by John Blaine
“Some sort of undersea life,” Mr. Brant explained. “At this depth, many forms carry their own lights.”
A cloud of tiny objects the size of hazelnuts drifted past, and the scientist identified them as jellyfish. “Thimble jellies,” he said.“So called because of their size and shape.”
The blue color was darker now, but it was still amazingly bright. It was deceptive, because when Rick looked at his instruments, he couldn’t make them out at all and had to turn on the panel lights.
A fish that seemed to be mostly head and jaws went past, and as it passed out of the searchlight beam, Rick saw rows of luminous dots along its side. His father called it “a hatchet fish, very common at this depth.”
Suddenly Rick felt as though an invisible hand had pushed him toward the bottom of the Submobile. He realized that their descent had stopped, causing the elevator like feeling. At the same moment, Gordon spoke in the earphones. They were at 580 feet.
“Turn on the Sonoscope,” Hartson Brant directed.
Rick turned the proper knob and the ground-glass screenglowed a fitful green. He turned the focus knobs, but nothing showed. A glance at the instruments told him the Sonoscope was sending out its inaudible bursts of sound at 50,000 vibrations per second, far above the range of the human ear, which can hear only up to about 20,000 cycles per second.
“Take us down five feet,” the scientist ordered into his mouthpiece.
Rick bent over the Sonoscope screen. Little by little a picture swam up from the bottom of the glowing green glass. He looked at the image of massive blocks, sketched in varying shades of luminous green.
“I have something, Dad.”
Hartson Brant looked over his shoulder. “Yes. We’re inside the temple wall. That must be the remnants of some sort of building.”
Rick brought the image into sharper focus, and exclaimed, “Look at the steps!” They
were clearly defined -a low, broad flight that had once led to what might have been the temple itself. Rick could almost picture warriors in crested helmets walking up those steps while priests chanted and incense swirled around the faces of forgotten gods.
The Submobile swayed slightly on its cable, and on the left side of the screen something flickered briefly before the undersea craft swung back again.
“There was something there,” Rick said excitedly. “Can we swing around, Dad?”
For answer, Hartson Brant threw his switches and the drone of motors made the floor vibrate. He moved a control and the starboard propeller turned, swinging the Submobile around.
Rick turned the focus knobs as the thing he had glimpsed moved to the center of the screen. At last it glowed bright, in sharp focus. He stared in disbelief, and his mouth opened.
“Holy leaping snakes,” he shouted. “It’s a sea serpent!”
CHAPTER XII
Worshipers of the Bronze God
Hartson Brant moved quickly and looked over Rick’s shoulder. The object on the screen had a long, sinuous body terminating in a gross, misshapen head that seemed part alligator, part lion, and part snake. Wings sprouted from between humped shoulders, and thick legs seemed to grope for the bottom.
“Not a sea serpent,” Hartson Brant said.“Something even more valuable!” He spoke into the phone. “Gordon! We have something on the screen. See if the salvage cable is free.”
In a moment the Submobile swayed slightly and Gordonanswered, his voice excited.
“It’s free. What do you have?”
“Statuary of some sort,” Mr. Brant answered. “We’ll try for it.”
“You’d better take over, Dad,” Rick said, starting to move.
“Nonsense.You can snare it, Rick. Go to it.”
Rick wiped moist palms on his thighs and swallowed. He leaned over and looked through the observation port, but the searchlight showed nothing.
“We’ll have to get closer,” he said. “The Sonoscope scale shows thirty feet and I can’t see anything through the port.”
The scientist gave power to the aft propeller motor and the Submobile moved slowly ahead. Rick left his seat and knelt before the observation port, his eyes trying to pierce the gloom. Little by little the thing took form, a dark shape in the yellow gleam of the searchlight. It was hard to judge size, but he thought it was about eight feet long, from the open jaws to the long tail, and it sat on a base just big enough for the four legs.
Rick took the pistol grips in his hands and squeezed the triggers. The motors under the deck responded and he heard the whine of gears ahead of the instrument panel. Now he had to drop the loop of the cable over the sea beast’s head. He worked slowly, with frequent pauses to look through the observation port. Pulling down on the grips elevated the arms. He let them carry the cable past the head, the left arm over the thing’s back, the right one in the air well ahead of the nose.
He dropped the left arm on thestatue’s back and left it there, then he dropped the right arm past the nose and pulled it in against the scaly chest.
The cable now ran from the Submobile out along the left arm, across the statue’s back and down past the neck to the other arm against the chest. Working carefully, he retracted the right arm fully. Then, with equal care, he retracted the left arm, and he could feel the cable catch! It passed across the statue’s back, and returned under the thing’s head. He had it hooked! He brought the left arm back into rest position, and turned to his father, grinning with such pleased relief that his face hurt.
“Got it, Dad!”
“Nice going, Son.” Hartson Brant mopped his perspiring face. “I was working as hard as you were, just watching. Okay, Rick. Drop the cable.”
Rick pulled the release knobs and the cable dropped from the grips, free of the Submobile.
“We have it, John,” Hartson Brant said into the mouthpiece. “Take up the slack, but very slowly.”
The scientist gunned the motors and the Submobile moved a few degrees. Dimly, with
the aid of the searchlight, they saw the noose of the cable slowly tighten around the statue’s neck. It stirred, raising a murky cloud that blotted out the view.
“Take us up,” Mr. Brant ordered.
Rick switched off the Sonoscope and sat back. Mr. Brant cut the propeller motor switches and there was silence in the Submobile.
The ascent seemed to take much longer than the downward trip, but Rick knew it was only his eagerness to see what they had captured. At last the blue of the water turned to green, and finally they broke clear into sunlight that made him blink. They were swung to the deck and again there was the terrific clanging as the hatch was removed.
They jumped to the deck to greet curious faces.
“What is it?” Scotty asked excitedly.
“A real sea monster,” Rick answered. He hurried to the rail and looked down to where the salvage cable vanished into the depths. “Can we bring it up right away?” he asked.
“We’re going to.” Hartson Brant smiled. “Captain, will you bring it up? Slowly, please.
If it’s soft stone, we don’t want to break it.”
Turk nodded. “Easy does it.” He threw the switch and the electric winch began to turn.
“Not much weight on it. It can’t be very heavy.”
Digger Sears watched from the pilothouse door. Otera peered from the galley. Even the two sailors, who were doing nothing at the moment, lost some of their usual
impassiveness and watched over the rail.
Presently Chahda shouted, “Is coming!”
A dark bulk appeared, far down in the water. It came into sight, a weird monster eight feet long and about four feet high, not counting theupflung wings.
“My sainted aunt,” Scotty gasped. “It is a sea monster!”
The statue broke water and dangled at the end of the cable amid excited gasps from the watchers. It was a dragon! The broad, alligator jaws were open, showing jagged teeth and a forked tongue. Snakelike scales covered it, extending down the front legs to webbed feet that gripped
a flat base. But the rear portion was like the hindquarters of a lion, or a great cat, except for the tail. Rick couldn’t imagine what the tail represented. It
was thick and tapering, and it had a row of spines along its top.
The sailors swung the boom in and held the dripping object just above the rail. Gordon was examining it instantly. He opened his jackknife andscraped, and bright metal showed through the scratch.
“Bronze!” he exclaimed. “Rick, you’re a wonder! Remind me to make you a vice-president or something. We must get it ashore at once. I want to clean and examine it.”
“Of course,” Hartson Brant said. “It will fit in the whaleboat without trouble. Captain, how much does it weigh?”
“About 500 pounds,” Turk replied.“Maybe a little more. The whaleboat will take it.” He ordered the seamen to bring the boat alongside. The center seat was removed and the statue lowered. Professor Gordon, Hartson Brant, and one of the seamen got in and the salvage noose was loosened and hauled out of the way.
“Rick!” Hartson Brant called. “Fix up a block and tackle. We’ll need it to get this thing ashore.”
Rick ran to obey as the boat cast off and headed for shore. The trawler swung around and followed it through the reef pass, anchoring close to shore. Then Turk and Digger Sears joined Rick and the others in the second small boat.
Gordon was already at work with his cleaning tools, removing the accumulated covering of centuries. He was reluctant to stop even to get the statue into a working place on land.
Under Hartson Brant’s direction, Rick, Scotty, and Chahda took axes and a machete and cut down three young trees at the jungle’s edge. They were about four inches thick and fifteen feet long when trimmed and cut to even lengths. They were lashed together, about two feet from the top and set up in the form of a pyramid, the block and tackle secured to the junction point.
The tackle was quickly secured to the statue,then willing hands tugged on the rope while the others guided the unwieldy thing. It swung out of the boat and came to rest under the pyramid of poles.
Professor Gordon suddenly exclaimed, “Wait a moment, I have an idea!”
He found a tape measure and quickly measured the statue’s base; then he hurried to the stone rectangle and measured its top. “Just as I thought,” he said happily. “A perfect fit.
It’s just the right height for working, too. Can we get it up there?”
“Easily,” Hartson Brant assured him.
The pyramid of poles was moved toward the stone pedestal, and the statue pulled closer.
By moving the poles and the block and tackle several times, the statue was finally moved next to the stone. One more adjustment of the poles and it was lifted and dropped into place. As Gordon had said, it was a perfect fit.
“Some gadget,” Scotty said admiringly.
The statue was a strange-looking object. Half animal, half reptile, it seemed to crouch, jaws extended.
Chahda suddenly turned and looked at the jungle. “You hear what I hear?” he
demanded.
Scotty had turned, too. “Sounded like one of the natives got a good look and it scared him silly. He took off on the run.”
“I heard something,” Rick agreed. It had sounded like a man crashing through the underbrush. “Maybe we’ve got a better tabu gimmick than the pieces of handkerchief,”
he said.
Gordon was working on the statue, removing the coating of grime and scale. Rick found a can of gasoline and helped out with a rag dipped in the gas. It acted as a solvent, removing the last traces of the outer coating. Little by little, the dragon god began to shine in all his bronze glory-or ugliness.
As they finished working on the muscular legs, Scotty said, “Company’s come.Lots of them this time.”
Rick looked toward the jungle and thought he saw movement in the dense foliage.
“Let’s give ‘em a goodlook at our new pal,” he suggested.
He, Chahda, Gordon, and big Hobart Zircon had been standing in front of the statue.
They moved back, exposing it to the view of the watchers in the jungle.
A huge wave of sound swelled from the woods, a mass sigh, mixed with groans. The foliage crackled as bodies pushed through it.
Scotty jumped for his rifle.
Rick gasped. Natives! More than a hundred of them! And they were all flat on their faces just behind the tabu line, outstretched in worship of the dragon god on the pedestal!
“Get Otera,” Hartson Brant told Chahda. “Perhaps he can speak their language.”
As though at a signal, the natives rose and stood looking across the barrier at the white men.
Rick looked at them curiously. They were tall, on the average, with good features and brown skins. They wore theskirtlike garment of the ancient Pacific people. They were muscular and clean looking, but their faces were not pleasant.
“A tough bunch of monkeys,” Scotty whispered. “What are they?Polynesians or
Mongols?”
It was a fair question, since many of them had the Mongoloid eye fold that gives the look of slant eyes.
“A little of both,” Gordon answered. He walked toward the silent, watching throng.
“What name you come ‘longdisfella place?”
The line of natives stirred, but there was no answer. Minutes ticked away as the two groups faced each other, watching silently. Then an old man stepped right up to the tabu string. He held out both hands expressively and shrugged.
“He doesn’t understand,” Rick said. He turned and looked toward the trawler. Otera was on his way in the whaleboat with Chahda.
“These gooks never understand,” Turk Mallane said.
“Only when they think it will get them something.”
“Too ruddy right,” Digger Sears agreed. “Give ‘em a fistful o’ smokes and watch the blokes come toMe .”
The boat grounded and Chahda and Otera ran to join the party. At Gordon’s instructions, Otera walked toward the line of natives, a little fearfully. He jabbered a few words in a language that seemed to consist entirely of vowels.
The old chief’s face lit up. He replied rapidly in the same language.
“Disonefella chief,” Otera told Gordon.
Rick strained to follow the rapid patter of beche-de-tner, but got lost. Gordon translated when Otera had finished talking.
“This is evidently the Number One chief, and all the males of the tribe. He says that the dragon god is the ancient god of his people. It was swallowed by the sea many years before the time of the oldest of his ancestors. Once they had a small one they made, but it was broken. Now the original god has been returned to them, and they wish us to lift the tabu, so they may worship.”
Gordon had a queer look on his face. “He adds something about our profaning the place. He wants us to get out.”
Hartson Brant considered. “Have Otera point out that without us the dragon god wouldn’t have been restored. We’ll lift the tabu for them, but only for a while. Make that clear.”
“Profaning the place, eh?” Turk grunted. “I’ll profane ‘em with the toe of my boot.”
Rick went with Scotty and Gordon to remove the twine with its burden of handkerchief strips. He noticed that Scotty carried his rifle.
He helped gather in the string, very conscious of the row of natives only a few feet away. Once he stopped to look at them more closely, and fierce eyes met his.
They stood aside to let the natives pass, but, surprisingly, the warriors melted into the jungle.
“What the heck!” Scotty exclaimed. “I hope they haven’t gone for their bows and arrows.”
“You and me,” Rick agreed wholeheartedly. “They’re a rough-looking crowd.”
“Here they come again,” Gordon said. The three hurried back to where the others had gathered near the statue.
The natives had evidently gone into the jungle to pick up their dearest possessions from wherever they had stored them. They returned,carrying carved war
clubs, strings ofcowrie shells, great bunches of young coconuts and bananas. There were delicately carved combs and bowls, and ludicrous things like bits of broken alarm clock, rusted
tobacco tins, and other salvage.
These offerings were piled before the dragon god while the old chief watched; then the natives gathered in a semicircle, looking at the fierce thing, their eyes worshipful.
Turk Mallane laughed heartily. “That’s the way to make points with your own special heaven,” he said. “Offer a hunk of alarm clock as a sacrifice.”
A hundred pair of eyes turned to him.
“Keep quiet,” Hartson Brant ordered. He turned to Rick and Scotty. “Break out some of those canned rations in our tentWe’ll see if can’t make friends.”
Rick and Scotty ran to the scientists’ tent and found a case of rations. They carried it back and tore the cardboard cover off, then waited for instructions.
Hartson Brant motioned to them to remain quiet. The chief had started a ceremonial chanting before the dragon god. Then the warriors joined in and the throb-jbingchant increased in volume.
It was strangely stirring, even though Rick couldn’t guess what they were chanting.
Unconsciously he began to sway with the rhythm of the chant, and, like the warriors, his eyes were focused on the weird bronze statue. Then, abruptly, the chant ended, on a high, wailing note, and the warriors stirred and began looking around them at the camp.
“Now,” Hartson Brant said.
Rick took a handful of cans from the ration crates and offered them to the nearest warriors. They looked at the shiny tins, not understanding.
“Open one,” Chahda suggested.
Rick signed for the warriors to watch. He took the can key and unwound the metal strip that sealed it. Then he lifted out the compressed beef in it, took his jackknife, cut off a slice and ate it.
The nearest warrior, a husky young man who towered over Rick, watched suspiciously.
When Rick held out the beef he sniffed at it like a suspicious hound,then reached for the shining can. Rick held the can away from him and offered the beef again. With a frown the young warrior accepted it, lifted it and sank strong white teeth into the mixture.
