_A strange manuscript found in a copper cylinder_
          (the eighth installment)

   from _Harper's weekly_ (1888-feb-25) 
           (by James De Mille)


Chapter XI  The Swamp Monster (Continued)

  I was senseless for I know not how long.  When at last I revived
I found myself propped up against a bank, and Almah bathing my head
with cold water.  Fortunately, I had received no hurt.  In falling
I had struck on my head, but it was against the soft turf, and
though I was stunned, yet on regaining my senses no further
inconvenience was experienced.  The presence of Almah was soon
explained.  The report of the rifle had startled her bird also,
which had bounded away in terror like mine; but Almah understood 
how to guide him, and managed to keep him after me, so as to be of
assistance in case of need.  She had been close behind all the
time, and had stopped when I fell, and come  to my assistance.  

  The place was a slope looking out upon an arm of the sea, and
apparently remote from human abode.  The scenery was exquisitely
beautiful.  A little distance off we saw the edge of the forest;
the open country was dotted with clumps of trees; on the other side
of the arm of the sea was an easy declivity covered with trees of
luxuriant foliage and vast dimensions; farther away on one side
rose the icy summits of impassable mountains; on the other side
there extended the blue expanse of the boundless sea.  The spot
where I lay was over-shadowed by the dense foliage of a tree which
was unlike anything that I had ever seen, and seemed like some 
exaggerated grass; at our feet a brook ran murmuring to the shore;
in the air and all around were innumerable birds.  

  The situation in which I found myself seemed inexpressibly sweet,
and all the more so from the gentle face of Almah.  Would it not be
well, I thought, to remain here?  Why should Almah go back to her
repulsive duties?  Why should we return to those children of blood,
who loved death and darkness?  Here we might pass our days together
unmolested.  The genial climate would afford us warmth; we needed
no shelter except the trees, and as for food, there were the birds
of the air in innumerable flocks.  

  I proposed this to her; she smiled sadly.  "You forget," said
she, "this season of light will not last much longer.  In a few
more _joms_ the dark season will begin, and then we should perish
in a place like this." 

  "Are there no caverns here?" 

  "Oh, no.  This country has no inhabitants.  It is full of 
fierce wild beasts.  We should be destroyed before one _jom_." 

  "But must we go back?" said I.  "You have a country.  Where is
it?  See, here are these birds.  They are swift.  They can carry us
anywhere.  Come, let us fly, and you can return to your own
country." 

  Almah shook her head.  "These birds," said she, "cannot go over
the sea, or through these endless forests.  My country can only be
reached by sea." 

  "Can we not hurry back, seize a boat, and go?  I know how to sail
over the water without oars." 

  "We certainly might leave the country; but there is another
difficulty.  The dark season is coming, and we should never be able
to find our way.  Besides, the sea is full of monsters, and you and
I will perish" 

  "At any rate, let us try.  I have my _septet-ram_." 

  "We could never find our way." 

  "Only tell me," said I, "where it lies, and I will go by the
stars." 

  "The trouble is," said she, "that even if we did succeed in
reaching my land, I should be sent back again; for I was sent here
as a sacred hostage, and I have been here four seasons." 

  But in the midst of this conversation a sound arrested our 
attention--heavy, puffing, snorting sound, as of some living thing. 
Hastily I started up, rifle in hand, and looked; and as I looked I
felt my nerves thrill with horror.  There, close by the shore, I
saw a vast form--a living thing--full sixty feet in length.  It had
a body like that of an elephant, the head of a crocodile, and
enormous glaring eyes.  Its immense body was covered with
impenetrable armor, and was supported on legs long enough to allow
it to run with great speed.  It differed in many respects from the
monster of the swamp--the legs being longer, the tail shorter and
thinner, and its head and jaws larger and longer.  I shrank back,
thinking of seizing Almah and hiding.  But I saw that she had
already taken the alarm, and with more presence of mind than I had
she had hurried to the birds, who were standing near, and had 
made them lie down.  As I turned, she beckoned to me without a
word.  I hurried to her.  She told me to mount.  I did so at once;
she did the same.  Scarce had we mounted than the monster perceived
us, and with a terrible bellow came rushing towards us.  Almah
drove her goad deep into her bird, which at once rose and went off
like the wind, and mine started to follow.  The vast monster came
on.  His roar sounded close behind, and I heard the clash of his
tremendous jaws; but the swift bird with a bound snatched me from 
his grasp, and bore me far away out of his reach.  Away I went like
the wind.  Almah was ahead, looking back from time to time, and
waving her hand joyously.  So we went on, returning on our course
at a speed almost as great as that with which we had come.  By this
time the novelty had in part worn away, and the easy motion gave me
confidence.  I noticed that we were traveling a wild, uninhabited,
and rocky district by the sea-side.  Before me the country spread
far away, interspersed with groves, terminating in forests, and
bounded in the far distance by mountains.  The country here was so
rough that it seemed as if nothing could pass over it except such
creatures as these--the opmaheras.  

  At length we arrived at the spot which we had left--the scene of
the hunt.  We could see it from afar, for the opmaheras stood
quietly around, and the men were busy elsewhere.  As we drew nearer
I saw the vast body of the monster.  They had succeeded in killing
it, yet--oh heavens, at what a cost!  One half of all the party lay
dead.  The rest were unharmed, and among these was the Kohen.  He 
greeted me with a melancholy smile.  That melancholy smile,
however, was not caused by the sad fate of his brave companions,
but, as I afterwards learned, simply and solely because he himself
had not gained his death.  When I saw that there were no wounded,
a dark suspicion came over me that the wounded had again been put
to death.  I did not care to ask.  The truth was too terrible to
hear, and I felt glad that accident had drawn me away.  It was all
a dark and dreadful mystery.  These people were the most gentle,
the most self-sacrificing, and the most generous in the world; 
yet their strange and unnatural love of death made them capable of
endless atrocities.  Life and light seemed to them as actual evils,
and death and darkness the only things worthy of regard.  

  Almah told me that they were going to bring the monster home, and
had sent for opkuks to drag it along.  The dead were also to be
fetched back.  There was no further necessity for us to remain, and
so we returned at once.  

  On the way, Almah said, "Do not use the _sepet-ram_ again.  You
can do no good with it.  You must not make it common.  Keep it. 
The time may come when you will need it: you are not fond of
death." 

  I shuddered.  

  "Never forget," she said, "that here death is considered the
chief blessing.  It is useless for you to interfere in their ways. 
You cannot change them." 

  Some more _joms_ passed.  The bodies were embalmed, and Almah had
more victims to crown with garlands in the horrible _cheder
nebilin_.


Chapter XII.  The Baleful Sacrifice

I resolved to go on no more sacred hunts.  I was sickened  at the
horrible cruelty, the needless slaughter, the mad self-sacrifice
which distinguished them.  I was overwhelmed with horror at the
merciless destruction of brave comrades, whose wounds, so gallantly
received, should have been enough to inspire pity even in a heart
of stone.  The gentleness, the incessant kindness, the matchless
generosity of these people seemed all a mockery.  What availed it
all when the same hand that heaped favors upon me, the guest, could
deal death without compunction upon friends and relatives?  It 
seemed quite possible for the Kohen to kill his own child, or
cut the throat of his wife, if the humor seized him.  And how long
could I hope to be spared among a people who had this insane thirst
for blood?

  Some more _joms_ had passed, and the light season had almost
ended.  The sun had been sinking lower and lower.  The time had at
last come when only a portion of his disk would be visible for a
little while above the hills, and then he would be seen no more for
six months of our time.  This was the dark season, and, as I had
already learned, its advent was always hailed with joy and
celebrated with solemn services, for the dark season freed them
from their long confinement, permitted them to go abroad, to travel
by sea and land, to carry on their great works, to indulge in all
their most important labors and favorite amusements.  The Kohen
asked me to be present at the great festival, and I gladly
consented.  There seemed to be nothing in this that could be
repellent.  As I was anxious to witness some of their purely
religious ceremonies, I wished to go.  When I told Almah, she
looked sad, but said nothing.  I wondered at this, and asked her if
she was going.  She informed me that she would have to go,
whereupon I assured her that this was an additional reason why I
should go.  
 
  I went with Almah.  The Kohen attended us with his usual kind and
gracious consideration.  It seemed almost as though he was our
servant.  He took us to a place where we could be seated, although
all the others were standing.  Almah wished to refuse, but I
prevailed upon her to sit down, and she did so.  
 
  The scene was upon the semicircular terrace in front of the
cavern, and we were seated upon a stone platform beside the chief
portal.  A vast crowd was gathered in front.  Before us arose the
half-pyramid of which I have already spoken.  The light was faint. 
It came from the disk of the sun, which was partly visible over the
icy crest of the distant mountains.  Far away the sea was visible,
rising high over the tops of the trees, while overhead the brighter
stars were plainly discernible.
 
  The Kohen ascended the pyramid, and others followed.  At the base
there was a crowd of men, with emaciated forms and faces, and
coarse, squalid attire, who looked like the most abject paupers,
and seemed the lowest in the land.  As the Kohen reached the summit
there arose a strange sound--a mournful, plaintive chant, which
seemed to be sung chiefly by the paupers at the base of the
pyramid.  The words of this chant I could not make out, but the 
melancholy strain affected me in spite of myself.  There was no
particular tune, and nothing like harmony; but the effect of so
many voices uniting in this strain was very powerful and altogether
indescribable.  In the midst of this I saw the crowd parting
asunder so as to make way for something; and through the passage
thus formed I saw a number of youths in long robes, who advanced to
the pyramid, singing as they went.  Then they ascended the steps,
two by two, still singing, and at length reached the summit, where
they arranged themselves in order.  There were thirty of them and
they arranged themselves in three rows of ten each, and as they
stood they never ceased to sing, while the paupers below joined in
the strain.   

  And now the sun was almost hidden, and there was only the
faintest line from the upper edge of his disk perceptible over the
icy mountain-tops.  The light was a softened twilight glow.  It was
to be the last sight of the sun for six months, and this was the
spectacle upon which he threw his parting beam.  So the sun passed
away, and then there came the beginning of the long dark season. 
At first, however, there was rather twilight than darkness, and
this twilight continued long.  All this only served to heighten the
effect of this striking scene; and as the light faded away, I
looked with increasing curiosity upon the group at the top of the 
pyramid.  Almah was silent.  I half turned, and said something to 
her about the beauty of the view.  She said nothing, but looked at
me with such an expression that I was filled with amazement.  I saw
in her face something like a dreadful anticipation something that
spoke of coming evil.  The feeling was communicated to me, and I
turned my eyes back to the group on the pyramid with vague fears in
my soul.  
 
  Those fears were but too well founded, for now the dread ceremony
began.  The Kohen drew his knife, and placed himself at the head of
the stone table.  One of the youths came forward, stepped upon it,
and lay down on his back with his head towards the Kohen.  The
mournful chant still went on.  Then the Kohen raised his knife and
plunged it into the heart of the youth.  I sat for a moment rooted 
to the spot; then a groan burst from me in spite of myself.  Almah
caught my hands in hers, which were as cold as ice.  
 
  "Be firm," she said, "or we are both lost.  Be firm, Atam-or!" 
 
  "I must go," said I, and I tried to rise.  
 
  "Don't move," she said, "for your life!  We are lost if you move. 
Keep still--restrain yourself--shut your eyes." 
 
  I tried to do so, but could not.  There was a horrible
fascination about the scene which forced me to look and see all. 
The Kohen took the victim, and drawing it from the altar, threw it
over the precipice to the ground beneath.  Then a loud shout burst
forth from the great crowd.  
 
  "_Sibgu Sibgin!  Ranenu!  Hodu lecosck!_" which means, 
"Sacrifice the victims!  Rejoice!  Give thanks to darkness!" 

  Then another of the youths went forward amid the singing, and
laid himself down to meet the same fate; and again the corpse was
flung from the top of the pyramid, and again the shout arose.  All
the others came forward in the same manner.  
 
  Oh, horrible, horrible, thrice horrible spectacle!  I do not 
remember how I endured it.  I sat there with Almah, trying to
restrain myself as she had entreated me, more for her sake than for
my own, a prey to every feeling of horror, anguish, and despair. 
How it all ended I do not know, nor do I know how I got away from
the place; for I only remember coming back to my senses in the
lighted grotto, with Almah bending anxiously over me.  
 
  After this there remained a dark mystery and an ever-present 
horror.  I found myself among a people who were at once the
gentlest of the human race and the most bloodthirsty--the kindest
and the most cruel.  This mild, amiable, and self-sacrificing
Kohen, how was it possible that he should transform himself to a
fiend incarnate?  And for me and for Almah, what possible hope
could there be?  What fate might they have in reserve for us?  Of
what avail was all this profound respect, this incessant desire to
please, this attention to our slightest wish, this comfort and
luxury and splendor, this freedom of speech and action?  Was it
anything better than a mockery?  Might it not be the shallow 
kindness of the priest to the victim reserved for the sacrifice? 
Was it, after all, in any degree better than the kindness of the
cannibal savages on those drear outer shores who received us with
such hospitality, but only that they might destroy us at last?
Might they not all belong to the same race, dwelling as they did in
caverns, shunning the sunlight, and blending kindness with cruelty?
It was an awful thought!

  Yet I had one consolation.  Almah was with me, and so long as she
was spared to me I could endure this life.  I tried for her sake to
resist the feelings that were coming over me.  I saw that she too
was a prey to ever-deepening sadness.  She felt as I did, and this
despair of soul might wreck her young life if there were no
alleviation.  And so I sought to alleviate her distress and to
banish her sadness.  The songs of these people had much impressed
me; and one day, as I talked about this with Almah, she brought
forth a musical instrument of peculiar shape, which was not unlike
a guitar, though the shape was square and there were a dozen
strings.  Upon this she played, singing at the same time some songs
of a plaintive character.  An idea now occurred to me to have an
instrument made according to my own plans, which should be nothing
less than a violin.  Almah was delighted at the proposal, and at
once found a very clever workman, who under my direction succeeded
in producing one which served my purpose well.  I was a good
violinist, and in this I was able to find solace for myself and for
Almah for many a long hour.  
 
  The first time that I played was memorable.  As the tones floated
through the air they caught the ears of those outside, and soon
great numbers came into the apartment, listening in amazement and
in rapt attention.  Even the painful light was disregarded in the
pleasure of this most novel sensation, and I perceived that if the
sense of sight was deficient among them, that of hearing was
sufficiently acute.  I played many times, and sometimes sang from
among the songs of different nations; but those which these people
liked best were the Irish and Scottish melodies--those matchless 
strains created by the genius of the Celtic race, and handed down
from immemorial ages through long generations.  In these there was
nothing artificial, nothing transient.  They were the utterance of
the human heart, and in them there was that touch of nature which
makes all men kin.  These were the immortal passions which shall
never cease to affect the soul of man, and which had power even
here; the strains of love, of sadness, and of pathos were sweet and
enticing to this gentle race; for in their mild manners and their
outburst of cruelty they seemed to be not unlike the very race 
which had created this music, since the Celt is at once gentle and
blood-thirsty.  
 
  I played "Tara," "Bonnie Doon," "The Last Rose of Summer," "The
Land of the Leal," "Auld Lang Syne," "Lochaber."  They stood
entranced, listening with all their souls.  They seemed to hunger
and thirst after this music, and the strains of the inspired Celtic
race seemed to come to them like the revelation of the glory of
heaven.  Then I played more lively airs.  Some I played a second
time, singing the words.  They seemed eager to have the same one 
played often.  At last a grisly thought came to me: it was that
they would learn these sweet strains, and put their own words to
them so as to use them at the awful sacrifices.  After that I would
play no more.   

  It is a land of tender love and remorseless cruelty.  Music is
all-powerful to awaken the one, but powerless to abate the other;
and the eyes that weep over the pathetic strains of "Lochaber" can
gaze without a tear upon the death-agonies of a slaughtered friend. 

(End of the eight installment)

(Prepared by Laurence Roberts)
(Proofread by Virginia Conn)