Also they thrust handfuls of dry grass into our mouths to prevent us from calling out, although as air came through the interstices of the grass, we did not suffocate.The thing was so well done that we never struck a blow in self-defence, and although we had our pistols at hand, much less could we fire a shot.Of course, we struggled as well as we were able, but it was quite useless;in three minutes we were as helpless as calves in a net and like calves were being conveyed to the butcher.Bastin managed to get the gag out of his mouth for a few seconds, and I heard him say in his slow, heavy voice:
"This, Bickley, is what comes of trafficking with evil spirits in museum cases--" There his speech stopped, for the grass wad was jammed down his throat again, but distinctly I heard the inarticulate Bickley snort as he conceived the repartee he was unable to utter.As for myself, I reflected that the business served us right for not keeping a watch, and abandoned the issue to fate.
Still, to confess the truth, I was infinitely more sorry to die than I should have been forty-eight hours earlier.This is a dull and in most ways a dreadful world, one, if we could only summon the courage, that some of us would be glad to leave in search of new adventures.But here a great and unprecedented adventure had begun to befall me, and before its mystery was solved, before even I could formulate a theory concerning it, my body must be destroyed, and my intelligence that was caged therein, sent far afield; or, if Bickley were right, eclipsed.It seemed so sad just when the impossible, like an unguessed wandering moon, had risen over the grey flats of the ascertained and made them shine with hope and wonder.
They carried us off to the canoes, not too gently; indeed, Iheard the bony frame of Bastin bump into the bottom of one of them and reflected, not without venom, that it served him right as he was the fount and origin of our woes.Two stinking magicians, wearing on their heads undress editions of their court cages, since these were too cumbersome for active work of the sort, and painted all over with various pigments, were just about to swing me after him into the same, or another canoe, when something happened.I did not know what it was, but as a result, my captors left hold of me so that I fell to the rock, lying upon my back.
Then, within my line of vision, which, it must be remembered, was limited because I could not lift my head, appeared the upper part of the tall person of the Ancient who said that he was named Oro.I could only see him down to his middle, but I noted vaguely that he seemed to be much changed.For instance, he wore a different coloured dress, or rather robe; this time it was dark blue, which caused me to wonder where on earth it came from.
Also, his tremendous beard had been trimmed and dressed, and on his head there was a simple black cap, strangely quilted, which looked as though it were made of velvet.Moreover, his face had plumped out.He still looked ancient, it is true, and unutterably wise, but now he resembled an antique youth, so great were his energy and vigour.Also, his dark and glowing eyes shone with a fearful intensity.In short, he seemed impressive and terrible almost beyond imagining.
He looked about him slowly, then asked in a deep, cold voice, speaking in the Orofenan tongue:
"What do you, slaves?"
No one seemed able to answer, they were too horror-stricken at this sudden vision of their fabled god, whose fierce features of wood had become flesh; they only turned to fly.He waved his thin hand and they came to a standstill, like animals which have reached the end of their tether and are checked by the chains that bind them.There they stood in all sorts of postures, immovable and looking extremely ridiculous in their paint and feathers, with dread unutterable stamped upon their evil faces.
The Sleeper spoke again:
"You would murder as did your forefathers, O children of snakes and hogs fashioned in the shape of men.You would sacrifice those who dwell in my shadow to satisfy your hate because they are wiser than you.Come hither thou," and he beckoned with a bony finger to the chief magician.
The man advanced towards him in short jumps, as a mechanical toy might do, and stood before him, his miniature crate and feathers all awry and the sweat of terror melting the paint in streaks upon his face.
"Look into the eyes of Oro, O worshipper of Oro," said the Sleeper, and he obeyed, his own eyes starting out of his head.
"Receive the curse of Oro," said the Ancient again.Then followed a terrible spectacle.The man went raving mad.He bounded into the air to a height inconceivable.He threw himself upon the ground and rolled upon the rock.He rose again and staggered round and round, tearing pieces out of his arms with his teeth.He yelled hideously like one possessed.He grovelled, beating his forehead against the rock.Then he sat up, slowly choked and--died.
His companions seemed to catch the infection of death as terrified savages often do.They too performed dreadful antics, all except three of them who stood paralysed.They rushed about battering each other with their fists and wooden weapons, looking like devils from hell in their hideous painted attire.They grappled and fought furiously.They separated and plunged into the lake, where with a last grimace they sank like stones.
It seemed to last a long while, but I think that as a matter of fact within five minutes it was over; they were all dead.Only the three paralysed ones remained standing and rolling their eyes.
The Sleeper beckoned to them with his thin finger, and they walked forward in step like soldiers.
"Lift that man from the boat," he said, pointing to Bastin, "cut his bonds and those of the others."They obeyed with a Wonderful alacrity.In a minute we stood at liberty and were pulling the grass gags from our mouths.The Ancient pointed to the head magician who lay dead upon the rock, his hideous, contorted countenance staring open-eyed at heaven.
