Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 119: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

I1oO Click, click, click, and he stopped his arpument to stare up to where some- thing clattered above our heads. Gen- tly, invitingly, a flask pattered into view, sliding down the slopes of the ice hill at the end of a string. It hopped and jigged away most suggestively. We both gave a tumultuous yell of welcome, and dashed at it. I seized it, opened it, and poured half its contents down Gerry’s throat before he could make any demur. Then I took a good pull at it myself, smacking my lips with intense enjoyment. We clutched the string and tugged at it lustily, and those above tugged gladsomely and heartily back. Then I found an old envelope and began to scribble on it, using a rifle bullet for pencil. - “ All right. Get a rope!” was the terse message I attached to the string, and we saw it flit upwards when our pressure relaxed, watching it disappear into the blue shadows of the ice roof with indescribable sensations of relief. In a few seconds the yell of voices was borne down to us, faint as the chirp of a bird, but delightfully distinct, and we knew that our bulletin was received. Within a minute the flask dropped down for the second time—full too— and on it another bit of paper showed white and welcome. The inscription was: ‘““ Have no rope as long as this string. Parsons has gone down for another to’ splice. Hope all well.—S. G.” We knew that this meant a wait of half an hour at the least, and we took another pull at the spirit to fortify our- selves against the cold, which was wrap- ping us creepily in its embrace. Then we stamped and tramped violently round the cavern once Or twice to en- liven our circulations, and this brought us face to face with the stone portico at the back of the cave. We halted before it to stare at each other inquiringly. I nodded; and then together we sauntered up the steps and stood in the entrance. THE ARGOSY. The temple was square fronted, with an oval doorway ; along the facade ran pillared cloisters. It was built of care- fully cat and mortised stones, hewn— as we could plainly see by the gaps— from the cliff behind us. Upon the twelve great pillars of the portico were decorated pilasters, chis- eled with a clean nicety in the hard stone. They gave evidence of a pa- tient skill and an artistic conception be- yond the average. Within their shadow was a pavement, whereon a mosaic of graceful lines and figures entwined themselves. Central- ly opened the portal. The light filtered dimly through the entrance, and as we stood upon the threshold, the interior was black and mysterious before us. As our eyes grew more accustomed to the gloom, and the shapes of things defined themselves in the twilight, we discerned the gran- deur and the horror of the place. The interior was round—in shape something like the Roman Pantheon— and along the circling walls ran long inscriptions in the Mayan symbol, twisted in varying folds and weavings of devices. The floor was wide and thick with dust. The disturbance of our footsteps made gaps in this, showing the smooth, hard blocked granite that paved it. . It rang hollow beneath our feet, when the nails of our shooting boots reached it through the carpet of powdery refuse. At the far end was a towering erec- tion, dominating the emptiness, dimly shadowing through the dusk. It was not till we approached within a yard or two of it that we knew it for a graven similitude of the great Beast. It stood in a sort of chancel of the building, looming high upon a rough majestic mass of granite. This pedestal —a boulder without any mark of ham- mer or chisel apparent upon it—filled one side of the sanctuary, and the image —carved from virgin rock—reached to the domed roof. Every loathsome detail of the Thing COM ElOOO eo