_A strange manuscript found in a copper cylinder_
          (the eighteenth installment)

   from _Harper's weekly_ (1888-may-05) 
           (by James De Mille)

CHAPTER XXVIII  IN PRISON

IT was with hearts full of the gloomiest forebodings that we
returned to the amir, and these we soon found to be fully
justified.  The athalebs descended at that point from which
they had risen--namely, on the terrace immediately in front
of the cavern where they had been confined.  We then
dismounted, and Layelah with the Kosekin guards accompanied
us to our former chambers.  There she left us, saying that a
communication would be sent to us.

  We were now left to our own conjectures.

  "I wonder what they will do to us?" said I.

  "It is impossible to tell," said Almah.

  "I suppose," said I, "they will punish us in some way; but
then punishment among the Kosekin is what seems honor and
reward to me.  Perhaps they will spare our lives, for that
in their eyes ought to be the severest punishment and the
deepest disgrace imaginable."

  Almah sighed.

  "The Kosekin do not always act in this matter as one would
suppose," said she.  "It is quite likely that they may dread
our escaping, and may conclude to sacrifice us at once."

  On the next _jom_ I had a visit from the Kohen Gadol.  He
informed me that the paupers had held a Council of State, in
which they had made a special examination of our late
flight.  He and Layelah had both been examined, as well as
the Kosekin who had gone after us; but Layelah's testimony
was by far the most important.

  The Council of State gathered from Layelah's report that
we had fled to Magones for the especial purpose of gaining
the most blessed of deaths; that she pursued us in the
interest of the state; and that we on her arrival had
generously surrendered our own selfish desires, and had
at once returned.

  We learned that much gratification was felt by the
council, and also expressed, at Layelah's account and at our
action.

  First, at our eager love of death, which was so natural in
their eyes; secondly, at the skill which we had shown in
selecting Magones; and finally, at our generosity in giving
up so readily the blessed prospect of exile and want and
death, so as to come back to the amir.  Had we been Kosekin
our acts would have been natural enough; but, being
foreigners, it was considered more admirable in us, and it
seemed to show that we were equal to the Kosekin themselves. 
It was felt, however, that in our eager rush after death we
had been somewhat selfish; but as this probably arose from
our ignorance of the law, it might be overlooked.  On the
whole it was decided that we ought to be rewarded, and that,
too, with the greatest benefits that the Kosekin could
bestow.  What these benefits were the Kohen Gadol could not
say; and thus we were left, as before, in the greatest
possible anxiety.  We still dreaded the worst.  The highest
honors of these men might well awaken apprehension; for they
thought that the chief blessings were poverty and darkness
and death.

  Layelah next came to see me.  She was as amiable as ever,
and showed no resentment at all.  She gave me an account of
what had happened at the Council of State, which was the
same as what I had heard from the Kohen Gadol.

  I asked her why she had made such a report of us.

  "To conciliate their good-will," said Layelah.  "For if
they thought that you had really fled from death from a love
of life, they would have felt such contempt for you that
serious harm might have happened."

  "Yes," said I; "but among the Kosekin what you call harm
would probably have been just what I want.  I should like to
be viewed with contempt, and considered unworthy of death
and the _Mista Kosek_, and other such honors."

  "Oh yes," said Layelah; "but that doesn't follow; for you
see the paupers love death so intensely that they long to
bestow it on all; and if they knew that you were afraid of
it, they would be tempted to bestow it upon you immediately,
just to show you how delightful a thing it is.  And that was
the very thing that I was trying to guard against."

  "Well," said I, "and what is the result?  Do you know what
their decision is?"

  "Yes," said Layelah.

  "What is it?" I asked, eagerly.

  Layelah hesitated.

  "What is it?" I cried again, full of impatience.

  "I'm afraid it will not sound very pleasant to you," said
Layelah, "but at any rate your life is spared for the
present.  They have decided to give you what they call the
greatest possible honors and distinctions."

  Layelah paused, and looked at me earnestly.  For my part
these words sounded ominous, and were full of the darkest
meaning.

  "Tell me all," I said; "don't keep me in suspense."

  "Well," said Layelah, "I'm afraid you will think it hard;
but I must tell you.  I will tell it, therefore, as briefly
and formally as possible.

  "First, then, they have decreed the blessing of
separation.  You and Almah must now be parted, since this is
regarded as the highest bliss of lovers. 

  "Secondly, they have decreed the blessing of poverty.  All
these luxuries will be taken away, and you will be raised to
an equality in this respect with the great paupers. 

  "Thirdly, you are to have the blessing of darkness.  You
are to be removed from this troublesome and vexatious light,
which here is regarded as a curse, and henceforth live
without it.

  "Fourthly, the next decree is the high reward of
imprisonment.  You are to be delivered from the evils of
liberty, and shut up in a dark cavern, from which it will be
impossible to escape or to communicate with anyone outside.

  "Fifthly, you are to associate with the greatest of the
paupers, the class that is the most honored and influential.
You will be present at all their highest councils, and will
have the privilege of perpetual intercourse with those
reverend men.  They will tell you of the joys of poverty,
the happiness of darkness, and the bliss of death."

  Layelah paused, and looked at me earnestly.

  "Is there anything more?" I gasped.

  "No," said she.  "Is not that enough?  Some were in favor
of bestowing immediate death, but they were outvoted by the
others.  You surely cannot regret that."

  Layelah's words sounded like the words of a mocking demon. 
Yet she did not wish to distress me; she had merely stated
my sentence in formal language, without any attempt to
soften its tremendous import.  As for me, I was overwhelmed
with despair.  There was but one thought in my mind--it was
not of myself, but of Almah.

  "And Almah?" I cried.

  "Almah," said Layelah--"she will have the same; you are
both included in the same sentence."

  At this a groan burst from me.  Horror overwhelmed me.  I
threw myself down upon the floor and covered my face with my
hands.  All was lost! Our fate--Almah's fate--was darkness,
imprisonment, and death.  Could anything be imagined that
might mitigate such woes as these?  Could anything be
conceived of as more horrible?  Yes; there remained
something more, and this was announced by Layelah.

  "Finally," said she, "it has been decreed that you shall
not only have the blessing of death, but that you shall have
the rare honor of belonging to the chosen few who are
reserved for the _Mista Kosek_.  Thus far this had not been
granted.  It was esteemed too high an honor for strangers;
but now, by an exercise of unparalleled liberality, the
Grand Council of Paupers have added this, as the last and
best, to the high honors and rewards which they have decreed
for you and Almah."

  To this I had nothing to say; I was stupefied with horror. 
To such words what answer could be made?  At that moment I
could think of nothing but this tremendous sentence--this
infliction of appalling woes under the miserable name of
blessings!  I could not think of Layelah; nor did I try to
conjecture what her motives might be in thus coming to me as
the messenger of evil.  I could not find space amid my
despair for speculations as to her own part in this, or stop
to consider whether she was acting the part of a mere
messenger, or was influenced by resentment or revenge.  All
this was far away from my thoughts; for all my mind was
filled with the dread sentence of the Council of Paupers and
the baleful prospect of the woes that awaited us.

  On the next _jom_ I saw Almah.  She had already learned
the awful tidings.  She met me with a face of despair; for
there was no longer any hope, and all that remained for us
was a last farewell.  After this we parted, and each of us
was taken to our respective prison.

  I was taken along dark passages until I came to a cavern
with a low, dark portal.  Upon entering I found the darkness
deeper than usual, and there was only one solitary lamp,
which diffused but a feeble ray through the gloom.  The size
of the place could not be made out.  I saw here a group of
human beings, and by the feeble ray of the lamp I perceived
that they were wan and thin and emaciated, with scant
clothing, all in rags, squalor, misery, and dirt; with
coarse hair matted together, and long nails and shaggy
beards.  They reminded me in their personal appearance of
the cannibals of the outer shore.  These hideous beings all
gathered around me, blinking at me with their bleary eyes
and grinning with their abominable faces, and then each one
embraced me.  The filth, squalor, and unutterable foulness
of these wretches all combined to fill my soul with
loathing, and the inconceivable horror of that embrace
wellnigh overwhelmed me.  Yet, after all, it was surpassed
by the horror of the thought that Almah might be at that
very moment undergoing the same experience; and for her such
a thing must be worse than for me.

  I retreated as far as possible from them, deep into the
thick darkness, and sat down.  No convicted felon at the
last hour of life, no prisoner in the dungeons of the
Inquisition, ever could have suffered more mental agony
than I did at that moment.  The blessings, the awful
blessings of the Kosekin were descending upon my miserable
head--separation from Almah, squalor and dirt, imprisonment,
the society of these filthy creatures, darkness, the shadow
of death, and beyond all the tremendous horrors of the
_Mista Kosek_!

  I do not know how the time passed, for at first I was
almost stupefied with despair; nor could I ever grow
reconciled to the society of these wretches, scarce human,
who were with me.  Some food was offered me--filthy stuff,
which I refused.  My refusal excited warm commendation; but
I was warned against starving myself, as that was against
the law.  In my despair I thought of my pistol and rifle,
which I still kept with me--of using these against my
jailors, and bursting forth; but this wild impulse soon
passed away, for its utter hopelessness was manifest.  My
only hope, if hope it was, lay in waiting, and it was not
impossible that I might see Almah again, if only once.

  _Joms_ passed away, I know not how.  The Chief Pauper,
who is the greatest man in the land of the Kosekin, made
several attempts to converse with me, and was evidently
very condescending and magnanimous in his own eyes; but I
did not meet his advances graciously--he was too abhorrent. 
He was a hideous wretch, with eyes nearly closed and bleary,
thick, matted hair, and fiendish expression--in short, a
devil incarnate in rags and squalor.

  But as the _joms_ passed I found it difficult to repel my
associates.  They were always inflicting their society upon
me, and thrusting on me nasty little acts of kindness.  The
Chief Pauper was more persistent than all, with his chatter
and his disgusting civilities.  He was evidently glad to get
hold of a fresh subject for his talkative genius; he was a
very garrulous cannibal, and perhaps my being a foreigner
made me more interesting in his eyes.

  The chief topic of his discourse was death.  He hated
life, loved death, longed for it in all its forms, whether
arising from disease or from violence.  He was an amateur in
corpses, and had a larger experience in dead bodies than any
other man in the nation. 

  I could not help asking him once why he did not kill
himself, and be done with it.

  "That," said he, "is not allowed.  The temptation to kill
one's self is one of the strongest that human nature can
experience, but it is one that we must struggle against, of
course, for it is against all law.  The greatest blessing
must not be seized.  It must be given by nature or man. 
Those who violate the blessed mystery of death are
infamous."

  He assured me that he had all his life cultivated the
loftiest feelings of love to others.  His greatest happiness
consisted in doing good to others, especially in killing
them.  The blessing of death, being the greatest of all
blessings, was the one which he loved best to bestow upon
others; and the more he loved his fellow-creatures the
more he wished to give them this blessing.  "You," said he,
"are particularly dear to me, and I should rather give to
you the blessing of death than to any other human being.  I
love you, Atam-or, and I long to kill you at this moment."

  "You had better not try it," said I, grimly.

  He shook his head despondingly.

  "Oh no," said he; "it is against the law.  I must not do
it till the time comes."

  "Do you kill many?" I asked.

  "It is my pleasing and glorious office," he replied, "to
kill more than any other; for, you must know, I am the _Sar
Tabakin_" (chief of the executioners).

  The Chief Pauper's love of death had grown to be an
all-absorbing passion.  He longed to give death to all.  As
with us there are certain philanthropists who have a mania
for doing good, so here the pauper class had a mania for
doing what they considered good in this way.  The Chief
Pauper was a sort of Kosekin Howard or Peabody, and was
regarded by all with boundless reverence.  To me, however,
he was an object of never-ending hate, abhorrence, and
loathing; and, added to this, was the thought that there
might be here some equally hideous female--someone like the
nightmare hag of the outer sea--a torment and a horror to
Almah.

 
CHAPTER XXIX  THE CEREMONY OF SEPARATION

SEPARATED from Almah, surrounded by foul fiends, in darkness
and the shadow of death, with the baleful prospect of the
_Mista Kosek_, it was mine to endure the bitterest anguish
and despair; and in me these feelings were all the worse
from the thought that Almah was in a similar state, and was
enduring equal woes.  All that I suffered in my present
condition she too was suffering--and from this there was no
possibility of escape.  Perhaps her surroundings were even
worse, and her sufferings keener; for who could tell what
these people might inflict in their strange and perverted
impulses?

  Many _joms_ passed, and there was only one thing that
sustained me--the hope of seeing Almah yet again, though it
were but for a moment.  That hope, however, was but faint. 
There was no escape.  The gate was barred without and
within.  I was surrounded by miscreants, who formed the
chief class in the state and the ruling order.  The Chief
Pauper was the highest magistrate in the land, from whose
opinion there was no appeal, and the other paupers here
formed the Kosekin senate.  Here, in imprisonment and
darkness, they formed a secret tribunal and controlled
everything.  They were objects of envy to all.  All looked
forward to this position as the highest object of human
ambition, and the friends and relatives of those here
rejoiced in their honor.  Their powers were not executive,
but deliberative.  To the Meleks and Athons was left the
exercise of authority, but their acts were always in
subordination to the will of the paupers.

  "I have everything that heart can wish," said the Chief
Pauper to me once.  "Look at me, Atam-or, and see me as I
stand here: I have poverty, squalor, cold, perpetual
darkness, the privilege of killing others, the near prospect
of death, and the certainty of the _Mista Kosek_--all these
I have, and yet, Atam-or, after all, I am not happy."

  To this strange speech I had nothing to say.

  "Yes," continued the Chief Pauper, in a pensive tone, "for
twenty seasons I have reigned as chief of the Kosekin in
this place.  My cavern is the coldest, squalidest, and
darkest in the land.  My raiment is the coarsest rags.  I
have separated from all my friends.  I have had much
sickness.  I have the closest captivity.  Death, darkness,
poverty, want, all that men most live and long for, are mine
to satiety; and yet, as I look back and count the _joms_ of
my life to see in how many I have known happiness, I find
that in all they amount to just seven!  Oh, Atam-or, what a
comment is this on the vanity of human life!"

  To this I had no answer ready; but by way of saying
something, I offered to kill him on the spot.

  "Nay, nay, Atam-or," said he, with a melancholy smile, "do
not tempt me.  Leave me to struggle with temptations by
myself, and do not seek to make me falter in my duty.  Yes,
Atam-or, you behold in me a melancholy example of the folly
of ambition; for I often think, as I look down from my lofty
eminence, that after all it is as well to remain content in
the humble sphere in which we are placed at birth; for
perhaps, if the truth were known, there is quite as much
real happiness among the rich and splendid--among the Athons
and Meleks."

  On this occasion I took advantage of the Chief Pauper's
softer mood to pour forth an earnest entreaty for him to
save Almah's life, or at least to mitigate her miseries. 
Alas! he was inexorable.  It was like an appeal of some mad
prisoner to some gentle-hearted governor in Christendom,
entreating him to put some fellow-prisoner to death, or at
least to make his confinement more severe.

  The Chief Pauper stared at me in horror.

  "You are a strange being, Atam-or," said he, gently.
"Sometimes I think you mad.  I can only say that such a
request is horrible to me beyond all words.  Such
degradation and cruelty to the gentle and virtuous Almah is
outrageous and forever impossible; no, we will not deprive
her of a single one of those blessings which she now
enjoys."

  I turned away in despair.

  At length one _jom_ the Chief Pauper came to me with a
smile and said,

  "Atam-or, let me congratulate you on this joyous
occasion."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "You are to have your ceremony of separation."

  "Separation!" I repeated.

  "Yes," said he.  "Almah has given notice to us.  She has
announced her intention of giving you up, and separating
from you.  With us the woman always gives the announcement
in such cases.  We have fixed the ceremony for the third
_jom_ from this, and I hope you will not think it too soon."

  This strange intelligence moved me greatly.  I did not
like the idea of a ceremony of separation; but behind this
there rose the prospect of seeing Almah, and I felt
convinced that she had devised this as a mode of holding
communication with me, or at least of seeing me again.
The thought of Layelah was the only thing that interfered
with this belief, for it might be her doings after all; yet
the fact remained that I was to see Almah, and in this I
rejoiced with exceeding great joy.

  The appointed _jom_ came.  A procession was formed of the
paupers.  The chief did not go, as he never left the cavern
except on the great sacrifices and _Mista Koseks_.  The door
was opened, and I accompanied the procession.  On our way
all was dark, and after traversing many passages we came at
length to the door of a cavern as gloomy as the one I had
left.  On entering this I found all dark and drear; and a
little distance before me there was a light burning, around
which was gathered a group of hags hideous beyond all
expression.  But these I scarcely noticed; for there amid
them, all pale and wan, with her face now lighted up with
joyous and eager expectation, I saw my darling--my Almah!  I
caught her in my arms, and for a few moments neither of us
spoke a word.  She sobbed upon my breast, but I knew that
the tears which she shed were tears of joy.  Nor was our joy
checked by the thought that it was to be so short-lived.  It
was enough at that moment that we saw one another--enough
that we were in one another's arms; and so we mingled our
tears, and shared one common rapture.  And sweet it
was--sweet beyond all expression--the sweetest moment in all
my life; for it had come in the midst of the drear
desolation of my heart and the black despair.  It was like a
flash of lightning in the intense darkness, short and sudden
indeed, yet still intense while it lasted, and in an instant
filling all with its glow. 

  "I did this," murmured Almah, "to see you and to save
you."

  "Save me!" I repeated.

  "Yes," said she.  "I have seen Layelah.  She told me that
there is this chance and this one only to save you.  I
determined to try it.  I cannot bear to think of you at the
sacrifice--and for love of me meeting your death--for I
would die to save you, Atam-or."

  I pressed her closer in my arms.

  "Oh, Almah," said I, "I would die to save you! and if this
ceremony will save you I will go through with it, and accept
my fate whatever it may be."

  We were now interrupted.

  The women--the hags of horror--the shriek-like ones, as I
may call them, or the fiend-like, the female fiends, the
foul ones--they were all around us; and one there was who
looked so exactly like the nightmare hag of the outer sea
that I felt sure she must be the same, who by some strange
chance had come here.  Such, indeed, is quite likely, for
there may have been a pass over the mountains to the land of
the Kosekin; and those savage cannibals may all have been
honored Kosekin exiles, dwelling in poverty, want, woe, and
darkness, all of which may have been allotted to them as a
reward for eminent virtues.  And so here she was, the
nightmare hag, and I saw that she recognized me. 

  A circle was now formed around us, and the light stood in
the middle.  The nightmare hag also stood within the circle
on the other side of the light opposite us.  The beams of
the lamp flickered through the darkness, faintly
illuminating the faces of the horrible creatures around,
who, foul and repulsive as harpies, seemed like unclean
beasts, ready to make us their prey.  Their glances seemed
to menace death; their blear eyes rested upon us with a
horrid eager hunger.  My worst fears at that moment
seemed realized; for I saw that Almah's associates were
worse than mine, and her fate had been more bitter.  And I
wondered how it had been possible for her to live among such
associates; or, even though she had lived thus far, whether
it would be possible for her to endure it longer.

  And now there arose a melancholy chant from the old
hags around--a dreadful strain, that sounded like a funeral
dirge, sung in shrill, discordant voices, led by the
nightmare hag, who as she sang waved in her hand a kind of
club.  All the time I held Almah in my arms, regardless of
those around us, thinking only of her from whom I must soon
again be separated, and whom I must leave in this drear
abode to meet her fearful fate alone.  The chant continued
for some time, and as long as it continued it was sweet to
me; for it prolonged the meeting with Almah, and postponed
by so much our separation. 

  At length the chant ceased.  The nightmare hag looked
fixedly at us, and spoke these words:

  "You have embraced for the last time.  Henceforth there is
no more sorrow in your love.  You may be happy now in being
forever disunited, and in knowing the bliss of eternal
separation.  As darkness is better than light, as death is
better than life, so may you find separation better than
union."

  She now gave a blow with her club at the lamp, which broke
it to atoms and extinguished the flame.  She continued:

  "As the baleful light is succeeded by the blessed
darkness, so may you find the light of union followed by the
blessed darkness of separation."

  And now in the deep darkness we stood clasped in one
another's arms; while around us, from the horrible circle
of hags, there arose another chant as harsh and discordant
as the previous one, but which, nevertheless, like that,
served at least to keep us together a little longer.  For
this reason it sounded sweeter than the sweetest music; and
therefore, when at last the hideous noise ended, I felt a
pang of grief, for I knew that I must now give up Almah
forever.

  I was right.  The ceremony was over.  We had to part, and
we parted with tears of despair.  I was led away, and as I
went I heard Almah's sobs.  I broke away, and tried to
return for one more embrace; but in the darkness I could not
find her, and could only hear her sobs at a greater
distance, which showed that she too was being led away.  I
called after her,

  "Farewell, Almah!"

  Her reply came back broken with sobs.

  "Farewell forever, Atam-or!"

  I was once more led away, and again traversed the dark
passages, and again came back to my den, which now seemed
dark with the blackness of despair.

  On my return I was formally and solemnly congratulated by
all the paupers.  I should not have received their
congratulations had I not expected that there would be
something more.  I expected that something would be said
about the result of this act of separation; for Almah had
believed that it would be the means of saving my life, and I
believed that it would be the means of saving her life, and
for this reason each of us had performed our part; although,
of course, the joy of meeting with one another would of
itself have been sufficient, and more than sufficient, to
make that ceremony an object of desire.  I thought,
therefore, that some statement might now be made to the
effect that by means of this ceremony my status among the
Kosekin would be changed, and that both I and Almah, being
no longer lovers, would be no longer fit for the sacrifice. 
To my intense disappointment, however, nothing whatever was
said that had the remotest reference to this.

  On the following _jom_ I determined to ask the Chief
Pauper himself directly; and accordingly, after a brief
preamble, I put the question point-blank: 

  "Will our ceremony of separation make any difference as to
our sacrifice?"

  "What?" he asked, with a puzzled expression.

  I repeated the question.

  "I don't understand," said he, still looking puzzled.

  Upon this I once more repeated it.

  "How can that be?" said he at length; "how can the
ceremony of separation have any effect upon your sacrifice? 
The ceremony of separation stands by itself as the sign and
symbol of an additional blessing.  This new happiness of
separation is a great favor, and will make you the object of
new envy and admiration; for few have been so fortunate as
you in all the history of the Kosekin.  But you are the
favorite of the Kosekin now, and there is nothing that they
will not do for you."

  "But we were separate before," said I, indignantly.

  "That is true," said he, "in point of fact; but this
ceremony makes your separation a legal thing, and gives it
the solemn sanction of law and of religion.  Among the
Kosekin one cannot be considered as a separate man until the
ceremony of separation has been publicly performed."

  "I understood," said I, "that we were chosen to suffer the
sacrifice together because we were lovers, and now since you
do not any longer regard us as lovers, why do you sacrifice
us?"

  At this question the Chief Pauper looked at me with one
of those hungry glances of his, which showed how he thirsted
for my blood, and he smiled the smile of an evil fiend.

  "Why do we sacrifice you, Atam-or?" he replied.  "Why,
because we honor you both, and love you both so dearly that
we are eager to give you the greatest of all blessings, and
to deny you nothing that is in our power to bestow."

  "Do you mean to sacrifice both of us?" I gasped.

  "Of course."

  "What!  Almah too?"

  "Certainly.  Why should we be so cruel to the dear child
as to deprive her of so great a boon?"

  At this I groaned aloud and turned away in despair.

  Many _joms_ now passed away.  I grew more and more
melancholy and desperate.  I thought sometimes of fighting
my way out.  My fire-arms were now my chief consolation; for
I had fully made up my mind not to die quietly like a
slaughtered calf, but to strike a blow for life, and meet my
death amid slain enemies.  In this prospect I found some
satisfaction, and death was robbed of some of its terrors.

(End of eighteenth installment.)
(Proofread by Virginia Conn)