CHAPTER VIII

Sapphire and Amber

It may have been no more than thirty seconds before the silence was broken, though it felt like many, many minutes. But at length one of the newcomers, turning to his companions, the while keeping his eyes still fastened upon us, began to speak in low, rhythmic tones that were singularly musical and pleasant. I could catch not one syllable of what he said, though I strained my ears in the attempt; nor could I understand any syllable of what his fellows spoke in reply, though their voices too were so soft and sweet-sounding that they might have been intoning poetry. Yet, in spite of the gentleness of their voices, I could detect a certain excitement in their manner; and, from their casual nods and gestures in our direction, I was only too certain of the theme of their discussion.

After several minutes of whispered conversation, one of the strangers stepped toward us and raised his voice as if addressing us. As might have been foretold, I understood nothing of what he said; and, as this was no doubt what he expected, he did not look surprised, but after a moment ceased speaking and motioned us to follow him.

Since there was manifestly nothing else to do, we obeyed readily enough, and were glad indeed to find ourselves stepping once more through the doorway and out into the street, even though the half dozen strangers had grouped themselves on all sides of us as a sort of bodyguard. We knew, in fact, that we were virtually prisoners, and yet were no longer alarmed, for no imprisonment could be worse than that which we had already suffered. Also we had an intuitive sense that we should not be badly treated; whether out of consideration for our feelings or merely because they were afraid of us, our attendants did not attempt to lay hands on us or to coerce us in any way. Yet when they indicated by gestures the direction in which they desired us to walk, we had no thought of objecting, but obeyed as docilely as though they were our acknowledged masters.

For a distance of possibly two or three miles they led us with them through the city streets; and far from brooding over our predicament (which was manifestly serious), we amused ourselves with observing the sights of the town. Dozens of the inhabitants had come out to peer at us as we strode past; and, though they kept at a cautious distance, we could see them clearly enough: their slender, graceful forms and blond features, their amiable blue eyes and rippling, unbound hair, their loose-hanging, light-tinted robes, variously colored from buff and lilac to azure and pale rose, gave them the appearance less of human beings than of walking butterflies or flowers.

But even more interesting to us than these humans was the architecture of the town. We were fascinated, first of all, by the very pavement beneath us, which was of baked clay worked into a multihued and picturesque mosaic; we were still more fascinated by the buildings, which on close observation proved to be even more artistically designed than we had imagined, for exquisite little statues abounded in niches between the columns or under the domes and spires, and superb frescoes decorated the ceilings of the numberless colonnades and the outside walls of temples, and curving walks wound gracefully between terraces adorned with a lovely waxen flower or around the brink of the shimmering rainbowed fountains. I particularly noted the width of the avenues, in whose spacious reaches and wide adjoining courts the bright-robed children laughed and played; and I was surprised to observe that the buildings, instead of being jammed together in the modern box-like fashion, were each separated from their neighbors by broad paved ways or wide patches of vegetation, so that the whole gave an uncrowded and leisurely and yet skilfully patterned effect.

But magnificent as were the edifices in their garb of sandstone or granite or many-hued marble, the most extraordinary by far was that to which our guides ultimately led us. It was not the size of the structure that distinguished it, since the city boasted far larger buildings, and size in itself did not seem to have been an object with the builders; but the quality of the masonry and the style of the workmanship had surely no parallel in human experience. For the walls and the interior circles of columns were not of any material ever employed before, not of steel or of stone, of brick or of clay, or gold or of ebony; they were of a translucent yellow hue, the hue of amber, and seemed to be composed, if not actually of amber, at least of glass tinted amber color. This, however, was scarcely the most remarkable fact, for the floor was likewise translucent, and shone with an entrancing blue, the blue of sapphire; and sapphire seemed also the substance of the fretted and vaulted ceiling, from which hung images of great birds with wide-spread wings, giving a startling illusion of flight. Three successive circles of columns, each more massive than the last and all adorned at the base with bas-reliefs of strange fishes and stranger sea plants, supported the great arching expanse of the roof; and completely enclosed by the columns, on a steep and curving incline of the sapphire floor, were row after row of amber seats grouped in a half circle about a flat open space, and forming--so it seemed to me--a Grecian theatre of unique design.

* * * * *

As Rawson and I accompanied our guides into this queer building, we were so captivated by the architecture and so enthralled by the silence and the weird half-light of sapphire and amber that we did not at first observe that other human beings had preceded us into the place. It was long, indeed, before we could recover from the awed sense of entering some cathedral where all is reverential and unworldly; and it was long before, turning our eyes upon the theatre with its rows and rows of seats, we observed that not all the chairs were vacant as we had at first assumed. In the front tiers sat perhaps a hundred light-gowned individuals whose sedate and earnest faces proclaimed that they were convened for some solemn purpose.

Our arrival was greeted by a sudden murmuring of low, musical voices, but by nothing more demonstrative; and our presence was doubtless explained by our attendants, who spoke a few words to the assembled group, after which they took seats to one side and motioned us to do likewise. We obeyed readily enough, but as I crossed the room to take my designated place, I received a sudden shock, an electrical shock of pleasure, such as one experiences upon meeting a friend unexpectedly in a strange city. In the foremost row, staring up at me with a most curious and kindly air, sat that enchanting woman whom I had seen dancing along the colonnades! As a sober and practical man, and one already in love with the gracious Alma Huntley, I should no doubt have regarded her with a wholly aloof and impersonal air; but I was sadly impressionable, alas! and was almost transfixed with joy at sight of those shining Madonna features and clear magnetic, great blue eyes. For an instant, indeed, I actually stopped short in my tracks, until, regaining my presence of mind, I hastened toward my seat shamefaced at having so betrayed myself. It was several minutes before I ventured again to glance toward the fair one, and then she was looking in an opposite direction; and, stare at her as I might, she seemed totally oblivious of my existence.

I am afraid that, in the ensuing hour, my thoughts were more on her than on proceedings in the theatre. I was aware, indeed, that some sort of debate was in progress, a discussion in which most of the spectators took part and during which Rawson and I were more than once pointed out with significant gestures. But, since I could understand not one word of what was spoken, I let my imagination travel to the beautiful unknown, and tried to fancy how it would feel to be befriended by so fairy-like a creature. Even to speak a word with her, I thought, would be a delight, and to hold a conversation with her would be the rarest of good fortune. Of course, her face might belie her character, and she might be unintelligent as she was beautiful; yet I was convinced that a rare soul shone out of the calm seductive depths of her eyes, and was more than willing to believe that she combined the wisdom of a Socrates with the charms of an Aphrodite.

So pleasantly was I occupied in contemplating this fascinating being and her scarcely less fascinating fellows, that it seemed but a moment before the debate was over and the assembled men and women rose from their seats and began to depart. With a start I sprang to my feet, suddenly realizing that the assemblage had perhaps reached some critical decision regarding me. And when four or five of the men approached Rawson and myself and motioned us away, I had the feeling of a captive being led back into imprisonment. The loveliest of all women had now been lost to view amid the crowd, and I was sadder at her disappearance than at thought of my personal sufferings; but as I walked slowly out of that sapphire and amber palace, gentle strains of music began to play on unseen instruments, rippling delightedly as waves on a calm sea; and gradually and insensibly I was comforted, and somehow I was convinced that I should see that glorious womanly apparition again.

* * * * *

Once more we were escorted through the city streets, but this time had only a few hundred yards to walk. After a minute or two we were led up the steps of a many-columned marble mansion, and into a long hall whose stained glass windows cast a subdued illumination upon a score of vivid paintings. We were wondering what to do, when our guides motioned us to cushioned seats that seemed made of woven seaweed; and after we had settled ourselves at ease in the great sofa-like chairs, two of the men disappeared momentarily and returned with a feast of some singular substance reminding me of mushrooms flavored with a sprinkling of honey. At first we were suspicious and reluctant to eat; but the honest and frankly puzzled faces of our hosts convinced us of our folly; and we found the dish, while strange to our palates, not only appetizing but invigorating after our long fast.

After we had eaten and the remains of the meal had been borne away, we were treated to a still greater surprise. A man came stalking in laden with five or six variously colored cloths, which I recognized as the native costumes; and, having spread these out before us, he motioned us to discard our own clothing and take our choice of the local apparel. Our attendants then politely withdrew, leaving us more perplexed than ever.

But it was long before we could make up our minds to array ourselves in the native garb. And while we stood hesitating, casting occasional disdainful glances at the colored garments before making the decision which we knew we ultimately must make, our attention was distracted by the paintings that adorned the walls. Although all were executed with the deft and flawless hand of a master, they were in a sense different from any paintings I had ever seen before; and what struck me in particular was not so much their peculiar style of art, which combined a minute realism with an almost cosmic suggestiveness, as their arresting and unparalleled subject-matter. Half of them were of a marine type, and depicted ocean caves where the giant squid or octopus wavered through the gray depths, or gardens of the ocean floor where the many-branching coral was the playground for shimmering blue and yellow fishes; the other half, and the most remarkable by far, portrayed scenes of ruin and destruction on a scale that might have staggered the most daring imagination. One of them, for example, pictured a city with slender skyscrapers not unlike those of modern New York, but all the skyscrapers were crumpled and toppling as though from some titanic blast; another, which likewise represented a many-spired city, showed the ocean rolling up in one colossal wave and battering and washing away the buildings as a rain storm may wash away a child’s sand castles; while a third, and by all odds the most ghastly of the group, depicted a sea bottom strewn with the wreckage of great stone edifices, in whose vacant towers and windows and among whose shattered courts the sword-fish and the eel sported and slunk and the fanged shark pursued its prey.

“Strange!” I remarked to Rawson. “What peculiarly morbid people is this that its artists should delight in scenes of flood and ruin? Or is it that its painters are striving to represent some actual disaster, some overwhelming ancient catastrophe unheard of on earth?”

Hoping to find an answer to these questions, I strained my eyes over the inscriptions that marked each picture--inscriptions in the near-Greek characters I had already tried to decipher. As before, I had at first no success in translation; but, having nothing else to do, I persevered; and once again I ended by construing two or three words--words that left me only more deeply mystified. “After the Submergence,” was the legend that explained the picture of the ruined town at the sea bottom; and, noting how closely this phrase resembled those I had previously interpreted, I was forced to conclude that “The Submergence” was indeed some definite historical event. But when it had occurred or how was still a question as unanswerable as though it had concerned the planet Mars.

“It is possible that we will never be able to solve the problem.” I was observing to Rawson, when suddenly I heard that which made me stop short in amazement, momentarily forgetting all about tidal waves and sunken cities.

“Saints in heaven, that’s a good one! That’s the time I put one over on you, boys!” came to me in indistinct tones, accompanied by a loud guffaw; and Rawson and I stared at one another in astonishment, bewildered as men who have seen a ghost.

“Stranahan!” we cried in one voice; and the tears were ready to flow at the thought that we had found our lost companion.

A moment later, having made our way through a columned hallway into an adjoining room, we were met by the strangest sight we had yet seen in this land of many wonders.

Sprawled haphazard on the floor, absorbed in the distribution of a pack of cards, were our four lost fellow seamen, all of them looking grotesque indeed in their colored native garments, and Stranahan appearing particularly outlandish in his gown of pale green, his trouser legs showing from beneath, his blue sailor’s blouse conspicuous through the open neck in front!

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