T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (4) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

IV. The Painted Hall

He led the way up the broad stone stairs. As Martin followed he was struck by the magnificent proportions of the great flight of stone steps, and the splendid arch of the rock overhead. It was clear that the whole was the work of man’s hands. As for its age, that was incalculable. The steps were worn smooth as glass by the passage of thousands upon thousands of bare feet.

The staircase swung in a grand curve, and, reaching the top, Martin suddenly found himself in a vast pillared hall, hewn, like the stairs, in the living rock, and flooded with electric light. The walls, the pillars, the roof itself, were covered with an intricate mass of carvings representing birds, beasts and reptiles, many of them unknown to Martin. And these all glowed in wonderful colors as brilliant, apparently, as the day they were laid on.

Martin was struck dumb. He could do nothing but stand stock still and stare around him.

“Very wonderful, is it not?” said the old Professor. “The people from the Smithsonian Museum would give something to see this. See, here is the ichthyosaurus, the great fish lizard, and here is a dinosaur. Up on the roof above us are a flight of pterodactyls, the terrible flying lizard of the ancient days. You will find here representations of most of those giant animals which we know only from the fossilized bones we dig up; and here is proof positive that man—highly civilized man—lived cheek by jowl with all these marvellous beasts of earth’s earlier days.”

“It is wonderful,” said Martin, in a whisper, “almost too wonderful.”

“I shall show you even more wonderful things than this tomorrow,” replied the Professor, in his quiet way. “But we do not live among these monsters, I am glad to say. Follow me.”

Passing through the vast pillared hall, he took Martin through a curtain doorway into another cave. This was a spacious rock chamber with great windows facing on the lake—windows which were set with panes of plate glass, through which the afternoon sun shone pleasantly.

Martin was getting used to marvels. Yet the contrast between this room and the sculptured extravagance of the pillared hall was as startling as anything he had yet seen. White matting covered the floor, and the walls were hung with soft draperies. Here were big cane chairs, photographs, pictures, English furniture and quantities of books.

On the far side was a door leading into a second room furnished as a bedroom, and beyond were still more rooms.

“This was a rock gallery,” explained Professor Distin. “We partitioned it off into rooms. Yours is the third; and when you are ready, come back to the sitting-room for supper.”

Martin found sweet-smelling soap, warm water and clean towels. It was like his bedroom at home. When he came back a table was set, and a man of color in neat drill was just bringing a hot dish.

“Mr. Vaile,” said the Professor, “this is Scipio Mack, the one survivor of those who came with me to Lost Island.”

Scipio laid down his dishes.

“I’se mighty glad to see you, Marse Vaile,” he said, showing his white teeth in a cheery grin. “As I done told de marster, he and me was getting plumb tired of one anoder’s company. We’re right pleased to welcome you, sah.”

“Thank you very much, Scipio,” replied Martin cordially.

He liked the look of the man as much as the master, and for the first time since the sudden death of his father began to feel a little less lonely and unhappy.

He soon found that the negro was a wonderful cook. Supper began with excellent grilled fish. It was pompano, the Professor explained. With it was served cassava, sweet potatoes and maize bread. Then came a salad made of avocado pears, the most delicious thing of the kind that Martin had ever tasted. Dessert was stewed guavas, custard apples, huge Bahia oranges and luscious mangosteens. They finished up with a cup of fragrant black coffee.

The Professor watched Martin eat, and smiled at his good appetite.

“Yes,” he said. “We grow all this fruit ourselves. You shall see our garden to-morrow. It is in a hollow on the mountain side. I can get oranges into full bearing in three years.”

Martin stared.

“How on earth do you do that, sir?”

“Electricity,” replied the Professor quietly. “I have made a study of electro-culture. Indeed, we do everything by electricity, including our cooking.”

“Where do you get your power?”

“Water—a glacier stream, fed by the snows above. It works my wireless also.”

“Then you have turbines,” said Martin, as he sipped his coffee.

“Oh, yes! We brought those with us.”

“But how?” began Martin, in fresh amazement.

“Quite simple, my boy. We came here in a submarine. There were two of us. Dr. Olaf Krieger, a Danish man of science, and myself were anxious to carry out certain experiments, and we wished to be quite undisturbed. Krieger it was who happened on the old Norse chart of which I have spoken. It seems clear that, in those days, the currents in the Atlantic were different, and that these islands were not so completely surrounded by weed as they are to- day. We resolved to come here. The question was how. Twenty years ago the submarine was still in its infancy; but I knew something of Mr. Holland’s experiments, and we built a submersible craft of about five hundred tons, called the Saga, which proved to be very successful. We collected seven good men, and, diving under the weed, reached the island successfully.”

He paused and a look of sadness clouded his fine old face.

“Of the original nine who set sail nineteen years ago, Scipio and myself are the only survivors.”

Martin waited breathlessly. The Professor went on:

“Two of us, Norton and Philips, were killed when the Lemurians first attacked us. Then Krieger, with three men, went back for fresh men and machinery. He returned in safety with a cargo of necessaries and two new men. They were good fellows, and we lived here very happily together, busy all day and every day, and keeping in touch with the outer world by means of our wireless. It is true we were attacked more than once, but with modern devices were able to keep even the fierce Lemurians at bay. All went well until, in 1914, the great war broke out. We heard the news with horror, for we foresaw the terrible nature of the struggle.”

“Doctor Krieger, believing that Denmark would be brought in, and aware that his scientific knowledge would be of great value to his country, decided to return and offer his services. He sailed, leaving Scipio, myself, and a man named Caunter in charge. With our electric devices we were safe from the Lemurians, and he promised to send the Saga back at once.”

“Alas, he never reached Denmark! From that day to this I have never heard a word of him or of the Saga. There is no doubt that they struck a mine or got entangled in one of the great steel nets set to catch under-water craft.”

The Professor sighed again heavily. “For a long time I waited, hoping against hope for news. When at last I realized that it was hopeless, I realized also that we were completely cut off unless I called outside help. This I hesitated to do, for I could not, of course, tell who would answer, and I was afraid of the Germans catching my messages. Then came a new disaster. Caunter, fishing on the lake, was attacked by some monster of the depths; and, before we could help him, the boat was smashed and he was dragged down.”

“What sort of beast?” asked Martin breathlessly.

“A manta—one of the great rays. The lake, I may tell you, is salt, and communicates with the sea by a narrow, winding passage, and strange creatures come in at times from the outer ocean.”

“And so,” continued the Professor, “I waited only until I knew the Germans were beaten, then I began to send out my messages, timing them so that only some experimentalist like yourself would be likely to catch them. And so you have come, and once more I beg to tell you how grateful I am.”

Martin grew red.

“I don’t deserve your thanks, sir,” he answered bluntly. “I came as much for my own sake as yours.”

“It’s this way,” he went on. “I have lost my father and everything else through the villainy of his partner, a man called Morton Willard. I want money to clear my father’s name.”

“Tell me,” said the Professor.

Martin explained. He told the whole story of the Cleansand Bay swindle, and of how Morton Willard, himself the real culprit, had thrown the blame on Mr. Vaile, and after his death cleared out with the spoil of which he had robbed the unfortunate settlers.

“So you see, sir,” ended Martin, “my chief object in life is to make sufficient to pay off every claim against my dear father and clear his name. After that”—his face hardened as he spoke—“I propose to go after Willard.”

Professor Distin nodded.

“Your feelings do you credit, my boy, and, as far as in me lies, I will help you. I am not a rich man, for I spent most of my capital on the Saga, and though there are valuable minerals on this island, there is no gold. Yet there is gold in plenty not far away. Lemuria is full of it.”

Martin’s eyes glowed.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“From the Lemurians who invaded us. Wait. I will show you.”

He went across the room, and took down from the wall a heavy shield made of the hide of some unknown animal, and studded with great bosses of yellow metal.

“There is at least a couple of pounds’ weight of gold on that alone,” he said. “Their helmets, too, were covered with gold. It seems to be the only metal they have, except bronze. But they have pearls, too, for some of the men wore strings of them. The trouble will be, of course, to get hold of some of these valuables.”

Martin’s face fell.

“I had forgotten. No, of course we can’t,” he said dolefully.

“I am not so sure of that,” answered the Professor. “I am as anxious as you to visit Lemuria, for there must be much there of immense interest. These Lemurians, remember, belong to a race long extinct on the rest of the planet. I have of late made a plan for getting into communication with them.”

“My idea is,” continued the Professor, “to capture some of them, and to teach them by kindness. Once we master their language I believe we might make friends.”

“That is a splendid idea, sir!” cried Martin. “The one thing I don’t see is how we are going to catch them.”

“Wait till they visit us again. They come here about once a year. My own belief is that the painted cave is a sacred place to them, a sort of shrine of pilgrimage, and that they attack us simply because we keep them out of it.”

The two sat chatting together until past ten o’clock. Martin could have talked all night. He was too intensely interested to feel sleepy. It was the Professor who at last sent him off to bed.

The bed had a spring mattress and snowy sheets. Martin had hardly laid his head on the pillow before he was sound asleep. The next thing he knew someone was shaking him by the shoulder, and, opening his eyes drowsily, he saw the black face of Scipio bending over him. The man had a lighted candle in his hand.

“Yo’ get up quick, Marse Vaile,” he said, in a low voice. “Dar’s trouble brewing.”

“What’s the matter?” inquired Martin sleepily.

“Dem fellers from de oder island. Dat’s what de trouble is.”

“An attack, you mean?”

“Dat’s so, boss. I reckon dey seen yo’ airyplane, an’ dey come to find out what sort o’ hoodoo yo’ come to make. Dar dey are.”

Martin sat up, broad awake now.

Through the breathless hush of the warm, dark night there came a strange low chanting, accompanied by the steady splash of oars.