb beastassailing us, swam straight for me. It all happened so swiftly that I cannotrecall the details of the kaleidoscopic action which ensued. I knew that I rosehigh out of the water, and, with clubbed rifle, dealt the animal a terrificblow upon the skull, that I saw Victory, her long blade flashing in her hand,close, striking, upon the beast, that a great paw fell upon her shoulder, andthat I was swept beneath the surface of the water like a straw before the prowof a freighter.

Still clinging to my rifle, I rose again, to see the lioness struggling in herdeath throes but an arml’s length from me. Scarcely had I risen than thebeast turned upon her side, struggled frantically for an instant, and thensank.

CHAPTER VI.

Victory was nowhere in sight. Alone, I floated upon the bosom of the Thames. Inthat brief instant I believe that I suffered more mental anguish than I havecrowded into all the balance of my life before or since. A few hours before, Ihad been wishing that I might be rid of her, and now that she was gone I wouldhave given my life to have her back again.

Wearily I turned to swim about the spot where she had disappeared, hoping thatshe might rise once at least, and I would be given the opportunity to save her,and, as I turned, the water boiled before my face and her head shot up beforeme. I was on the point of striking out to seize her, when a happy smileillumined her features.

“You are not dead!” she cried. “I have been searching thebottom for you. I was sure that the blow she gave you must have disabledyou,” and she glanced about for the lioness.

“She has gone?” she asked.

“Dead,” I replied.

“The blow you struck her with the thing you call rifle stunnedher,” she explained, “and then I swam in close enough to get myknife into her heart.”

Ah, such a girl! I could not but wonder what one of our own Pan-American womenwould have done under like circumstances. But then, of course, they have notbeen trained by stern necessity to cope with the emergencies and dangers ofsavage primeval life.

Along the bank we had just quitted, a score of lions paced to and fro, growlingmenacingly. We could not return, and we struck out for the opposite shore. I ama strong swimmer, and had no doubt as to my ability to cross the river, but Iwas not so sure about Victory, so I swam close behind her, to be ready to giveher assistance should she need it.

She did not, however, reaching the opposite bank as fresh, apparently, as whenshe entered the water. Victory is a wonder. Each day that we were togetherbrought new proofs of it. Nor was it her courage or vitality only which amazedme. She had a head on those shapely shoulders of hers, and dignity! My, but shecould be regal when she chose!

She told me that the lions were fewer upon this side of the river, but thatthere were many wolves, running in great packs later in the year. Now they werenorth somewhere, and we should have little to fear from them, though we mightmeet with a few.

My first concern was to take my weapons apart and dry them, which was ratherdifficult in the face of the fact that every rag about me was drenched. Butfinally, thanks to the sun and much rubbing, I succeeded, though I had no oilto lubricate them.

We ate some wild berries and roots that Victory found, and then we set offagain down the river, keeping an eye open for game on one side and the launchon the other, for I thought that Delcarte, who would be the natural leaderduring my absence, might run up the Thames in search of me.

The balance of that day we sought in vain for game or for the launch, and whennight came we lay down, our stomachs empty, to sleep beneath the stars. We wereentirely unprotected from attack from wild beasts, and for this reason Iremained awake most of the night, on guard. But nothing approached us, though Icould hear the lions roaring across the river, and once I thought I heard thehowl of a beast north of us—it might have been a wolf.

Altogether, it was a most unpleasant night, and I determined then that if wewere forced to sleep out again that I should provide some sort of shelter whichwould protect us from attack while we slept.

Toward morning I dozed, and the sun was well up when Victory aroused me bygently shaking my shoulder.

“Antelope!” she whispered in my ear, and, as I raised my head, shepointed up-river. Crawling to my knees, I looked in the direction sheindicated, to see a buck standing upon a little knoll some two hundred yardsfrom us. There was good cover between the animal and me, and so, though I mighthave hit him at two hundred yards, I preferred to crawl closer to him and makesure of the meat we both so craved.

I had covered about fifty yards of the distance, and the beast was stillfeeding peacefully, so I thought that I would make even surer of a hit by goingahead another fifty yards, when the animal suddenly raised his head and lookedaway, up-river. His whole attitude proclaimed that he was startled by somethingbeyond him that I could not see.

Realizing that he might break and run and that I should then probably miss himentirely, I raised my rifle to my shoulder. But even as I did so the animalleaped into the air, and simultaneously there was a sound of a shot from beyondthe knoll.

For an instant I was dumbfounded. Had the report come from down-river, I shouldhave instantly thought that one of my own men had fired. But coming fromup-river it puzzled me considerably. Who could there be with firearms inprimitive England other than we of the Coldwater?

Victory was directly behind me, and I motioned for her to lie down, as I did,behind the bush from which I had been upon the point of firing at the antelope.We could see that the buck was quite dead, and from our hiding place we waitedto discover the identity of his slayer when the latter should approach andclaim his kill.

We had not long to wait, and when I saw the head and shoulders of a man appearabove the crest of the knoll, I sprang to my feet, with a heartfelt cry of joy,for it was Delcarte.

At the sound of my voice, Delcarte half raised his rifle in readiness for theattack of an enemy, but a moment later he recognized me, and was coming rapidlyto meet us. Behind him was Snider. They both were astounded to see me upon thenorth bank of the river, and much more so at the sight of my companion.

Then I introduced them to Victory, and told them that she was queen of England.They thought, at first, that I was joking. But when I had recounted myadventures and they realized that I was in earnest, they believed me.

They told me that they had followed me inshore when I had not returned from thehunt, that they had met the men of the elephant country, and had had a shortand one-sided battle with the fellows. And that afterward they had returned tothe launch with a prisoner, from whom they had learned that I had probably beencaptured by the men of the lion country.

With the prisoner as a guide they had set off up-river in search of me, but hadbeen much delayed by motor trouble, and had finally camped after dark a halfmile above the spot where Victory and I had spent the night. They must havepassed us in the dark, and why I did not hear the sound of the propeller I donot know, unless it passed me at a time when the lions were making an unusuallyearsplitting din upon the opposite side.

Taking the antelope with us, we all returned to the launch, where we foundTaylor as delighted to see me alive again as Delcarte had been. I cannot saytruthfully that Snider evinced much enthusiasm at my rescue.

Taylor had found the ingredients for chemical fuel, and the distilling of themhad, with the motor trouble, accounted for their delay in setting out after me.

The prisoner that Delcarte and Snider had taken was a powerful young fellowfrom the elephant country. Notwithstanding the fact that they had all assuredhim to the contrary, he still could not believe that we would not kill him.

He assured us that his name was Thirty-six, and, as he could not count aboveten, I am sure that he had no conception of the correct meaning of the word,and that it may have been handed down to him either from the military number ofan ancestor who had served in the English ranks during the Great War, or thatoriginally it was the number of some famous regiment with which a forbearfought.

Now that we were reunited, we held a council to determine what course we shouldpursue in the immediate future. Snider was still for setting out to sea andreturning to Pan-America, but the better judgment of Delcarte and Taylorridiculed the suggestion—we should not have lived a fortnight.

To remain in England, constantly menaced by wild beasts and men equally aswild, seemed about as bad. I suggested that we cross the Channel and ascertainif we could not discover a more enlightened and civilized people upon thecontinent. I was sure that some trace of the ancient culture and greatness ofEurope must remain. Germany, probably, would be much as it was during thetwentieth century, for, in common with most Pan-Americans, I was positive thatGermany had been victorious in the Great War.

Snider demurred at the suggestion. He said that it was bad enough to have comethis far. He did not want to make it worse by going to the continent. Theoutcome of it was that I finally lost my patience, and told him that from thenon he would do what I thought best—that I proposed to assume command ofthe party, and that they might all consider themselves under my orders, as muchso as though we were still aboard the Coldwater and in Pan-American waters.

Delcarte and Taylor immediately assured me that they had not for an instantassumed anything different, and that they were as ready to follow and obey mehere as they would be upon the other side of thirty.

Snider said nothing, but he wore a sullen scowl. And I wished then, as I hadbefore, and as I did to a much greater extent later, that fate had not decreedthat he should have chanced to be a member of the launchl’s party uponthat memorable day when last we quitted the Coldwater.

Victory, who was given a voice in our councils, was all for going to thecontinent, or anywhere else, in fact, where she might see new sights andexperience new adventures.

“Afterward we can come back to Grabritin,” she said, “and ifBuckingham is not dead and we can catch him away from his men and kill him,then I can return to my people, and we can all live in peace andhappiness.”

She spoke of killing Buckingham with no greater concern than one might evincein the contemplated destruction of a sheep; yet she was neither cruel norvindictive. In fact, Victory is a very sweet and womanly woman. But human lifeis of small account beyond thirty—a legacy from the bloody days whenthousands of men perished in the trenches between the rising and the setting ofa sun, when they laid them lengthwise in these same trenches and sprinkled dirtover them, when the Germans corded their corpses like wood and set fire tothem, when women and children and old men were butchered, and great passengerships were torpedoed without warning.

Thirty-six, finally assured that we did not intend slaying him, was as keen toaccompany us as was Victory.

The crossing to the continent was uneventful, its monotony being relieved,however, by the childish delight of Victory and Thirty-six in the novelexperience of riding safely upon the bosom of the water, and of being so farfrom land.

With the possible exception of Snider, the little party appeared in the best ofspirits, laughing and joking, or interestedly discussing the possibilitieswhich the future held for us: what we should find upon the continent, andwhether the inhabitants would be civilized or barbarian peoples.

Victory asked me to explain the difference between the two, and when I hadtried to do so as clearly as possible, she broke into a gay little laugh.

“Oh,” she cried, “then I am a barbarian!”

I could not but laugh, too, as I admitted that she was, indeed, a barbarian.She was not offended, taking the matter as a huge joke. But some timethereafter she sat in silence, apparently deep in thought. Finally she lookedup at me, her strong white teeth gleaming behind her smiling lips.

“Should you take that thing you call ‘razor,’” shesaid, “and cut the hair from the face of Thirty-six, and exchangegarments with him, you would be the barbarian and Thirty-six the civilized man.There is no other difference between you, except your weapons. Clothe you in awolfskin, give you a knife and a spear, and set you down in the woods ofGrabritin—of what service would your civilization be to you?”

Delcarte and Taylor smiled at her reply, but Thirty-six and Snider laugheduproariously. I was not surprised at Thirty-six, but I thought that Sniderlaughed louder than the occasion warranted. As a matter of fact, Snider, itseemed to me, was taking advantage of every opportunity, however slight, toshow insubordination, and I determined then that at the first real breach ofdiscipline I should take action that would remind Snider, ever after, that Iwas still his commanding officer.

I could not help but notice that his eyes were much upon Victory, and I did notlike it, for I knew the type of man he was. But as it would not be necessaryever to leave the girl alone with him I felt no apprehension for her safety.

After the incident of the discussion of barbarians I thought thatVictoryl’s manner toward me changed perceptibly. She held aloof from me,and when Snider took his turn at the wheel, sat beside him, upon the pretextthat she wished to learn how to steer the launch. I wondered if she had guessedthe manl’s antipathy for me, and was seeking his company solely for thepurpose of piquing me.

Snider was, too, taking full advantage of his opportunity. Often he leanedtoward the girl to whisper in her ear, and he laughed much, which was unusualwith Snider.

Of course, it was nothing at all to me; yet, for some unaccountable reason, thesight of the two of them sitting there so close to one another and seeming tobe enjoying each otherl’s society to such a degree irritated metremendously, and put me in such a bad humor that I took no pleasure whatsoeverin the last few hours of the crossing.

We aimed to land near the site of ancient Ostend. But when we neared the coastwe discovered no indication of any human habitations whatever, let alone acity. After we had landed, we found the same howling wilderness about us thatwe had discovered on the British Isle. There was no slightest indication thatcivilized man had ever set a foot upon that portion of the continent of Europe.

Although I had feared as much, since our experience in England, I could not butown to a feeling of marked disappointment, and to the gravest fears of thefuture, which induced a mental depression that was in no way dissipated by thecontinued familiarity between Victory and Snider.

I was angry with myself that I permitted that matter to affect me as it had. Idid not wish to admit to myself that I was angry with this uncultured littlesavage, that it made the slightest difference to me what she did or what shedid not do, or that I could so lower myself as to feel personal enmity towardsa common sailor. And yet, to be honest, I was doing both.

Finding nothing to detain us about the spot where Ostend once had stood, we setout up the coast in search of the mouth of the River Rhine, which I purposedascending in search of civilized man. It was my intention to explore the Rhineas far up as the launch would take us. If we found no civilization there wewould return to the North Sea, continue up the coast to the Elbe, and followthat river and the canals of Berlin. Here, at least, I was sure that we shouldfind what we sought—and, if not, then all Europe had reverted tobarbarism.

The weather remained fine, and we made excellent progress, but everywhere alongthe Rhine we met with the same disappointment—no sign of civilized man,in fact, no sign of man at all.

I was not enjoying the exploration of modern Europe as I hadanticipated—I was unhappy. Victory seemed changed, too. I had enjoyed hercompany at first, but since the trip across the Channel I had held aloof fromher.

Her chin was in the air most of the time, and yet I rather think that sheregretted her friendliness with Snider, for I noticed that she avoided himentirely. He, on the contrary, emboldened by her former friendliness, soughtevery opportunity to be near her. I should have liked nothing better than areasonably good excuse to punch his head; yet, paradoxically, I was ashamed ofmyself for harboring him any ill will. I realized that there was something thematter with me, but I did not know what it was.

Matters remained thus for several days, and we continued our journey up theRhine. At Cologne, I had hoped to find some reassuring indications, but therewas no Cologne. And as there had been no other cities along the river up tothat point, the devastation was infinitely greater than time alone could havewrought. Great guns, bombs, and mines must have leveled every building that manhad raised, and then nature, unhindered, had covered the ghastly evidence ofhuman depravity with her beauteous mantle of verdure. Splendid trees rearedtheir stately tops where splendid cathedrals once had reared their domes, andsweet wild flowers blossomed in simple serenity in soil that once was drenchedwith human blood.

Nature had reclaimed what man had once stolen from her and defiled. A herd ofzebras grazed where once the German kaiser may have reviewed his troops. Anantelope rested peacefully in a bed of daisies where, perhaps, two hundredyears ago a big gun belched its terror-laden messages of death, of hate, ofdestruction against the works of man and God alike.

We were in need of fresh meat, yet I hesitated to shatter the quiet andpeaceful serenity of the view with the crack of a rifle and the death of one ofthose beautiful creatures before us. But it had to be done—we must eat. Ileft the work to Delcarte, however, and in a moment we had two antelope and thelandscape to ourselves.

After eating, we boarded the launch and continued up the river. For two days wepassed through a primeval wilderness. In the afternoon of the second day welanded upon the west bank of the river, and, leaving Snider and Thirty-six toguard Victory and the launch, Delcarte, Taylor, and I set out after game.

We tramped away from the river for upwards of an hour before discoveringanything, and then only a small red deer, which Taylor brought down with a neatshot of two hundred yards. It was getting too late to proceed farther, so werigged a sling, and the two men carried the deer back toward the launch while Iwalked a hundred yards ahead, in the hope of bagging something further for ourlarder.

We had covered about half the distance to the river, when I suddenly came faceto face with a man. He was as primitive and uncouth in appearance as theGrabritins—a shaggy, unkempt savage, clothed in a shirt of skin curedwith the head on, the latter surmounting his own head to form a bonnet, andgiving to him a most fearful and ferocious aspect.

The fellow was armed with a long spear and a club, the latter dangling down hisback from a leathern thong about his neck. His feet were incased in hidesandals.

At sight of me, he halted for an instant, then turned and dove into the forest,and, though I called reassuringly to him in English he did not return nor did Iagain see him.

The sight of the wild man raised my hopes once more that elsewhere we mightfind men in a higher state of civilization—it was the society ofcivilized man that I craved—and so, with a lighter heart, I continued ontoward the river and the launch.

I was still some distance ahead of Delcarte and Taylor, when I came in sight ofthe Rhine again. But I came to the waterl’s edge before I noticed thatanything was amiss with the party we had left there a few hours before.

My first intimation of disaster was the absence of the launch from its formermoorings. And then, a moment later—I discovered the body of a man lyingupon the bank. Running toward it, I saw that it was Thirty-six, and as Istopped and raised the Grabritinl’s head in my arms, I heard a faint moanbreak from his lips. He was not dead, but that he was badly injured was all tooevident.

Delcarte and Taylor came up a moment later, and the three of us worked over thefellow, hoping to revive him that he might tell us what had happened, and whathad become of the others. My first thought was prompted by the sight I hadrecently had of the savage native. The little party had evidently beensurprised, and in the attack Thirty-six had been wounded and the others takenprisoners. The thought was almost like a physical blow in the face—itstunned me. Victory in the hands of these abysmal brutes! It was frightful. Ialmost shook poor Thirty-six in my efforts to revive him.

I explained my theory to the others, and then Delcarte shattered it by a singlemovement of the hand. He drew aside the lionl’s skin that covered half ofthe Grabritinl’s breast, revealing a neat, round hole inThirty-sixl’s chest—a hole that could have been made by no otherweapon than a rifle.

“Snider!” I exclaimed. Delcarte nodded. At about the same time theeyelids of the wounded man fluttered, and raised. He looked up at us, and veryslowly the light of consciousness returned to his eyes.

“What happened, Thirty-six?” I asked him.

He tried to reply, but the effort caused him to cough, bringing about ahemorrhage of the lungs and again he fell back exhausted. For several longminutes he lay as one dead, then in an almost inaudible whisper he spoke.

“Snider—” He paused, tried to speak again, raised a hand, andpointed down-river. “They—went—back,” and then heshuddered convulsively and died.

None of us voiced his belief. But I think they were all alike: Victory andSnider had stolen the launch, and deserted us.

CHAPTER VII.

We stood there, grouped about the body of the dead Grabritin, looking futilelydown the river to where it made an abrupt curve to the west, a quarter of amile below us, and was lost to sight, as though we expected to see the truantreturning to us with our precious launch—the thing that meant life ordeath to us in this unfriendly, savage world.

I felt, rather than saw, Taylor turn his eyes slowly toward my profile, and, asmine swung to meet them, the expression upon his face recalled me to my dutyand responsibility as an officer.

The utter hopelessness that was reflected in his face must have been thecounterpart of what I myself felt, but in that brief instant I determined tohide my own misgivings that I might bolster up the courage of the others.

“We are lost!” was written as plainly upon Taylorl’s face asthough his features were the printed words upon an open book. He was thinkingof the launch, and of the launch alone. Was I? I tried to think that I was. Buta greater grief than the loss of the launch could have engendered in me, filledmy heart—a sullen, gnawing misery which I tried to deny—which Irefused to admit—but which persisted in obsessing me until my heart roseand filled my throat, and I could not speak when I would have uttered words ofreassurance to my companions.

And then rage came to my relief—rage against the vile traitor who haddeserted three of his fellow countrymen in so frightful a position. I tried tofeel an equal rage against the woman, but somehow I could not, and keptsearching for excuses for her—her youth, her inexperience, her savagery.

My rising anger swept away my temporary helplessness. I smiled, and told Taylornot to look so glum.

“We will follow them,” I said, “and the chances are that weshall overtake them. They will not travel as rapidly as Snider probably hopes.He will be forced to halt for fuel and for food, and the launch must follow thewindings of the river; we can take short cuts while they are traversing thedetour. I have my map—thank God! I always carry it upon myperson—and with that and the compass we will have an advantage overthem.”

My words seemed to cheer them both, and they were for starting off at once inpursuit. There was no reason why we should delay, and we set forth down theriver. As we tramped along, we discussed a question that was uppermost in themind of each—what we should do with Snider when we had captured him, forwith the action of pursuit had come the optimistic conviction that we shouldsucceed. As a matter of fact, we had to succeed. The very thought of remainingin this utter wilderness for the rest of our lives was impossible.

We arrived at nothing very definite in the matter of Sniderl’spunishment, since Taylor was for shooting him, Delcarte insisting that heshould be hanged, while I, although fully conscious of the gravity of hisoffense, could not bring myself to give the death penalty.

I fell to wondering what charm Victory had found in such a man as Snider, andwhy I insisted upon finding excuses for her and trying to defend herindefensible act. She was nothing to me. Aside from the natural gratitude Ifelt for her since she had saved my life, I owed her nothing. She was ahalf-naked little savage—I, a gentleman, and an officer in theworldl’s greatest navy. There could be no close bonds of interest betweenus.

This line of reflection I discovered to be as distressing as the former, but,though I tried to turn my mind to other things, it persisted in returning tothe vision of an oval face, sun-tanned; of smiling lips, revealing white andeven teeth; of brave eyes that harbored no shadow of guile; and of a tumblingmass of wavy hair that crowned the loveliest picture on which my eyes had everrested.

Every time this vision presented itself I felt myself turn cold with rage andhate against Snider. I could forgive the launch, but if he had wronged her heshould die—he should die at my own hands; in this I was determined.

For two days we followed the river northward, cutting off where we could, butconfined for the most part to the game trails that paralleled the stream. Oneafternoon, we cut across a narrow neck of land that saved us many miles, wherethe river wound to the west and back again.

Here we decided to halt, for we had had a hard day of it, and, if the truthwere known, I think that we had all given up hope of overtaking the launchother than by the merest accident.

We had shot a deer just before our halt, and, as Taylor and Delcarte werepreparing it, I walked down to the water to fill our canteens. I had justfinished, and was straightening up, when something floating around a bend aboveme caught my eye. For a moment I could not believe the testimony of my ownsenses. It was a boat.

I shouted to Delcarte and Taylor, who came running to my side.

“The launch!” cried Delcarte; and, indeed, it was the launch,floating down-river from above us. Where had it been? How had we passed it? Andhow were we to reach it now, should Snider and the girl discover us?

“Itl’s drifting,” said Taylor. “I see no one init.”

I was stripping off my clothes, and Delcarte soon followed my example. I toldTaylor to remain on shore with the clothing and rifles. He might also serve usbetter there, since it would give him an opportunity to take a shot at Snidershould the man discover us and show himself.

With powerful strokes we swam out in the path of the oncoming launch. Being astronger swimmer than Delcarte, I soon was far in the lead, reaching the centerof the channel just as the launch bore down upon me. It was drifting broadsideon. I seized the gunwale and raised myself quickly, so that my chin topped theside. I expected a blow the moment that I came within the view of theoccupants, but no blow fell.

Snider lay upon his back in the bottom of the boat alone. Even before I hadclambered in and stooped above him I knew that he was dead. Without examininghim further, I ran forward to the control board and pressed the startingbutton. To my relief, the mechanism responded—the launch was uninjured.Coming about, I picked up Delcarte. He was astounded at the sight that met hiseyes, and immediately fell to examining Sniderl’s body for signs of lifeor an explanation of the manner in which he met his death.

The fellow had been dead for hours—he was cold and still. ButDelcarte’s search was not without results, for above Sniderl’sheart was a wound, a slit about an inch in length—such a slit as a sharpknife would make, and in the dead fingers of one hand was clutched a strand oflong brown hair—Victoryl’s hair was brown.

They say that dead men tell no tales, but Snider told the story of his end asclearly as though the dead lips had parted and poured forth the truth. Thebeast had attacked the girl, and she had defended her honor.

We buried Snider beside the Rhine, and no stone marks his last resting place.Beasts do not require headstones.

Then we set out in the launch, turning her nose upstream. When I had toldDelcarte and Taylor that I intended searching for the girl, neither haddemurred.

“We had her wrong in our thoughts,” said Delcarte, “and theleast that we can do in expiation is to find and rescue her.”

We called her name aloud every few minutes as we motored up the river, but,though we returned all the way to our former camping place, we did not findher. I then decided to retrace our journey, letting Taylor handle the launch,while Delcarte and I, upon opposite sides of the river, searched for some signof the spot where Victory had landed.

We found nothing until we had reached a point a few miles above the spot whereI had first seen the launch drifting down toward us, and there I discovered theremnants of a recent camp fire.

That Victory carried flint and steel I was aware, and that it was she who builtthe fire I was positive. But which way had she gone since she stopped here?

Would she go on down the river, that she might thus bring herself nearer herown Grabritin, or would she have sought to search for us upstream, where shehad seen us last?

I had hailed Taylor, and sent him across the river to take in Delcarte, thatthe two might join me and discuss my discovery and our future plans.

While waiting for them, I stood looking out over the river, my back toward thewoods that stretched away to the east behind me. Delcarte was just steppinginto the launch upon the opposite side of the stream, when, without the leastwarning, I was violently seized by both arms and about the waist—three orfour men were upon me at once; my rifle was snatched from my hands and myrevolver from my belt.

I struggled for an instant, but finding my efforts of no avail, I ceased them,and turned my head to have a look at my assailants. At the same time severalothers of them walked around in front of me, and, to my astonishment, I foundmyself looking upon uniformed soldiery, armed with rifles, revolvers, andsabers, but with faces as black as coal.

CHAPTER VIII.

Delcarte and Taylor were now in mid-stream, coming toward us, and I called tothem to keep aloof until I knew whether the intentions of my captors werefriendly or otherwise. My good men wanted to come on and annihilate the blacks.But there were upward of a hundred of the latter, all well armed, and so Icommanded Delcarte to keep out of harml’s way, and stay where he was tillI needed him.

A young officer called and beckoned to them. But they refused to come, and sohe gave orders that resulted in my hands being secured at my back, after whichthe company marched away, straight toward the east.

I noticed that the men wore spurs, which seemed strange to me. But when, latein the afternoon, we arrived at their encampment, I discovered that my captorswere cavalrymen.

In the center of a plain stood a log fort, with a blockhouse at each of itsfour corners. As we approached, I saw a herd of cavalry horses grazing underguard outside the walls of the post. They were small, stocky horses, but thetelltale saddle galls proclaimed their calling. The flag flying from a tallstaff inside the palisade was one which I had never before seen nor heard of.

We marched directly into the compound, where the company was dismissed, withthe exception of a guard of four privates, who escorted me in the wake of theyoung officer. The latter led us across a small parade ground, where a batteryof light field guns was parked, and toward a log building, in front of whichrose the flagstaff.

I was escorted within the building into the presence of an old negro, a finelooking man, with a dignified and military bearing. He was a colonel, I was tolearn later, and to him I owe the very humane treatment that was accorded mewhile I remained his prisoner.

He listened to the report of his junior, and then turned to question me, butwith no better results than the former had accomplished. Then he summoned anorderly, and gave some instructions. The soldier saluted, and left the room,returning in about five minutes with a hairy old white man—just such asavage, primeval-looking fellow as I had discovered in the woods the day thatSnider had disappeared with the launch.

The colonel evidently expected to use the fellow as interpreter, but when thesavage addressed me it was in a language as foreign to me as was that of theblacks. At last the old officer gave it up, and, shaking his head, gaveinstructions for my removal.

From his office I was led to a guardhouse, in which I found about fiftyhalf-naked whites, clad in the skins of wild beasts. I tried to converse withthem, but not one of them could understand Pan-American, nor could I make heador tail of their jargon.

For over a month I remained a prisoner there, working from morning until nightat odd jobs about the headquarters building of the commanding officer. Theother prisoners worked harder than I did, and I owe my better treatment solelyto the kindliness and discrimination of the old colonel.

What had become of Victory, of Delcarte, of Taylor I could not know; nor did itseem likely that I should ever learn. I was most depressed. But I whiled awaymy time in performing the duties given me to the best of my ability andattempting to learn the language of my captors.

Who they were or where they came from was a mystery to me. That they were theoutpost of some powerful black nation seemed likely, yet where the seat of thatnation lay I could not guess.

They looked upon the whites as their inferiors, and treated us accordingly.They had a literature of their own, and many of the men, even the commonsoldiers, were omnivorous readers. Every two weeks a dust-covered trooper wouldtrot his jaded mount into the post and deliver a bulging sack of mail atheadquarters. The next day he would be away again upon a fresh horse toward thesouth, carrying the soldiers’ letters to friends in the far off land ofmystery from whence they all had come.

Troops, sometimes mounted and sometimes afoot, left the post daily for what Iassumed to be patrol duty. I judged the little force of a thousand men weredetailed here to maintain the authority of a distant government in a conqueredcountry. Later, I learned that my surmise was correct, and this was but one ofa great chain of similar posts that dotted the new frontier of the black nationinto whose hands I had fallen.

Slowly I learned their tongue, so that I could understand what was said beforeme, and make myself understood. I had seen from the first that I was beingtreated as a slave—that all whites that fell into the hands of the blackswere thus treated.

Almost daily new prisoners were brought in, and about three weeks after I wasbrought in to the post a troop of cavalry came from the south to relieve one ofthe troops stationed there. There was great jubilation in the encampment afterthe arrival of the newcomers, old friendships were renewed and new ones made.But the happiest men were those of the troop that was to be relieved.

The next morning they started away, and as they were forced upon the paradeground we prisoners were marched from our quarters and lined up before them. Acouple of long chains were brought, with rings in the links every few feet. Atfirst I could not guess the purpose of these chains. But I was soon to learn.

A couple of soldiers snapped the first ring around the neck of a powerful whiteslave, and one by one the rest of us were herded to our places, and the work ofshackling us neck to neck commenced.

The colonel stood watching the procedure. Presently his eyes fell upon me, andhe spoke to a young officer at his side. The latter stepped toward me andmotioned me to follow him. I did so, and was led back to the colonel.

By this time I could understand a few words of their strange language, and whenthe colonel asked me if I would prefer to remain at the post as his bodyservant, I signified my willingness as emphatically as possible, for I had seenenough of the brutality of the common soldiers toward their white slaves tohave no desire to start out upon a march of unknown length, chained by theneck, and driven on by the great whips that a score of the soldiers carried toaccelerate the speed of their charges.

About three hundred prisoners who had been housed in six prisons at the postmarched out of the gates that morning, toward what fate and what future I couldnot guess. Neither had the poor devils themselves more than the most vagueconception of what lay in store for them, except that they were going elsewhereto continue in the slavery that they had known since their capture by theirblack conquerors—a slavery that was to continue until death releasedthem.

My position was altered at the post. From working about the headquartersoffice, I was transferred to the colonel’s living quarters. I had greaterfreedom, and no longer slept in one of the prisons, but had a little room tomyself off the kitchen of the colonel’s log house.

My master was always kind to me, and under him I rapidly learned the languageof my captors, and much concerning them that had been a mystery to me before.His name was Abu Belik. He was a colonel in the cavalry of Abyssinia, a countryof which I do not remember ever hearing, but which Colonel Belik assured me isthe oldest civilized country in the world.

Colonel Belik was born in Adis Abeba, the capital of the empire, and untilrecently had been in command of the emperorl’s palace guard. Jealousy andthe ambition and intrigue of another officer had lost him the favor of hisemperor, and he had been detailed to this frontier post as a mark of hissovereignl’s displeasure.

Some fifty years before, the young emperor, Menelek XIV, was ambitious. He knewthat a great world lay across the waters far to the north of his capital. Oncehe had crossed the desert and looked out upon the blue sea that was thenorthern boundary of his dominions.

There lay another world to conquer. Menelek busied himself with the building ofa great fleet, though his people were not a maritime race. His army crossedinto Europe. It met with little resistance, and for fifty years his soldiershad been pushing his boundaries farther and farther toward the north.

“The yellow men from the east and north are contesting our rights herenow,” said the colonel, “but we shall win—we shall conquerthe world, carrying Christianity to all the benighted heathen of Europe, andAsia as well.”

“You are a Christian people?” I asked.

He looked at me in surprise, nodding his head affirmatively.

“I am a Christian,” I said. “My people are the most powerfulon earth.”

He smiled, and shook his head indulgently, as a father to a child who sets uphis childish judgment against that of his elders.

Then I set out to prove my point. I told him of our cities, of our army, of ourgreat navy. He came right back at me asking for figures, and when he was done Ihad to admit that only in our navy were we numerically superior.

Menelek XIV is the undisputed ruler of all the continent of Africa, of all ofancient Europe except the British Isles, Scandinavia, and eastern Russia, andhas large possessions and prosperous colonies in what once were Arabia andTurkey in Asia.

He has a standing army of ten million men, and his people possessslaves—white slaves—to the number of ten or fifteen million.

Colonel Belik was much surprised, however, upon his part, to learn of the greatnation which lay across the ocean, and when he found that I was a navalofficer, he was inclined to accord me even greater consideration than formerly.It was difficult for him to believe my assertion that there were but few blacksin my country, and that these occupied a lower social plane than the whites.

Just the reverse is true in Colonel Belikl’s land. He considered whitesinferior beings, creatures of a lower order, and assured me that even the fewwhite freemen of Abyssinia were never accorded anything approximating aposition of social equality with the blacks. They live in the poorer districtsof the cities, in little white colonies, and a black who marries a white issocially ostracized.

The arms and ammunition of the Abyssinians are greatly inferior to ours, yetthey are tremendously effective against the ill-armed barbarians of Europe.Their rifles are of a type similar to the magazine rifles of twentieth centuryPan-America, but carrying only five cartridges in the magazine, in addition tothe one in the chamber. They are of extraordinary length, even those of thecavalry, and are of extreme accuracy.

The Abyssinians themselves are a fine looking race of black men—tall,muscular, with fine teeth, and regular features, which incline distinctlytoward Semitic mold—I refer to the full-blooded natives of Abyssinia.They are the patricians—the aristocracy. The army is officered almostexclusively by them. Among the soldiery a lower type of negro predominates,with thicker lips and broader, flatter noses. These men are recruited, so thecolonel told me, from among the conquered tribes of Africa. They are goodsoldiers—brave and loyal. They can read and write, and they are endowedwith a self-confidence and pride which, from my readings of the words ofancient African explorers, must have been wanting in their earliestprogenitors. On the whole, it is apparent that the black race has thrived farbetter in the past two centuries under men of its own color than it had underthe domination of whites during all previous history.

I had been a prisoner at the little frontier post for over a month, when orderscame to Colonel Belik to hasten to the eastern frontier with the major portionof his command, leaving only one troop to garrison the fort. As his bodyservant, I accompanied him mounted upon a fiery little Abyssinian pony.

We marched rapidly for ten days through the heart of the ancient German empire,halting when night found us in proximity to water. Often we passed small postssimilar to that at which the colonel’s regiment had been quartered,finding in each instance that only a single company or troop remained fordefence, the balance having been withdrawn toward the northeast, in the samedirection in which we were moving.

Naturally, the colonel had not confided to me the nature of his orders. But therapidity of our march and the fact that all available troops were beinghastened toward the northeast assured me that a matter of vital importance tothe dominion of Menelek XIV in that part of Europe was threatening or hadalready broken.

I could not believe that a simple rising of the savage tribes of whites wouldnecessitate the mobilizing of such a force as we presently met with convergingfrom the south into our trail. There were large bodies of cavalry and infantry,endless streams of artillery wagons and guns, and countless horse-drawn coveredvehicles laden with camp equipage, munitions, and provisions.

Here, for the first time, I saw camels, great caravans of them, bearing allsorts of heavy burdens, and miles upon miles of elephants doing similarservice. It was a scene of wondrous and barbaric splendor, for the men andbeasts from the south were gaily caparisoned in rich colors, in marked contrastto the gray uniformed forces of the frontier, with which I had been familiar.

The rumor reached us that Menelek himself was coming, and the pitch ofexcitement to which this announcement raised the troops was little short ofmiraculous—at least, to one of my race and nationality whose rulers forcenturies had been but ordinary men, holding office at the will of the peoplefor a few brief years.

As I witnessed it, I could not but speculate upon the moral effect upon histroops of a sovereignl’s presence in the midst of battle. All else beingequal in war between the troops of a republic and an empire, could not thisexhilarated mental state, amounting almost to hysteria on the part of theimperial troops, weigh heavily against the soldiers of a president? I wonder.

But if the emperor chanced to be absent? What then? Again I wonder.

On the eleventh day we reached our destination—a walled frontier city ofabout twenty thousand. We passed some lakes, and crossed some old canals beforeentering the gates. Within, beside the frame buildings, were many built ofancient brick and well-cut stone. These, I was told, were of material takenfrom the ruins of the ancient city which, once, had stood upon the site of thepresent town.

The name of the town, translated from the Abyssinian, is New Gondar. It stands,I am convinced, upon the ruins of ancient Berlin, the one time capital of theold German empire, but except for the old building material used in the newtown there is no sign of the former city.

The day after we arrived, the town was gaily decorated with flags, streamers,gorgeous rugs, and banners, for the rumor had proved true—the emperor wascoming.

Colonel Belik had accorded me the greatest liberty, permitting me to go where Ipleased, after my few duties had been performed. As a result of his kindness, Ispent much time wandering about New Gondar, talking with the inhabitants, andexploring the city of black men.

As I had been given a semi-military uniform which bore insignia indicating thatI was an officerl’s body servant, even the blacks treated me with aspecies of respect, though I could see by their manner that I was really as thedirt beneath their feet. They answered my questions civilly enough, but theywould not enter into conversation with me. It was from other slaves that Ilearned the gossip of the city.

Troops were pouring in from the west and south, and pouring out toward theeast. I asked an old slave who was sweeping the dirt into little piles in thegutters of the street where the soldiers were going. He looked at me insurprise.

“Why, to fight the yellow men, of course,” he said. “Theyhave crossed the border, and are marching toward New Gondar.”

“Who will win?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?” he said. “I hope itwill be the yellow men, but Menelek is powerful—it will take many yellowmen to defeat him.”

Crowds were gathering along the sidewalks to view the emperorl’s entryinto the city. I took my place among them, although I hate crowds, and I amglad that I did, for I witnessed such a spectacle of barbaric splendor as noother Pan-American has ever looked upon.

Down the broad main thoroughfare, which may once have been the historic Unterden Linden, came a brilliant cortege. At the head rode a regiment of red-coatedhussars—enormous men, black as night. There were troops of riflemenmounted on camels. The emperor rode in a golden howdah upon the back of a hugeelephant so covered with rich hangings and embellished with scintillating gemsthat scarce more than the beastl’s eyes and feet were visible.

Menelek was a rather gross-looking man, well past middle age, but he carriedhimself with an air of dignity befitting one descended in unbroken line fromthe Prophet—as was his claim.

His eyes were bright but crafty, and his features denoted both sensuality andcruelness. In his youth he may have been a rather fine looking black, but whenI saw him his appearance was revolting—to me, at least.

Following the emperor came regiment after regiment from the various branches ofthe service, among them batteries of field guns mounted on elephants.

In the center of the troops following the imperial elephant marched a greatcaravan of slaves. The old street sweeper at my elbow told me that these werethe gifts brought in from the far outlying districts by the commanding officersof the frontier posts. The majority of them were women, destined, I was told,for the harems of the emperor and his favorites. It made my old companionclench his fists to see those poor white women marching past to their horridfates, and, though I shared his sentiments, I was as powerless to alter theirdestinies as he.

For a week the troops kept pouring in and out of New Gondar—in, always,from the south and west, but always toward the east. Each new contingentbrought its gifts to the emperor. From the south they brought rugs andornaments and jewels; from the west, slaves; for the commanding officers of thewestern frontier posts had naught else to bring.

From the number of women they brought, I judged that they knew the weakness oftheir imperial master.

And then soldiers commenced coming in from the east, but not with the gayassurance of those who came from the south and west—no, these others camein covered wagons, blood-soaked and suffering. They came at first in littleparties of eight or ten, and then they came in fifties, in hundreds, and oneday a thousand maimed and dying men were carted into New Gondar.

It was then that Menelek XIV became uneasy. For fifty years his armies hadconquered wherever they had marched. At first he had led them in person, latelyhis presence within a hundred miles of the battle line had been sufficient forlarge engagements—for minor ones only the knowledge that they werefighting for the glory of their sovereign was necessary to win victories.

One morning, New Gondar was awakened by the booming of cannon. It was the firstintimation that the townspeople had received that the enemy was forcing theimperial troops back upon the city. Dust covered couriers galloped in from thefront. Fresh troops hastened from the city, and about noon Menelek rode outsurrounded by his staff.

For three days thereafter we could hear the cannonading and the spitting of thesmall arms, for the battle line was scarce two leagues from New Gondar. Thecity was filled with wounded. Just outside, soldiers were engaged in throwingup earthworks. It was evident to the least enlightened that Menelek expectedfurther reverses.

And then the imperial troops fell back upon these new defenses, or, rather,they were forced back by the enemy. Shells commenced to fall within the city.Menelek returned and took up his headquarters in the stone building that wascalled the palace. That night came a lull in the hostilities—a truce hadbeen arranged.

Colonel Belik summoned me about seven o’clock to dress him for a functionat the palace. In the midst of death and defeat the emperor was about to give agreat banquet to his officers. I was to accompany my master and wait uponhim—I, Jefferson Turck, lieutenant in the Pan-American navy!

In the privacy of the colonel’s quarters I had become accustomed to mymenial duties, lightened as they were by the natural kindliness of my master,but the thought of appearing in public as a common slave revolted every fineinstinct within me. Yet there was nothing for it but to obey.

I cannot, even now, bring myself to a narration of the humiliation which Iexperienced that night as I stood behind my black master in silent servility,now pouring his wine, now cutting up his meats for him, now fanning him with alarge, plumed fan of feathers.

As fond as I had grown of him, I could have thrust a knife into him, so keenlydid I feel the affront that had been put upon me. But at last the long banquetwas concluded. The tables were removed. The emperor ascended a dais at one endof the room and seated himself upon a throne, and the entertainment commenced.It was only what ancient history might have led me to expect—musicians,dancing girls, jugglers, and the like.

Near midnight, the master of ceremonies announced that the slave women who hadbeen presented to the emperor since his arrival in New Gondar would beexhibited, that the royal host would select such as he wished, after which hewould present the balance of them to his guests. Ah, what royal generosity!

A small door at one side of the room opened, and the poor creatures filed inand were ranged in a long line before the throne. Their backs were toward me. Isaw only an occasional profile as now and then a bolder spirit among themturned to survey the apartment and the gorgeous assemblage of officers in theirbrilliant dress uniforms. They were profiles of young girls, and pretty, buthorror was indelibly stamped upon them all. I shuddered as I contemplated theirsad fate, and turned my eyes away.

I heard the master of ceremonies command them to prostrate themselves beforethe emperor, and the sounds as they went upon their knees before him, touchingtheir foreheads to the floor. Then came the official’s voice again, insharp and peremptory command.

“Down, slave!” he cried. “Make obeisance to yoursovereign!”

I looked up, attracted by the tone of the manl’s voice, to see a single,straight, slim figure standing erect in the center of the line of prostrategirls, her arms folded across her breast and little chin in the air. Her backwas toward me—I could not see her face, though I should like to see thecountenance of this savage young lioness, standing there defiant among thatherd of terrified sheep.

“Down! Down!” shouted the master of ceremonies, taking a steptoward her and half drawing his sword.

My blood boiled. To stand there, inactive, while a negro struck down that bravegirl of my own race! Instinctively I took a forward step to place myself in themanl’s path. But at the same instant Menelek raised his hand in a gesturethat halted the officer. The emperor seemed interested, but in no way angeredat the girl’s attitude.

“Let us inquire,” he said in a smooth, pleasant voice, “whythis young woman refuses to do homage to her sovereign,” and he put thequestion himself directly to her.

She answered him in Abyssinian, but brokenly and with an accent that betrayedhow recently she had acquired her slight knowledge of the tongue.

“I go on my knees to no one,” she said. “I have no sovereign.I myself am sovereign in my own country.”

Menelek, at her words, leaned back in his throne and laughed uproariously.Following his example, which seemed always the correct procedure, the assembledguests vied with one another in an effort to laugh more noisily than theemperor.

The girl but tilted her chin a bit higher in the air—even her backproclaimed her utter contempt for her captors. Finally Menelek restored quietby the simple expedient of a frown, whereupon each loyal guest exchanged hismirthful mien for an emulative scowl.

“And who,” asked Menelek, “are you, and by what name is yourcountry called?”

“I am Victory, Queen of Grabritin,” replied the girl so quickly andso unexpectedly that I gasped in astonishment.

CHAPTER IX.

Victory! She was here, a slave to these black conquerors. Once more I startedtoward her, but better judgment held me back—I could do nothing to helpher other than by stealth. Could I even accomplish aught by this means? I didnot know. It seemed beyond the pale of possibility, and yet I should try.

“And you will not bend the knee to me?” continued Menelek, aftershe had spoken. Victory shook her head in a most decided negation.

“You shall be my first choice, then,” said the emperor. “Ilike your spirit, for the breaking of it will add to my pleasure in you, andnever fear but that it shall be broken—this very night. Take her to myapartments,” and he motioned to an officer at his side.

I was surprised to see Victory follow the man off in apparent quiet submission.I tried to follow, that I might be near her against some opportunity to speakwith her or assist in her escape. But, after I had followed them from thethrone room, through several other apartments, and down a long corridor, Ifound my further progress barred by a soldier who stood guard before a doorwaythrough which the officer conducted Victory.

Almost immediately the officer reappeared and started back in the direction ofthe throne room. I had been hiding in a doorway after the guard had turned meback, having taken refuge there while his back was turned, and, as the officerapproached me, I withdrew into the room beyond, which was in darkness. There Iremained for a long time, watching the sentry before the door of the room inwhich Victory was a prisoner, and awaiting some favorable circumstance whichwould give me entry to her.

I have not attempted to fully describe my sensations at the moment I recognizedVictory, because, I can assure you, they were entirely indescribable. I shouldnever have imagined that the sight of any human being could affect me as hadthis unexpected discovery of Victory in the same room in which I was, while Ihad thought of her for weeks either as dead, or at best hundreds of miles tothe west, and as irretrievably lost to me as though she were, in truth, dead.

I was filled with a strange, mad impulse to be near her. It was not enoughmerely to assist her, or protect her—I desired to touch her—to takeher in my arms. I was astounded at myself. Another thing puzzled me—itwas my incomprehensible feeling of elation since I had again seen her. With afate worse than death staring her in the face, and with the knowledge that Ishould probably die defending her within the hour, I was still happier than Ihad been for weeks—and all because I had seen again for a few briefminutes the figure of a little heathen maiden. I couldn’t account for it,and it angered me; I had never before felt any such sensations in the presenceof a woman, and I had made love to some very beautiful ones in my time.

It seemed ages that I stood in the shadow of that doorway, in the ill-litcorridor of the palace of Menelek XIV. A sickly gas jet cast a sad pallor uponthe black face of the sentry. The fellow seemed rooted to the spot. Evidentlyhe would never leave, or turn his back again.

I had been in hiding but a short time when I heard the sound of distant cannon.The truce had ended, and the battle had been resumed. Very shortly thereafterthe earth shook to the explosion of a shell within the city, and from time totime thereafter other shells burst at no great distance from the palace. Theyellow men were bombarding New Gondar again.

Presently officers and slaves commenced to traverse the corridor on matterspertaining to their duties, and then came the emperor, scowling and wrathful.He was followed by a few personal attendants, whom he dismissed at the doorwayto his apartments—the same doorway through which Victory had been taken.I chafed to follow him, but the corridor was filled with people. At last theybetook themselves to their own apartments, which lay upon either side of thecorridor.

An officer and a slave entered the very room in which I hid, forcing me toflatten myself to one side in the darkness until they had passed. Then theslave made a light, and I knew that I must find another hiding place.

Stepping boldly into the corridor, I saw that it was now empty save for thesingle sentry before the emperorl’s door. He glanced up as I emerged fromthe room, the occupants of which had not seen me. I walked straight toward thesoldier, my mind made up in an instant. I tried to simulate an expression ofcringing servility, and I must have succeeded, for I entirely threw the man offhis guard, so that he permitted me to approach within reach of his rifle beforestopping me. Then it was too late—for him.

Without a word or a warning, I snatched the piece from his grasp, and, at thesame time struck him a terrific blow between the eyes with my clenched fist. Hestaggered back in surprise, too dumbfounded even to cry out, and then I clubbedhis rifle and felled him with a single mighty blow.

A moment later, I had burst into the room beyond. It was empty!

I gazed about, mad with disappointment. Two doors opened from this to otherrooms. I ran to the nearer and listened. Yes, voices were coming from beyondand one was a womanl’s, level and cold and filled with scorn. There wasno terror in it. It was Victoryl’s.

I turned the knob and pushed the door inward just in time to see Menelek seizethe girl and drag her toward the far end of the apartment. At the same instantthere was a deafening roar just outside the palace—a shell had struckmuch nearer than any of its predecessors. The noise of it drowned my rapid rushacross the room.

But in her struggles, Victory turned Menelek about so that he saw me. She wasstriking him in the face with her clenched fist, and now he was choking her.

At sight of me, he gave voice to a roar of anger.

“What means this, slave?” he cried. “Out of here! Out ofhere! Quick, before I kill you!”

But for answer I rushed upon him, striking him with the butt of the rifle. Hestaggered back, dropping Victory to the floor, and then he cried aloud for theguard, and came at me. Again and again I struck him; but his thick skull mighthave been armor plate, for all the damage I did it.

He tried to close with me, seizing the rifle, but I was stronger than he, and,wrenching the weapon from his grasp, tossed it aside and made for his throatwith my bare hands. I had not dared fire the weapon for fear that its reportwould bring the larger guard stationed at the farther end of the corridor.

We struggled about the room, striking one another, knocking over furniture, androlling upon the floor. Menelek was a powerful man, and he was fighting for hislife. Continually he kept calling for the guard, until I succeeded in getting agrip upon his throat; but it was too late. His cries had been heard, andsuddenly the door burst open, and a score of armed guardsmen rushed into theapartment.

Victory seized the rifle from the floor and leaped between me and them. I hadthe black emperor upon his back, and both my hands were at his throat, chokingthe life from him.

The rest happened in the fraction of a second. There was a rending crash aboveus, then a deafening explosion within the chamber. Smoke and powder fumesfilled the room. Half stunned, I rose from the lifeless body of my antagonistjust in time to see Victory stagger to her feet and turn toward me. Slowly thesmoke cleared to reveal the shattered remnants of the guard. A shell had fallenthrough the palace roof and exploded just in the rear of the detachment ofguardsmen who were coming to the rescue of their emperor. Why neither Victorynor I were struck is a miracle. The room was a wreck. A great, jagged hole wastorn in the ceiling, and the wall toward the corridor had been blown entirelyout.

As I rose, Victory had risen, too, and started toward me. But when she saw thatI was uninjured she stopped, and stood there in the center of the demolishedapartment looking at me. Her expression was inscrutable—I could not guesswhether she was glad to see me, or not.

“Victory!” I cried. “Thank God that you are safe!” AndI approached her, a greater gladness in my heart than I had felt since themoment that I knew the Coldwater must be swept beyond thirty.

There was no answering gladness in her eyes. Instead, she stamped her littlefoot in anger.

“Why did it have to be you who saved me!” she exclaimed. “Ihate you!”

“Hate me?” I asked. “Why should you hate me, Victory? I donot hate you. I—I—” What was I about to say? I was very closeto her as a great light broke over me. Why had I never realized it before? Thetruth accounted for a great many hitherto inexplicable moods that had claimedme from time to time since first I had seen Victory.

“Why should I hate you?” she repeated. “Because Snider toldme—he told me that you had promised me to him, but he did not get me. Ikilled him, as I should like to kill you!”

“Snider lied!” I cried. And then I seized her and held her in myarms, and made her listen to me, though she struggled and fought like a younglioness. “I love you, Victory. You must know that I love you—that Ihave always loved you, and that I never could have made so base apromise.”

She ceased her struggles, just a trifle, but still tried to push me from her.“You called me a barbarian!” she said.

Ah, so that was it! That still rankled. I crushed her to me.

“You could not love a barbarian,” she went on, but she had ceasedto struggle.

“But I do love a barbarian, Victory!” I cried, “the dearestbarbarian in the world.”

She raised her eyes to mine, and then her smooth, brown arms encircled my neckand drew my lips down to hers.

“I love you—I have loved you always!” she said, and then sheburied her face upon my shoulder and sobbed. “I have been sounhappy,” she said, “but I could not die while I thought that youmight live.”

As we stood there, momentarily forgetful of all else than our new foundhappiness, the ferocity of the bombardment increased until scarce thirtyseconds elapsed between the shells that rained about the palace.

To remain long would be to invite certain death. We could not escape the waythat we had entered the apartment, for not only was the corridor now chokedwith debris, but beyond the corridor there were doubtless many members of theemperorl’s household who would stop us.

Upon the opposite side of the room was another door, and toward this I led theway. It opened into a third apartment with windows overlooking an inner court.From one of these windows I surveyed the courtyard. Apparently it was empty,and the rooms upon the opposite side were unlighted.

Assisting Victory to the open, I followed, and together we crossed the court,discovering upon the opposite side a number of wide, wooden doors set in thewall of the palace, with small windows between. As we stood close behind one ofthe doors, listening, a horse within neighed.

“The stables!” I whispered, and, a moment later, had pushed back adoor and entered. From the city about us we could hear the din of greatcommotion, and quite close the sounds of battle—the crack of thousands ofrifles, the yells of the soldiers, the hoarse commands of officers, and theblare of bugles.

The bombardment had ceased as suddenly as it had commenced. I judged that theenemy was storming the city, for the sounds we heard were the sounds ofhand-to-hand combat.

Within the stables I groped about until I had found saddles and bridles for twohorses. But afterward, in the darkness, I could find but a single mount. Thedoors of the opposite side, leading to the street, were open, and we could seegreat multitudes of men, women, and children fleeing toward the west. Soldiers,afoot and mounted, were joining the mad exodus. Now and then a camel or anelephant would pass bearing some officer or dignitary to safety. It was evidentthat the city would fall at any moment—a fact which was amply proclaimedby the terror-stricken haste of the fear-mad mob.

Horse, camel, and elephant trod helpless women and children beneath their feet.A common soldier dragged a general from his mount, and, leaping to theanimal’s back, fled down the packed street toward the west. A womanseized a gun and brained a court dignitary, whose horse had trampled her childto death. Shrieks, curses, commands, supplications filled the air. It was afrightful scene—one that will be burned upon my memory forever.

I had saddled and bridled the single horse which had evidently been overlookedby the royal household in its flight, and, standing a little back in the shadowof the stable’s interior, Victory and I watched the surging throngwithout.

To have entered it would have been to have courted greater danger than we werealready in. We decided to wait until the stress of blacks thinned, and for morethan an hour we stood there while the sounds of battle raged upon the easternside of the city and the population flew toward the west. More and morenumerous became the uniformed soldiers among the fleeing throng, until, towardthe last, the street was packed with them. It was no orderly retreat, but arout, complete and terrible.

The fighting was steadily approaching us now, until the crack of rifles soundedin the very street upon which we were looking. And then came a handful of bravemen—a little rear guard backing slowly toward the west, working theirsmoking rifles in feverish haste as they fired volley after volley at the foewe could not see.

But these were pressed back and back until the first line of the enemy cameopposite our shelter. They were men of medium height, with olive complexionsand almond eyes. In them I recognized the descendants of the ancient Chineserace.

They were well uniformed and superbly armed, and they fought bravely and underperfect discipline. So rapt was I in the exciting events transpiring in thestreet that I did not hear the approach of a body of men from behind. It was aparty of the conquerors who had entered the palace and were searching it.

They came upon us so unexpectedly that we were prisoners before we realizedwhat had happened. That night we were held under a strong guard just outsidethe eastern wall of the city, and the next morning were started upon a longmarch toward the east.

Our captors were not unkind to us, and treated the women prisoners withrespect. We marched for many days—so many that I lost count ofthem—and at last we came to another city—a Chinese city thistime—which stands upon the site of ancient Moscow.

It is only a small frontier city, but it is well built and well kept. Here alarge military force is maintained, and here also, is a terminus of therailroad that crosses modern China to the Pacific.

There was every evidence of a high civilization in all that we saw within thecity, which, in connection with the humane treatment that had been accorded allprisoners upon the long and tiresome march, encouraged me to hope that I mightappeal to some high officer here for the treatment which my rank and birthmerited.

We could converse with our captors only through the medium of interpreters whospoke both Chinese and Abyssinian. But there were many of these, and shortlyafter we reached the city I persuaded one of them to carry a verbal message tothe officer who had commanded the troops during the return from New Gondar,asking that I might be given a hearing by some high official.

The reply to my request was a summons to appear before the officer to whom Ihad addressed my appeal. A sergeant came for me along with the interpreter, andI managed to obtain his permission to let Victory accompany me—I hadnever left her alone with the prisoners since we had been captured.

To my delight I found that the officer into whose presence we were conductedspoke Abyssinian fluently. He was astounded when I told him that I was aPan-American. Unlike all others whom I had spoken with since my arrival inEurope, he was well acquainted with ancient history—was familiar withtwentieth century conditions in Pan-America, and after putting a half dozenquestions to me was satisfied that I spoke the truth.

When I told him that Victory was Queen of England he showed little surprise,telling me that in their recent explorations in ancient Russia they had foundmany descendants of the old nobility and royalty.

He immediately set aside a comfortable house for us, furnished us with servantsand with money, and in other ways showed us every attention and kindness.

He told me that he would telegraph his emperor at once, and the result was thatwe were presently commanded to repair to Peking and present ourselves beforethe ruler.

We made the journey in a comfortable railway carriage, through a country which,as we traveled farther toward the east, showed increasing evidence ofprosperity and wealth.

At the imperial court we were received with great kindness, the emperor beingmost inquisitive about the state of modern Pan-America. He told me that whilehe personally deplored the existence of the strict regulations which had raiseda barrier between the east and the west, he had felt, as had his predecessors,that recognition of the wishes of the great Pan-American federation would bemost conducive to the continued peace of the world.

His empire includes all of Asia, and the islands of the Pacific as far east as175°W. The empire of Japan no longer exists, having been conquered and absorbedby China over a hundred years ago. The Philippines are well administered, andconstitute one of the most progressive colonies of the Chinese empire.

The emperor told me that the building of this great empire and the spreading ofenlightenment among its diversified and savage peoples had required all thebest efforts of nearly two hundred years. Upon his accession to the throne hehad found the labor well nigh perfected and had turned his attention to thereclamation of Europe.

His ambition is to wrest it from the hands of the blacks, and then to attemptthe work of elevating its fallen peoples to the high estate from which theGreat War precipitated them.

I asked him who was victorious in that war, and he shook his head sadly as hereplied:

“Pan-America, perhaps, and China, with the blacks of Abyssinia,” hesaid. “Those who did not fight were the only ones to reap any of therewards that are supposed to belong to victory. The combatants reaped naughtbut annihilation. You have seen—better than any man you must realize thatthere was no victory for any nation embroiled in that frightful war.”

“When did it end?” I asked him.

Again he shook his head. “It has not ended yet. There has never been aformal peace declared in Europe. After a while there were none left to makepeace, and the rude tribes which sprang from the survivors continued to fightamong themselves because they knew no better condition of society. War razedthe works of man—war and pestilence razed man. God give that there shallnever be such another war!”

You all know how Porfirio Johnson returned to Pan-America with John Alvarez inchains; how Alvarezl’s trial raised a popular demonstration that thegovernment could not ignore. His eloquent appeal—not for himself, but forme—is historic, as are its results. You know how a fleet was sent acrossthe Atlantic to search for me, how the restrictions against crossing thirty toone hundred seventy-five were removed forever, and how the officers werebrought to Peking, arriving upon the very day that Victory and I were marriedat the imperial court.

My return to Pan-America was very different from anything I could possibly haveimagined a year before. Instead of being received as a traitor to my country, Iwas acclaimed a hero. It was good to get back again, good to witness the kindlytreatment that was accorded my dear Victory, and when I learned that Delcarteand Taylor had been found at the mouth of the Rhine and were already back inPan-America my joy was unalloyed.

And now we are going back, Victory and I, with the men and the munitions andpower to reclaim England for her queen. Again I shall cross thirty, but underwhat altered conditions!

A new epoch for Europe is inaugurated, with enlightened China on the east andenlightened Pan-America on the west—the two great peace powers whom Godhas preserved to regenerate chastened and forgiven Europe. I have been throughmuch—I have suffered much, but I have won two great laurel wreaths beyondthirty. One is the opportunity to rescue Europe from barbarism, the other is alittle barbarian, and the greater of these is—Victory.

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