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When the World Shook-Part19_H.Rider Haggard(1856-1925)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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but at this point I hustled him off to light a fire--a process at

which I pointed out he had shown himself an expert.



We slept that night under the overhanging rock just to one side

of the cave, not in the mouth, because of the draught which drew



in and out of the great place. In that soft and balmy clime this

was no hardship, although we lacked blankets. And yet, tired



though I was, I could not rest as I should have done. Bastin

snored away contentedly, quite unaffected by his escape which to



him was merely an incident in the day's work; and so, too,

slumbered Bickley, except that he did not snore. But the



amazement and the mystery of all that we had discovered and of

all that might be left for us to discover, held me back from



sleep.

What did it mean? What could it mean? My nerves were taut as



harp strings and seemed to vibrate to the touch of invisible

fingers, although I could not interpret the music that they made.



Once or twice also I thought I heard actual music with my

physical ears, and that of a strange quality. Soft and low and



dreamful, it appeared to well from the recesses of the vast cave,

a wailing song in an unknown tongue from the lips of women, or of



a woman, multiplied mysteriously by echoes. This, however, must

have been pure fancy, since there was no singer there.



Presently I dozed off, to be awakened by the sudden sound of a

great fish leaping in the lake. I sat up and stared, fearing lest



it might be the splash of a paddle, for I could not put from my

mind the possibility of attack. All I saw, however, was the low



line of the distant shore, and above it the bright and setting

stars that heralded the coming of the sun. Then I woke the



others, and we washed and ate, since once the sun rose time would

be precious.



At length it appeared, splendid in a cloudless sky, and, as I

had hoped, directly opposite to the mouth of the cave. Taking our



candles and some stout pieces of driftwood which, with our

knives, we had shaped on the previous evening to serve us as



levers and rough shovels, we entered the cave. Bickley and I were

filled with excitement and hope of what we knew not, but Bastin



showed little enthusiasm for our quest. His heart was with his

half-converted savages beyond the lake, and of them, quite



rightly I have no doubt, he thought more than he did of all the

archaeological treasures in the whole earth. Still, he came,



bearing the blackened head of Oro with him which, with

unconscious humour, he had used as a pillow through the night



because, as he said, "it was after all softer than stone." Also,

I believe that in his heart he hoped that he might find an



opportunity of destroying the bigger and earlier edition of Oro

in the cave, before it was discovered by the natives who might



wish to make it an object of worship. Tommy came also, with

greater alacrity than I expected, since dogs do not as a rule



like dark places. When we reached the statue I learned the

reason; he remembered the smell he had detected at its base on



the previous day, which Bastin supposed to proceed from a rat,

and was anxious to continue his investigations.



We went straight to the statue, although Bickley passed the

half-buried machines with evident regret. As we had hoped, the



strong light of the rising sun fell upon it in a vivid ray,

revealing all its wondrousworkmanship and the majesty--for no



other word describes it--of the somewhat terrifying countenance

that appeared above the wrappings of the shroud. Indeed, I was



convinced that originally this monument had been placed here in

order that on certain days of the year the sun might fall upon it



thus, when probably worshippers assembled to adore their hallowed

symbol. After all, this was common in ancient days: witness the



instance of the awful Three who sit in the deepest recesses of

the temple of Abu Simbel, on the Nile.



We gazed and gazed our fill, at least Bickley and I did, for

Bastin was occupied in making a careful comparison between the



head of his wooden Oro and that of the statue.

"There is no doubt that they are very much alike," he said.



"Why, whatever is that dog doing? I think it is going mad," and

he pointed to Tommy who was digging furiously at the base of the



lowest step, as at home I have seen him do at roots that

sheltered a rabbit.



Tommy's energy was so remarkable that at length it seriously

attracted our attention. Evidently he meant that it should do so,



for occasionally he sprang back to me barking, then returned and

sniffed and scratched. Bickley knelt down and smelt at the stone.






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