“Too late, den, Mars’ Sam,” muttered Nux. “Dat wicked king ain’t goin’ let us lib long, I ‘spect.”
“Then why did he put us here?” I demanded. “If he intended to kill us quickly he’d have murdered us on the spot.”
“There was nothing to prevent his doing that, most certainly,” said Moit, eagerly adopting the suggestion.
This aspect of the affair was really encouraging. So elastic is hope in the breasts of doomed men that we poor creatures sat there for an hour or more and tried to comfort ourselves with the thought that a chance for escape might yet arise. It was pitiful, now that I look back upon it; but at the moment the outlook did not appear to us especially gloomy.
I do not believe that any regret for having followed the Indian girl and tried to rescue her entered into the mind of any one of the party. Ilalah had stood by us and it was our duty to stand by her, even had not Moit been so infatuated by her beauty that he could not be contented without her.
Being a boy and less stolid than my elders, I caught myself wondering if I should ever behold the handsome ship my father was building, and sighed at the thought that I might never stand upon its deck after all the ambitious plans we had laid for the future. There was a little comfort in the thought that all the diamonds were safe in the locker of the wreck and that Ned would look after them and carry my share as well as Uncle Naboth’s to my father. But we were likely to pay a good price for the treasure we had wrested from the San Blas.
Midday arrived and passed. Food was brought to our guard but none was given to us. We were not especially hungry, but this neglect was ominous. It meant that we had either not long to live or our foes intended to starve us. We tried to believe that the latter was the correct solution of the problem.
Soon after noon, however, all uncertainty vanished. Our guards entered, commanded by one of the chiefs, and said we were to be taken to judgment. They prepared us for the ordeal by tying our hands behind our backs with thongs, so securely that there was no way to slip the bonds. Then they fastened us together in a string by an original method.
A coil of dressed skin was brought and an Indian held one end while another made a slip-noose and threw it over Duncan’s head. A second slip-noose was placed around Bryonia’s neck, a third around that of Uncle Naboth, a fourth around Nux and the fifth around my own neck. There was still enough of the coil remaining for a second guard to hold — and there we were. If any one of us attempted to run, or even to struggle, he would only tighten his noose, and perhaps those of the others, and risk a choking.
It wasn’t a bad method of keeping us orderly and meek, and we were not at all pleased with the arrangement, I assure you.
When we had been thus secured, the chief — who, by the way, was a “green chief” — ordered us sternly to march; and so, like a gang of chained convicts, we tramped from the gloomy hut and passed out into the courtyard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE SACRIFICE
THE ELABORATE PREPARATIONS made for our “judgment” were certainly flattering; but we were in no mood to appreciate the mocking attentions of the San Blas.
The open space of the enclosure in front of the palace was filled with a crowd of silent Indians, so many being present that we knew they must have gathered from all parts of the territory.
Our guards led us through the close ranks of these spectators to a clear place near the center, where King Nalig-Nad sat upon a bench with a score of his favorite green chiefs ranged just behind him. At the sides of this interesting group several women, all of whom had green in their tunics, squatted upon the ground. At the king’s feet were the same pretty boy and girl I had seen on my first presentation to the potentate.
But this was not all. In the open space at the right of the king stood Ilalah between two stout guards. The girl’s hands were bound behind her back as ours were, but she was no longer blindfolded. Her proud and beautiful face wore a smile as we were ranged opposite her, and she called aloud in English in a clear voice:
“Have fortitude, my White Chief. In death as in life Ilalah is your own.”
A murmur of reproach came from those of the San Blas who understood her speech. The king looked at his daughter with a dark frown mantling his expressive features.
“And I belong to Ilalah,” replied Duncan Moit, composedly, as he smiled back at his sweetheart.
Indeed, I was proud of the courage of all my comrades on this trying occasion. Bryonia and Nux were dignified and seemingly indifferent, Uncle Naboth smiling and interested in each phase of the dramatic scene, and the inventor as cool in appearance as if this gathering of the nation was intended to do him honor. I do not know how I myself bore the ordeal, but I remember that my heart beat so fast and loud that I was greatly annoyed for fear someone would discover its rebellious action and think me afraid. Perhaps I really was afraid; but I was greatly excited, too, for it occurred to me that I was facing the sunshine and breathing the soft southern air for almost the last time in my life. I was sorry for myself because I was so young and had so much to live for.
Ilalah, it seemed, was to be judged first because her rank was higher than that of the strangers.
The king himself accused her, and when he began to speak, his voice was composed and his tones low and argumentative. But as he proceeded his speech grew passionate and fierce, though he tried to impress upon his people the idea that it was his duty that obliged him to condemn Ilalah to punishment. However that plea might impress the Techlas it did not deceive us in the least. It was father against daughter, but perhaps the king’s hatred of the whites had turned him against his first born, or else he preferred that the pretty girl nestling at his feet should succeed him.
“Lords and chiefs of the Techlas,” he said, speaking in his native language, “the Princess Ilalah has broken our laws and outraged the traditions that have been respected in our nation for centuries. We have always hated the white race, and with justice. We have forbidden them to enter our dominions and refused to show them mercy if they fell into our hands. But this girl, whose birth and station are so high that she is entitled to succeed me as ruler of the Techlas, has violated our most sacred sentiments. She has favored and protected a band of white invaders; she has dared to love their chief, who has lied to us and tricked us; she has even forgotten her maidenly dignity and run away with him, preferring him to her own people. It is the law that I, her father, cannot judge or condemn her, although it is my privilege to condemn all others. Therefore I place her fate in the hands of my noble chiefs. Tell me, what shall be the fate of the false Techla? What shall be Ilalah’s punishment?”
The chiefs seemed undecided and half frightened at the responsibility thus thrust upon them. They turned and consulted one another in whispers, casting uncertain looks at the princess, who smiled back at them without a trace of fear upon her sweet face.
Standing close beside Ilalah I now discovered our old friend Tcham, the goldsmith and arrow-maker, whose eager face showed his emotion at the peril of his friend. His dark eyes roved anxiously from the girl to her judges, and it was plain to see that he was fearful of her condemnation.
I myself tried to read the decision of the chiefs from their faces, and decided that while Ilalah was doubtless a great favorite with them all, they could find no excuse for her conduct. Their conference lasted so long that the king grew impatient, and his animosity became more and more apparent as he glowered menacingly upon the girl and then glanced appealingly at her judges, who tried to avoid his eyes.
Finally, however, the conference came to an end.
A tall, lean chief, whose gray hairs and the prominence of the green stripes in his tunic evidently entitled him to be the spokesman, stepped forward and bowed low before the king.
“Mighty Ruler of the Techlas,” he said, “we have weighed well the strange conduct of the Princess Ilalah and desire to ask her a question.”
“The speech of the accused may not be considered,” said the king, gruffly.
“It affects not her condemnation, but rather her punishment,” returned the other.
“Then proceed.”
“Princess,” continued the old man, speaking in a kindly tone as he addressed the young girl, “if in our mercy we spare your life will you promise to forsake your white chief and yield him and his followers to our vengeance?”
“No!” she answered, proudly.
Her questioner sighed and turned to his fellows, who nodded to him gravely.
“Then,” said he, again turning to the king, “we find that the conduct of the Princess Ilalah merits punishment, and the punishment is death!” The king smiled triumphantly and cast a look around the assemblage. Not a man or woman returned his smile. They stood steadfast as rocks, and only the little arrow-maker gave way to his grief by bowing his head in his hands and sobbing most pitifully.
“We also find,” continued the grave chieftain, breaking the painful pause, “that the law forbids any Techla to lift a hand against one of the royal blood; and especially is that person immune who is next in succession to the throne.” This statement caused a thrill that could not be repressed to pass through the crowd. The natives looked on one another curiously, but satisfaction lurked in their dark eyes.
I began to like these people. In themselves they were not especially disposed to evil, but their fiendish king had dictated their thoughts and actions for so long that they were virtually the slaves of his whims.
“Therefore,” said the chief, speaking in a firm voice, “who will execute our decree of death upon the royal princess?”
“I will!” cried Nalig-Nad, springing to his feet. “The king is bound by no law save his own will. The girl is condemned to death, and die she shall!”
With a lightning gesture he caught up his bow and notched an arrow.
I looked toward Ilalah. Her face was palid and set but she did not flinch for an instant. One fleeting glance she gave into Duncan’s face and then turned her eyes steadily upon her fierce and enraged sire.
The king did not hesitate. He drew the bowstring to his chin, took rapid aim, and loosed the deadly shaft.
A cry burst from the assemblage, and even while it rang in my ears I saw Tcharn leap into the air before the princess, receive the arrow in his own breast, and then fall writhing in agony upon the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE THRUST OF A SPEAR
INSTANTLY THERE WAS tumult all about us. The crowd broke and surged toward the central point in the tragedy, forcing us who were in front to struggle on the crest of the wave. Their reserve vanished and each man cried to his neighbor in eager tones and allowed the mad excitement of the moment full sway.
Someone cut Ilalah’s bonds and the girl sank to the ground to support the head of the little arrow-maker upon her breast, pressing back his thin locks and tenderly kissing him upon the forehead.
But he knew nothing of this grateful kindness. His eyes were set and glazed, for the arrow had lodged in his heart.
A tug at my thong threatened to strangle me, for Moit had bounded forward to kneel beside Ilalah and try to assist her in spite of his own helpless condition. Then some semblance of order was restored and our guards pushed us back and eased the thong which was fast throttling me.
From the murmured words of the natives I gathered that Tcharn had atoned by his sacrifice for all the guilt charged against the princess, as the law declared that when the death penalty was imposed another could die instead of the condemned and so set him free.
For this reason the king was raging like a wild beast and threatening those who expressed sympathy for the girl who had so miraculously escaped his brutal vengeance.
“But the whites, at least, shall die — and the black men who are with them!” he shouted aloud, casting at us such glances of hatred and ferocity that we knew our fate was sealed.
They had carried poor Tcharn away and the princess had risen to her feet and now stood bravely confronting her father.
“It is folly to talk of injuring these strangers,” she answered him, boldly. “I alone know their wonderful powers and that they are able to crush us all if we dare attempt to harm them.”
The king let out a disdainful roar, but Ilalah’s words impressed many in the crowd and caused the Techlas to murmur again.
“What can they do?” asked Nalig-Nad, derisively. “They are but human and they are in our power.”
“They have their magic chariot,” she said, “which you all know can deal death and destruction to their foes.”
“Magic!” retorted the king, laughing boisterously; “do you call that poor, man-made contrivance magic?”
All eyes turned toward the opening, where a hundred yards beyond the broken wall poor Moit’s automobile was standing motionless as we had left it.
Most of those present had witnessed the machine’s marvelous performances, and in nearly every face now lurked an expression of awe or apprehension. Nalig-Nad saw the look, and it aroused him to fury.
“Come!” he cried, “I will prove that the white men have no magic.”
Seizing a heavy, bronze-tipped spear from an attendant he ran from the enclosure and made directly for the automobile, followed by a crowd of his most devoted adherents. The others, with us, remained to watch curiously what he would do.
I saw Moit’s face pale and his lips tremble; but he stood firm and steadfast while the king rushed upon his beloved machine and with a powerful stroke drove the spear clean through the plates of sheathing which protected the body.
I own I was amazed at such a display of strength, but a more athletic savage than Nalig-Nad I have never beheld. When the jagged rent was torn in the side of the automobile the crowd that surrounded it danced gleefully and jeered at the helpless child of our poor inventor’s brain as if it were alive and could feel their scorn.
Again Nalig-Nad seized a spear and hurled it at the side of the machine, piercing once more the light but stout metal. A third went crashing into the automobile, and then —
And then it seemed as though the world had suddenly come to an end.
I was dashed so forcibly against the huge body of my guard that where he fell upon the hard earth his head was crushed in like an eggshell. But I did not know this until I came to my senses and heard the sounds of moaning all around me and saw the ground covered with the forms of the stricken natives.
A knife severed my bonds and set me free, and I staggered to my feet to find Ilalah and Duncan Moit supporting me until I could recover sufficiently to stand alone.
Nux and Bryonia, all unhurt, were busy restoring the bruised and bewildered Techlas to consciousness, while Uncle Naboth sat upon the king’s bench, his clothing torn to tatters, and wiped away with his red handkerchief the blood that trickled from a cut in his head.
I looked around wonderingly, trying to imagine what had happened, and saw a piece of dull silver metal driven edgewise into the front of the palace, where it was wedged firmly into the hard clay. That gave me a hint, and I looked out upon the plain where the automobile had stood and found that it had disappeared. So had Nalig-Nad and the crowd of furious natives that had surrounded him as he plunged his spear into the heart of Duncan Moit’s great invention.
Then I remembered the can of glycerine explosive and knew the whole terrible story in an instant. The spear-point had made Ilalah Queen of the Techlas. It had also deprived her lover of the perfect fruit of years of inspired thought and faithful toil.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE DESERTER
WHILE THE VILLAGE slowly recovered from the effects of this dreadful calamity and the uninjured were caring for their less fortunate brethren, our party was ushered into a comfortable apartment of the palace and given food and drink and such comforts as the place afforded.
We saw nothing of Ilalah at the time, for with those chiefs left to her she was doing her best to relieve the misery of the stricken village. Moit was with her, alert and active, keeping constantly by her side and eagerl
y assisting her in the work of mercy. This I learned afterward. Just then I imagined him frantic with grief and despair, and I found myself regretting the destruction of his great invention even more than the loss of life caused by the explosive. The dead were unimportant savages; the machine that had perished with them was the most splendid achievement, I firmly believe, that any man in any era of civilization has ever been able to boast.
But when toward evening Duncan Moit came to us with Ilalah, I was astonished at his placid stoicism. Grieved he certainly was, but his face expressed resolve and thoughtfulness more than despair.
“I’m awfully sorry, old man,” I said, laying a sympathetic hand upon his shoulder. “I know how long and tedious the time will seem until you are able to construct another machine as perfect as the one you have lost.”
He shuddered a little at my words but replied gently:
“Sam, I shall never build another machine. That dream is over.”
“Over!” I cried, astonished. “What do you mean? Will you abandon all your ambitions — the certain fortune that awaits you — the applause and admiration of your fellow men?”
“What do they all amount to?” he asked. “Yes; I abandon them. I’m going to live with Ilalah.”
“Here?”
“Here; in the half savage and almost unknown land of the Techlas. The result of years of labor has been wiped out of existence in a flash, and I have not the courage to begin all over again. I have no patterns of the machine and the drawings and specifications all were destroyed with it. I could never build another that would equal it in perfection. But why should I attempt it? I do not need an automobile here. I do not need fortune, or fame, or anything but love; and this Ilalah has given me freely.”
“Do I understand you to mean that you will always remain in this forsaken country?”
“That is my intention,” he said. “I shall help my wife to rule her people and in her companionship be happy in a simple, natural way.”
We argued with him long and earnestly, while Ilalah sat beside him silent and smiling but very sure that we could not prevail over his sudden but preposterous resolution.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 666