I looked up at Penapul’s men, and they seemed to be as shocked by this as I was. But then one of them dropped his spear to the ground and began screaming. He simply stood with his arms at his sides, crying out with such force that he sounded more like a wild beast than a human being.
Beside the screaming man, another warrior threw his spear aside. He then ran with all his strength toward the nearest tree. At the last moment before hitting it, he bent at the waist so that his head hit the tree, instantly breaking his neck. He fell to the ground and did not move again.
Another man turned his spear upon himself. He thrust the spear’s point into his ribs, and when he could push it no further, he placed the blunt end of it against the ground and leaned into it with all of his weight until blood began oozing from his mouth. He then fell to the ground to die.
During all these horrible actions, the screaming man’s wailings seemed to grow ever more desperate.
Another man dropped to his hands and knees, and with great strength he began throwing his own head downward, repeatedly striking his face against the ground, transforming it into a ghastly pulp—but still he did not stop.
By this time, the general mass of the Humboldt Bay men had been thrown into a state of utter panic. Many of them tried to run away, but before they had run even a dozen steps they abandoned the attempt and engaged in the most unthinkable suicidal acts. I saw a man force his hand into his mouth and down his throat with such force that it killed him. Another man went to the tree where his companion had broken his own neck, stepped upon the man’s body, climbed the tree, and then threw himself to the ground. Most of the men, however, turned their own weapons against themselves.
When at least half of the men had died, I could endure the sight no longer, and I turned away so I could not see it and held my hands to my ears to deaden the cries of the man who still stood screaming with his arms at his sides. Oddly, in my mind I could think only of the stag beetle I had once seen walk fearlessly off the edge of a table.
Suddenly it occurred to me that perhaps I could stop this savage mayhem. I could run to the Lamotelokhai and request another handful of clay that I could apply to the surviving men to prevent their suicides. Instead, I simply stood with my eyes closed and ears covered, unwilling to save them—unwilling to allow the survivors to return to their village, only to attack us again at some future time.
When the man who had been screaming finally stopped, I turned around. He had collapsed and was now apparently dead. He had screamed with such vigor that blood had flowed from his eyes, and he had spewed forth bits of his throat and lungs.
So blunted were my senses by the horror of what I had done that it took some time for me to realize that Sinanie, Ahea, and Faül were the only men, other than me, who were still standing.
Sinanie’s eyes were wide as he spoke to me. “Samuel, yekhené-pan-to ülmo. Gekhené khokhukh-tebo semail-e-khén kül. Gu laléo-lu. Kho funé yanop golole-té-do yalén, yanop khedi-fa-fon-dakhu.”
My translation:
“Samuel, they killed themselves. Your anger is like the anger of a crocodile. You are a powerful spirit. All the people should be afraid, because you will exterminate all the people.”
Sinanie, Ahea, and Faül then turned their attention to their dead and injured companions. There were too many for so few men to carry, so they instead went to fetch the Lamotelokhai.
I still had not moved from the place where I stood, and I felt quite unable to do so. Instead, I simply gazed at the carnage around me. Every last man and boy from Humboldt Bay had been exterminated.
18
June 1, 1868
I have occupied no small measure of my time in recent days by contemplating what it is that distinguishes a civilized society from a barbarous one. I am sure there are many opinions on this. Some may believe it is industry and wealth. Others may feel that it is acquisition of lands. Perhaps it is a robust system of government, of administering justice, and of national education. Or perhaps it is a rich culture of artistic and scientific achievements. Or it is all of these things combined. But I have come to believe that above all these things there is one quality that most distinguishes the civilized man from the savage. That single quality is compassion.
Compassion is what motivates us to respond to the suffering of others by helping them. It is important to distinguish between compassion and sympathy. Whereas sympathy implies a general concern for others, it does not imply acting upon that concern. Men who have compassion do indeed feel sympathy, but they go beyond this sympathy and actually behave in ways that benefit the welfare of others.
In the great ‘civilized’ societies of the world, such as London, there is an astounding preponderance of suffering among the populace, and there is no shortage of sympathy. Sympathy in fact seems even to be fashionable among the wealthy. However, sympathy does not alleviate the suffering—compassion does. Hence, having contemplated this endlessly, I have determined that a general inclination for compassion is the one last achievement that lay beyond the reach of great civilizations.
There is yet another conclusion I have made. In order for a man to be compassionate, he must have the capacity and will to imagine himself in the body of another human being, so that he may understand the other’s thoughts and feelings. This can be achieved only if he is able to believe that he and the other human being are similar, perhaps even equal. A wealthy European man may have little difficulty feeling compassion for another wealthy European man. However, that same man may fail to feel compassion for others if he believes they are fundamentally different from himself, due perhaps to their lack of wealth, poor breeding, lower station in life, or physiognomy and skin color. It seems to me, therefore, that this belief that others are different, perhaps inferior, is exactly what prevents men from feeling compassion, and therefore it is what prevents societies from becoming truly civilized.
I have come from the world’s greatest city, but am I a civilized man? Due to my actions, and subsequently to my inaction, forty-four men and boys suffered most excruciating deaths. If I had felt some measure of compassion for them, would I not have attempted to stop the slaughter? If they had been men more like me, perhaps white men who spoke English, would I have still wished them to die?
I attempted to convince myself that their deaths were beyond my control. My fateful request to the Lamotelokhai had been as follows: “I do not wish to kill Penapul’s men. Nor do I wish for Matiinuo’s men to kill them. But they must be stopped.”
I have endlessly considered these words, and it seems they were interpreted literally, yet incorrectly. I failed to state clearly that I wished for the men to be stopped without the men actually dying. One could argue that this was an honest mistake.
However, that does not change the fact that, upon witnessing my friends being stabbed and chopped, I desired to kill Penapul’s men. My anger was such that I wished for all of them to die, and when I had the opportunity to prevent this, I took no action.
When it was over, after we had treated our fallen men and women with the clay of the Lamotelokhai, I considered the possibility of also treating the bodies of the Humboldt Bay men.
It seemed that it might be the right thing to do, but again I did not act on this thought.
What is the purpose of the Lamotelokhai? This is another question I have pondered in recent days. Perhaps it was created and sent here in order to determine which societies are truly civilized and which are comprised of savages. Perhaps, in fact, it was sent here to rid the world of populations that fail to acquire certain qualities deemed important by its creators, such as compassion. What I find distressing about this notion is that Matiinuo’s tribe has lived with the Lamotelokhai for hundreds of years, perhaps even thousands. However, I fear that if the Lamotelokhai were taken to London, its ill-intentioned use could bring a quick and disastrous end to that great society.
On the other hand, perhaps the Lamotelokhai’s purpose is merely to share the knowledge and power of its three-legge
d creators. If that is so, then it seems my responsibility should be to take it out of this remote corner of the world and put it into the possession of those who would better learn from it.
Sinanie and his tribe, all of whom have recovered from their injuries or deaths, now seem convinced that I am the man who is to take the Lamotelokhai away. They have told me this, although they have hardly spoken to me otherwise since the massacre. They have made no further attempts to teach me about their culture, as if they fear me and are simply waiting for me to take the Lamotelokhai and leave.
However, this I must never do, as I believe it to be improbable that the Lamotelokhai could be used with any measure of compassion. Even in the hands of learned and well-intentioned men, the Lamotelokhai could be used with dreadful results. In the hands of less honorable men, the results would be unthinkable. Hence, I will endeavor to convince the natives to continue hiding the Lamotelokhai from the rest of the world. So important is this to me that I will remain here and will use whatever influence the tribe has granted me to make it so.
I wish to tell of one more event, which happened today, and then I will wrap this notebook, along with my others, in the dry bark of the yakhuo tree to preserve it, and I will put it in a safe place, as I have no further intentions of writing upon its pages. I have found that writing in my notebook has become an invitation to melancholy. As it is unlikely that I will leave this place any time soon, writing frequently of my daily experiences only serves to remind me of my loved ones and the civilization I may never see again. I will add more words to these pages only when significant events occur to warrant it. If you should find yourself in possession of my notebooks, please take heed of the warnings I have provided herein.
Today I visited the hut of the Lamotelokhai for the first time since the massacre. Sinanie and Matiinuo both insisted on accompanying me there. I had decided that I must overcome my fear of it, as there was still much to learn.
Upon placing my hands on the clay, I hesitated, as I was not certain of how to make the request I had so carefully considered, nor was I certain that it was a good idea.
I spoke aloud and in English. “Lamotelokhai, I am not the man I once thought myself to be. I have done much thinking recently of such notions as compassion, sympathy, and peaceable intentions. I believe your creators possess such qualities beyond what I am capable of.”
I glanced at Matiinuo and Sinanie before stating my request. “I would like to be improved,” I said to the lump of clay. “Not my body, but my mind, and only with respect to these qualities. I wish to be the type of man your creators can respect, the type of man they would consider to be worthy of the knowledge they have endeavored to share. Can you help me with this?”
Then, before I could decide against it, I pulled loose some of the clay, placed it in my mouth, and swallowed it. Matiinuo and Sinanie shifted about on their feet and spoke softly to each other.
Matiinuo then said, “Samuel, gekhené mbakha mo-mba-té?”
My translation:
“Samuel, what have you done?”
I spoke to them in their language. “Do not be concerned. I have asked to be improved, but not in a way that might cause me to become lelül lokhul and harm your tribe.”
They did not appear to be comforted by this explanation. However, it was done, and I had no inclination to undo it. I then picked up a hollow gourd I had brought with me. Crawling about in the gourd was a large orb-weaving spider I had captured. It had occurred to me that the silk of such a spider could be useful for many purposes, particularly if I could employ the Lamotelokhai’s help to make the silk stronger, and perhaps to make the spider larger so that it could produce more of it.
But I must resist the temptation to describe the particulars of this, as I have vowed to stop writing in this notebook.
It has now been a good many hours since I asked the Lamotelokhai to improve me, but I feel no different than I felt before.
19
April 24, 1944
The gift of perfect memory was among the first gifts bestowed upon me by the Lamotelokhai seventy-six years ago. This faculty, of course, has been beneficial to me in my attempts to elucidate a better understanding of the Lamotelokhai, as well as in other smaller matters, such as keeping record of the precise year and date during my prolonged existence. However, it is also, in some respects, a curse upon me. Given such an extent of time, most men would gradually forget the faces and words of their loved ones. In every day that passes, though, I see the faces and hear the words spoken long ago by Lindsey and my mother and father, as if I had been with them only moments before. This makes it rather difficult to leave the past behind.
It is significant that seventy-six years have passed without the Lamotelokhai being discovered and taken to civilization. There was a time, particularly after I had realized my body had stopped aging, in which I believed that after this many years I would myself have taken the Lamotelokhai away from this village. Surely, I once presumed, mankind would progress in his social evolution such that a general sense of compassion and peaceable intentions would be achieved. However, it seems this presumption was terribly naive.
This brings me to the reason I have uncovered this notebook to once again write upon its pages. Someday, whether I live to see it or not, the Lamotelokhai will indeed be found by outsiders. When that day comes, I wish for my notebooks to be found as well, particularly if I am no longer alive to provide cautionary counsel to those who might need it. I want the world to know why I, Samuel Thaddeus Inwood, have made such efforts to delay the Lamotelokhai’s discovery.
I have brought forth my notebook in order to describe events of the last several weeks, as these events have reaffirmed my conviction that the only safe place for the Lamotelokhai is here, hidden in the darkest jungle.
Beginning about two years ago, it became evident that endeavors of colonization and industry were taking place to the north, perhaps at Humboldt Bay. I occasionally could hear the low rumblings of some unknown and massive machinery, and a great many flying vessels would pass over us high above the trees. Imaginative men had long foretold of such winged machines, but never had I believed that they would fly with such rapidity and thunderous noise.
I became concerned that all of this industrious activity to the north might result in men venturing inland and perhaps discovering our village, but for two years the only evidence of their existence was the aforementioned disturbances.
However, nearly a month ago, the situation changed. Early on the morning of March 30, the ground began trembling from some massive and frightening disturbance to the north. I thought perhaps this was an earthquake, but the thunder and tremors of it continued for five days, after which all fell silent. During these five days we saw more flying vessels pass above us than I had ever imagined possible.
The area remained relatively quiet for more than two weeks after that. However, on April 19, a most disturbing thing happened. It occurred when I was on a hunting excursion with Teatakan, Ot, and Korul, an activity for which I had developed some fascination. We were east of the village in search of bandicoots, which seemed to have become somewhat scarce. Ot was the first to detect something out of the ordinary. It was a foul smell, perhaps that of a dead beast of some kind. We followed the smell several hundred yards to its source, and what I saw there will no doubt haunt my thoughts forever. Scattered about, sitting up against the trunks of trees or lying upon the ground, were the bodies of eleven men.
The men appeared to be of Japanese descent, or perhaps they were from Singapore. They seemed to be soldiers, as they all wore similar olive-green uniforms, although these were torn and terribly soiled from the most grievous cases of dysentery imaginable. Dysentery, in fact, was what appeared to have killed these men. Scattered about among the bodies were rifles of an unusual design, dome-shaped helmets of steel, and tall boots that had been discarded, no doubt due to swelled and fevered feet. It appeared that the men had brought with them no food or water, nor any other supplies.
Why would these soldiers venture so far into the wilderness without adequate supplies and medicines? Perhaps they had set out on a short excursion and had become lost, but it seemed more likely they had been forced to flee into the jungle and had no opportunity to gather what was needed.
As we looked upon this tragic scene, one of the men suddenly moved. He opened his eyes, and with obvious difficulty he focused his gaze upon us. I kneeled in front of him, but I had no water to offer, which is what he needed most, as dysentery drains every drop from the body.
The man then spoke to me. “Koroshite kudasai. Watashi ga hazukashimete imasu.”
I could not understand his words, but I was reasonably certain they were Japanese. I turned to my companions and spoke to them in their language. “We can help this man. He does not deserve to die in such a terrible way.”
All three of them frowned, but Teatakan was the one to speak. “These men have travelled too close to our village. We must leave him to die. He is weak and will soon die. These men will then return to the soil and to their ancestors, as they should.”
This was the response I had expected, and I knew it would be unlikely I could convince them to change their minds. For a moment I considered telling them that this man could possibly be the one they had waited for, the man who might speak to the Lamotelokhai in new ways and take it away. As I pondered this I gazed at the man, and then at his uniform, and then at the helmet and rifle that lay at his side. He reached for the weapon but was too weak to move it once it was in his grasp. I then decided to keep the notion to myself.
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