“That’s just a little too previous a question,” said I. “Don’t you think you had better get the answer to the Mayan conundrum before you embarrass us with plans which have as yet no basis to start from?”
“But surely you have seen the letter of your great ancestor, who was the original discoverer of this document? Naturally the translation will show us where to seek this lost people.”
He was so serious about it, not to say so cock-sure, that I nearly imperilled our friendship by laughing in his face. To my stolid British mind, the conclusive way in which he took my romancing old ancestor’s yarn as gospel truth struck me as humorous. But I preserved a staid demeanor as I answered.
“Let me assure you, monsieur,” said I, “that I shall feel it my duty to be guided in this matter by your advice. But before we discuss hypothetical questions, let us endeavour to deal with facts. Take then this paper and apply to it your knowledge. I have great pleasure in handing it over to your care.”
It might have been an insignia of knighthood at the least, judging by the reverence with which he received the musty relic. In a very fury of grateful protestation he bore it to his tent and surrounded himself with a mass of papers, books, and references. And there through the live-long day he continued to sit amid his piled accumulations of literary matter. The door of his tent was ever open, and our view of his actions unimpeded. Fatigued by the stress of ten days’ marching, Gerry and I were only too glad to rest beneath the shade of a great granadillo tree and smoke the pipe of peace, and the sight of the little man’s energy was a restful tonic to our jaded constitutions. He flung himself upon his task like a navvy. From book to book he flew, and from note to note. He dodged about from one heap of manuscript to another like a little robin picking crumbs in the snow. He jerked his little head from side to side as he annotated and compared with the eager, intelligent air of a fox-terrier before a rabbit-hole. He sweated, he tore his hair, he seized his head between his hands in a very travail of mental effort. The sheets of foolscap flew beneath the touch of his practised fingers. Symbol after symbol gave up its secret as he travelled down the lines of interwoven cabalistics. The copper-plate of his translation grew in volume steadily; the pace increased rapidly as he neared the end. Not a word did we offer, not a suggestion did we make. Apathetically we listened to his curses or smiled at his squeals of triumph as the figures alternately obstructed or fell before him. Finally, as the tropic night closed in with the swiftness of a curtain’s dropping, he gave a yell of frantic joy and bounded out of his lair, waving the completed copy with terrific gesticulation. He thrust it into my hand, still shouting.
“Aha, aha! it is done, it is complete. I have them, the great race of Maya. Before the world we shall present them. We shall say, Behold the glories of so long ago, and to us will be the honour—the so great honor of the discovery. Read, then, read, and say if I have not succeeded,” and with his eyes aflame he hovered round me, waving his ten fingers ecstatically.
Here is what I found writ down in artistic French, and render into my own bald native tongue:
“From Huanhac, leader of the migration of the people of Cay, greeting to Camazmag, priest of Cay and overlord of the people who remain in the land of Mayax.
“This to inform you that to the people of the migration is come prosperity and great honour, for indeed we have found the habitation of the god Cay himself. For having put out into the deep after our departure, behold a great tempest arose swiftly bearing us south, and for the space of fifteen days we saw naught but water and a sky of doom. On the sixteenth day, when both water and victual were vanished from among us, we came to regions of much ice—ice in comparison with which that upon the mountains of the Northland is as naught, at the which were we dismayed, expecting death by cold and hunger, but the purpose of the god was upon us. For as we drifted through the lanes of ice, a great wall rose before us, high and implacable, nor could we anywhere perceive a break therein. So for some hours we were tossed by changing currents, fearing instant destruction against the frowning crags. Then of a sudden Carfag, of the tribe of Xibalab, being in the leading ship, called aloud, saying that round a jutting peak of rock before him a bay was opening, which passage was exceeding intricate, and might pass unnoticed. So following Carfag we rounded the cape and found still water and a sandy sloping beach. There we landed amidst a crowd of sitting sea-birds and sea-beasts of surprising magnitude, the which were not scaled as fish, but furred as foxes. Yet all was rock and pebbles, nor had we means to light a fire, save with such lumber from the ships as we could spare.
“But as we wandered further up the foreshore, there ran ridge-like across the face of rock a line of black stone having the similitude of wood, and with the marks of ferns therein. This some of us knew would burn, having seen the like in the Northland.