Chapter 16

A Procession! A Procession!

I can assure our friends in England that we had no notion of the uproar which the mere rumour of our experiences had caused through Europe. It was agreed among us, however, that no definite statement should be given to the Press until we had met the members of the Zoological Institute, since as delegates it was our clear duty to give our first report to the body from which we had received our commission of investigation. Thus, although we found Southampton full of Pressmen, we absolutely refused to give any information, which had the natural effect of focussing public attention upon the meeting which was advertised for the evening of November 7th. For this gathering, the Zoological Hall which had been the scene of the inception of our task was found to be far too small, and it was only in the Queen’s Hall in Regent Street that accommodation could be found. It is now common knowledge the promoters might have ventured upon the Albert Hall and still found their space too scanty. On the second evening after our arrival the great meeting had been fixed.

And now I turn to the last important moment of our adventure. As I was wondering how I should best describe it, my eyes fell on the issue of my own Journal for the morning of the 8th of November with the full and excellent account of my friend and fellow-reporter Macdona. This is the report:

THE NEW WORLD

GREAT MEETING AT THE QUEEN’S HALL

SCENES OF UPROAR EXTRAORDINARY INCIDENT

WHAT WAS IT?

DEMONSTRATION IN REGENT STREET (Special)

“The much-discussed meeting of the Zoological Institute was held last night in the greater Queen’s Hall, and it is likely to be a red letter date in the history of Science, as the proceedings were of so remarkable and sensational character that no one present is ever likely to forget them. The Great Hall was tightly packed. The public stormed the doors at a quarter to eight, several people were even injured, including Inspector Scoble of H. Division, whose leg was unfortunately broken. After this invasion it is estimated that nearly five thousand people awaited the arrival of the travellers. When they eventually appeared, they took their places in the front of a platform which already contained all the leading scientific men, not only of this country, but of France and of Germany. The entrance of the four heroes of the occasion was the signal for a remarkable demonstration of welcome, the whole audience rising and cheering for some minutes. No one could have foreseen this extraordinary turn.

When the audience resumed their seats after the ovation which they had given to the travellers, the chairman, the Duke of Durham, addressed the meeting. He rejoiced that these gentlemen had returned safe and sound from their difficult and dangerous task, for it cannot be denied that any disaster to such an expedition would have inflicted a great loss to the cause of Zoological science.’

“Professor Summerlee’s rising was the signal for another extraordinary outbreak of enthusiasm. He described their journey, apologized publicly to Professor Challenger for his incredulity and gave the actual course of their journey, carefully avoiding such information which would help the public to locate this remarkable plateau. Having described, in general terms, their course from the main river up to the time that they actually reached the base of the cliffs, he told his hearers about the difficulties encountered by the expedition in their repeated attempts to mount them. Then the Professor proceeded to describe both the horrors and the attractions of that remarkable land. He said little about personal adventures, but laid stress on the rich harvest reaped by Science in the observations of the wonderful beast, bird, insect, and plant life of the plateau. Forty-six new species of the one and ninety-four of the other had been secured in the course of a few weeks. The public was, however, interested in the larger animals, and especially in the larger animals supposed to have been long extinct. So he mentioned a snake, deep purple in colour, fifty-one feet in length, and a white creature, supposed to be mammalian. The plateau was very rich in known prehistoric forms, dating back in some cases to early Jurassic times. Among these he mentioned the gigantic stegosaurus, seen once by Mr. Malone at a drinking-place by the lake, and drawn in the sketch-book of that adventurous American who had first penetrated this unknown world. He described also the iguanodon and the pterodactyl. He then frightened the audience by some account of the terrible carnivorous dinosaurs. He sketched the mysteries of the central lake that the full interest and enthusiasm of the audience were aroused. One had to pinch oneself to be sure that one was awake as one heard this sane and practical Professor in cold tone describing the monstrous three-eyed fish-lizards and the huge water-snakes which inhabit the central lake. Next he told about the Indians and the extraordinary colony of anthropoid apes, the missing link. Finally he described the ingenious but highly dangerous aeronautic invention of Professor Challenger, and at last told how they found their way back to civilization.

It had been hoped that the proceedings would end there, but it was soon evident that the course of events was not destined to flow so smoothly. Dr. James Illingworth, of Edinburgh, rose in the centre of the hall. Dr. Illingworth asked whether an amendment should not be taken before a resolution.

“THE CHAIRMAN: ‘Yes, sir, if there must be an amendment.’

“DR. ILLINGWORTH: ‘Your Grace, there must be an amendment.’

“THE CHAIRMAN: ‘Then let us take it at once.’

It was clear, from the moment of his rising, that he had a number of friends and sympathizers in the hall, though they formed a minority in the audience. The attitude of the greater part of the public was neutral.

“Dr. Illingworth’s position, in fact, was almost the same as that taken up by Professor Summerlee at the last meeting. But what he asked for was evidence. The corroboration of these wondrous tales was really exciting, he said. What did they give? Some photographs. Was it possible that in this age of ingenious manipulation photographs could be accepted as evidence? What more? They had a story of a flight and a descent by ropes. It was great, but not convincing. It was understood that Lord John Roxton claimed to have the skull of a phororachus. He could only say that he would like to see that skull.

“LORD JOHN ROXTON: ‘Is this fellow calling me a liar?’ (Uproar.)

“THE CHAIRMAN: ‘Order! Order! Dr. Illingworth, I must direct you to bring your remarks to a conclusion and to move your amendment.’

“DR. ILLINGWORTH: ‘Your Grace, I have more to say, but I bow to your ruling. I move, then, that, while Professor Summerlee be thanked for his interesting address, the whole matter shall be regarded as ‘non-proven’, and shall be referred back to a larger, and possibly more reliable Committee of Investigation.’

“It is difficult to describe the confusion caused by this amendment. A large section of the audience expressed their indignation. On the other hand, some people cheered for the amendment. It was only the presence of many ladies which prevented an absolute riot. Suddenly, however, there was a pause, a hush, and then complete silence. Professor Challenger was on his feet. His appearance and manner are peculiarly arresting.

‘You remember,’ said Professor Challenger, ‘that similar foolish scenes marked the last meeting at which I have been able to address them. On that occasion Professor Summerlee was the chief offender, and though he is now on my side, the matter could not be entirely forgotten. I have heard tonight similar, but even more offensive things from the person who has just sat down. I need not remind this audience that, though Professor Summerlee, as the head of the Committee of Investigation, has been put up to speak tonight, still it is I who am the real leader in this business, and that it is mainly to me that any successful result must be achieved. I have safely conducted these three gentlemen to the spot mentioned, and I have, as you have heard, convinced them of the accuracy of my previous account. Warned, however, by my previous experience, I have not come without such proofs as may convince a reasonable man. As explained by Professor Summerlee, our cameras have been destroyed by the ape– men when they attacked our camp, and most of our negatives ruined.’ (Laughter, and ‘Tell us another!’ from the back.) ‘In spite of the destruction of so many invaluable negatives, there still remains in our collection a certain number of photographs showing the conditions of life on the plateau. The negatives were open to the inspection of experts. But what other evidence had they? Under the conditions of their escape it was naturally impossible to bring a large amount of baggage, but they had rescued Professor Summerlee’s collections of butterflies and beetles, containing many new species. Was this not evidence?’ (Several voices, ‘No.’) ‘Who said no?’

“DR. ILLINGWORTH (rising): ‘Our point is that such a collection might have been made in other places than a prehistoric plateau.’ (Applause.)

“PROFESSOR CHALLENGER: ‘No doubt, sir, I can exhibit to you from my portfolio a picture of the pterodactyl taken from life which would convince you…

“DR. ILLINGWORTH: ‘No picture could convince us of anything.’

“PROFESSOR CHALLENGER: ‘You would require to see the thing itself?’

“DR. ILLINGWORTH: ‘Undoubtedly.’

“PROFESSOR CHALLENGER: ‘And you would accept that?’

“DR. ILLINGWORTH (laughing): ‘No doubt.’

“It was at this point that the sensation of the evening arose, a sensation so dramatic that it can never have been paralleled in the history of scientific events. Professor Challenger raised his hand in the air as a signal, and at once our colleague, Mr. E. D. Malone, rose and made his way to the back of the platform. An instant later he reappeared in company of a gigantic negro, the two of them bearing between them a large square packing-case. It was evidently of great weight, and was slowly carried forward and placed in front of the Professor’s chair. All sound had hushed in the audience. Professor Challenger opened the lid and was heard from the Press seat to say, ‘Come, then, pretty, pretty!’ in a quiet voice. A moment later, with a scratching sound, a most horrible creature appeared from below. Even the unexpected fall of the Duke of Durham into the orchestra, could not distract the attention of the audience. The face of the creature was like the wildest gargoyle, with two small red eyes, long mouth, which was held half-open, was full of shark-like teeth. It was the devil of our childhood. There was a disorder in the audience, someone screamed, two ladies in the front row fell senseless from their chairs. For a moment there was danger of panic. Professor Challenger tried to still the audience, but the movement alarmed the creature beside him. It spread the pair of leathery wings. Its owner grabbed at its legs, but too late to hold it. It had flown up and was circling slowly round the Queen’s Hall with a leathery flapping of its ten-foot wings, while a terrible odour filled the room. The cries of the people frightened the creature. Faster and faster it flew, beating against walls and lamps in a blind frenzy of alarm. ‘The window! For heaven’s sake shut that window!’ roared the Professor from the platform, dancing and wringing his hands in an agony of apprehension. But his warning was too late! In a moment the creature, beating and bumping along the wall, came upon the opening, squeezed its hideous bulk through it, and was gone. Professor Challenger fell back into his chair with his face buried in his hands, while the audience gave one long, deep sigh of relief as they realized that the incident was over.

“Then, oh! how shall I describe what took place then… everyone was on his feet, moving and shouting, gesticulating. A crowd of cheering men were round the four travellers. ‘Up with them! up with them!’ cried a hundred voices. In a moment four figures shot up above the crowd. In vain they tried to break free. ‘Regent Street! Regent Street!’ sounded the voices. A slow current, bearing the four on their shoulders, made for the door. Out in the street the scene was extraordinary. A gathering of not less than a hundred thousand people was waiting. The close-packed crowd extended from the other side of the Langham Hotel to Oxford Circus. A roar of acclamation greeted the four adventurers as they appeared, high above the heads of the people, under the vivid electric lamps outside the hall. ‘A procession! A procession!’ was the cry. The crowd set forth, taking the route of Regent Street, Pall Mall, St. James’s Street, and Piccadilly. The whole central traffic of London was stopped. Finally, it was not until after midnight that the four travellers were released at the entrance to Lord John Roxton’s flat in the Albany, and that the crowd concluded their programme with ‘God Save the King’. So ended one of the most remarkable evenings that London has seen for a considerable time.”

So far my friend Macdona; and it may be taken as a fairly accurate account of the proceedings. As to the main incident, it was a bewildering surprise to the audience, but not to us. The reader will remember how I met Lord John Roxton on the very occasion when, in his protective cage, he had gone to bring the “Devil’s chick” as he called it, for Professor Challenger. I have hinted also at the trouble which the Professor’s baggage gave us when we left the plateau. The thing is that the Professor’s earnest desire was that no possible rumour should be allowed to leak out until the moment came when his enemies were to be destroyed.

One word as to the fate of the London pterodactyl. There is the evidence of two frightened women that it sat on the roof of the Queen’s Hall and remained there like a statue for some hours. The next day it came out in the evening papers that a man on duty outside Marlborough House, had left his post, and was therefore judged. According to his words he dropped his rifle and ran down the Mall because on looking up he had suddenly seen the devil between him and the moon, was not accepted by the Court. The only other evidence which I can give is that the captain of the “Start Point”, an American ship, reported that when they had just left the port something between a flying goat and a monstrous bat was flying very quickly southwest. If its homing instinct led it on the right line, there can be no doubt that somewhere in the waters of the Atlantic the last European pterodactyl found its end.

And Gladys – oh, my Gladys! – Gladys of the mystic lake, now to be renamed the Central. Did I not always see something hard in her nature? Did I not feel that it was surely a poor love which could drive a lover to his death or the danger of it? Did I not see her selfishness? Did she love the heroic and the spectacular for its own noble sake, or was it for the glory which might, without effort or sacrifice, be reflected on herself? It was the shock of my life. But already, as I write, a week has passed, and we have had our momentous interview with Lord John Roxton and… well, perhaps things might be worse.

Let me tell it in a few words. No letter or telegram had come to me from her, and I reached her little villa at about ten o’clock that night in a fever of alarm. Was she dead or alive? Where were all my dreams of the open arms, the smiling face, the words of praise for her man who had risked his life for his lady-love? Already I was down from the high peaks and standing flat-footed upon earth. I rushed down the garden path and entered the house. She was seated by the piano. In three steps I was across the room and had both her hands in mine.

“Gladys!” I cried, “Gladys!”

She looked up with amazement in her face. She had changed: the expression of her eyes, the hard stare, the set of the lips, was new to me.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Gladys!” I cried. “What is the matter? You are my Gladys, are you not… little Gladys Hungerton?”

“No,” said she, “I am Gladys Potts. Let me introduce you to my husband.”

How absurd life is! I found myself mechanically bowing and shaking hands with a little ginger-haired man.

“Father lets us stay here. We are getting our house ready,” said Gladys.

“Oh, yes,” said I.

“You didn’t get my letter at Para, then?”

“No, I got no letter.”

“Oh, what a pity! It would have made all clear.”

“It is quite clear,” said I.

“I’ve told William all about you,” said she. “We have no secrets. I am so sorry about it. But it couldn’t have been so very deep, could it, if you could go off to the other end of the world and leave me here alone. You’re not angry, are you?”

“No, no, not at all. I think I’ll go.”

“Have some refreshment,” said the little man, and he added, in a confidential way, “It’s always like this, isn’t it?” He laughed like an idiot, while I made for the door.

I was through it, when a sudden fantastic impulse came upon me, and I went back to my successful rival, who looked nervously at the electric push.

“Will you answer a question?” I asked.

“Well, within reason,” said he.

“How did you do it? Have you searched for hidden treasure, or discovered a pole, or done time on a pirate, or flown the Channel, or what? How did you get it?”

He stared at me with a hopeless expression upon his good-natured little face.

“Don’t you think all this is a little too personal?” he said.

“Well, just one question,” I cried. “What are you? What is your profession?”

“I am a clerk,” said he. “Second man at Johnson and Merivale’s, 41 Chancery Lane.”

“Good-night!” said I, and vanished, like all broken-hearted heroes, into the darkness, with grief and rage and laughter within me.

One more little scene. Last night we all had supper at Lord John Roxton’s rooms. It was strange to see the old, well-known faces and figures. There was Challenger, with his smile, his intolerant eyes, his aggressive beard, his huge chest. And Summerlee, too, there he was with his gray goat’s beard, his yellowish face. Finally, there was our host, with his eagle face, and his cold, blue eyes with always a shimmer of humour in the depths of them. Such is the last picture of them that I have carried away.

It was after supper, in the room with trophies that Lord John Roxton had something to say to us. From a cupboard he had brought an old cigar-box, and this he laid before him on the table.

“There’s one thing,” said he, “that maybe I should have spoken about before this, but I wanted to know a little more clearly where I was. It’s facts, not hopes, with us now. You may remember that day we found the pterodactyl nests in the swamp. Well, something took my notice there. Perhaps you don’t notice, so I will tell you. It was a volcanic vent full of blue clay.” The Professors nodded.

“Well, now, in the whole world I’ve only had to do with one place that was a volcanic vent of blue clay. That was the great De Beers Diamond Mine of Kimberley. So you see I got diamonds into my head. I rigged up a contraption to hold off those stinking beasts, and I spent a happy day there with a spade. This is what I got.”

He opened his cigar-box showed us about twenty or thirty rough stones, varying from the size of beans to that of chestnuts.

“Perhaps you think I should have told you then. Well, so I should, only I know there are a lot of problems, one should know everything about the quality of them. Therefore, I brought them back, and on the first day at home I took one round to Spink’s, and asked him to have it roughly cut and valued.”

He took a pill-box from his pocket, and spilled out of it a beautiful glittering diamond, one of the finest stones that I have ever seen.

“There’s the result,” said he. “He prices the lot at a minimum of two hundred thousand pounds. Of course it is fair shares between us. I won’t hear of anything else. Well, Challenger, what will you do with your fifty thousand?”

“If you really persist in your generous view,” said the Professor, “I should found a private museum, which has long been one of my dreams.”

“And you, Summerlee?”

“I would retire from teaching, and so find time for my final classification of the chalk fossils.”

“I’ll use my own,” said Lord John Roxton, “in fitting a well-formed expedition and having another look at the dear old plateau. As to you, my friend, you, of course, will spend yours in getting married.”

“Not yet,” said I, with a smile. “I think, if you will have me, that I would rather go with you.”

Lord Roxton said nothing, but a brown hand was stretched out to me across the table.