“You seem to have got plenty of baggage, anyhow,” I returned, motioning toward the dray, which was now fast retreating in the direction of the city; “your share of the blubber, perhaps,” I added, banteringly; “or maybe specimens of the flora and fauna of the Arctic, which your doctor cautioned you against.”
“Partly right and partly wrong,” said Burnham, sententiously and somewhat seriously; “you may have got nearer the truth about that queer parcel than you think. But this is no time or place to speak about it. Come up to the house to-morrow forenoon, if you have time, and I will show you something that will astonish you. I particularly wish you to come,” he added, with emphasis; “you will be amply repaid for doing so by what you will see. Meantime, I have something more to arrange on board this vessel.” So saying, he crossed the gangway and disappeared.
Next morning about ten, in accordance with my friend’s invitation, I ascended the steps of the Burnham mansion, rang the bell, and sent in my card. I was evidently expected, as the servant requested me to follow him, and led the way downstairs. There, in a small court-yard sacred to himself, and in which, together with two apartments opening thereon, my friend conducted his experiments, I found him in his shirt-sleeves, superintending the disposition of the ponderous mass which had excited my curiosity the day before on the sea-wall. The workmen had just succeeded in hoisting it on to a strong and massive trestle-work, some three feet from the ground, and upon this the nondescript, oblong package, swathed with sacking and bound with ropes, now rested.
“There!” said Burnham, as he settled with the men and turned the key of the door leading into the ordinary court-yard of the house; “the most laborious part of the job is over. It was no easy matter getting the package up here. But now, as publicity at this stage must on every consideration be avoided, I must ask you to stand ready to lend me a hand when necessary. Better leave your coat in the laboratory or in the studio—which you please—you can suit yourself.”
The “laboratory” and the “studio” were the respective names of the two rooms opening onto the court-yard where we were now standing, which was itself separated, as I have said, from the main court-yard of the building by a tolerably high wall, opposite which were the entrances and windows of the rooms aforesaid, which had been originally intended for outhouses of some sort. The other two sides of this little court-yard were blind-walls of the house itself. Certainly, if secrecy were the requisite aimed at in my friend’s enterprise, whatever it might be, a happier place could not have been chosen. The “laboratory” and the “studio,” while each opened on the court, and while there was also intercommunication between the rooms, differed greatly in interior arrangement, as well as in the uses to which they were put. The laboratory was fitted up with benches, tables, and shelves, littered with chemical, optical, electrical, and photographic apparatus, zoölogical and botanical specimens, et hoc genus omne; a perfect scientific chaos, in short, without a semblance of law and order. The studio, on the other hand, was richly and luxuriously furnished and kept in scrupulous order by Burnham’s own valet, who, I noticed, however, was not there at this time.
Passing into the laboratory first, I noticed that a trestle-work similar to that in the court-yard stood in the centre of the floor, and that it was surmounted by a shallow pan of zinc, fitted at one end with a waste-pipe, like that of a bath-tub, leading to the gutter of the court. I was still further surprised to note, when I passed on into the studio, that the centre of that chamber also contained what might be termed a supplement to the trestle-work, in that the furniture had been moved to one side to make room for an improvised table on which rested an ordinary mattress. In addition to this a bureau-bed had been unfolded and set in readiness at one of the walls, while a blazing fire burned in the grate, although the day was anything but cold. Before I had time to speculate upon the meaning of all these mysterious preparations, I heard Burnham calling, so throwing my coat on a settee I hastened to join him. I found him engaged in firing up a small portable steam-engine that stood in one corner of the yard, and in affixing to the exhaust-pipe of the cylinder another pipe, several feet in length, with a movable arm, evidently for the purpose of ejecting steam in any desired direction.
“Now,” he said, as he completed the connection, “while the boiler is getting up steam, you and I must get to work and uncover our package. I expected Dr. Dunne here before this, but doctors, you know, are always entitled to latitude in non-professional matters.”
So saying, he took a knife and began to cut away the ropes from the package, I following his example. Then we removed layer after layer of sacking, the air growing, I thought, all the time sensibly colder, till upon removing the last of the sack-cloth—we could not, of course, remove the wrapping on which the weight rested, but merely contented ourselves with ripping the top open and letting it fall on either side—what was my surprise to see before me an immense oblong block of blue, pellucid ice. But who shall express my feelings when, a moment after, I discerned imbedded in the heart of the transparent crystal the form of a man.
But let me describe what I saw. There, lying on its back in the middle of the frozen slab, was unmistakably the body of a man, but so wonderfully life-like in every detail that it was as difficult to believe that the man was dead as it was to conceive how he had come into his present position. The eyes were dark and wide open, and whether or not it was due to some peculiar refracting qualities of the medium through which they were observed, they did not look glassy or seem to have lost their lustre. The short, thick, curly black locks that clustered about the forehead, and the closely trimmed beard that fringed the cheeks, looked as natural as they could have done in the heyday of life. But just as inexplicable was the dress. It was composed of some light material such as is worn in hot climates, and had more in common with the ancient Greek chlamys, or the Arab burnous, than with any other type of dress that I recall. Such colors as it had were tasteful and resplendent, and had lost none of their original freshness. The feet were shod with sandals, and a gemmed ring still sparkled upon one of the fingers of the right hand. It was the face and figure of a handsome man of thirty, or thereabouts, and the whole posture was so indicative of repose as to indicate that, whoever he might be, he had met his end calmly and without pain.
I turned mechanically toward Burnham and saw that he was watching my surprise and smiling.