At the Queen's Mercy

by Mabel Fuller Blodgett

Inch by inch, I, John Dering, lifted that unconscious body, while the birds twittered in the branches overhead, and the pitiless sun beat down, and the god of the people of the Walled City kept evil watch, and the serpents hissed and writhed in the pit beneath.

At last I had one arm over the edge of that place of torment. One final mighty effort, and Lestrade was safe, while the spear shot from its socket, and fell tinkling into the depths below. How I drew myself up to lie upon the edge beside my friend, I do not know. My blood had turned to water in my veins, and I was as weak as a new-born babe. I could not have lifted a finger to have escaped a thousand deaths. Earth and sky came together in one black threatening mass; the next I knew Lestrade was pouring water on my forehead, and moreover kissing me on both cheeks—a foreign practice I could never stomach, and one which soon brought me to my senses.

That day we rested. The next we tore the cover of grass from that foul trap, and left it open to the gaze of men and beasts.

Then because I am a religious man and believe in the right conduct of human undertakings, I swore to set my face the more earnestly towards the object of our travelling. Neither to seek peace or comfort till the Walled City be found; praying that Providence might deliver into my hand the maker of that death pit, that I might presently bring him to a repentance that would be beyond the pale of backsliding forever.

“The Lord do so to me, and more also, if I follow not the leading of my conscience in this matter,” said I, and Lestrade answered, “Amen.”

Then, because we were not to be put aside like children, from that to which we had set our minds, we felled a tree, and bridged the pit and so crossed.

Much more slowly we now proceeded, for we had been taught caution, yet we marched onward, with little thought to the map, for the course lay plain before us. We were now in a mountainous country, and it had grown cool, a matter for much thanksgiving. We guessed by this and other signs that now our quest was well-nigh over, and we were right; for at length after much toil of travel we came without mishap to our journey’s end. Massed across the open appeared a pile of rock, and as we neared, I saw the lines in Lestrade’s face deepen. Nor was I untouched, for we did not doubt that before us lay the entrance to the City that we sought. We looked to our guns and came up with all caution.

The noise of the jungle was in our ears, but of human sight or sound there was none. The mass in front towered above us to the sky, and we saw that it had been set in place by some gigantic machinery unknown to the civilized world. The massive barrier was formed of rock, fitted together with cunning, and smooth like glass.

The nature of the rock was strange to us, for it was splashed here and there by great red stains, like gouts of blood; and the fancy was further heightened by a scarlet creeper that clung and fed itself, and well-nigh covered the base of the ponderous mass.

There was no gate nor doorway nor visible opening of any kind, and on each side of the great wall grew dense a prickly thorn, so tough that it turned the edges of our axes, and we saw the hopelessness of cutting through our way, even if the wall of stone extended not further in the African forest than eye could see.