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32 - Baron Trump's Marvellous Underground Journey · Adventure Books Collection

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Chapter thirty two, How we entered the land of the Happy Forgetters. Something
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more about these curious folk. Their dread of Bulgar and me only a stay
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of one day accorded us description of the pleasant homes of the happy Forgetters,
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the revolving door through which Bulgar and I are unceremoniously set outside of the domain
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of the rattle brains, all about the extraordinary things which happened to Bulgar and
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me. Thereafter, once more in the open air of the upper world,
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and then homeward bound, the happy forgeter pursued his way calmly along the winding
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path that skirted the glowing river, apparently, and no doubt really, unconscious
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of the fact that Bulgar and I were following close at his heels. After
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half an hour or so of this silent tramp, he suddenly came to a
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standstill, and, with his placid countenance turned toward the light. Seemed to
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be so far away in thought that for several moments I hesitated to address him,
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But as there were no signs of his showing any dispose position to come
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to himself, I made bold to ask him the cause of the delay.
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I'm happy to say he remarked, without so much as deigning to turn his
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head, that I've forgotten which of these two roads leads to the homes of
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our people. Well, this was a pleasant outlook, to be sure,
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and I don't know what we should have done had not Bulgar solved the difficulty
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for us by making choice of one of the paths, and dais sheen on
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ahead with a bark of encouragement for us to follow. When I assured the
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happy forgetter that he need have no fear as to the wisdom of the choice,
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he gave a start of almost horror at the information. For you must
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know, dear friends, that the happy forgetter has more head of knowledge than
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we have of ignorance to learn. It is the mother of all discontent,
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the source of all unhappiness, the cause of all the dreadful ills that have
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come upon the world and the people in it. The world, said one
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of the happy forgetters to me, sadly was perfectly happy once, and man
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had no name for his brother, and yet he loved him, even as
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the turtle dove loves his mane, although he has no names to call her
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by. But alas one day this happiness came to an end, for a
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strange malady broke out among the people. They were seized with a wild desire
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to invent names for things, even many names for the same thing, and
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different ways of doing the same thing. This strange passion grew so upon them
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that they spent their lives in making them, in every possible way, harder
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to live. They built different roads to the same place. They made different
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clothes for different days, and different dishes for different feasts. To each child
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they gave two, three, and even four different names, and different shoes
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were fashioned for different feet. And one family was no longer satisfied with one
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drinking board. Did they stop there, Nay. They now busied themselves learning
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how to make different faces to different friends, covering a frown with a smile,
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and singing gay songs when their hurts were sad. In a few centuries,
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a brother could no longer read a brother's face, and one half of
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the world went about wondering what the other half was thinking about. Hence arose
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misunderstandings, quarrels, feuds. Warfare man was no longer content to dwell with
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his fellow man in the spacious caverns which kind nature had hollowed out for him,
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piercing the mountains with winding passages, beside which his narrow streets dwindled to
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merest pathways. In the land of the Happy Forgetters, care never comes to
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trouble, sleep nor anxious thought to wear the dread mask of tomorrow. Happy
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the day on which this child of nature might exclaim, since morn, I've
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forgotten something, i'ven't loaded my mind. It's one thought lighter than it was.
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He was the happiest of the happy forgetters, who could honestly say,
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I know not thy name, nor when thou wast born, nor where thou
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dwellst, nor who thy kinsmen are. I only know that thou art my
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brother, and that thou wilt not see me suffer if I should forget to
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eat or perish of thirst, if I forget to drink, and that thou
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wilt bid me close my eyes, if I should forget that I had laid
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me down to sleep. Bulgars and my arrival in the land of the Happy
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Forgeters filled the hearts of these curious folk with secret dread. At sight of
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my large head, they all began to tremble like children in the dark stricken
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with fear of booge or goblin, and with one voice they refused to permit
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me to sojourn in a single brief half hour among them. But gradually this
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sudden terror passed off a bit, and after a council held by a few
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of the younger men, whose brains as yet completely filled their heads, it
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was determined that I might bide for another day in their land, but that
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then the revolving door should be opened and Bulgar and I be thrust outside of
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their domain. From what don Fum had written about the happy forgivers, I
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knew only too well that it would be useless for me to attempt to reverse
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this degree. So I held my peace, except to thank them for this
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great favor shown me. The daylight, if I may call it so,
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now began to wane, or rather, the thousands of light giving creatures swarming
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in the river now began to draw in their long tentacles, clothes, their
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flower like bodies, and slowly sink to the bottom of the stream. I
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was quite anxious to see whether the happy forgetters would make any attempt to light
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up their cavernous homes, or whether they would simply creep off to bed and
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sleep out the long hours of pitchy darkness. To my surprise, I overheard
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the clicking of flints on all sides, and in a moment or so a
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thousand or more great candles made of mineral wax with asbestos wicks were lighted,
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and the great chambers of white marble were soon aglow with these soft and steady
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flame. The happy forgetters were strictly vegetable eaters, feeding upon the various fungus
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plants growing in these caverns in great profusion, together with a very nutritious and
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pleasant tasting chilly made from a hardened gum of vegetable origin, which abounded in
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the credit of certain rocks. There was still another source of food, namely
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the nests of certain shellfish, which they built against the face of the rock,
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just above the surface of the water. These, dissolved in boiling water,
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made an excellent broth, very much like the soup from edible birds nests.
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The clothes worn by the happy forgetters were entirely woven from mineral wool,
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which in these caverns gave a long and strong fiber of astonishing softness. The
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rattle brains were tolerably good metal workers too, but contented themselves with fashioning only
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such articles as were actually necessary for daily use. Their beds were stuffed with
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dried seaweed and lichens. In Bulgar and I passed a very comfortable night,
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as I was forbidden to speak aloud, to ask a question, or to
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walk abroad unless in company with one of the selectmen. I was not sorry
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when the moment came for the revolving door to be opened. The happy forgetters
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had been led to believe that Bulgar and I were a thousand times more dangerous
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than skaraly monsters or black winged vampires, and hence they held themselves aloof from
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us, the children hiding behind their mothers, and the mothers peering through crack
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and crevice at us. The size of my head inspired them with a nameless
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dread, and even the half dozen of the younger and more courageous drew aside
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instinctively to let me pass. For the first time in my life, I
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was an object of horror to my fellow creatures, but I had no hard
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thoughts against them, timid children of nature that they were. To them,
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I was as terrible an object as the torch armed demon of destruction would be
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to us were he let loose in one of our fair cities of the upper
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world. And now the guard of happy forgetters had halted in front of what
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seemed to be a huge cask fashioned of solid marble, and set one half
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within the white wall of the cavern to which they had led me. But
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on second glance I saw that there was a row of square holes around its
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bulge, like those in the top of a capstan. The happy forgiters now
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disappeared for a moment, and when they joined me again, each bore in
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hand a metal bar, the end of which lies set in one of these
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holes. And then, at a signal from the leader, the huge half
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circle of marble began to turn noiselessly around, exactly like a capstan. As
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each man's lever came to the wall, he shifted it to the front again.
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Suddenly, to my amazement, I saw that the great marble cask was
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hollow, like a sentry box. And you may judge of my feelings,
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dear friends. Upon being politely requested to step inside, did I refuse to
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obey? Not I it would have been useless, for was not the whole
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tribe of rattle brains there to lay hands upon me and thrust me in.
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So, taking off my hat and making a low bow to the little group
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of happy forgetters, I stepped within the hollow cask, and Bulgar did the
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same, but not with so good a grace as his master. For casting
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an angry glance at the inhospitable dwellers in these chambers of white marble, he
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growled and laid bare his teeth to show his content empted for them. Now
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the great marble cask began to revolve the other way, and in a moment
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it was back in place again. I heard several sharp clicks, as if
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a number of huge spring latches had snapped into place, And then all was
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silent as the tomb, and I had almost said as dark too, But
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no, I could not say that, for I looked out into a low
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tunnel which ran past the niche in which Bulgar and I were standing, and
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to my more than wonder it was dimly lighted. I stepped out into it.
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It was as round as a cannon bore, and just high enough for
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me to stand erect. And now I discovered whence the light proceeded in the
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cracks and crevices of its walls grew vast masses of those delicate light giving fungus
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rootlets, the glow of which was so strong that I had no difficulty in
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reading and writing on my tablets. In fact, I stood there for several
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minutes, making entries by the light of these bunches of glowing rootlets. Then
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the thought flashed through my mind, which way shall I turn? To the
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right or to the left. Bulgar comprehended the cause of my vacillation, and
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made haste to come to my rescue. After sniffing the air, first in
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one direction and in any other, he chose the right hand, and I
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followed, without a thought of questioning his wisdom. Strange to say, he
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had not advanced more than a few hundred rods before I noticed that there was
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a strong current of air blowing through the tunnel in the direction Vulgar had taken.
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Every moment it increased in violence, fairly, lifting us from our feet
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and bearing us along through this narrow bore made by Nature's own hands, and
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lighted too by lamps of her own fashioning. The motion of the air through
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this vast pipe caused bursts of mighty tones, as if peeled forth by some
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gigantic organ played by giant hands. It was strange, but yet I felt
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no terror as I listened to this unearthly music, although its depth of tone
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jarred painfully upon my ear drums. By the dim light of the luminous rootlets,
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I could see Ulgar just ahead of me, and I was content.
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No shiver of fear ran down my back or robbed my limbs of their full
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power to resist the ever increasing pressure of the air. But as it grew
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stronger and stronger, half of my own accord, and half because Bulgar set
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the example, I broke into a run. Our pace, once quickened,
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it was impossible for me to slow up again, on on in a mad
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race, my feet scarcely touching the bottom of the tunnel, I sped along
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while the great pipe through which I was borne on the very wings of the
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gale, sent forth its deep and majestic peal. There was something strangely and
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mysteriously exciting in this race, and all that kept me from enjoying it to
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my full bent was the thought that a sudden increase in the violence of the
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blast might toss me violently on my face. Impossibly break an arm for me,
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or injure me in some serious way. All at once, the deep
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peeling forth of the organ like tone seized, and in its stead came the
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awful sound of a rushing water. Before I had time to think, it
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was upon me, striking me like a terrific blow from some gigantic fist wearing
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a boxing glove. The next instant I was caught up like a cork on
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a mountain. Torrent swayed from side to side, twisted, turned, stapped
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down and cast up again, whirled over and over, tossed and tumbled,
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rolled along like a wheel, my arms and legsless spokes, wonderful to relate.
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I did not lose consciousness as this terrible current shot me like a stick
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of timber through the flume, whither I knew not only that the speed and
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volume went ever on increasing, until at last the tumultuous torrent filled the tunnel
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and robbed me of light, of breath, of life, of everything,
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including my faithful and loving bulgar. How long it lasted, this fearful ride
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in the arms of these mad waters, rushing as if for life or death
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through this narrow boar, I know not I only know that my ears were
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suddenly assailed with a mighty whizz and rush of water, as through the nuzzle
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of some gigantic hose, and that I was shot out into the glorious sunshine,
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out on to the grand, free open air of the upper world,
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and sent flying up toward the dear blue sky with its flecks of fleecely cloudlets,
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and Bulgar some twenty feet ahead of me, And that then, with
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a gracefully curved flight through the soft and balmy air of harvest time, we
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both were gently dropped into a quiet little lake, nestled at the foot of
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a hillside yellow with ripened corn. In a moment or so we had swum
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ashore. Bulgar wanted to halt and shake the water from his thick coat,
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but I couldn't wait for that. Wet as he was, I clasped into
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my heart while he showered caresses on me. But not a word was said,
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not a sound was uttered, we both of us too happy to speak.
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And if you have ever been in that state, dear friends, you
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know how it feels. I can't describe it to you. At this moment,
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some men and boys clad in the garb of the Russian peasant came racing
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across the fields to see what I was about, no doubt, for I
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had stripped off my heavy outside clothing and was spreading it out in the sun
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to dry. Upon sight of these red cheeked children of the upper world,
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I was so overcome with joy that for a moment or so I couldn't get
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a syllable across my lips. But making a great effort, I cried out,
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Fathers, brothers, where am I speak, my dear souls in northeastern
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Siberia. Little soul, replied the eldest of the party, not far from
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the banks of the Obie. But whence comest thou boy, Saint Nicholas,
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I believe thou hast spit out of the spouting. Well, what art thou
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doing here alone? I paid no attention to the question. I was thinking
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of something else of more importance to me. To wit my splendid achievement,
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the marvelous underground journey I had just completed, fully five hundred miles in length,
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passing completely under the ural mountains. After a short stay at the nearest
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village, I engaged the best guide that was to be had, and crossed
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the earls. By the pass in the most direct line re entered Russia,
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had made haste to join the first government train on its way to Saint Petersburg,
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having despatched a courier with letters to my beloved parents informing them of my
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good health and whereabouts. I passed several weeks very pleasantly in the Russian capital,
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and then, by easy stages, set out for home. The elder
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Baron came as far as Riga to meet me and brought me the best of
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news from Castle Trump, that my dear mother was in perfect health, and
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that she and every man, woman and child in and about the castle were
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anxiously awaiting to give me a real German welcome back home. And here,
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dear friends mitt Hertzlein, Greece, Bulger and I take our leave of you.
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End of chapter thirty two. End of Baron Trump's Marvelous Underground Journey by Ingersoll Lockwood