THE LAND OF THE MERUCAANS
"I'll remember," she answered simply, and for a little space there
came silence between them.
A vast longing possessed the man to take her in his arms and hold her
tight, tight to his fast-throbbing heart. But he lay bound and
helpless. All he could do was call to her again, as the two canoes now
drew on, side by side and as still others, joining them, made a little
fleet of strange, flare-lighted craft.
"Beatrice!"
"Yes--what is it?"
"Don't worry, whatever happens. Maybe there's no great harm done,
after all. We're still alive and sound--that's ninety-nine per cent of
the battle."
"How _could_ we have fallen like that and not been killed? A miracle!"
"The machine must have struck the surface on one of its long slants.
If it had plunged straight down--well, we shouldn't be here, that's
all. These infernal pirates, whoever they are, must have been close
by, in their boats, and cut us loose from our straps before the
machine sank, and got us into their canoes. But--"
"Without the machine, how are we ever going to get out of here again?"
"Don't bother about that now! We've got other more important things to
think of. It's all a vast and complex problem, but we'll meet it,
never fear. You and I, together, are going to win! We've got to--for
the sake of the world!"
"Oh, if they'd only take us for gods, as the Horde did!"
"Gods nothing! They're as white as we are--whiter, even. People that
can make boats like these, out of iron bars covered with pitched
fabric, and weave cloth like this they're wearing, and use oil-flares
in metal baskets, aren't mistaking us for gods. The way they've
handled me proves it. Might be a good thing if they weren't so
devilish intelligent!"
He relapsed into silence, and for a while there came no sound but the
cadenced dipping of many paddles as the boats, now perhaps a score in
number, all slowly moved across the unfathomed black as though toward
some objective common point. Each craft bore at its bow a fire-basket
filled with some spongy substance, which, oil-soaked, blazed smokily
with that peculiar blue-green light so ghostly in its wavering
reflections.
Many of the folk sat in these boats, among their brown fiber nets and
long, iron-tipped lances. All alike were pale and anemic-looking,
though well-muscled and of vigorous build. Even the youngest were
white-haired. All wore their hair twisted in a knot upon the crown of
the head; none boasted anything even suggesting a hat or cap.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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