# Затерянный мир / The Lost World

Артур Конан Дойл

Перед вами научно-фантастический роман Артура Конан Дойла «Затерянный мир», повествующий об опасной, но невероятно увлекательной экспедиции в дебри Амазонки. Текст произведения адаптирован и снабжен параллельным переводом на русский язык.

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Желаем успехов!

## Arthur Conan Doyle. The Lost World

### Chapter 1. There Are Heroisms All Round Us


Mr. Hungerton, her father, was the most tactless person on the earth, a good-natured man, but absolutely centered on himself. If anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the thought of such a father-in-law. I am sure that he really believed that I came round to their house three days a week only for the pleasure of his company.

For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonous talk about money exchange and debts.

“Imagine,” he cried, “that all the debts in the world were to be paid at once… what would happen then?”

I answered that I should be a ruined man. He jumped from his chair, complained that it was impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject with me, and ran out of the room to dress for a Masonic meeting.

At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come! All that evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits the signal which will send him on a hope.

She sat against the red curtain. How beautiful she was! And yet how aloof! We had been friends, quite good friends; but never could I get beyond the same friendship which I might have had with one of my fellow-reporters upon the Gazette – a frank and kind friendship. My nature is all against a woman who is too frank with me. It is no compliment to a man. Where the real feeling begins, shyness and distrust are its companions. It is heritage from the old days when love and violence went often hand in hand. The bent head, the sideward eye, the low voice… these, and not the straight gaze and frank reply, are the true signals of passion. Even in my short life I had learned it.

Gladys was full of womanly qualities. Some thought her to be cold and hard; but it was so untrue! That bronzed skin, that raven hair, the large eyes, the full lips… all the signs of passion were there. But I was sadly conscious that up to now I had never found the secret how to conquer her. She could refuse me, but better be a refused lover than an accepted brother.

So I was about to break the silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked at me. Gladys shook her head and smiled with reproof.

“I have a feeling that you are going to propose, Ned. I wish you wouldn’t.”

“How did you know that I was going to propose?” I asked in wonder.

“Don’t women always know? But… Ned, our friendship has been so good and so pleasant! What a pity to spoil it! Don’t you think how splendid it is that a young man and a young woman should be able to talk face to face as we have talked?”

“I don’t know, Gladys. You see, I can talk face to face with anyone. So it does not satisfy me. I want my arms round you, and your head on my breast, and… oh, Gladys…”

“You’ve spoiled everything, Ned,” she said. “Why can’t you control yourself?”

“I can’t. It’s nature. It’s love.”

“Well, I have never felt it.”

“But you must… you, with your beauty, with your soul! Oh, Gladys, you were made for love! You must love!”

“One must wait till it comes.”

“But why can’t you love me, Gladys? Is it my appearance, or what?”

“No it isn’t that,” she said with a smile. “It’s deeper.”

“My character?”

She nodded severely.

“What can I do, Gladys? Tell me, what’s wrong?”

“I’m in love with somebody else,” she said.

I jumped out of my chair.

“It’s nobody in particular,” she explained, laughing at the expression of my face: “only an ideal. I’ve never met the kind of man I mean.”

“Tell me about him. What does he look like?”

“Oh, he might look very much like you.”

“How dear of you to say that! Well, what is it that he does that I don’t do? Just say the word… non-drinking, vegetarian, pilot, theosophist, superman. I’ll have a try at it, Gladys, if you will tell me what would please you.”

She laughed at the flexibility of my character.

“Well, in the first place, I don’t think my ideal would speak like that,” said she. “He would be a harder man, not so ready to adapt himself to a girl. But, above all, he must be a man who could act, who could look Death in the face and have no fear of him, a man of great experiences. It is not a man that I should love, but the glories he had won because they would be reflected upon me!”

She looked so beautiful in her enthusiasm!

“But we don’t usually get the chance of great experiences… at least, I never had the chance. If I did, I should try to take it.”

“But chances are all around you. Remember that young Frenchman who went up last week in a balloon. The wind blew him fifteen hundred miles in twenty-four hours, and he fell in the middle of Russia. That was the kind of man I mean. Think of the woman he loved, and how other women must have envied her! That’s what I should like to be… envied for my man.”

“I’d have done it to please you.”

“But you shouldn’t do it just to please me. You should do it because you can’t help yourself, because it’s natural to you. Now, when you described the Wigan coal explosion last month, could you not have gone down and helped those people?”

“I did.”

“You never said so.”

“There was nothing worth boasting of.”

“I didn’t know.” She looked at me with more interest. “That was brave of you.”

“I had to. If you want to write a good article, you must be where the things are.”

“What a prosaic motive! It seems to take all the romance out of it. But, still, I am glad that you went down that mine. I dare say I am a foolish woman with a young girl’s dreams. And yet it is so real with me, that I cannot help it. If I marry, I do want to marry a famous man!”

“Why should you not?” I cried. “Give me a chance, and see if I will take it! I’ll do something in the world!”

She laughed at my sudden Irish excitement.

“Why not?” she said. “You have everything a man could have… youth, health, strength, education, energy. Now I am glad if it wakens these thoughts in you!”

“And if I…”

Her dear hand rested upon my lips.

“Not another word, Sir! You should have been at the office for evening duty half an hour ago. Some day, perhaps, when you have won your place in the world, we shall talk it over again.”

And so I left her with my heart glowing within me and with the eager determination to find some deed which was worthy of my lady. But who… who in all this world could ever have imagined this incredible deed I was about to take? Was it hardness, was it selfishness, that Gladys should ask me to risk my life for her own glorification? Such thoughts may come in middle age but never when you are twenty three and in the fever of your first love.


### Chapter 2. Try Your Luck With Professor Challenger


I always liked McArdle, the crabbed, old, red-headed news editor, and I hoped that he liked me. Of course, Beaumont was the real boss but he was above and beyond us – we saw him very seldom. And McArdle was his first lieutenant. The old man nodded as I entered the room.

“Well, Mr. Malone, you seem to be doing very well,” he said in his kindly Scottish accent.

I thanked him.

“The article about the explosion was excellent. So why did you want to see me?”

“To ask a favour… Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission? I would do my best to get you some good copy.”

“What sort of mission, Mr. Malone?”

“Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. The more difficult it was, the better it would suit me.”

“You seem very anxious to lose your life.”

“To justify my life, Sir.”

“Dear me, Mr. Malone, I’m afraid the day for this sort of thing is rather past. There’s no room for romance… Wait a bit, though!” he added, with a sudden smile. “What about exposing a fraud… a modern Munchausen… and making him ridiculous? You could show him as the liar that he is! How does it sound to you?”

“Anything… anywhere… I don’t care.”

McArdle was plunged in thought for some minutes.

“You seem to have, I suppose, animal magnetism, or youthful energy, or something… So why should you not try your luck with Professor Challenger?”

I looked a little startled.

“Challenger!” I cried. “Professor Challenger, the famous zoologist! The man who broke the skull of Blundell, of the Telegraph!”

The news editor smiled grimly.

“Do you mind? Didn’t you say it was adventures you wanted?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

“I don’t suppose he can always be so violent as that. You may have better luck, or more tact in handling him.”

“I really know nothing about him,” I said. “I only remember his name in connection with the police-court proceedings, for striking Blundell. I am not very clear yet why I am to interview this gentleman. What else has he done?”

“He went to South America on an expedition two years ago. Came back last year. Had undoubtedly been to South America, but refused to say exactly where. Began to tell his adventures in a vague way but then just shut up like an oyster. Something wonderful happened… or the man’s a great liar. Had some damaged photographs, said to be fakes. Now he attacks anyone who asks questions and kicks reporters downstairs. In my opinion he’s just a maniac with a turn for science. That’s your man, Mr. Malone. Now, go. We’ll see what you can do. You’re big enough to look after yourself.”

I left the office and entered the Savage Club and found the very man I needed. Tarp Henry, of the staff of Nature, a thin, dry, leathery creature, who was full of kindly humanity.

“What do you know of Professor Challenger?” I asked him at once.

“Challenger? He was the man who came with some story from South America.”

“What story?”

“Oh, it was nonsense about some animals he had discovered. I believe he has retracted since. He gave an interview to Reuter’s, and there was such a howl that he saw it wouldn’t do. There were one or two men who were inclined to take him seriously, but he soon removed them.”

“How?”

“Well, by his rudeness and impossible behaviour. There was poor old Wadley, of the Zoological Institute. Wadley sent a message: ’The President of the Zoological Institute presents his compliments to Professor Challenger, and would take it as a personal favour if he would do them the honour to come to their next meeting.’ The answer was unprintable.”

“Good Lord! Anything more about Challenger?”

“Well, he’s a fanatic.”

“In what particular sphere?”

“There are lots of examples, but the latest is something about Weissmann and Evolution. He had a fearful row about it in Vienna, I believe. There is a translation of the proceedings at our office. Would you like to have a look?”

“It’s just what I need! I have to interview the fellow. I’ll go with you now, if it is not too late.”

Half an hour later I was seated in the newspaper office with a huge tome in front of me, reading the article “Weissmann versus Darwin.” I couldn’t make out a word as if it were written in Chinese, but it was evident that the English Professor had spoken in a very aggressive way, and had thoroughly annoyed his Continental colleagues.

“I wish you could translate it into English for me,” I said, pathetically, to my friend.

“Well, it is a translation.”

“All I need is a single good sentence which conveys some sort of definite human idea. Ah, yes, this one will do. I even seem to understand it. I’ll copy it out. This shall be my link with the terrible Professor.”

“Nothing else I can do?”

“Well, yes; I am going to write to him. If I could use your address it would give atmosphere.”

“Well, that’s my chair and desk. You’ll find paper there.”

It took some time and when it was finished it wasn’t such a bad job. I read it aloud to Tarp Henry.

“DEAR PROFESSOR CHALLENGER,” it said, “As a modest student of Nature, I have always been interested in your speculations, especially about the differences between Darwin and Weissmann…”

“You liar!” murmured Tarp Henry.

“…But there is one sentence in your speech at Vienna, namely: ’I protest strongly against the insufferable and entirely dogmatic assertion that each separate id is a microcosm possessed of an historical architecture elaborated slowly through the series of generations.’ With your permission, I would ask the favour of an interview, as I don’t quite understand it and have certain suggestions which I could only tell you in a personal conversation. With your consent, I trust to have the honour of calling at eleven o’clock the day after tomorrow (Wednesday) morning.

Yours very truly, EDWARD D. MALONE.”


“But what do you mean to do?” Tarp Henry asked.

“To get there. Once I am in his room I may see some variants. If he is a sportsman he will like it.”

“Indeed a sportsman! Chain mail, or an American football suit… that’s what you’ll need. Well, good-bye. I’ll have the answer for you here on Wednesday morning… if he ever answers you. He is a dangerous character. Perhaps it would be best for you if you never heard from the fellow at all.”


### Chapter 3. He Is A Perfectly Impossible Person


However when I called on Wednesday there was a letter with the West Kensington postmark upon it, and my name scrawled across the envelope. The contents were as follows:

“SIR, – I have duly received your note, in which you claim to support my views. You quote an isolated sentence from my lecture, and appear to have some difficulty in understanding it. I should have thought that only a stupid person could have failed to grasp the point, but if it really needs explanation I shall see you at the hour named. As for your suggestions I would have you know that it is not my habit to change my views. You will kindly show the envelope of this letter to my man, Austin, when you call, as he has to take every precaution to protect me from the intrusive people who call themselves ’journalists’.

Yours faithfully, GEORGE EDWARD CHALLENGER.”

This was the letter that I read aloud to Tarp Henry. His only remark was that I should take along some haemostatic. Some people have such extraordinary sense of humor.

A taxicab took me round in good time for my appointment. It was an imposing house at which we stopped. The door was opened by an odd person of uncertain age. He looked me up and down with a searching light blue eye.

“Expected?” he asked.

“An appointment.” I showed the envelope.

“Right!” He seemed to be a person of few words. I entered and saw a small woman. She was a bright, dark-eyed lady, more French than English in her type.

“One moment,” she said. “You can wait, Austin. May I ask if you have met my husband before?”

“No, madam, I have not had the honour.”

“Then I apologize to you in advance. I must tell you that he is an impossible person… absolutely impossible. Get quickly out of the room if he seems to be violent. Don’t argue with him. Several people have been injured. Afterwards there is a public scandal and it reflects upon me and all of us. I suppose it wasn’t about South America you wanted to see him?”

I could not lie to a lady.

“Dear me! That is the most dangerous subject. You won’t believe a word he says… But don’t tell him so, it makes him very violent. Pretend to believe him. If you find him really dangerous… ring the bell and hold him off until I come. Even at his worst I can usually control him.”


So I was conducted to the end of the passage. I entered the room and found myself face to face with the Professor.

He sat in a chair behind a broad table, which was covered with books, maps, and diagrams. His appearance made me gasp. I was prepared for something strange, but not for so overpowering a personality as this. It was his size which took one’s breath away… His head was enormous, the largest I have ever seen. His hair and beard were bluish-black, the latter was spade-shaped and rippling down over his chest. The eyes were blue-gray under great black eyebrows, very clear, very critical, and very masterful. This and a roaring voice made up my first impression of the notorious Professor Challenger.

“Well?” said he, with a most arrogant stare. “What now?”

“You were good enough to give me an appointment, sir,” said I, producing his envelope.

“Oh, you are the young person who cannot understand plain English, are you? And you approve my conclusions, as I understand?”

“Entirely, sir, entirely!” I was very emphatic.

“Dear me! That strengthens my position very much, does it not? Well, at least you are better than that herd of swine in Vienna.”

“They seem to have behaved outrageously,” said I.

“I assure you that I have no need of your sympathy. Well, sir, let us do what we can to end this visit. You had some comments to make up.”

There was such a brutal directness in his speech which made everything very difficult. Oh, my Irish wits, could they not help me now, when I needed help so sorely? He looked at me with two sharp eyes.

“Come, come!” he rumbled.

“I am, of course, a simple student,” said I, with a smile, “an earnest inquirer. At the same time, it seemed to me that you were a little severe towards your colleagues.”

“Severe? Well… I suppose you are aware,” said he, checking off points upon his fingers, “that the cranial index is a constant factor?”

“Naturally,” said I.

“And that telegony is still doubtful?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And that the germ plasm is different from the parthenogenetic egg?”

“Surely!” I cried.

“But what does that prove?” he asked, in a gentle, persuasive voice.

“Ah, what indeed?” I murmured. “What does it prove?”

“It proves,” he roared, with a sudden blast of fury, “that you are the damned journalist, who has no more science in his head than he has truth in his reports!”

He had jumped to his feet with a mad rage in his eyes. Even at that moment of tension I found time for amazement at the discovery that he was quite a short man, his head not higher than my shoulder.

“Nonsense!” he cried, leaning forward. “That’s what I have been talking to you, sir! Scientific nonsense! Did you think you could play a trick on me? You, with your walnut of a brain? You have played a rather dangerous game, and you have lost it.”

“Look here, sir,” said I, backing to the door and opening it; “you can be as abusive as you like. But there is a limit. You shall not attack me.”

“Shall I not?” He was slowly approaching in a menacing way, “I have thrown several of journalists out of the house. You will be the fourth or fifth. Why should you not follow them?”

I could have rushed for the hall door, but it would have been too disgraceful. Besides, a little glow of righteous anger was springing up within me.

“Keep your hands off, sir. I’ll not stand it.”

“Dear me!” he cried smiling.

“Don’t be such a fool, Professor!” I cried. “What can you hope for? I’m not the man…”

It was at that moment that he attacked me. It was lucky that I had opened the door, or we should have gone through it. We did a Catharine-wheel together down the passage. My mouth was full of his beard, our arms were locked, our bodies intertwined. The watchful Austin had thrown open the hall door. We went down the front steps and rolled apart into the gutter. He sprang to his feet, waving his fists.

“Had enough?” he panted.

“You infernal bully!” I cried, as I gathered myself together.

At that moment a policeman appeared beside us, his notebook in his hand.

“What’s all this? You ought to be ashamed” said the policeman. “Well,” he insisted, turning to me, “what is it, then?”

“This man attacked me,” I said.

“Did you attack him?” asked the policeman.

The Professor breathed hard and said nothing.

“It’s not the first time, either,” said the policeman, severely. “You were in trouble last month for the same thing. Do you give him in charge, sir?”

I softened.

“No,” said I, “I do not. It was my fault. He gave me fair warning.”

The policeman closed his notebook.

“Don’t let us have any more such goings-on,” he said and left.

The Professor looked at me, and there was something humorous in his eyes.

“Come in!” said he. “I’ve not done with you yet.”

I followed him into the house. The man-servant, Austin, closed the door behind us.


### Chapter 4. It’s Just The Very Biggest Thing In The World


Hardly was it shut when Mrs. Challenger ran out of the dining-room. The small woman was furious.

“You brute, George!” she screamed. “You’ve hurt that nice young man.”

“Here he is, safe and sound.”

“Nothing but scandals every week! Everyone hating and making fun of you. You’ve finished my patience. You, a man who should have been Regius Professor at a great University with a thousand students all respecting you. Where is your dignity, George? A ruffian… that’s what you have become!”

“Be good, Jessie.”

“A roaring bully!”

Challenger bellowed with laughter. Suddenly his tone altered.

“Excuse us, Mr. Malone. I called you back for some more serious purpose than to mix you up with our little domestic problems.” He suddenly gave his wife a kiss, which embarrassed me. “Now, Mr. Malone,” he continued, “this way, if you please.”

We re-entered the room which we had left so rapidly ten minutes before. The Professor closed the door carefully behind us, pointed at the arm-chair, and pushed a cigar-box under my nose.

“Now listen attentively. The reason why I brought you home again is in your answer to that policeman. It was not the answer I am accustomed to associate with your profession.”

He said it like a professor addressing his class.

“I am going to talk to you about South America,” he said and took a sketch-book out of his table. “No comments if you please. First of all, I wish you to understand that nothing I tell you now is to be repeated in any public way unless you have my permission. And that permission will probably never be given. Is that clear?”

“It is very hard… Your behaviour…”

“Then I wish you a very good morning.”

“No, no!” I cried. “So far as I can see, I have no choice.”

“Word of honour?”

“Word of honour.”

He looked at me with doubt in his eyes.

“What do I know about your honour?” said he.

“Upon my word, sir,” I cried, angrily, “I have never been so insulted in my life.”

He seemed more interested than annoyed.

“Round-headed,” he muttered. “Brachycephalic, gray-eyed, black-haired, with suggestion of the negroid. Celtic, I suppose?”

“I am an Irishman, sir.”

“That, of course, explains it. Well, you promised. You are probably aware that two years ago I made a journey to South America. You are aware… or probably, in this half-educated age, you are not aware… that the country round some parts of the Amazon is still only partially explored. It was my business to visit these little-known places and to examine their fauna. And I did a great job which will be my life’s justification. I was returning, my work accomplished, when I had occasion to spend a night at a small Indian village. The natives were Cucama Indians, an amiable but degraded race, with mental powers hardly superior to the average Londoner. I had cured some of their people, and had impressed them a lot, so that I was not surprised to find myself eagerly awaited upon my return. I understood from their gestures that someone needed my medical services. When I entered the hut I found that the sufferer had already died. He was, to my surprise, no Indian, but a white man. So far as I could understand the account of the natives, he was a complete stranger to them, and had come upon their village through the woods alone being very exhausted.”


“The man’s bag lay beside the couch, and I examined the contents. His name was written upon a tab within it… Maple White, Lake Avenue, Detroit, Michigan. Now I can say that I owe this man a lot.”

“This man had been an artist. There were some simple pictures of river scenery, a paint-box, a box of coloured chalks, some brushes, that curved bone which lies upon my inkstand, a cheap revolver, and a few cartridges. Some personal equipment he had lost in his journey. Then I noticed a sketch-book. This sketch-book. I hand it to you now, and I ask you to take it page by page and to examine the contents.”

I had opened it. The first page was disappointing, however, as it contained nothing but the picture of a very fat man, “Jimmy Colver on the Mail-boat,” written beneath it. There followed several pages which were filled with small sketches of Indians. Studies of women and babies accounted for several more pages, and then there was an unbroken series of animal drawings.

“I could see nothing unusual.”

“Try the next page,” said he with a smile.

It was a full-page sketch of a landscape in colour… the kind of painting which an open-air artist takes as a guide to a future more elaborate effort. I could see high hills covered with light-green trees. Above the hills there were dark red cliffs. They looked like an unbroken wall. Near the cliffs there was a pyramidal rock, crowned by a great tree. Behind it all, a blue tropical sky.

“Well?” he asked.

“It is no doubt a curious formation,” said I, “but I am not geologist enough to say that it is wonderful.”

“Wonderful!” he repeated. “It is unique. It is incredible. No one on earth has ever dreamed of such a possibility. Now the next.”

I turned it over, and gave an exclamation of surprise. There was a full-page picture of the most extraordinary creature that I had ever seen. It was the wild dream of an opium smoker. The head was like that of a bird, the body that of a large lizard. The tail was covered with sharp spikes. In front of this creature there was a small man, or dwarf, who stood looking at it.

“Well, what do you think of that?” cried the Professor, rubbing his hands with triumph.

“It is monstrous… grotesque.”

“But what made him draw such an animal?”

“Gin, I think.”

“Oh, that’s the best explanation you can give, is it?”

“Well, sir, what is yours?”

“The creature exists. That is actually sketched from the life.”

I should have laughed only that I remembered our Catharine-wheel down the passage.

“No doubt,” said I, “no doubt… But this tiny human figure puzzles me. If it were an Indian we could set it down as evidence of some pigmy race in America, but it is a European.”

“Look here!” he cried, “You see that plant behind the animal; I suppose you thought it was a flower? Well, it is a huge palm. He sketched himself to give a scale of heights.”

“Good heavens!” I cried. “Then you think the beast was so huge…”

I had turned over the leaves but there was nothing more in the book.

“…a single sketch by a wandering American artist. You can’t, as a man of science, defend such a position as that.”

For answer the Professor took a book down from a shelf.

“There is an illustration here which would interest you. Ah, yes, here it is! It is said: ’… Jurassic Dinosaur Stegosaurus. The leg is twice as tall as a full-grown man.’ Well, what do you think of that?”

He handed me the open book. I looked at the picture. In this animal of a dead world there was certainly a very great resemblance to the sketch of the unknown artist.

“Surely it might be a coincidence…”

“Very good,” said the Professor, “I will now ask you to look at this bone.” He handed over the one which he had already described as part of the dead man’s possessions. It was about six inches long, and thicker than my thumb.

“To what known creature does that bone belong?” asked the Professor.

I examined it.

“It might be a very thick human collar-bone,” I said.

“The human collar-bone is curved. This is straight.”

“Then I don’t know what it is.”

He took a little bone the size of a bean out of a pill-box.

“This human bone is the analogue of the one which you hold in your hand. That will give you some idea of the size of the creature. What do you say to that?”

“Maybe an elephant…”

“Don’t! Don’t talk of elephants in South America! It belongs to a very large, a very strong animal which exists upon the face of the earth. You are still unconvinced?”

“I am at least deeply interested.”

“Then your case is not hopeless. We will proceed with my narrative. I could hardly come away from the Amazon without learning the truth. There were indications as to the direction from which the dead traveller had come. Indian legends would alone have been my guide, for I found that rumours of a strange land were common among all the tribes. Have you heard of Curupuri?”

“Never.”

“Curupuri is the spirit of the woods, something terrible, something to be avoided. It is a word of terror along the Amazon. Now all tribes agree as to the direction in which Curupuri lives. It was the same direction from which the American had come. Something terrible lay that way. It was my business to find out what it was.”

“I got two of the natives as guides. After many adventures we came at last to a tract of country which has never been described or visited except by the artist Maple White. Would you look at this?”

He handed me a photograph.

“This is one of the few which partially escaped – on our way back our boat was upset. There was talk of faking. I am not in a mood to argue such a point.”

The photograph was certainly very off-coloured. It represented a long and enormously high line of cliffs, with trees in the foreground.

“The same place as the painted picture…” said I.

“Yes,” the Professor answered. “We progress, do we not? Now, will you please look at the top of that rock? Do you observe something there?”

“An enormous tree.”

“But on the tree?”

“A large bird,” said I.

He handed me a lens.

“Yes,” I said, looking through it, “a large bird stands on the tree. It has a great beak. A pelican?”

“It may interest you that I shot it. It was the only absolute proof of my experiences.”

“You have it, then?”

“I had it. It was unfortunately lost in the same boat accident which ruined my photographs. Only a part of its wing was left in my hand.”

He took it out. It was at least two feet in length, a curved bone, with a membranous veil beneath it.

“A monstrous bat!” I suggested.

“Nothing of the sort,” said the Professor, severely. “The wing of a bat consists of three fingers with membranes between. Now, you can see that this is a single membrane hanging upon a single bone, and therefore that it cannot belong to a bat. What is it then?”

“I really do not know,” I said.

“Here,” said he, pointing to the picture of an extraordinary flying monster, “is an excellent reproduction of the pterodactyl, a flying reptile of the Jurassic period. On the next page is a diagram of the mechanism of its wing. Compare it with the specimen in your hand.”

A wave of amazement passed over me as I looked. I was convinced. There could be no getting away from it. The proof was overwhelming. The sketch, the photographs, the narrative, and now the actual specimen… the evidence was complete.

“It’s just the very biggest thing that I ever heard of!” I cried. “It is colossal. You have discovered a lost world! I’m awfully sorry if I seemed to doubt you.”

The Professor purred with satisfaction.

“And then, sir, what did you do next?”

“I managed to see the plateau from the pyramidal rock upon which I saw and shot the pterodactyl. It appeared to be very large; I could not see the end of it. Below, it is jungly region, full of snakes, insects, and fever. It is a natural protection to this country.”

“Did you see any other trace of life?”

“No, I did not, but we heard some very strange noises from above.”

“But what about the creature that the American drew?”

“We can only suppose that he must have made his way to the rock and seen it there. The way is a very difficult one. That’s why the creatures do not come down and overrun the surrounding country.”

“But how did they come to be there?”

“There can only be one explanation. South America is a granite continent. At this single point in the interior there has been a great, sudden volcanic upheaval. These cliffs, I may remark, are basaltic, and therefore plutonic. And a large area has been lifted up with all its living contents. What is the result? Creatures survive which would otherwise disappear. You will observe that both the pterodactyl and the stegosaurus are Jurassic. They have been artificially conserved by those strange accidental conditions.”

“Your evidence is conclusive. You have only to tell the world about it.”

“I can only tell you that I was met by incredulity, born partly of stupidity and partly of jealousy. It is not my nature, sir, to prove a fact if my word has been doubted. When men like yourself, who represent the foolish curiosity of the public, came to disturb my privacy I was unable to meet them with open arms. By nature I am fiery. I fear you may have remarked it.”

I touched my eye and was silent.

“Well, I invite you to be present at the exhibition.” Challenger handed me a card from his desk. “Mr. Percival Waldron, a naturalist of some popular repute, is to lecture at eight-thirty at the Zoological Institute’s Hall upon ’The Record of the Ages’. I have been specially invited. Maybe a few remarks may arouse the interest of the audience. We’ll see… By all means, come. It will be a comfort to me to know that I have one ally in the hall, however inefficient and ignorant of the subject. No public use is to be made of any of the material that I have given you.”

“But Mr. McArdle… my news editor… will want to know what I have done.”

“Tell him what you like. I leave it to you that nothing of all this appears in print. Very good. Then the Zoological Institute’s Hall at eight-thirty tonight.”


### Chapter 5. Question!


McArdle was at his post as usual.

“Well,” he cried, expectantly, “Don’t tell me that he attacked you.”

“We had a little difference at first.”

“What a man it is! What did you do?”

“Well, he became more reasonable and we had a chat. But I got nothing out of him… nothing for publication.”

“You got a black eye out of him, and that’s for publication. Mr. Malone, we must bring the man to his bearings. Just give me the material. I’ll show him up for the fraud he is.”

“I wouldn’t do that, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is not a fraud at all.”

“You don’t mean to say you really believe this stuff about mammoths and mastodons?”

“I do believe he has got something new.”

I told him the Professor’s narrative in a few sentences.

“Well, Mr. Malone,” he said at last, “about this scientific meeting tonight. You’ll be there in any case, so you’ll just give us a pretty full report.”

That day I met Tarp Henry. He listened to my story with a sceptical smile on his face, and roared with laughter on hearing that the Professor had convinced me.

“My dear friend, things don’t happen like that in real life. People don’t stumble upon enormous discoveries and then lose their evidence. Leave that to the novelists. The man is full of tricks.”

“Will you come to the meeting with me?” I asked suddenly.

Tarp Henry looked thoughtful.

“He is not a popular person,” said he. “I should say he is about the best-hated man in London. If the medical students turn out there will be no end of a mess.”

“You might at least do him justice to hear him state his own case.”

“Well, it’s fair. All right. I’m your man for the evening.”

When we arrived at the hall we found more people than I had expected. The audience would be popular as well as scientific. We had taken our seats. Looking behind me, I could see rows of faces of the familiar medical student type. Apparently the great hospitals had each sent down their contingent. The behaviour of the audience at present was good-humoured, but mischievous.

The greatest demonstration of all, however, was at the entrance of my new acquaintance, Professor Challenger, when he passed down to take his place. Such a yell of welcome broke forth that I began to suspect Tarp Henry was right that this audience was there not for the sake of the lecture, but because the famous Professor would take part in the proceedings.

Challenger smiled with weary and tolerant contempt, as a kindly man would meet the yapping of puppies. He sat slowly down, blew out his chest, passed his hand down his beard, and looked with drooping eyelids at the crowded hall before him.

Mr. Waldron, the lecturer, came up, and the proceedings began. He was a stern, gaunt man, with a harsh voice, and an aggressive manner. However he knew how to pass the ideas in a way which was intelligible and even interesting to the public. He told us of the globe, a huge mass of flaming gas. Then he pictured the solidification, the cooling, how the mountains were formed. On the origin of life itself he was vague. Had it built itself out of the cooling, inorganic elements of the globe? Very likely. Had the germs of it arrived from outside upon a meteor? Even the wisest man was the least categorical upon the point.


This brought the lecturer to the animal life, beginning with mollusks and sea creatures, then up rung by rung through reptiles and fishes, till at last mammals. Then he went back to his picture of the past: the drying of the seas, the overcrowded lagoons with sea animals, the tendency of the sea creatures to come out of the sea, the abundance of food awaiting them, their consequent enormous growth.

“Hence, ladies and gentlemen,” he added, “those creatures, which still frighten us, but which were fortunately extinct long before the first appearance of mankind upon this planet.”

“Question!” cried a voice from the platform.

This interjection appeared to him so absurd that at first he didn’t know what to do. He paused for a moment, and then, raising his voice, repeated slowly the words: “Which were extinct before the coming of man.”

“Question!” said the voice once more.

Waldron looked with amazement along the line of professors upon the platform until his eyes fell upon the figure of Challenger, who leaned back in his chair with closed eyes and an amused expression, as if he was smiling in his sleep.

“I see!” said Waldron. “It is my friend Professor Challenger,” and he renewed his lecture as if this was a final explanation and no more need be said.


But the incident was far from being closed. Whatever the lecturer spoke of the past it brought the same exclamation from the Professor. The audience began to roar with delight when it came. Every time Challenger opened his mouth, there was a yell of “Question!” from a hundred voices. Waldron, though a strong man, started hesitating. He stammered, repeated himself, and finally turned furiously upon the cause of his troubles.

“This is really intolerable!” he cried, glaring across the platform. “I must ask you, Professor Challenger, to stop these ignorant interruptions.”

There was a hush over the hall, the students were delighted at seeing the high gods on Olympus quarrelling among themselves. Challenger slowly stood up.

“I must in turn ask you, Mr. Waldron,” he said, “to stop saying what is not in strict accordance with scientific fact.”

“Shame! Shame!” “Give him a hearing!” “Put him out!” “Shove him off the platform!” emerged from a general roar in the hall. The chairman was on his feet and said nervously:

“Professor Challenger… personal views… later.”

The interrupter bowed, smiled, stroked his beard, and relapsed into his chair. And Waldron continued his observations. At last the lecture came to an end… I should say the ending was hurried and disconnected. The thread of the argument had been rudely broken, and the audience was restless. Waldron sat down, and, after a chirrup from the chairman, Professor Challenger rose and came up to the edge of the platform.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began. “I beg pardon… Ladies, Gentlemen, and Children, I should say thanks to Mr. Waldron for the very picturesque and imaginative address to which we have just listened. There are points in it with which I disagree, and it has been my duty to express my opinion at once, but, none the less, Mr. Waldron has accomplished his object well, that object being to give a simple and interesting account of what he conceives to have been the history of our planet. Popular lectures are the easiest to listen to, but Mr. Waldron will excuse me when I say that they are necessarily both superficial and misleading, since they have to be aimed at an ignorant audience.” (Ironical cheering.) “But enough of this! Let me pass to some subject of wider interest. What is the particular point upon which I have challenged our lecturer’s accuracy? It is upon the existence of certain types of animal life upon the earth. I do not speak upon this subject as an amateur. They are indeed, as he has said, our ancestors, but they are our contemporary ancestors, who can still be found. Creatures which were supposed to be Jurassic still exist.” (Cries of “Bosh!” “Prove it!” “How do YOU know?” “Question!”) “How do I know, you ask me? I know because I have visited their secret home. I know because I have seen some of them.” (Applause, uproar, and a voice, “Liar!”) “Am I a liar? Did I hear someone say that I was a liar? If any person in this hall dares to doubt my words, I shall be glad to have a few words with him after the lecture.” (“Liar!”) “Who said that? Every great discoverer has been met with the same incredulity… the generation of fools. When great facts are laid before you, you have not the intuition, the imagination which would help you to understand them. You can only throw mud at the men who have risked their lives to open new fields to science. You persecute the prophets! Galileo! Darwin, and I…” (Prolonged cheering and complete interruption.)


I saw white-bearded men rising and shaking their fists at the Professor. The whole great audience seethed and simmered like a boiling pot. The Professor took a step forward and raised both his hands. There was something so big and strong in the man that the shouting died gradually away before his commanding gesture and his masterful eyes.

“Truth is truth, and the noise of a number of fools cannot affect the matter. I claim that I have opened a new field of science. You don’t believe. Then I put you to the test. Will you choose one or more of your own number to test my statement?”

Mr. Summerlee, the Professor of Comparative Anatomy, rose among the audience, a tall, thin, bitter man. He desired to know how it was that Professor Challenger claimed to have made discoveries in those regions which had been overlooked by Wallace, Bates, and other previous famous explorers.

Professor Challenger answered that Mr. Summerlee appeared to be confusing the Amazon with the Thames; that it was in reality a larger river. It was not impossible for one person to find what another had missed.

Mr. Summerlee declared, with an acid smile, that he fully appreciated the difference between the Thames and the Amazon. And he would be pleased if Professor Challenger would give the whereabouts of the prehistoric animals.

Professor Challenger replied that he reserved such information for good reasons of his own, but would be prepared to give it with proper precautions to a committee chosen from the audience. Would Mr. Summerlee serve on such a committee and test his story in person?

“Yes, I will.” (Great cheering.)

“Since Mr. Summerlee goes to check my statement that I should have one or more with him who may check his. I will not disguise from you that there are difficulties and dangers. Mr. Summerlee will need a younger colleague. Any volunteers?”

Could I have imagined when I entered that hall that I was about to pledge myself to a wilder adventure than had ever come to me in my dreams? Was it not the very opportunity of which Gladys spoke? I had sprung to my feet. I heard Tarp Henry whispering, “Sit down, Malone! Don’t make a fool of yourself.” At the same time I was aware that a tall, thin man, with dark gingery hair, a few seats in front of me, was also on his feet. He glared back at me with hard angry eyes, but I refused to give way.

“I will go, Mr. Chairman!” I kept repeating.

“Name! Name!” cried the audience.

“My name is Edward Dunn Malone. I am the reporter of the Daily Gazette. I claim to be an absolutely unprejudiced witness.”

“What is YOUR name, sir?” the chairman asked of my tall rival.

“I am Lord John Roxton. I have already been up the Amazon.”

“Lord John Roxton is a world-famous traveller,” said the chairman; “at the same time it would certainly be well to have a member of the Press on such an expedition.”

“Then I think,” said Professor Challenger, “both these gentlemen are elected to accompany Professor Summerlee.”

And so, our fate was decided. As I went out from the hall I found myself after some time walking under the silvery lights of Regent Street, full of thoughts of Gladys and my future.

Suddenly there was a touch at my elbow. I turned and saw the tall, thin man who had volunteered to be my companion.

“Mr. Malone, I understand,” said he. “We are to be companions. Perhaps you would spare me half an hour as I have one or two things that I want to say to you.”


### Chapter 6. I Was The Flail Of The Lord


When I entered his flat I had a general impression of extraordinary comfort and elegance combined with an atmosphere of masculinity. Everywhere there were mingled the luxury of the wealthy man of taste and the careless untidiness of the bachelor. Rich furs, antique things, pictures and prints, and numerous trophies, which brought me back to the fact that Lord John Roxton was one of the great sportsmen and athletes of his day.

Having indicated an arm-chair to me and placed my refreshment near it, he seated himself opposite to me and looked at me long and fixedly with his strange, reckless eyes, eyes of a cold light blue, the colour of a lake.

I examined him too: the strongly-curved nose, the dark red hair, masculine moustaches, the aggressive chin. In figure he was spare, very strongly built.

“Well,” said he, at last, “we’ve done it, my friend. I suppose, when you went into that room there was no such thought in your head?”

“No thought of it.”

“The same. And here we are. Why, I’ve only been back three weeks from Uganda, and taken a place in Scotland, and signed the lease and all. Pretty busy… How does it hit you?”

“Well, it is all in the main line of my business. I am a journalist on the Gazette.”

“Mr. Malone, don’t you mind taking a risk, do you?”

“What is the risk?”

“Well, it’s Ballinger… he’s the risk. Have you heard of him?”

“No.”

“Why, Sir John Ballinger is the best sportsman in the north country. Well, it’s not a secret that when he’s out of training, he drinks hard and gets violent… His room is above this. The doctors say that he is done unless some food is got into him, but as he lies in bed with a revolver, and swears he will put six of the best through anyone that comes near him, it is really a problem.”

“What do you mean to do, then?” I asked.

“Well, my idea was that you and I could rush him. He may be sleeping, and at the worst he can only hit one of us, and the other should have him. And we’ll give the old dear the supper of his life.”

It was a rather desperate business. I don’t think that I am a particularly brave man. I have an Irish imagination which makes the unknown and the untried more terrible than they are. On the other hand, I was brought up with a horror of cowardice. I dare say that I could throw myself over a precipice if my courage were questioned, and yet it would surely be pride and fear, rather than courage. I answered as careless as I could that I was ready to go. Some further remark of Lord Roxton’s about the danger only made me irritable.

“Talking won’t make it any better,” said I. “Come on.”

I rose from my chair and he from his. Then with a little chuckle of laughter, he patted me two or three times on the chest, finally pushing me back into my chair.

“All right, sonny,” said he. I looked up in surprise.

“I saw Jack Ballinger myself this morning. He blew a hole in the skirt of my kimono, but we got a jacket on him, and he’s to be all right in a week. I hope you don’t mind… You see I look on this South American business as a very serious thing, and if I have a companion with me I want a man I can rely on. So you came well out of it. Tell me, can you shoot?”

“About average Territorial standard.”

“Good Lord! As bad as that? But you’ll need to hold your gun straight in South America, for we may see some queer things before we get back.”

He crossed to an oaken cupboard, and as he threw it open I saw a rich collection of guns.

“I see…” said he. “Now, here’s something that would do for you.”

He took out a beautiful brown-and-silver rifle.

“Sharply sighted, five cartridges to the clip. You can trust your life to that.” He handed it to me and closed the door of his oak cabinet.

“By the way,” he continued, coming back to his chair, “what do you know of this Professor Challenger?”

“I never saw him till today.”

“Well, neither did I. It’s funny we should both sail under the orders from a man we don’t know. His brothers of science don’t seem to like him.”

I told him shortly my experiences of the morning, and he listened intently. Then he drew out a map of South America and laid it on the table.

“I believe every single word he said was the truth,” said he, earnestly, “America is the richest, most wonderful bit of earth upon this planet. But people don’t know it yet. Well, when I was up there I heard some stories of the same kind… traditions of Indians with something behind them. The more you knew of that country, the more you would understand that anything was possible… ANYTHING. There are just some narrow water-lanes along which folk travel, and outside that it is all darkness. There are fifty-thousand miles of water-way running through a forest that is very near the size of Europe. Why shouldn’t something new and wonderful lie in such a country? And why shouldn’t we be the men to find it out? Besides, there’s a risk in every mile of it. Give me the great waste lands and a gun and something to look for that’s worth finding. I’ve tried war and aeroplanes, but this hunting of prehistoric beasts is a brand-new sensation!” Lord Roxton said, laughing with delight.

We had a long talk that evening. I left him seated, oiling the lock of his favorite rifle, while he still laughed at the thought of the adventures which awaited us. It was clear to me that I could not in all England have found a cooler head or a braver spirit.

That night, tired after the wonderful happenings of the day, I sat late with McArdle, the news editor, explaining to him the whole situation. It was agreed that I should write home full accounts of my adventures in the shape of successive letters to McArdle, and that these should either be edited for the Gazette as they arrived, or held back to be published later, according to the wishes of Professor Challenger.

And now my patient readers, I can address you directly no longer. From now onwards it can only be through the paper which I represent. In the hands of the editor I leave this account of the events which have led up to one of the most remarkable expeditions of all time, so that if I never return to England there shall be some record as to how the affair came about.

Let me draw one last picture before I close the notebook… It is a wet, foggy morning in the late spring; a thin, cold rain is falling. Three figures are walking to the ship. In front of them a porter pushes a trolley with trunks, wraps, and gun-cases. Professor Summerlee, a long, melancholy figure, walks with drooping head, as one who is already sorry for himself. Lord John Roxton steps briskly, and his face beaming. As for myself, I am glad to have these days of preparation behind me. Suddenly there is a shout behind us. It is Professor Challenger, who had promised to see us off. He runs after us.

“No thank you,” says he; “I don’t want to go aboard. I have only a few words to say to you. I beg you not to imagine that I am in any way indebted to you for making this journey. I would have you to understand that it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, and I refuse to entertain the most remote sense of personal obligation. My directions for your instruction and guidance are in this sealed envelope. You will open it when you reach a town which is called Manaos, but not until the date and hour which is marked upon the outside. Have I made myself clear? Mr. Malone, I demand that you give no particulars as to your exact destination, and that nothing be actually published until your return. Good-bye, sir. You have done something to change my feelings for the profession to which you unhappily belong. Good-bye, Lord John. You may congratulate yourself upon the hunting-field which awaits you. And good-bye to you also, Professor Summerlee. If you are still capable of self-improvement, you will surely return to London a wiser man.”

So he turned upon his heel, and a minute later I could see his short figure as he made his way back to his train. Well, we are well down Channel now. God bless all we leave behind us, and send us safely back.


### Chapter 7. Tomorrow We Disappear Into The Unknown


I will not tell in every detail our voyage, nor will I tell of our week’s stay at Para. I will also mention very briefly our river journey, up a wide, slow-moving stream, in a steamer which was little smaller than that which had carried us across the Atlantic. Finally we reached the town of Manaos. Here we spent our time until the day when we were empowered to open the letter of instructions given to us by Professor Challenger. Before I reach the surprising events of that date I would desire to give a clearer sketch of my companions. I speak freely and leave the use of my material to you, Mr. McArdle, since this report must pass through your hands before it reaches the world.

Professor Summerlee turned out to be better equipped for the expedition than one would imagine at first sight. His tall, gaunt figure is insensible to fatigue. Though in his sixty-sixth year, I have never heard him express any dissatisfaction at the hardships which we had. In temper he is naturally acid and sceptical. From the beginning he has never doubted that Professor Challenger is an absolute fraud, that we are likely to get nothing but disappointment and danger in South America and ridicule in England. However, since landing from the boat he has found consolation in the beauty and variety of the insect and bird life around him, for he is absolutely whole-hearted in his devotion to science. He spends his days in the woods with his shot-gun and his butterfly-net, and his evenings in examining the many specimens he has caught. He has been on several scientific expeditions in his youth, and the life of the camp and the canoe is nothing new to him.

Lord John Roxton is twenty years younger, but has something of the same spare physique as Professor Summerlee. Like most men of action, he is laconic in speech, and sinks readily into his own thoughts, but he is always quick to answer a question or join in a conversation, talking in a half-humorous fashion. His knowledge of the world, and very especially of South America, is surprising, and he has a whole-hearted belief in the possibilities of our journey. He has a gentle voice and a quiet manner, but behind it hides a capacity for furiousity and pitiless resolution. He spoke little of his own visits in Brazil and Peru, but I was very much amazed to find the excitement among the natives, who looked at him as their champion and protector. The deeds of the Red Chief, as they called him, had become legends among them.

These were that Lord John had found himself some years before in that no-man’s-land somewhere between Peru, Brazil, and Columbia. A handful of villainous half-breeds dominated the country, turned the natives into slaves, terrorizing them with the most inhuman tortures in order to force them to gather the india-rubber, which was then floated down the river to Para. Lord John Roxton made the stand for the victims, and received nothing but threats and insults. He then formally declared war against the leader of the slave-drivers, armed the natives, and conducted a campaign, which ended by his killing with his own hands the notorious half-breed and breaking down the system which he represented.

One useful result of his former experiences was that he could talk fluently in the Lingoa Geral, which is the peculiar talk, one-third Portuguese and two-thirds Indian, which is current all over Brazil.

I have said before that Lord John Roxton was obsessed with South America. He could not speak of that great country without admiration. Even the Professor’s cynical and sceptical smile would gradually vanish from his thin face as he listened. He would tell the history of the mighty river so rapidly explored, and yet so unknown in regard to all that lay behind its ever-changing banks.

“What is there?” he would cry, pointing to the north. “Wood and jungle. Who knows what it may shelter? And there to the south? A wilderness of dark forest, where no white man has ever been. The unknown is up against us on every side. Who will say what is possible in such a country? Why should old man Challenger not be right?” And the stubborn sneer would reappear on Professor Summerlee’s face, and he would sit, shaking his head in unsympathetic silence, smoking his pipe.

So much, for the moment, for my two white companions. But already we have enrolled certain retainers who may play no small part in what is to come. The first is a gigantic negro named Zambo, who is a black Hercules, as willing as any horse, and about as intelligent. We enlisted him at Para as he spoke English a little bit. There we also took Gomez and Manuel, two half-breeds, as active and wiry as panthers. Both of them had spent their lives in those upper waters of the Amazon which we were about to explore, that was the reason Lord John decided to engage them. One of them, Gomez, had the further advantage that he could speak excellent English. These men were willing to act as our personal servants, to cook, to row, or to make themselves useful in any way at a payment of fifteen dollars a month. Besides these, we had hired three Mojo Indians from Bolivia, who are the most skilful at fishing and boat work of all the river tribes. The chief of these we called Mojo, after his tribe, and the others are known as Jose and Fernando. So three white men, two half-breeds, one negro, and three Indians made up the personnel of the little expedition which lay waiting for its instructions at Manaos before starting on its quest.

At last the day had come and the hour. We were seated round the cane table, on which lay a sealed envelope. Written on it, in the handwriting of Professor Challenger, were the words:

“Instructions to Lord John Roxton and party. To be opened at Manaos upon July 15th, at 12 o’clock precisely.”

Lord John had placed his watch upon the table beside him.

“We have seven more minutes,” he said.

Professor Summerlee gave an acid smile as he picked up the envelope in his gaunt hand.

“What can it possibly matter whether we open it now or in seven minutes?” said he. “It is all part of the same system of quackery, for which I regret to say that the writer is notorious.”

“Oh, come, we must play the game according to rules,” said Lord John. “We are here by his good will, so it would be a bad form if we didn’t follow his instructions to the letter.”

“God knows what!” cried the Professor, bitterly. “I don’t know what is inside this envelope, but, unless it is something definite, I shall be much tempted to take the next down-river boat and catch the Bolivia at Para. After all, I have some more responsible work in the world than to follow the instructions of a lunatic. Now, Roxton, surely it is time.”

“Time it is,” said Lord John. He opened it and drew a folded sheet of paper. This he carefully opened out and flattened on the table. It was a blank sheet. He turned it over. Again it was blank. We looked at each other in a bewildered silence, which was broken by a burst of sarcastic laughter from Professor Summerlee.

“What more do you want?” he cried. “The fellow is a self-confessed fraud. We have only to return home and report him as the shameless fraud that he is.”

“Invisible ink!” I suggested.

“I don’t think!” said Lord Roxton, holding the paper to the light. “No, there is no use deceiving yourself. Nothing has ever been written upon this paper.”

“May I come in?” boomed a voice from the veranda.

That voice! We sprang to our feet with a gasp of astonishment as Challenger, in a straw-hat with a coloured ribbon… Challenger, with his hands in his jacket-pockets and his canvas shoes daintily pointing as he walked… appeared in the open space before us. There he stood in the golden glow with all his old Assyrian luxuriance of beard, all his native insolence of drooping eyelids and intolerant eyes.

“I fear,” said he, taking out his watch, “that I am a few minutes too late. When I gave you this envelope I must confess that I had never intended that you should open it. It had been my fixed intention to be with you before the hour. I fear that it has given my colleague, Professor Summerlee, occasion to blaspheme.”

“I should say, sir,” said Lord John, with some sternness of voice, “that your turning up is a considerable relief to us, for our mission seemed to have come to a premature end. Even now I can’t understand why you should have worked it in so an extraordinary manner.”

Instead of answering, Professor Challenger shook hands with myself and Lord John, bowed with ponderous insolence to Professor Summerlee, and sank back into a basket-chair, which creaked beneath his weight.

“Is all ready for your journey?” he asked.

“We can start tomorrow.”

“Then so you shall. You need no maps now, since you will have the advantage of my own guidance. From the very beginning I had determined that I would myself preside over your investigation. As to the small trick which I played on you, it is clear that, had I told you all my intentions, you should have travelled out with me.”

“Not, sir!” exclaimed Professor Summerlee, heartily. “So long as there was another ship upon the Atlantic.”

Challenger waved him away with his great hairy hand.

“It was better that I should direct my own movements and appear only at the exact moment when my presence was needed. That moment has now arrived. You are in safe hands. You will not now fail to reach your destination. From now I take command of this expedition, and I must ask you to complete your preparations tonight, so that we may be able to make an early start in the morning.”

Lord John Roxton has hired a large ship, the Esmeralda, which was to carry us up the river. Our expedition was at the time of the dry season, when the great river and its tributaries were more or less in a normal condition. The current of the river was a slight one. No stream could be more convenient for navigation. For three days we went up a stream which was so enormous that from its centre the two banks were shadows upon the distant skyline. On the fourth day after leaving Manaos we turned into a tributary which was little smaller than the main stream. It narrowed rapidly, however, and soon we reached an Indian village, where the Professor insisted that we should land, and that the Esmeralda should be sent back to Manaos.

He added that we were now approaching the door of the unknown country. Also he made each of us give our word of honour that we would publish or say nothing which would give any exact clue as to the whereabouts of our travels. It is for this reason that I have to be vague in my narrative, and I would warn my readers that it in no way can be taken as an actual guide to the country. Professor Challenger’s reasons for secrecy may be valid or not, but we had no choice but to adopt them, for he was prepared to abandon the whole expedition rather than modify the conditions on which he would guide us.

It was August 2nd when we cut our last link with the outer world by saying goodbye to the Esmeralda. Since then four days have passed, during which we have hired two large canoes from the Indians, which we have loaded with all our belongings, and have enlisted two additional Indians to help us in the navigation. They are the very two, Ataca and Ipetu by name, who accompanied Professor Challenger on his previous journey. They seemed to be terrified at the prospect of repeating it, but as it was the chief’s will so that they had little choice in the matter.

So tomorrow we disappear into the unknown. This account I am transmitting down the river by canoe, and it may be our last word to those who are interested in our fate. I have, according to our arrangement, addressed it to you, my dear Mr. McArdle. In spite of the continued scepticism of Professor Summerlee I have no doubt that our leader will make good his statement, and that we are really on the eve of some most remarkable experiences.


### Chapter 8. Close To The New World


Our friends at home may rejoice with us, for we are at our goal. We have not ascended the plateau yet, but it lies before us. Professor Summerlee is less persistent in his objections and keeps silence. We are sending home one of our local Indians who is injured, and I am giving this letter to him, with considerable doubts in my mind whether it will ever come to hand.

When I wrote last we were about to leave the Indian village. I have to begin my report by bad news, for the first serious personal trouble (I pass over the incessant bickerings between the Professors) occurred this evening, and might have had a tragic ending. I have spoken of our English-speaking half-breed, Gomez – a fine worker and a willing fellow, but afflicted, I fancy, with the vice of curiosity, which is common enough among such men. On the last evening he seems to have hid himself near the hut in which we were discussing our plans, and, being observed by our huge negro Zambo, who is as faithful as a dog and has the hatred which all his race bear to the half-breeds, he was dragged out and carried into our presence. Gomez whipped out his knife, however, and but for the huge strength of his captor, which enabled him to disarm him with one hand, he would certainly have stabbed him. The matter has ended in reprimands, the opponents have been compelled to shake hands, and there is every hope that all will be well. As to the feuds of the two learned men, they are continuous and bitter. It must be admitted that Challenger is provocative in the last degree, but Summerlee has an acid tongue, which makes matters worse. Last night Challenger said that he never cared to walk on the Thames Embankment and look up the river, as it was always sad to see one’s own eventual goal. He is convinced, of course, that he is destined for Westminster Abbey. Summerlee rejoined, however, with a sour smile, by saying that he understood that Millbank Prison had been pulled down. Challenger’s conceit is too colossal to allow him to be really annoyed. He only smiled in his beard and repeated “Really! Really!” in the pitying tone one would use to a child. Indeed, they are children both – the one wizened and cantankerous, the other formidable and overbearing, yet each with a brain which has put him in the front rank of his scientific age. Brain, character, soul – only as one sees more of life does one understand how distinct is each.

The very next day we did actually make our start on this remarkable expedition on two canoes. All our possessions fitted very easily, and we divided our personnel, six in each. In the interests of peace we put one Professor into each canoe. Personally, I was with Challenger, who was in a great mood, beaming with pleasure. I have had some experience of him in other moods, so I can say it is impossible to be at your ease and to be dull in his company, for one is always in a state of doubt as to what sudden turn his temper may take.


For two days we made our way up a river, dark in colour, but clean, so that one could usually see the bottom. The woods on either side were primeval, and we had no great difficulty in carrying our canoes through them. How shall I ever forget the solemn mystery of it? The height of the trees and the thickness of the trunks were greater than anything that I could have ever imagined… We could dimly see the spot where they threw out their side-branches into Gothic upward curves. As we walked noiselessly stepping on the thick, soft carpet of vegetation, we were spellbound, and even Professor Challenger’s full-chested voice sank into a whisper. Alone, I should have been ignorant of the names of these plants, but our men of science pointed out the cedars, the great silk cotton trees, and the redwood trees. Animal life was rather poor, but a constant movement above our heads told of the world of snakes and monkeys, birds, which lived in the sunshine, and looked down at our tiny, dark figures. At dawn and at sunset the howler monkeys screamed together and the parrots broke into shrill chatter. Once some creature, an ant-eater or a bear, went clumsily in the shadows. It was the only sign of earth life which I saw in this great Amazonian forest.

And yet we felt that human life itself was not far from us. On the third day out we heard a beating in the air, rhythmic and solemn. The two boats were floating when we heard it, and our Indians remained motionless, listening with expressions of terror on their faces.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Drums,” said Lord John, carelessly; “War drums. I have heard them before.”

“Yes, sir, war drums,” said Gomez, the half-breed. “Wild Indians; they watch us every mile of the way, kill us if they can.”

“How can they watch us?” I asked, gazing into the dark.

“The Indians know. They have their own way. They watch us. They talk the drum talk to each other. Kill us if they can.”

By the afternoon of that day at least six or seven drums were beating from various points. Sometimes they beat quickly, sometimes slowly, sometimes in obvious question and answer. There was something nerve-shaking and menacing in that constant mutter, “We will kill you if we can. We will kill you if we can.” No one ever moved in the silent woods. All the peace of quiet Nature lay in that dark curtain of vegetation, but away from behind there came the message from our fellow-man. “We will kill you if we can,” said the men in the east. “We will kill you if we can,” said the men in the north.

Their menace reflected in the faces of our coloured companions. I learned, however, that both Summerlee and Challenger possessed that highest type of bravery, the bravery of the scientific mind. It is decreed by a merciful Nature that the human brain cannot think of two things simultaneously, so that if it is devoted to science it has no room for other personal considerations. All day our two Professors watched every bird and every plant and argued a lot, with no sense of danger as if they were seated together in the smoking-room of the Royal Society’s Club in St. James’s Street.

About three o’clock in the afternoon we came to a very dangerous rapid, in which Professor Challenger had suffered disaster on his first journey. Before evening we had successfully passed the rapids, and made our way some ten miles above them, where we stayed for the night. At this point we had come not less than a hundred miles up the tributary from the main stream.

In the morning Professor Challenger started scanning each bank of the river. Suddenly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction and showed us a tree.

“What do you make of that?” he asked.

“It is an Assai palm,” said Summerlee.

“Exactly. It was an Assai palm which I took for my landmark. The secret opening is half a mile onwards upon the other side of the river. There is no break in the trees. That is my private gate into the unknown. Come on and you will understand.”

It was indeed a wonderful place. Having reached the spot marked by a line of light-green rushes, we carried two canoes through them, and found ourselves in a quiet stream, running clear over a sandy bottom. No one could possibly have guessed the existence of such a stream.

It was a fairyland… The most wonderful that the imagination of man could conceive. The thick branches met over our heads, creating a tunnel, in a golden twilight flowed a beautiful river. Clear as crystal, motionless as a sheet of glass. It was an avenue to a land of wonders.

All sign of the wild Indians had passed away, animal life was more frequent, everything showed that they knew nothing of the hunter. Little black-velvet monkeys, with snow-white teeth and gleaming eyes, chattered at us as we passed. Once a dark, clumsy tapir stared at us from a gap in the bushes, and then went away through the forest; once we saw a great puma, its green eyes glared hatred at us over its shoulder. Bird life was in abundance, while beneath us the crystal water was alive with fish of every shape and color.

For three days we made our way up this tunnel of hazy green sunshine. The deep peace of this strange waterway was unbroken by any sign of man.

“No Indian here. Too much afraid. Curupuri,” said Gomez.

“Curupuri is the spirit of the woods,” Lord John explained. “It’s a name for any kind of devil. They think that there is something terrible in this direction, and therefore they avoid it.”

On the third day the stream was rapidly growing more shallow. Finally we pulled the boats up among the brushwood and spent the night on the bank of the river. In the morning Lord John and I made our way for a couple of miles through the forest, keeping parallel with the stream; but as it grew ever shallower we returned and reported that the canoes could not be brought any more. We concealed them among the bushes, leaving a landmark with our axes, so that we could find them again. Then we distributed the various burdens among us – guns, ammunition, food, a tent, blankets, and the rest – and, shouldering our packages, we began the more challenging stage of our journey.

On the second day after leaving our canoes we found that the whole character of the country changed. Our road was mainly upwards, the woods became thinner and lost their tropical view. The huge trees of the alluvial Amazonian plain gave place to coco palms with thick brushwood between.

On the ninth day after leaving the canoes, the trees had grown smaller until they were mere shrubs. Their place was taken by an immense wilderness of bamboo, which grew so thickly that we could only penetrate it by cutting a pathway with the machetes and billhooks of the Indians. It took us a long day, travelling from seven in the morning till eight at night, with only two breaks of one hour each, to get through it. Anything more monotonous and wearying could not be imagined. Several times we heard some large, heavy animals quite close to us. From their sounds Lord John judged them to be some form of wild cattle. Just as night fell we formed our camp, exhausted after the long day.

Early next morning we were again afoot, and found that the character of the country had changed once again. Behind us was the wall of bamboo, in front was an open plain, with clumps of tree-ferns, the whole curving before us until it ended in a long ridge. It was here, where an incident occurred which may or may not have been important.

Professor Challenger stopped suddenly and pointed excitedly to the right. As he did so we saw, at the distance of a mile or so, something which appeared to be a huge gray bird took wing, flying very low and straight, until it was lost among the tree-ferns.

“Did you see it?” cried Challenger. “Summerlee, did you see it?”

His colleague was staring at the spot where the creature had disappeared.

“What do you say that it was?” he asked.

“A pterodactyl.”

Summerlee burst into laughter. “Nonsense!” said he. “It was a stork.”

Challenger was too furious to speak. He simply swung his pack upon his back and continued upon his march. Lord John came up to me, with his face grave. He had his binoculars in his hand.

“I focused it before it got over the trees,” said he. “I cannot say what it was, but I’ll risk my reputation as a sportsman that it wasn’t any bird that I have ever seen in my life.”

Are we really just at the edge of the unknown? I give you the incident as it occurred and you will know as much as I do.

When we had crossed the second ridge we saw before us an irregular, palm-studded plain, and then the line of high red cliffs which I have seen in the picture. There it lies, even as I write, and there can be no question that it is the same. Challenger walks about like a peacock, and Summerlee is silent, but still sceptical. Another day should bring some of our doubts to an end. Meanwhile, Jose, whose arm was pierced by a broken bamboo, insists on returning. And I send this letter back in his charge, and only hope that it may eventually come to hand. I will write again.


### Chapter 9. Who Could Have Foreseen It?


A dreadful thing has happened to us. Who could have foreseen it? I cannot foresee any end to our troubles. It may be that we are condemned to spend our whole lives in this strange, inaccessible place. I am still so confused that I can hardly think clearly of the facts of the present or of the chances of the future. Still I have as companions three remarkable men, men of great brain-power and of unshaken courage. There lies our one and only hope. It is only when I look on the untroubled faces of my comrades that I see some glimmer through the darkness.

Let me give you, with as much detail as I can, the sequence of events which have led us to this catastrophe. When I finished my last letter I stated that we were within seven miles from an enormous line of ruddy cliffs, which encircled, beyond all doubt, the plateau of which Professor Challenger spoke. Their height, as we approached them, seemed to me in some places to be greater than he had stated. There was no indication of any life that we could see.

That night we pitched our camp immediately under the cliff. Close to us was the high thin rock, the top of it being level with the plateau, but with a great gap between them. On the summit of it there grew one high tree.

“It was on that,” said Professor Challenger, pointing to this tree, “that the pterodactyl was sitting before I shot him. I am inclined to think that a good mountaineer like myself could ascend the rock to the top, though he would, of course, be no nearer to the plateau.”

As Challenger spoke of his pterodactyl I glanced at Professor Summerlee, and for the first time there was no sneer on his lips, but, on the contrary, a look of excitement and amazement. Challenger saw it too.

“Of course,” said he, with his clumsy and ponderous sarcasm, “Professor Summerlee will understand that when I speak of a pterodactyl I mean a stork… only it is the stork which has no feathers, a leathery skin, membranous wings, and teeth in its jaws.” He grinned and blinked and bowed until his colleague turned and walked away.

In the morning, after a breakfast of coffee and manioc – we had to be economical of our stores – we started discussing how to ascend to the plateau above us.

“I need not say,” said our leader, “that on the occasion of my last visit I exhausted every means of climbing the cliff. I had none of the appliances of a rock-climber with me, but I have taken the precaution to bring them now. With their help I could climb that rock, but so long as the main cliff overhangs, it is vain to try ascending that. But it is certain that there is a point where an ascent is possible.”

“How do you know that, sir?” asked Summerlee, sharply.

“Because my predecessor, the American Maple White, actually found it. How could he have seen the monster which he sketched in his notebook?”

“I admit your plateau, because I have seen it; but I have not as yet satisfied myself that it contains any form of life,” said the stubborn Summerlee.

And then, to our amazement, Challenger seized Summerlee by the neck, he tilted his face into the air. “Now sir!” he shouted, hoarse with excitement. “Do I help you to realize that the plateau contains some animal life?”

I have said that a thick fringe of green overhung the edge of the cliff. Out of this there had emerged a black, glistening object. As it came slowly forth and overhung the chasm, we saw that it was a very large snake with a peculiar flat, spade-like head. It wavered and quivered above us for a minute, then it slowly drew inwards and disappeared.

Summerlee had been so interested that he had stood unresisting while Challenger tilted his head into the air. Now he shook his colleague off and came back to his dignity.

“I should be glad, Professor Challenger,” said he, “if you could see your way to make any remarks without seizing me by the chin.”

“But there is life upon the plateau all the same,” his colleague replied in triumph. “And now I think that we cannot do better than break up our camp and travel to the west until we find some means of ascent.”

The ground at the foot of the cliff was rocky and broken so that the going was slow and difficult. Suddenly we came, however, on something which cheered our hearts. It was an old camp, with several empty Chicago meat tins and a bottle labeled “Brandy”.

“Not mine,” said Challenger. “It must be Maple White’s.”

Lord John had been gazing curiously at a great tree-fern which overshadowed the encampment. “Look at this,” said he. “I believe it is a sign-post.”

A slip of hard wood had been nailed to the tree pointing to the west.

“Certainly a sign-post,” said Challenger. “What else? He has left this sign so that any party which follows him may know the way he has taken. Perhaps we shall find some other signs.”

Beneath the cliff there grew lots of high bamboo. Many of these stems were twenty feet high, with sharp, strong tops. Suddenly my eye was caught by the gleam of something white. I came closer and found myself gazing at a fleshless skull. The whole skeleton was there, but the skull lay some feet nearer to the open.

We cleared the spot and were able to study the details of this old tragedy. Only a few shreds of clothes could still be distinguished, but it was very clear that the dead man was a European. A gold watch by Hudson, of New York, and a chain which held a stylographic pen, lay among the bones. There was also a silver cigarette-case. The state of the metal seemed to show that the catastrophe had occurred no great time before.

“Who can he be?” asked Lord John. “Poor man! Every bone in his body seems to be broken.”

“And the bamboo grows through his ribs,” said Summerlee. “It is a fast-growing plant, but it is surely inconceivable that this body could have been here while the canes grew to be twenty feet in length.”

“As to the man’s identity,” said Professor Challenger, “I have no doubt who he is. Maple White was not alone all the time. He had a companion, an American named James Colver. I think, therefore, that there can be no doubt that we are now looking at the remains of this James Colver.”

“And we know how he met his death,” said Lord John. “He has fallen from the top, and so been impaled.”

We stood silently round these shattered remains and realized the truth of Lord John Roxton’s words. Undoubtedly he had fallen from above. But had he fallen? Had it been an accident? Or…

We moved off in silence, and continued to coast round the line of cliffs. In five miles we saw no rift or break. And then suddenly we saw something which filled us with new hope. In a hollow of the rock, there was drawn an arrow in chalk, pointing still to the west.

“Maple White again,” said Professor Challenger.

We had proceeded some five more miles when again we saw a white arrow on the rocks, pointing higher up. We came to a solemn place, the walls were so gigantic and the slit of blue sky so narrow, so that only a shadowy light penetrated to the bottom. We had had no food for many hours, and were very tired with the journey, but our nerves were too strung to allow us to relax. Suddenly the quick eyes of Lord John fell on what we were seeking. High up above our heads, there was a hole. Surely it could only be the opening of a cave. Here was the point, where Maple White and his ill-fated companion had made their ascent. We were too excited to return to the camp and made our first exploration at once.

Lord John took out an electric torch and entered the cave and we followed at his heels. First the cave ran straight into the rock. Finally we found ourselves climbing upon our hands and knees. Suddenly an exclamation broke from Lord Roxton.

“It’s blocked!” said he. “The roof has fallen in!”

It was evident that the obstacle was far beyond any efforts which we could make to remove it. The road by which Maple White had ascended was no longer available.

Too much depressed to speak, we made our way back to the camp. And then something terrible happened. We had gathered in a little group, when a huge rock rolled suddenly downwards. We could not see where the rock had come, but our half-breed servants said that it must therefore have fallen from the summit. Looking upwards, we could see no sign of movement above us. There could be little doubt, however, that the stone was aimed at us, so the incident surely pointed to humanity… upon the plateau.

Our minds were full of this new development. The situation was difficult enough before, but if the obstacles of Nature were increased by the opposition of man, then our case was a hopeless one. And yet, as we looked up at that beautiful world only a few hundreds of feet above our heads, nobody thought of returning to London until we had explored it.

On discussing the situation, we determined that our best course was to continue to coast round the plateau in the hope of finding some other means of reaching the top. At the worst, then, we should be back in a few days at our starting-point.

We noticed a considerable change both in the temperature and in the vegetation and got rid of some of those horrible insects.

That night a great experience awaited us, and one which for ever set at rest any doubt. What occurred was this. Lord John had shot an ajouti – which is a small, pig-like animal – and we were cooking it on our fire. The night was moonless, but there were some stars, and one could see for a little distance across the plain. Well, suddenly out of the darkness, out of the night, there appeared something with a sound like an aeroplane. The whole group of us were covered for a second by leathery wings, and I saw a long, snake-like neck, a fierce, red, greedy eye, and a great beak, filled, to my amazement, with little, gleaming teeth. The next second it was gone… and so was our dinner. For a moment the monster wings covered the stars, and then it vanished behind the cliff. We all sat in amazed silence round the fire. It was Summerlee who was the first to speak.

“Professor Challenger,” said he, in a solemn voice, “I owe you an apology. Sir, I hope that you will forget what is past.”

The two men for the first time shook hands. We have gained so much by this clear vision of our first pterodactyl! It was worth a stolen supper to bring two such men together.

But if prehistoric life existed on the plateau it was not in abundance, for we didn’t see any other prehistoric animals during the next three days. We continued to walk around the cliffs. However, in no place did we find any point where they could be ascended.

On the sixth day we completed our first circuit of the cliffs, and found ourselves back at the first camp, beside the isolated rock.

What were we to do now? Our stores of provisions, supplemented by our guns, were holding out well, but the day must come when they would need replenishment. In a couple of months the rains might be expected, and we should be washed out of our camp. No wonder that we looked gloomily at each other that night.

But it was a very different Challenger who greeted us in the morning… a Challenger with contentment and self-congratulation shining from his whole person.

“Eureka!” he cried, his teeth shining through his beard. “Gentlemen, you may congratulate me and we may congratulate each other. The problem is solved.”

And he pointed to the spire-like pinnacle upon our right.

We know that it could be climbed. But a horrible gap lay between it and the plateau.

“We can never get across,” I gasped.

“We can at least all reach the summit,” said he. “When we are up I may be able to show you that the resources of an inventive mind are not yet exhausted.”

After breakfast our leader unpacked his climbing accessories. John was an experienced mountaineer, and Summerlee had done some climbing at various times. And my strength and activity may have made up for my lack of experience.

It was not a very difficult task, although there were moments which made my hair move upon my head. When we found ourselves on the small platform, some twenty-five feet each way, which formed the summit, we saw a great view. The whole Brazilian plain seemed to lie beneath us. I could see the yellow and green mass of bamboos through which we had passed; and then, gradually, the vegetation increased until it formed the huge forest which extended as far as the eyes could reach, and for a good two thousand miles beyond.

I placed one arm round the trunk of the tree and saw the small dark figures of our servants, looking up at us.

“This is indeed curious,” said the creaking voice of Professor Summerlee.

I turned, and found that he was examining with great interest the tree to which I clung. That smooth bark and those small, ribbed leaves seemed familiar to my eyes. “It’s a beech!” I cried.

“Exactly,” said Summerlee.

“And this tree will be our saviour,” said Challenger.

“My God!” cried Lord John, “a bridge!”

“Exactly, my friends, a bridge! There is always a way out.”

It was certainly a brilliant idea. The tree was a good sixty feet in height, and if it only fell the right way it would easily cross the chasm. Challenger handed the axe to me.

So under his direction I cut such gashes in the sides of the trees as would ensure that it should fall as we desired. It had already a strong, natural tilt in the direction of the plateau, so that the matter was not difficult. In a little over an hour there was a loud crack and the tree crashed over, for one terrible second we all thought it was over. But it balanced itself, a few inches from the edge, and there was our bridge to the unknown.

All of us, without a word, shook hands with Professor Challenger.

“I claim the honour,” said he, “to be the first to cross to the unknown land…”

He had approached the bridge when Lord John laid his hand on his shoulder.

“My dear friend,” said he, “I really cannot allow it. There may be a tribe of cannibals waiting for lunch-time among those very bushes. Malone and I will go down again and fetch up the four rifles, together with Gomez and the other. One man can then go across and the rest will cover him with guns, until he sees that it is safe for the whole crowd to come along.”

Summerlee and I were of one mind that Lord John was our leader when such practical details were in question. Within an hour we had brought up the rifles and a shot-gun. The half-breeds had ascended also, and under Lord John’s orders they had carried up a bale of provisions in case our first exploration should be a long one.

“Now, Challenger, if you really insist upon being the first man in,” said Lord John, when every preparation was complete.

“I don’t need your permission,” said the angry Professor.

It didn’t take Challenger long to cross the chasm and he was soon at the other side. He waved his arms in the air.

“At last!” he cried; “at last!”

Summerlee was the second. I came next, and tried hard not to look down into the horrible gulf over which I was passing. As to Lord John, he walked across… actually walked! He must have nerves of iron.

And there we were, the four of us, upon the dreamland, the lost world, of Maple White. It seemed the moment of our supreme triumph. Who could have guessed that it was the prelude to our supreme disaster?

We had turned away from the edge, when there came a frightful crash from behind us. We rushed back – the bridge was gone!

Far down we saw our beech tree broken to pieces. Then we saw Gomez on the opposite side, with a face convulsed with hatred and with the mad joy of revenge.

“Lord Roxton!” he shouted. “Lord John Roxton!”

“Well,” said our companion, “here I am.”

A shriek of laughter came across the abyss.

“Yes, there you are, you English dog, and there you will remain! I have waited and waited, and now has come my chance. We nearly killed you with a stone at the cave,” he cried; “but this is better. It is slower and more terrible. As you lie dying, think of Lopez, whom you shot five years ago on the Putomayo River. I am his brother, and I will die happy now, for his memory has been avenged.” A furious hand was shaken at us, and then all was quiet. The half-breed was descending on the farther side of the pinnacle. But before he could reach the ground, there was a single crack of Lord John’s rifle, and, although we saw nothing, we heard the scream and then the distant sound of the falling body. Roxton came back to us with a face of granite.

“I have been so blind,” said he, bitterly, “It’s my fault that has brought you all into this trouble. I should have remembered that these people have long memories.”

“What about the other one? It took two of them to push that tree over the edge.”

“I let him go. He may have had no part in it. Perhaps it would have been better if I had killed him.”

We were still discussing the whole situation, when a singular scene in the plain below caught our attention.

A man in white clothes, who could only be the surviving half-breed, was running. And behind him, was a huge figure of Zambo, our devoted negro. Finally he reached him. A moment afterwards Zambo rose, and then, waving his hand joyously to us, came running in our direction. The white figure lay motionless.

Our two traitors were dead, but we were still in trouble. By no possible means could we get back to Zambo. We had been natives of the world, now we were natives of the plateau. The two things were separate and apart.

For the moment we could only sit among the bushes in patience and wait the coming of Zambo. Presently his honest black face topped the rocks and his Herculean figure emerged upon the top of the pinnacle.

“What I do now?” he cried. “You tell me and I do it.”

One thing only was clear. He was our one link with the outside world. On no account must he leave us.

“No, no!” he cried. “I not leave you. You always find me here. But can’t keep Indians. Too much Curupuri and they go home.”

“Make them wait till tomorrow, Zambo,” I shouted; “then I can send letter back by them.”

“Very good, sir! I promise they wait till tomorrow,” said the negro. “But what I do for you now?”

First of all, under our directions, he threw one end of the rope across the chasm to us. He then fastened his end of the rope to the package of supplies which had been carried up, and we were able to drag it across. This gave us the means of life for at least a week, even if we found nothing else. Finally he descended and carried up two other packets of mixed goods – a box of ammunition and a number of other things, all of which we got across by throwing our rope to him and hauling it back. It was evening when he at last climbed down. He promised us to keep the Indians till next morning.

And so I have spent nearly the whole of this our first night on the plateau writing up our experiences by the light of a single candle-lantern.

We camped at the very edge of the cliff and decided not to light fire or to make any unnecessary sound.

Tomorrow (or today because it is already dawn as I write) we shall begin to explore this strange land. Don’t know if I ever shall write again… Meanwhile, I can see that the Indians are still in their place, and I am sure that the faithful Zambo will be here to get my letter.

P. S. The more I think the more desperate does our position seem. I see no possible hope of our return. If there were a high tree near the edge of the plateau we might drop a return bridge across, but there is none within fifty yards. The rope, of course, is far too short that we could descend by it. No, our position is hopeless… hopeless!


### Chapter 10. The Most Wonderful Things Have Happened


The most wonderful things have happened and are happening to us. All the paper that I possess consists of five old note-books, and I have only the one pencil. But so long as I can move my hand I will continue to write down our experiences and impressions, since we are the only men to see such things.

On the morning after our being trapped upon the plateau by Gomez we began a new stage in our experiences. First we shifted our position to a small clearing thickly surrounded by trees. There we sat in comfort while we made our first plans for the invasion of this new country. There were no signs of life except some birds.

Our first care was to make a list of our own stores, so that we might know what we had to rely on. With the things that Zambo had sent across on the rope, we were very well supplied. We had our four rifles and a shot-gun. In the matter of provisions we had enough to last for several weeks, with tobacco and a few scientific implements, including a large telescope and binoculars. We cut down with our knives thorny bushes, which we piled round in a circle some fifteen yards in diameter. This was to be our refuge against sudden danger and the house for our stores. Fort Challenger, we called it.

“So long as neither man nor beast has seen or heard us, we are safe,” said Lord John. “From the time they know we are here our troubles begin. There are no signs that they have found us out as yet. We want to have a good look at our neighbours before we get on visiting terms.”

“But we must go further,” I said.

“By all means, my boy! We will go further. But with common sense. Above all, we must never, unless it is life or death, fire off our guns.”

“But YOU fired yesterday,” said Summerlee.

“Well, I had to. However, the wind was strong. It is not likely that the sound could have travelled far into the plateau. By the way, what shall we call this land?”

“It can only have one name,” said Challenger. “It is called after the man who discovered it. It is Maple White Land.”

So we knew that the place was inhabited by some unknown creatures, and there was that of Maple White’s sketch-book to show that more dreadful and more dangerous monsters might still appear. Our situation was clearly full of danger.

We therefore blocked the entrance to our refuge with several thorny bushes, and left our camp following a small river. Hardly had we started our journey when we came across signs that there were indeed wonders awaiting us. We entered a region where the stream widened out. Suddenly Lord John, who was walking first, stopped.

“Look at this!” said he. “By George, this must be the trail of the father of all birds!”

An enormous three-toed track was imprinted in the soft mud before us. If it were indeed a bird… its foot must be enormous. Lord John looked eagerly round him.

“The track is a fresh one,” said he, “The creature has not passed ten minutes. My God! See, here is the mark of a little one!”

Sure enough, smaller tracks of the same general form were running parallel to the large ones.

“But what do you make of this?” cried Professor Summerlee, pointing to what looked like the huge print of a five-fingered hand among the three-toed marks.

“I guess I know!” cried Challenger, in an ecstasy. “It is a creature walking erect upon three-toed feet, and occasionally putting one of its five-fingered forepaws on the ground. Not a bird, my dear Roxton… not a bird.”

“A beast?”

“No, a reptile – a dinosaur. Nothing else could have left such a track. Who in the world could have hoped to have seen a sight like that?”

Following the tracks, we passed through the brushwood and trees. Beyond was an open area, and there were five of the most extraordinary creatures that I have ever seen. Two being adults and three young ones. In size they were enormous. Even the babies were as big as elephants! All five were sitting up, balancing themselves upon their broad, powerful tails and their huge three-toed hind-feet, while with their small five-fingered front-feet they pulled down the branches. I do not know that I can describe their appearance to you better than by saying that they looked like monstrous kangaroos, with skins like black crocodiles.

I do not know how long we stayed motionless gazing at this marvelous spectacle. A strong wind blew towards us and we were well concealed, so there was no chance of discovery. The strength of the parents seemed to be limitless, for one of them, having some difficulty in reaching the leaves, put his fore-legs round the trunk and tore it down. The action seemed, as I thought, to show not only the great development of its muscles, but also the small one of its brain. The tree came crashing down on the head of it. The incident made it think, apparently, that the neighbourhood was dangerous, and it slowly went through the wood, followed by its mate and its three enormous babies. Then they vanished from our sight.

I looked at my companions. Lord John was standing next to me, his eager hunter’s soul shining from his eyes. The two professors were in silent ecstasy. In their excitement they stood like two little children in the presence of a wonder.

“Oh my!” Sammerlee cried at last. “What will they say in England of this?”

“My dear Summerlee, I will tell you with great confidence exactly what they will say in England,” said Challenger. “They will say that you are an infernal liar and a scientific charlatan, exactly as you and others said of me.”

“But photographs?”

“Faked, Summerlee! Only faked!”

“Specimens?”

“Things look a bit different from London,” said Lord John. “Who’s to blame them? WHAT did you say they were?”

“Iguanodons,” said Summerlee. “You’ll find their footmarks all over the Hastings sands, in Kent, and in Sussex. The South of England was alive with them when there was plenty of leaves there. Conditions have changed, and the beasts died. Here it seems that the conditions have not changed, and the beasts have lived.”

“If ever we get out of this alive, I must have a head with me…” said Lord John.

I had the feeling of mystery and danger around us. In the gloom of the trees there seemed a constant menace. It is true that these monstrous creatures which we had seen were peaceful, which were unlikely to hurt anyone, but in this world of wonders what other survivals might there be? I knew little of prehistoric life, but I remembered clearly one book where it was told that the dinosaurs would live on our lions and tigers as a cat lives on mice. What if these also were to be found in the woods of Maple White Land!