“My dear Archdeacon, that was thousands of years before man appeared in the world.”
“Many millions,” replied the Archdeacon cheerfully. “My manuscript deals with a period when Mother Nature herself was an infant in arms. As you know, my hobby is palæontology. My paper, examined scientifically, represents some knowledge of this subject taken in connection with that dangerous thing: a late supper. You see I hide nothing; and I have written the matter out here on sermon paper in order that I might do it the greater justice.”
He smoothed his roll of manuscript, adjusted his glasses, and showed an inclination to begin. So I settled down and listened to his singular story:—
“Of course, in a dream, as at a modern comic play, one must not stop to weigh probabilities and be logical, else the structure in either case tumbles about one’s ears and the pleasure of the concern is spoiled. Thus, when I found myself on a fine morning starting for a day’s sport and science in the Mesozoic Period, the circumstance caused me little surprise. My black gaiters, I may tell you, were changed into brown ones, on my shoulder rested a Remington rifle, and by my side walked my wife’s black tom-cat, Peter. Of course my knowledge of the period led me to note the extremely Mesozoic nature of my surroundings, and I was gratified beyond measure to find myself alive and hearty so far back in the history of this planet. I did not stop to remember that Peter, my Remington rifle, and I myself were all alike unevolved; that even palæolithic man could not appear for unnumbered centuries; that his very flint stones were still sponges at the bottom of mighty oceans. Nor did it strike me at first that I was lonely, thus separated from my kind by gulfs of time so awful. On the contrary, I revelled in my environment; I proved that it was distinctly Jurassic, and I laughed with satisfaction to reflect that I was ahead, by about twelve million years, of every sportsman who had shot big game with a rifle. I was generous, too. It struck me how Cuvier, or Huxley, or Owen, or Tyndall, or Darwin, or Geikie, or Marsh, or Zittel, or Hutchinson, or a thousand other eminent naturalists and palæontologists, would have enjoyed a morning amid the wonders of that period; and I wished they were all there under the protection of me and my Remington, and Peter.
“I stood upon the borders of a lake in a marshy district. The scenery was chiefly composed of volcanoes, for I could note a dozen of them upon the horizon, casting columns of smoke upwards into a cloudy sky. It was a close, thundery day, and occasionally heavy drops of rain fell, though the weather kept fine between the showers. Gigantic tree-ferns grew around me, and in the expanse of bogland along the fringe of the water rose jungles of huge club mosses and clumsy lycopodiaceæ and some coniferæ.
“About the borders of this inland sea insect life swarmed freely. Myriads of gnats, of enormous size and quite seven inches across the wings, danced with giant dragon-flies over the water. Occasionally a ganoid fish rose like a trout and consumed one; which may have been a curious thing for a ganoid fish to do, but I was not critical. These ganoids, by the way, had but a paltry time of it. Fish-lizards, or Ichthyosaurs, chased them hither and thither, devouring thousands on the surface; Plesiosaurs, with necks like swans and lizard heads, grabbed the ganoids too, and Heaven only knows what monsters lay in wait for them in the deep waters when they dived.
“Then a strange thing happened. Suddenly, without any warning, a monstrous boy’s kite, with a long tail and wings twenty feet across, came flapping over the palm-tops. It was followed by another, and it struck me, on second thoughts, that they were umbrellas. A discovery of such a nature, even in a dream, caused me some astonishment. I could not instantly understand how such concerns should thus promiscuously whirl about in Mesozoic air, and I wondered who had lost them; but an instant later the truth came to me. These flutterers were no umbrellas at all, merely a brace of particularly fine Pterodactyls. Taking my chance, I raised my trusty Remington and fired. Seeing that I have never been known to handle firearms in my life, you will judge of my satisfaction when I tell you that I managed to wing the largest. It fell headlong, and Peter, with considerable lack of judgment, went to retrieve it. The faithful little beast nearly perished in the attempt. Your winged Pterodactyl, with twenty feet of flapping pinion, hundreds of sharp teeth, and a love for life quite prehistoric in its intensity, is a difficult matter to retrieve. I say unhesitatingly that fossil remains give no idea whatever of the ferocity of these flying dragons. Mortally wounded though he was, the animal showed a strong inclination to kill both me and Peter. I loaded again, therefore, and shot that Pterodactyl in the eye. Whereupon he gathered his vast wings trembling about him, and buried his head in them and so died. I marked the spot that I might pick him up on the way home. What my idea of ‘home’ may have been I cannot, of course, explain. Perhaps I thought I was putting up at a hydropathic Mesozoic hotel somewhere at hand, ‘in a fine volcanic neighbourhood, with splendid sea-bathing, Pterodactyl shooting and lawn-tennis. Terms moderate.’
“The aspect of my first victim set me thinking. It struck me, if creatures of such size flew in the air, that the solid earth might be supporting things a good deal larger. I was, of course, aware that Deinosaurs must be about. I knew that the fine specimens sometimes stood nearly twenty feet high, that many of them walked on their hind legs, and that, though certain varieties confined themselves to vegetable diet, others were carnivorous, and would as soon lunch off an Archdeacon as anything. I trembled, too, for my Peter. I feared at every step he would do something rash and lose his life. For my own part I determined to allow no Quixotic notions of what was and what was not sportsmanlike to interfere with my safety. To show what I mean, I may say that my next bag was a Teleosaurus; and I shot him sleeping by the river. His back was turned, his eyes were shut, so that I was enabled to destroy him without the smallest difficulty. He proved to be a crocodilian trifle about twenty feet long; and he died, as it were, smiling. It struck me that this monster might work up into neat cigar-cases for friends.
“And now I knew, as I proceeded onwards, that big game was at hand. Small Deinosaurs, no larger than kangaroos, hopped freely round me, but I reserved my fire, suspecting that I might need it at any moment. My companion had long since completely lost his nerve. Of him it might be said that he was out of harmony with his environment. He figured there merely as a fragment of nourishment for something bigger than himself, and realising this he presently jumped to my shoulder, evidently determined that, if worse came to worst, we would die together.
“Every moment increased the size of the fauna. Presently an armoured Deinosaur—Scelidosaurus by name—put his head out of a ten-foot patch of rushes. He had plates and spines on his monstrous back and a hungry look in his saucer-like eye. The beast, fortunately, did not see us, and feeling now that it would not be well to shoot save in the event of necessity, I stopped quietly where I was till the creature went crashing into the water. Then I visited its lair and was able to solve a problem no palæontologist has ever yet decided. I found a Deinosaur’s nest with four eggs in it and thereby set a great question at rest for ever. Deinosaurs certainly laid eggs. These in question were froglike in texture, but separate each from the other and somewhat larger than big pumpkins. Having noted so much, I heard the mother Deinosaur returning, and hurriedly withdrew, not caring to risk any difference with a creature twelve feet high, covered with armour-plating and full of maternal instinct.