The Lost Continent
had all assured him 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
above ten, 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 of an ancestor who had served in the English ranks
during the Great War, or that originally it was the number of some
famous regiment with which a forbear fought.
Now that we were reunited, we held a council to determine what course
we should pursue in the immediate future. Snider was still for setting
out to sea and returning to Pan-America, but the better judgment of
Delcarte and Taylor ridiculed the suggestion—we should not have lived a
fortnight.
To remain in England, constantly menaced by wild beasts and men equally
as wild, seemed about as bad. I suggested that we cross the Channel and
ascertain if we could not discover a more enlightened and civilized
people upon the continent. I was sure that some trace of the ancient
culture and greatness of Europe must remain. Germany, probably, would
be much as it was during the twentieth century, for, in common with
most Pan-Americans, I was positive that Germany had been victorious in
the Great War.
Snider demurred at the suggestion. He said that it was bad enough to
have come this far. He did not want to make it worse by going to the
continent. The outcome of it was that I finally lost my patience, and
told him that from then on he would do what I thought best—that I
proposed to assume command of the party, and that they might all
consider themselves under my orders, as much so 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
instant assumed anything different, and that they were as ready to
follow and obey me here 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 had before, and as I did to a much greater extent later, that fate
had not decreed that he should have chanced to be a member of the
launchl’s party upon that memorable day when last we quitted the
Coldwater.
Victory, who was given a voice in our councils, was all for going to
the continent, or anywhere else, in fact, where she might see new
sights and experience new adventures.
“Afterward we can come back to Grabritin,” she said, “and if Buckingham
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 and happiness.”
She spoke of killing Buckingham with no greater concern than one might
evince in the contemplated destruction of a sheep; yet she was neither
cruel nor vindictive. In fact, Victory is a very sweet and womanly
woman. But human life is of small account beyond thirty—a legacy from
the bloody days when thousands of men perished in the trenches between
the rising and the setting of a sun, when they laid them lengthwise in
these same trenches and sprinkled dirt over them, when the Germans
corded their corpses like wood and set fire to them, when women and
children and old men were butchered, and great passenger ships were
torpedoed without warning.
Thirty-six, finally assured that we did not intend slaying him, was as
keen to accompany 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 novel experience of riding safely upon the bosom of the water, and
of being so far from land.
With the possible exception of Snider, the little party appeared in the
best of spirits, laughing and joking, or interestedly discussing the
possibilities which the future held for us: what we should find upon
the continent, and whether the inhabitants would be civilized or
barbarian peoples.
Victory asked me to explain the difference between the two, and when I
had tried 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 time thereafter she sat in silence, apparently deep in thought.
Finally she looked up at me, her strong white teeth gleaming behind her
smiling lips.
“Should you take that thing you call ‘razor,’” she said, “and cut the
hair from the face of Thirty-six, and exchange garments 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 a
wolfskin, give you a knife and a spear, and set you down in the woods
of Grabritin—of what service would your civilization be to you?”
Delcarte and Taylor smiled at her reply, but Thirty-six and Snider
laughed uproariously. I was not surprised at Thirty-six, but I thought
that Snider laughed louder than the occasion warranted. As a matter of
fact, Snider, it seemed to me, was taking advantage of every
opportunity, however slight, to show insubordination, and I determined
then that at the first real breach of discipline I should take action
that would remind Snider, ever after, that I was still his commanding
officer.
I could not help but notice that his eyes were much upon Victory, and I
did not like it, for I knew the type of man he was. But as it would not
be necessary ever to leave the girl alone with him I felt no
apprehension for her safety.
After the incident of the discussion of barbarians I thought that
Victoryl’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 pretext that she wished to learn how to steer the launch. I
wondered if she had guessed the manl’s antipathy for me, and was
seeking his company solely for the purpose of piquing me.
Snider was, too, taking full advantage of his opportunity. Often he
leaned toward the girl to whisper in her ear, and he laughed much,
which was unusual with Snider.
Of course, it was nothing at all to me; yet, for some unaccountable
reason, the sight of the two of them sitting there so close to one
another and seeming to be enjoying each otherl’s society to such a
degree irritated me tremendously, and put me in such a bad humor that I
took no pleasure whatsoever in the last few hours of the crossing.
We aimed to land near the site of ancient Ostend. But when we neared
the coast we discovered no indication of any human habitations
whatever, let alone a city. After we had landed, we found the same
howling wilderness about us that we had discovered on the British Isle.
There was no slightest indication that civilized 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 but own to a feeling of marked disappointment, and to the gravest
fears of the future, which induced a mental depression that was in no
way dissipated by the continued familiarity between Victory and Snider.
I was angry with myself that I permitted that matter to affect me as it
had. I did not wish to admit to myself that I was angry with this
uncultured little savage, that it made the slightest difference to me
what she did or what she did not do, or that I could so lower myself as
to feel personal enmity towards a 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 set out up the coast in search of the mouth of the River
Rhine, which I purposed ascending in search of civilized man. It was my
intention to explore the Rhine as far up as the launch would take us.
If we found no civilization there we would return to the North Sea,
continue up the coast to the Elbe, and follow that river and the canals
of Berlin. Here, at least, I was sure that we should find what we
sought—and, if not, then all Europe had reverted to barbarism.
The weather remained fine, and we made excellent progress, but
everywhere along the 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 had
anticipated—I was unhappy. Victory seemed changed, too. I had enjoyed
her company at first, but since the trip across the Channel I had held
aloof from her.
Her chin was in the air most of the time, and yet I rather think that
she regretted her friendliness with Snider, for I noticed that she
avoided him entirely. He, on the contrary, emboldened by her former
friendliness, sought every opportunity to be near her. I should have
liked nothing better than a reasonably good excuse to punch his head;
yet, paradoxically, I was ashamed of myself for harboring him any ill
will. I realized that there was something the matter with me, but I did
not know what it was.
Matters remained thus for several days, and we continued our journey up
the Rhine. At Cologne, I had hoped to find some reassuring indications,
but there was no Cologne. And as there had been no other cities along
the river up to that point, the devastation was infinitely greater than
time alone could have wrought. Great guns, bombs, and mines must have
leveled every building that man had raised, and then nature,
unhindered, had covered the ghastly evidence of human depravity with
her beauteous mantle of verdure. Splendid trees reared their stately
tops where splendid cathedrals once had reared their domes, and sweet
wild flowers blossomed in simple serenity in soil that once was
drenched with human blood.
Nature had reclaimed what man had once stolen from her and defiled. A
herd of zebras grazed where once the German kaiser may have reviewed
his troops. An antelope rested peacefully in a bed of daisies where,
perhaps, two hundred years ago a big gun belched its terror-laden
messages of death, of hate, of destruction against the works of man and
God alike.
We were in need of fresh meat, yet I hesitated to shatter the quiet and
peaceful serenity of the view with the crack of a rifle and the death
of one of those beautiful creatures before us. But it had to be done—we
must eat. I left the work to Delcarte, however, and in a moment we had
two antelope and the landscape to ourselves.
After eating, we boarded the launch and continued up the river. For two
days we passed through a primeval wilderness. In the afternoon of the
second day we landed upon the west bank of the river, and, leaving
Snider and Thirty-six to guard Victory and the launch, Delcarte,
Taylor, and I set out after game.
We tramped away from the river for upwards of an hour before
discovering anything, and then only a small red deer, which Taylor
brought down with a neat shot of two hundred yards. It was getting too
late to proceed farther, so we rigged a sling, and the two men carried
the deer back toward the launch while I walked a hundred yards ahead,
in the hope of bagging something further for our larder.
We had covered about half the distance to the river, when I suddenly
came face to face with a man. He was as primitive and uncouth in
appearance as the Grabritins—a shaggy, unkempt savage, clothed in a
shirt of skin cured with the head on, the latter surmounting his own
head to form a bonnet, and giving to him a most fearful and ferocious
aspect.
The fellow was armed with a long spear and a club, the latter dangling
down his back from a leathern thong about his neck. His feet were
incased in hide sandals.
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 I again see him.