Baron Trump's Marvellous Underground Journey
But so terrible had been the strain, so fearful the anxiety, so
exhausting the effort necessary to hold my place on the block of ice,
and keep my beloved Bulger from slipping out of my arms, that I fell
backward into a dead faint as the gliding mass came, at last, to a
standstill. I think I must have lain there a good half hour or so; for
when I came to myself Bulger’s frantic joy told me that he had been
terribly wrought up over me, and the moment I opened my eyes he began to
shower caresses on my hands and face in most lover-like style. Dear,
grateful heart, he felt that he owed his life this time to his little
master, and he wanted me to understand how thankful he was.
The moment Bulger’s nerves had recovered from the shock occasioned by my
prolonged faint, I reached for my repeater and touched its spring.
It registered one hour and a half since we had stepped through the icy
portal of King Gelidus’ domain. Allowing a half-hour for the time I lay
unconscious, it showed that our mad descent on the back of the crystal
monster had lasted quite a full hour, and reckoning the average speed of
the escaping mass of ice to have been a mile and a half a minute, that
we were now in the neighborhood of ninety miles away from the cold
kingdom where Gelidus sat on his icy throne, and Princess Schneeboule at
his feet with Chillychops beside her.
It was with great difficulty that I could rise to my feet, so stiffened
were my joints and knotted my muscles after that terrible ride, every
instant of which I expected to be dashed to pieces against projecting
rocks, or torn to shreds by being caught between the fleeing monster of
ice and the gigantic icicles hanging from the ceiling like the shining
teeth of some huge creature of this under world.
But could it be, dear friends, that Bulger and I had only escaped a
quick and merciful ending to be brought face to face with a death ten
times more terrible, in that it was to be slow and gradual, denied even
the poor boon of looking upon each other, for darkness impenetrable was
folded about us and silence so deep that my ears ached in their longing
for some sound to break it. And yet there was something in the sound of
my own voice that startled me when I used it: it seemed as if the awful
stillness were angered at being disturbed by it, and smote it back into
my teeth.
Where are we? This was the question I put to myself, and then in my mind
I strove to recall every word which I had read in the musty pages of Don
Fum’s manuscript concerning the World within a World; but I could
recollect nothing to enlighten me, not a word to give me hope or cheer,
and I was about to cry out in utter despair when, happening to raise my
eyes and look off in the distance, I saw what seemed to me to be a
jack-a-lantern dancing along on the ground.
It was a strange and fantastic sight in this region of inky darkness,
and for a moment I stood watching it with bated breath and wide-opened
eyes; but no, it could not be a will-with-the-wisp, for now the faint
and uncertain glimmer had increased to a mild but steady glow, reaching
away off in the distance like a long line of dying camp-fires seen
through an enveloping mist.
But in a moment’s time this wide encircling ring of light had so
increased in brightness that it looked for all the world like a break o’
day in the land o’ sunshine, and here and there where its mild
effulgence overcame the darkness of this subterranean region, I caught
sight of walls and arches and columns of snow-white marble. And then as
I called to mind Don Fum’s mysterious reference to “sunrise in the lower
world,” I swung my hat and gave a loud cry of joy, while Bulger waked
the echoes of these spacious caverns by his barking. I tell you, dear
friends, not until you have been in just such a plight can you know just
how such a rescue feels.
And now, no doubt, you are a bit anxious to know what sort of a sunrise
could possibly take place in this under world miles below our own.
Well, when you have travelled as many miles as I have, and seen as many
wonders as I have, you’ll be ready to admit that wonders are quite as
commonplace as commonplace itself. Know, then, that this vast region of
the World within a World was girt round about by a broad and placid
stream whose waters swarmed with vast numbers of gigantic radiate
animals, such as polyps, sea-urchins, Portuguese men-of-war,
sea-anemones, and the like; that these transparent creatures, which had
the power of emitting light, after lying dormant for twelve hours,
gradually unfolded their bodies and tentacles, and rose toward the
surface of these calm and limpid waters, increasing by degrees their
mysterious radiance, until they had chased the darkness from the vast
caverns opening upon the banks of the river, and lighted up this under
world with a soft effulgence somewhat brighter than the rays of our full
moon. For twelve hours these weird lanterns of the stream made it day
for this nether world, and then, as they gradually shrank together and
sank out of sight, their expiring fires glowed with all the multicolored
radiance of our fairest twilight, and the night, blacker than Stygian
darkness, came back again. But now ’twas full daylight, and bidding
Bulger follow me I walked in silent wonder along the banks of this
glowing stream, which, like a band of mysterious fire, as far as my eye
could reach went circling around the white marble mouths of these vast
underground chambers.
CHAPTER XXXI
IN WHICH YOU READ OF THE GLORIOUS CAVERNS OF WHITE MARBLE FRONTING
ON THE WONDERFUL RIVER.—IN THE TROPICS OF THE UNDER WORLD.—HOW WE
CAME UPON A SOLITARY WANDERER ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER.—MY
CONVERSATION WITH HIM, AND MY JOY AT FINDING MYSELF IN THE LAND OF
THE RATTLEBRAINS, OR HAPPY FORGETTERS.—BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THEM.
With every turn in the winding way that skirted the white shores of this
wonderful stream, its swarms of light-emitting animals lent it a new
beauty; for as the day advanced—if I may so express it—they lifted their
glowing bodies nearer and nearer to the surface, until now the river
shone like molten silver; and as the sheer walls of rock on the opposite
bank held set in them vast slabs of mica, the effect was that these
gigantic natural mirrors reflected the glowing stream with startling
fidelity, and threw the flood of soft light in dazzling shimmer against
the fantastic portals of the white marble caverns on this side of the
stream. It was a scene never to forget, and again and again I paused in
silent wonder to feast my eyes upon some newly discovered beauty. Now,
for the first, I noted that every white marble basin of cove and inlet
was filled with a different glow, according to the nature of the tiny
phosphorescent animals which happened to fill its waters,—one being a
delicate pink, another a glorious red, the third a deep rich purple, the
fourth a soft blue, the fifth a golden yellow, and so on, the charm of
each tint being greatly enhanced by the snowy whiteness of these marble
basins, through which long lines of curious fish scaled in hues of
polished gold and silver swam slowly along, turning up their glorious
sides to catch the full splendor of the light reflected from the mica
mirrors. And now the chilly breath of King Gelidus’ domain no longer
filled the air. I stood in the tropics of the under world, so to speak;
and but one thing was lacking to make my enjoyment of this fairy region
complete, and that was some one to share it with me.
True, Bulger had an idea of its beauty, for he testified his happiness
at being once more in a warm land by executing some mad capers for my
amusement, and by scampering along the shore of the glowing river and
barking at the stately fish as they slowly fanned the water with their
many colored fins; but I must admit that I longed for the Princess
Schneeboule to keep me company. But it was a rash wish; for the warm air
would have thrown her into convulsions of fear, and she would have
preferred to meet her death in the cool river rather than attempt to
breathe such a fiery atmosphere. By this time I had advanced several
miles along the white shores of the glowing stream, and, feeling
somewhat fatigued, I was about to sit down on the jutting edge of a
natural bench of rock, which seemed almost placed on the river banks by
human hands for human forms to rest upon and watch the wonderful play of
tints and hues in this wide sweeping inlet, when, to my amazement, I saw
that a human creature was already sitting there.
His eyes were fixed upon the water, and methought that his face, which
was gentle and placid, wore a tired look. Certainly he was plunged into
such deep meditation that he either took or feigned to take no notice of
my approach. Bulger was inclined to dash forward and attract his
attention by a string of earsplitting barks, but I shook my head. This
wanderer along the glowing stream of day wore rather a graceful
cloak-like garment, woven of some substance that shimmered in the light,
and so I concluded that it must be mineral wool. His head was bare, and
so were his legs to the knees, his feet being shod with white metal
sandals tied on with what looked like leathern thongs. All in all, he
had a friendly though somewhat peculiar look about him, and his attitude
struck me as being that of a person either plunged into deep thought, or
possibly listening for some anxiously expected signal. At any rate,
accustomed as I was to meet all sorts of people on my travels in the
four corners of the globe, I determined to make bold enough to interrupt
the gentleman’s meditations and wish him good-morrow.
“Whom have I the pleasure of meeting in this beautiful section of the
World within a World?”
The man looked at me in a dazed sort of way and replied,—
“I really don’t know, I’m happy to say.”
“But, sir, thy name!” I insisted.
“Forgot it years ago,” was his remarkable answer.
“But surely, sir,” I exclaimed rather testily, “thou art not the sole
inhabitant of this beautiful under world,—thou hast kinsman, wife,
family?”
“Ay, gentle stranger,” he replied in slow and measured tones, “there are
people farther along the shore, and they are good, dear souls, although
I have forgotten their names, and I have, too, a very faint recollection
that two of those people are sons of mine. Stop! no, their names are
gone from me too, I forgot them the day my own name slipped from my
mind!” and as he uttered these words he threw his head back with a
sudden jerk and I heard a strange click inside of it, as if something
had slipped from its place, and that instant a mysterious expression
used by that Master of Masters, Don Fum, flashed through my mind.
Rattlebrains! Yes, that was it; and now I felt sure that I was standing
in the presence of one of the curious folk inhabiting the World within a
World, to whom Don Fum had given the strange name of Rattlebrains, or
Happy Forgetters.
I was so delighted that I could barely keep myself from rushing up to
this gentle-visaged and mild-mannered person, whose head had just given
forth the sharp click, and grasping him by the hand. But I feared to
shock him by such a friendly greeting, and so I contented myself with
crying out,—
“Sir, thou seest before thee none other than the famous traveller, Baron
Sebastian von Troomp!” but to my great amazement and greater chagrin he
simply turned his strange eyes, with the far-away look, upon me for an
instant, and then resumed his contemplation of the beautifully tinted
sheet of water, as if I hadn’t opened my mouth. It was the most
extraordinary treatment that I had experienced since my descent into the