CHAPTER XV--HOW I BEHELD A MIRACLE
I found a place where I could rest and eat; and there I cut steaks fromthe deer with a quaint knife which had been given me by Atupo--for I nowprided myself on being a hunter of experience--and made a fire of driedsticks and leaves.
The heat of the night was excessive, and I had little need of thewarmth; but I was glad of the light of the flames, for I was still muchshaken by my adventure with the great constrictor, and had imaginedvague, savage enemies amid the dark thickets that hedged me in.
It will be noted that I have referred to the snake as a "constrictor";but, from this, it must not be thought that the monster was a boa. Thefamily of the boas, known scientifically as the _boidae_, contains manyspecies which are to be found in all parts of the world: the diamondsnake of Australia, the rock python of Natal, the Indian python, and thegreat South American genera--the anaconda and the true boa-constrictor.
All these reptiles are remarkable for the partial development of hinderlimbs, proving conclusively that the snakes and lizards are nearlyrelated to one another. These rudimentary limbs, however, are notvisible in the living animals, being covered by the skin, but are quiteevident in their skeletons. It is also of interest to remember thatbirds have evolved from reptiles, the forelegs having been convertedinto wings.
All the constrictors kill their prey by crushing, and none havepoison-fangs; and though these species are, with one or two exceptions,the largest snakes in the world, they move, whether in the water oramong the tree-tops, in absolute silence. That which I myself attackedwas undoubtedly an anaconda; and I know this for sure, because, thoughthe light was bad, I distinctly saw two rows of great, dark spots uponhis back, and not a black chain, which is the distinguishing mark of theboa-constrictor. Besides, the anaconda is essentially a water-snake,whereas the boa, though he will take readily to water, lives as a ruleamong the trees.
Well, though I shudder when I think of the brute, I had no real cause atthe time to abuse him, for I might not have slain the deer with myblow-pipe, and I was now supplied with food so long as the meat wouldkeep in that steaming hothouse of a jungle.
I did not sleep so well that night, weary though I was. I think I wasnot so much afraid as oppressed by an almost overwhelming sense ofloneliness.
Quite suddenly I realised, as I sat by my camp-fire, chewing the venisonsteaks--which were inordinately tough--that I was utterly alone. Forweeks I had enjoyed the company of Atupo, and before that of the wildmen; and even Amos and his companions, my sworn enemies, had humanvoices to which I had been wont to listen of an evening by the fire whenthe day's march was ended. But here was I indeed, alone in the darkwilderness, and I could not but recognise that the woods around me werealive, that life in a thousand shapes and forms was all about me,unseen, but not unheard.
For I listened to strange and little noises everywhere--upon the ground,in the thick undergrowth, among the great trees that towered above me.My strained ears heard, perhaps, sounds that never were; but I know thatgreat moths came fluttering to my fire, and leaves moved where insectscrept and crawled, and now and again some kind of cricket would begin tosing, only to cease quite suddenly, I should think, on the approach ofdanger.
They all lived, thought I, on sufferance, by the grace of the great Godwho made them all, and me as well. For I was one with them, even theselittle living things of the endless wilderness, encompassed by so manydangers, at the mercy of the great forces of Nature that might at anymoment rise against us and stamp out our little lives.
And I thought, too, of Amos. In the silence and the darkness, my olddread of the man returned; and I asked myself where was he all thesemonths, and what were he and his companions doing?
I knew that, like myself, he had been searching for the Treasure in thissame Wood of the Red Fish; but I could not think that he was still inthe neighbourhood. At the time, of course, I knew nothing of Forsyth'swound, which had delayed Baverstock so long; and when I afterwards cameto work the matter out, I arrived at the conclusion that Amos must haveleft the wood on the very night when I encountered the anaconda. Hethen returned to the temple, and, finding both the ruins and the villagequite deserted, gave unholy vent to his wrath by burning everything thatfire could touch. He then came back upon his own tracks, by way of thesuspension bridge, drawn to the Red Fish like steel to a magnet, for theman's soul itself was magnetised by gold.
And all this time was I searching in the wood. For ten days I roamedhere and there, living upon wild fruits and berries, and the birds Islew with my blow-pipe. Atupo had given me certain vague directions,which had seemed clear enough to me at the time. However, the man'sknowledge of our language was but imperfect, and the wood itself averitable maze, a labyrinth of shallow, twisting tunnels, from which thesunlight was eternally shut out.
I wandered daily, lost in very truth, and came often to the Glade ofSilent Death, near which place I would never venture to sleep for fearof the great serpent that I knew lay somewhere in the pool.
On the tenth night of my wanderings, I received something in the natureof a shock. I had made my camp-fire somewhat earlier than was my wont,and a small, gay-feathered bird that I had shot and plucked was roastingover the red-hot charcoal, when, of a sudden, a shot from a rifle rangout in the woods not far from where I was.
I sprang to my feet, in a high state of alarm, and kicked the firebroadcast, for I had gone barefooted for so long that the soles of myfeet were like leather. And even as I did so, several other shots werefired in quick succession.
I ate my bird half cooked--for I was hungry--and sat in the darkness forhour upon hour, certain that Amos himself was near at hand, and filledwith apprehension.
I had a good mind that night to give up my quest, to return to thegrassland, where I could breathe the open air and feel the warmth ofHeaven's sun upon me, hoping that thence I might somehow find my wayback to the abodes of civilised men. I was sick at heart for want ofthe sound of a human voice and the sight of those I loved.
What would be my fate in that dark wilderness, armed only with myblow-pipe, if I should fall into the hands of men like Amos Baverstockand Trust? In my thinking, the shots that I had heard could have beenfired by no one else. And yet, of my own free will, for three dayslonger I delayed within the wood; and now, when I can look back uponthose wild, adventurous days, I am devoutly thankful that I did.
My own audacity can be explained, I think, by the fact that I was nowthree parts a savage. I was, as one might say, on friendly terms withdanger. Peril and I had sojourned together for so long that I had cometo regard even grim Death itself as no such weighty matter. Life was nomore to me than to the little wild things that I daily slew for food.And so, for three days, I continued my searching in the jungle, howbeitacting more cautiously than before, making little noise and pausingfrequently to listen.
And then, by chance, I made a great discovery. At the time, in verytruth, I did believe that I beheld the manifestation of a miracle; and Iwarrant that he that reads this will think the same, when I have setdown the facts as they occurred.
I came, late of an afternoon, upon an open place where there were rocksamong the trees; and between these rocks the ground was soft, the soilquite black, being composed of the decayed vegetation of many tropicseasons. Here I found footmarks of living men, and, moreover, men whowere no strangers to leather boots.
That more than one of them had visited this very place, I was wellconvinced, since the footmarks bore evidence of at least two pairs ofboots--one with great hobnails, and the other without. I never doubtedthat I had hit upon the trail of Amos and his friends; and I had--as Ithought--sure proof of this, a little after, when I came upon an emptycartridge-case.
The most of us believe that we have latent abilities, little suspectedby our friends, that we are never called upon to use. I have heard itsaid that the great Duke of Wellington thought little of himself assoldier, but far too much of his reputation as a politician. And onthis occasion i
t was something pleasing to my vanity to play the part ofa detective, though I knew not the very alphabet of the business. Iexamined the footmarks, and made quite sure that I had found the trailof Joshua Trust, who wore, I knew, a pair of heavy boots with hobnails;and the brass cartridge-case--which I have kept to this day as amemento--had, I surmised, once been the property of Amos. So I wentdown on hands and knees, groping in the half-light of the woods to seewhat else I could discover. And whilst thus employed, I hit upon themiracle that all but cost me life itself.
I found a place beneath the rocks where there was a smooth stone slab,fashioned plainly by the hand of man. And this rocked gently when Ipressed my weight upon it, which suggested that it had been moved quiterecently.
In any case, both the shape and the size of the thing bewildered me, forit was all the world like a tombstone. And one would not think to findtombstones in the tropic wilderness beneath the Andes.
I found the stone quite easy to lift, for it was thin as a plank, andhad a hole in the middle, through which I could place a hand. And thenI stood gazing into the cavity below.
And as I gazed, I gasped. I drew back a little, with a quick catch ofthe breath, and then came forward once again, to stand staring, like onewho is entirely daft, at what lay at my feet.
For the round moon, of a surety, shone down into a tomb; and therebefore me was a corpse--or what had been a corpse, four hundred yearsago. There lay a skeleton, white-boned and horrible--moreover, askeleton that was encased in armour.
He who lay there before me in the moonlight had once been a man and asoldier of old Spain; for his bony hands were crossed upon his chest andheld between them the handle of a naked sword. And at his head was asteel helmet, and the trunk of his body was enclosed in a breastplate;so that I could see naught but his grinning skull and the white bones ofhis legs and arms.
I stood and looked, and wondered. I wondered who he was, how he hadcome there, and of the tales that he could tell, were life to return tothis bold adventurer of four hundred years ago. Though I do not feardeath more than most men, I dread even to this day to look upon the faceof it; and it took me time to gather my courage in both hands and tolight a fire by the graveside, that I might see the better and solve somuch of the mystery as I could.
I have no proof--for we can seldom prove the past--but must weigh whatevidence there is. For all that, I am convinced--now that I havethought and talked of it all to John Bannister and others--that I lookedthen upon the remnants of one of the soldiers of the gallant Orellano.I could not judge of the quality of the rusted steel of his breastplateand his sword; but I should think that he had been an officer of somedistinction; since, on close inspection, I discovered that the longblade had been damascened in silver, a metal that will never rust. Andthat set my mind a-thinking of the great and gallant men who had beenthe first to cross to the Pacific, to whom to-day--in spite of all theirbigotry and cruelty--the world owes so much.
If one of Orellano's followers had lain buried in this place for allthis time, how nearly had the Spaniards come to finding the GreaterTreasure! I was not far, I knew, from the Big Fish, though I hadsearched the Wood for days and never found it. And Orellano had crossedthe mountains to the west in search of El Dorado, and, having failed inhis purpose, had gone on down to the great river, and thence to theAtlantic. And here lay one of his stout-hearted lieutenants, buriedlike a Christian warrior, with the arms he had fought with, within a fewmiles from where the Treasure lay.
Wonder-struck, and not without great reverence, I put back the swordbetween those bony hands, and then lifted the helmet to see if that,too, could tell me anything concerning this tragedy of long ago.Besides, I was curious to know how the man had met his death. Had hebeen slain by a savage Indian? Or had he died of some fell, tropicaldisease? And so I took the helmet in my hands; and when I did so,something white fell out.
I stooped and picked it up, and then examined it by the fire that I hadlighted. It was parchment--it was a fragment of a map--a piece tornfrom the corner of a larger sheet. I looked at it and rubbed my eyes,and looked again, to be sure that I was not dreaming.
If I did not dream, then I was wholly mad. The thought came to me thatI had fallen into a fever, and now suffered one of those delusions whichare common enough when the heart is racing and the brow dry and burning.
I felt my pulse and the skin upon my forearm, and found that I was wetwith sweat. Nor was I mad or dreaming, for I was Dick Treadgold, and myhome lay far away, upon the Sussex shore. And yet, that which I held inmy hand was the very fragment of John Bannister's map which I myself hadtorn from the hands of Amos Baverstock--that same fragment which I hadthrust, to the full length of my arm, down a rabbit-hole, by Middleton,for fear that it should fall into the possession of that scoundrel,Joshua Trust.
There can be no disputing the testimony of a torn piece of paper. Thereis, I believe, a celebrated murder trial, quoted in books of law as anexample of irrefutable circumstantial evidence, wherein the murderer andthe murdered man are each found in possession of a torn piece ofnewspaper, these two fragments fitting together line for line without aletter missing.
You will never tear a sheet of paper twice in precisely the same way,though you try a million times. In this case, I had the evidence of myeyes and of my memory. It was the very fragment I had snatched from thehands of Amos; I remembered the shape of it; I remembered the shape alsoof the torn edge of the map that Amos himself had carried into thewilderness; and, above all, there were the letters "AHAZAXA," therending of the parchment having decapitated the name "Cahazaxa."
At first sight, what could look more like a miracle? There was noquestion of coincidence. Here were two facts that, normally, could inno way be related to one another: a rabbit burrows a hole for himselfupon the sandhills by the English Channel, and in the sixteenth centurya brave Spanish soldier lays down his life, and is buried in thewilderness of South America. It will be readily understood that it tookme time to realise what I could certainly not explain.
How came that fragment there? And why? I regarded the stained andyellow parchment that I held in my hand as I sat by the side of thefire, and felt even a trifle afraid of it. I had heard stories ofmummies coming to life, of inanimate objects--such as jasper scarabaei,totems, and wooden, heathen gods--becoming active agencies for good orevil. Had this thing taken wings upon itself, and flown across half theworld? Fate or luck--call it what you will--had guided me to find it.But why should a document so precious have sought a refuge in the rustedhelmet of a soldier of fortune, who once, perhaps, had clinked his swordin the gay courts of Granada or the narrow streets of old Cadiz, who laynow amid the silence of the tropic jungle--a few blanched and sillybones?
I had no answer for these questions of my own, though I sat long intothe night and racked my brains for a solution of the problem. It was,in consequence, an hour, as I should guess, before I could look the barefact in the countenance, before I could acknowledge the situation as itwas.
No matter how it came there, by means comprehensible or supernatural,there it was. And then, quite suddenly, I realised what it was. _I hadas good as found the Treasure_.