HAWTHORNE: Chronicles of the Brass Hand: Mystirio Astronomiki

by Christopher C. Meeker

  I arrived at the boiler room as engineer Donelson, in the midst of a conversation with McNeil, was explaining that there had been no unforeseen malfunctions or mishaps concerning the boiler, engine, or machinery, but rather the components and fittings affected had been sabotaged. The main pressure release valve had been damaged in such a way as to cause, or attempt to cause, the boiler to explode under great pressure; however, it was to our great fortune that this did not occur, for if it had I fear the great vessel would have sustained such damage as to cause it to fall from the sky as a stone. The valve, rather, where it had been seated atop the boiler, had been altogether blown off. It was quite fortunate that the Stratos carried a number of spare parts on board which would allow Donelson and his men to make the necessary repairs. It was even more fortunate the boiler itself remained undamaged.

  In the case of the sound of rushing wind that could be heard earlier, which had since fallen silent, a gas release valve had been opened allowing the precious lifting gas of the aft bladder to be exhausted through a vent on the aft port side of the vessel. The valve had since been closed; nevertheless, it was now impossible to regain any of the gas that had already been expelled, placing us in a situation that was dire indeed.

  Further, engineer Donelson confessed to us that he had been struck on the back of the head and from that lost consciousness, thus leaving the boiler room vulnerable to anyone wishing to commit acts of sabotage. Examining Mr. Donelson's head confirmed the authenticity of his claim, a rather large bump presenting itself upon the back of his skull. McNeil ordered the engineer to report to the infirmary as soon as he was able.

  Donelson indicated that he was not, at the moment, in need of looking after and would commence with the repairs at once, stating that the matter of the air bladder was not a serious dilemma since lifting gas could be piped from the fore bladder to the aft, a simple exercise altogether. This would stabilize and level the Stratos but would not provide any additional buoyancy, and we would still continue our descent, crashing to the ground.

  Returning to the pilot house, Captain Bowman now removed to the infirmary, McNeil assumed the role of acting captain and we set about devising a solution for our current predicament. Plotting our course at present with the aid of the navigation maps, we determined our location to be some distance south and east of Cairo, accounting for wind drift and velocity prior to the ambush earlier that morning, and we would be able to confirm this in short order aided by the use of a spyglass against the visible terrain as the Stratos descended.

  Soon we had dropped to an altitude where it was possible to view the terrain below, and as I had surmised we were able to validate our location in the manner described. Plotting our course for the second time, in order to produce a more accurate illustration of where we were at present and where we would like to be, it was noted that a large open portion of the Congo River lay beneath us, somewhat north and to our east. It was decided then, as the Stratos was as seaworthy as any other ocean going vessel, that we would make the attempt to put the craft down in the river where foliage was most sparse in order to afford a safer landing.

  Calling down to Donelson through the speaking tube, McNeil queried as to whether there may be some alternate means to manoeuvre the Stratos, either by sheer manpower or by any other conveyance. The engineer believed that with the remaining crew it would be possible to uncouple the propeller shafts and crank them by hand. It was agreed that this would be the most expedient solution, and the order was given for all available crew to report to the engine room on the instant.

  In a matter of moments Donelson reported that the propeller shafts had been disconnected from the engine and that he was awaiting orders. The command was given for every able man to begin cranking the propellers as fast as they were able and after several moments, imperceptible at first, the Stratos began to move forward toward an open portion of the river below, McNeil directing the operation at all times from the pilot house.

  As we continued our steady descent, the river loomed larger at every moment. The hulls of the Stratos careened across the top of the jungle canopy, snapping many of the tall tree tops off clean, leaving a trail of broken trunks and branches. No longer able to keep the tempo the crew had begun, it had become questionable as to whether the ship would reach the open portion of the river or, by simple lack of control, crash to the ground.

  Our fears were unfounded and fate smiled upon us as we cleared the jungle, and the river opened before us as if it were welcoming our long-awaited return home from some far off expedition. The relief of the moment was lost, however, as the crew of the Stratos, myself included in that number, had more pressing concerns to occupy our minds, such as the jarring halt of the vessel as it struck the water. Though a softer landing than if we had crashed upon solid earth, to be sure, it was still a rather bone shaking event.

  All on board were quite rattled, to some degree; however, no additional injuries to the crew had been reported. The Captain, however, was more than a little worse for wear, as his wounds had been somewhat severe and the sudden halt of the Stratos did no amount of good for his present condition. It seemed now, as the Stratos floated in silence on the surface of the river, that we would be afforded the opportunity to purvey the needs of the injured and begin repairs to the damaged portions of the airship as it seemed we were, for the moment, out of any impending danger.

  McNeil and I stepped onto the outer deck so we might perhaps espy a secure area to moor the ship along the riverbank until proper repairs could be made. Finding a location which seemed to suit our needs, McNeil called below and some ten or fifteen crew members arrived topsides in short order and, with some finesse, we were able to coax the Stratos into a temporary berth fashioned by nature, as it seemed, between two quite substantial trees whose branches hung across the river, affording us a small amount of shade in which to work, as though designed for our particular need at that very moment.

  With the Stratos and the remainder of the crew now somewhat safe, we began repairs in earnest, the majority of which fell to engineer Donelson and his crew. I was still quite concerned for the well-being of the Captain, now resting in the infirmary, and took the opportunity to speak to him concerning our current situation and the admirable performance of his crew throughout the attack. I recounted how we were able to defeat the Rogue and the Scourge, and drive off the Chaos.

  His spirits seemed to be lifted upon hearing this, and I felt perhaps there was a chance yet for our stoic Captain, though his injuries were quite grave. I also told of the details regarding the conditions in which we had found the boiler room and the aft lifting bladder and how McNeil, Donelson, and I suspected a saboteur on board. I also informed the Captain that although we had no thoughts as to whom the perpetrator could be we would set about devising a means by which we would be able to determine identity of the guilty.

  The Captain’s countenance seemed to fall once again, and at that instant I wished I had not divulged the information to him. Although it did his recovery no manner of good, he was yet thankful to learn of these happenings in his absence. He again thanked me for my forthrightness and confessed to me that he had been an acquaintance of my father and was quite sure that, through his guidance, his son would be of the same quality and measure as he himself had been. I do confess that I felt a great sense of pride well up within my chest and, being as humble as possible, thanked the good Captain for his kind and encouraging words.

  I bade him rest and assured him that McNeil and I would, without doubt, apprehend the villain who had caused us such disaster. With this I called a medic to the bedside and instructed him to take the utmost care of the Captain and to inform me without delay if his condition were to change either for the better or the worse. As I turned to take my leave, Captain Bowman called after me, “Take good care of her, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  My response to him was a short salute in mild jest, and although I did not carry any official rank with the Royal Navy or Air Brigade, Bowman gave a weak smi
le of understanding and nodded in simple affirmation.

  I took the opportunity afforded me by the lull to return to my cabin in the hope that a splash of cool water upon my face would bring a small amount of relief to my troubled brow. As I approached my cabin door, I noticed that it was somewhat ajar, but, attributing it to the skirmish in which we had been engaged just prior, gave it no more attention. Nevertheless, as I approached nearer I saw the door had not been jarred loose by the battle alone, as many of the cabin doors had been, but that the jamb had suffered severe damage as though it had been shouldered open with great force.

  The locking of doors after myself was somewhat of a habit that I have had since I was a young lad, and even during the commotion of the day’s earlier events, one which I had still managed to maintain. Remaining calm, not losing one’s head, was a practice that if not followed could sometimes lead to one’s own ruin. A lesson taught to me by my father and one which I adhered to with the utmost tenacity.

  I entered the room ever at the ready, knowing well that a saboteur on board the Stratos could mean danger for us all and that I too should act with caution lest some great evil befall me for lack of keeping a sharp ear and a keen eye. Pushing the door open with all carefulness, I peered inside and discovered that at my absence my property and belongings had been rummaged through, in a quite thorough manner I might add, a scene that caused me no small amount of ire.

  Upon entering the room my nostrils were assailed by an unusual odour, although not in all respects repugnant, which was strong enough to cause me to take notice. I hesitate to venture a guess as to what the source of the scent had been, but it was not one which I could with any ease identify. Perhaps that of wild flowers mixed with spent gunpowder or a combination of some such other materials or matter.

  I at once began taking account of my belongings and personal effects, the contents of which included clothes, a small amount of rations, other items packed for the specific purpose of the journey, and even the book my Uncle James had supplied me with prior to my departure. After a rather quick inventory I discovered that, much to my astonishment, nothing seemed to have been confiscated or stolen.

  I propped the cabin door open even farther hoping to eliminate or at least lessen the nuisance of the smell that permeated my room, and commenced to putting things in order once again. It was at this point that the ship's ensign entered and, after a brief apology for the intrusion, informed me that my presence on the main deck was requested by Acting Captain McNeil. I left my tidying up for the moment and heading up the stairwell, exited onto the deck of the Stratos a few moments later, where I found McNeil in quiet conversation with one of the crewmen.

  As I approached McNeil he informed me that he was sending an expedition into the surrounding jungle to survey the area and secure it, if necessary, from any dangers that might be present to us. He also stated that if I wished to accompany him on said expedition I was welcome to do so. With such an offer of adventure presented to me, and my very nature being that of a somewhat curious fellow, I could not have been able decline such an offer even if I desired to do so.

  I returned to my cabin at once so as to make preparations for our laborious trek through the jungle and, finding my pack, proceeded to fill it with items that, at the moment, I deemed necessary for our excursion. The majority of what I required I had already returned to the pack, and the remainder of the objects was quite easy to locate as the intruder who ransacked my cabin earlier seemed to have dumped its contents and left them upon the cabin floor in close proximity to the pack.

  It took but a few moments to return the items to the pack, and as I did so I took inventory of each of them, the majority of which held certain significance to me. I was quite glad they had not gone missing. The authentic, American made Bowie knife, a remarkable blade, given to me by Father upon returning from a business trip to America on my fifteenth birthday, was of great importance to me, and I would have become quite sullen had it been taken. I had also brought along a fresh tin of Congreves; a compass presented to me by my grandfather; a book, written by my Uncle James, Writings of the Pharaohs, A Translation of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs and the Importance of Their Meaning; and the item which is most precious to me, the last note I had ever received from my sister, Ophelia, the kindest, dearest, and truest sister a young lad did ever have.

  Having returned every item to its proper place within the pack, I closed the door to my cabin as tight as possible, for now of course, since the lock and jamb had been damaged to such extent that it was at present unusable. I decided I would petition the good Captain for new quarters once I had returned from our excursion about the jungle. A request I was sure, given McNeil’s character, would be granted without hesitation.

  Thus having equipped myself with all accoutrements necessary, I rendezvoused with McNeil and a contingency of about twenty crewmen atop the deck of the Stratos and, having made final preparation, descended a rope ladder draped over the side of the ship single file until at last we were all secure on the bank of the wide river, ready to begin our trek through the unknown jungle that lay before us.

  Now mid-afternoon, the sun filtered its light down through the jungle canopy far above our heads. Wielding the Bowie knife like a machete, the other crewmen in awe of its size and power, I cut without effort through the overgrowth of our chosen path alongside McNeil, who carried an imposing khukuri that was, in my opinion, equal to my own blade, as we made our way through the thick foliage.

  In search of replacement for our food stores, we continued on, beating and hacking our way through the overgrowth, in the hope that at some juncture we would come across any means of fruit-bearing tree or perhaps wild animal that could be hunted for meat, or any other such provision as would be sufficient to sustain the crew for several days more, which was estimated to be the amount of time it would require to reach the Cape of Good Hope, assuming repairs to the ship could be made in the allotted time.

  Stopping every so often to mark our location with compass and map, it was one of the crewman, a fellow whose name I never did learn, who noticed first the odd quietness of the jungle about us as we paused to take our bearings and quench our thirst from the canteens we each carried. When brought to the attention of McNeil and myself the tension became, at once, quite palpable.

  It was in this manner we continued on, stopping on occasion to take our bearings and drink from the canteens as the heat of the afternoon sun beat upon us, listening to the unnatural silence of the jungle at each pause and, in our subconscious minds, bracing ourselves for quite what we knew not. It was as though we were being stalked by some unseen predator awaiting the consummate moment to strike. And strike they did!

  From the trees, the jungle, and quite every point around us large black apes, larger than I could have imagined, charged at us, their white teeth bared, whooping and screeching as they came. Once upon us the attack intensified, biting and tearing at us at every instance. Though the apes were but three-quarters the average man’s weight and height, their strength, speed, and ferocity more than compensated for their lack of stature as it was with the greatest of ease that they pulled down men twice their height, beating and tearing at them with uncontrolled frenzy as they did so. As to the fate of these men I dare not speak, for in my nightmares I am still haunted by their screams and shouts for help and rescue.

  With Bowie knife in hand and my large pack as a shield, I managed a considerable defence against the beasts. Swinging the great knife and striking the mark most every time, I was able to make good account of myself, yet for all my efforts, the apes, relentless in their descent from the trees and surrounding jungle, increased in number even as we continued to slice our way through the howling horde.

  After some time we managed to create an egress through the mass of swirling black hominids and were able to escape. The remaining company, about a dozen and a half hearty men, bounded through the jungle as rapidly as possible in order to evade the wild onslaught. Never stopping to cast our
gaze behind us, for fear of what might be witnessed, we continued sprinting through the heavy jungle, swinging our steel through the thick vines and branches in effort to make our way clear.

  After several moments, we emerged at the edge of a large clearing that opened up to the blazing sun overhead, blinding us in its unfiltered intensity. Both I and McNeil stopped at the edge of the jungle to usher through the remainder of the party, blades at the ready to fend off the ensuing assault that was sure to follow. As the last man passed us, however, the jungle seemed to have returned to its normal noisy chattering of beast and fowl, and there were no signs of the pursuing apes.

  At once, when all had made it clear of the jungle overgrowth, we became witness to an awesome sight. There before us stood a structure of noble height, in the shape and manner of the great pyramids of Egypt, though somewhat less in its substantiality but better preserved than those more well-known structures. Covered in a green moss-like growth the pyramid, or to be more precise the ziggurat as its shape would suggest, was rather well concealed against the backdrop of the North Congo jungle. From the air I would imagine the structure to be almost altogether invisible, nestled amongst the foliage on the ground.

  It was apparent that the structure had been present for a good many centuries and in likelihood many thousands of years, preserved it would seem, by the very growth which surrounded it, as I have mentioned, giving rise to the question as to what manner of growth it was and why it did not itself lend to the ziggurat’s decay, as is seen in all other instances when that which is natural invades that which is created by the hand of man but left untended.

  It was rather apparent that this particular pyramid was out of place in its current location, an opinion shared by both McNeil and myself, and raised many questions which our curious minds desired answers to and would endeavour to reveal at the earliest opportunity.