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

   from _Harper's weekly_ (1888-may-12) 
           (by James De Mille)


CHAPTER XXX  THE DAY OF SACRIFICE

AT last the time came.

  It was the end of the dark season.  Then, as the sun rises
for its permanent course around the heavens, when the long
day of six months begins, all in the land of the Kosekin is
sorrow, and the last of the loved darkness is mourned over
amid the most solemn ceremonies, and celebrated with the
most imposing sacrifices.  Then the most honored in all the
land are publicly presented with the blessing of death, and
allowed to depart this hated life, and go to the realms of
that eternal darkness which they love so well.  It is the
greatest of sacrifices, and is followed by the greatest of
feasts.  Thus the busy season--the loved season of
darkness--ends, and the long, hateful season of light
begins, when the Kosekin lurk in caverns, and live in this
way in the presence of what may be called artificial
darkness.

  It was for us--for me and for Almah--the day of doom.
Since the ceremony of separation I had not seen her; but my
heart had been always with her.  I did not even know whether
she was alive or not, but believed that she must be; for I
thought that if she had died I should have heard of it, as
the Kosekin would have rejoiced greatly over such an event. 
For every death is to them an occasion of joy, and the death
of one so distinguished and so beloved as Almah would have
given rise to nothing less than a national festival.

  Of time I had but a poor reckoning; but, from the way in
which the paupers kept account of their _joms_, I judged
that about three months had elapsed since the ceremony of
separation.

  The paupers were now all joyous with a hideous joy.  The
Chief Pauper was more abhorrent than ever.  He had the
blood-thirst strong upon him.  He was on that _jom_ to
perform his horrible office of _Sar Tabakin_, and as he
accosted me he smiled the smile of a demon, and
congratulated me on my coming escape from life.  To this I
had no word of answer to make; but my hands held my rifle
and pistol, and these I clutched with a firmer grasp as my
last hour approached.

  The time of departure at length arrived.  Soldiers of the
Kosekin came, following the paupers, who went first, while
the guards came after me.  Thus we all emerged into the open
air.  There the broad terrace already mentioned spread out
before my eyes, filled with thousands upon thousands of
human beings.  It seemed as though the entire population of
the city was there, and so densely packed was this great
crowd that it was only with great difficulty that a way was
laid open for our passage.

  Above was the sky, where the stars were twinkling faintly. 
There was no longer the light of the aurora australis; the
constellations glimmered but dimly, the moon was shining
with but a feeble ray; for there far away over the icy
crests of the lofty mountains I saw a long line of splendid
effulgence, all golden and red--the light of the new
dawn--the dawn of that long day which was now approaching. 
The sight of that dawning light gave me new life.  It was
like a sight of home--the blessed dawn, the sunlight of a
bright day, the glorious daybreak lost for so long a time,
but now at last returning.  I feasted my eyes on the
spectacle, I burst into tears of joy, and I felt as though I
could gaze at it forever.  But the sun as it travelled was
rapidly coming into view; soon the dazzling glory of its rim
would appear above the mountain crest, and the season of
darkness would end.  There was no time to wait, and the
guards hurried me on.

  There in the midst of the square rose the pyramid.  It was
fully a hundred feet in height, with a broad flat top.  At
the base I saw a great crowd of paupers.  Through these we
passed, and as we did so a horrible death-chant arose.  We
now went up the steps and reached the top.  It was about
sixty feet square, and upon it there was a quadrangle of
stones set about three feet apart, about sixty in number,
while in the midst was a larger stone.  All of these were
evidently intended for sacrificial purposes.

  Scarcely had I reached the top when I saw a procession
ascend from the other side.  First came some paupers, then
some hags, and then, followed by other hags, I saw Almah.  I
was transfixed at the sight.  A thrill passed through every
nerve, and a wild impulse came to me to burst through the
crowd, join her, and battle with them all for her life.  But
the crowd was too dense.  I could only stand and look at
her, and mark the paleness of her face and her mute despair. 
She saw me, waved her hand sadly, and gave a mournful smile. 
There we stood separated by the crowd, with our eyes
fastened on each other, and all our hearts filled with one
deep, intense yearning to fly to one another's side.

  And now there came up from below, louder and deeper, the
awful death-chant.  Time was pressing.  The preparations
were made.  The Chief Pauper took his station by the central
stone, and in his right hand he held a long, keen knife. 
Toward this stone I was led.  The Chief Pauper then looked
with his blear and blinking eyes to where the dawn was
glowing over the mountain crest, and every moment increasing
in brightness; and then, after a brief survey, he turned and
whetted his knife on the sacrificial stone.  After this he
turned to me with his evil face, with the glare of a horrid
death-hunger in his ravenous eyes, and pointed to the stone.

  I stood without motion.

  He repeated the gesture and said, "Lie down here."

  "I will not," said I.

  "But it is on this stone," said he, "that you are to get
the blessing of death."

  "I'll die first!" said I, fiercely, and I raised my rifle.

  The Chief Pauper was puzzled at this.  The others looked
on quietly, thinking it probably a debate about some
punctilio.  Suddenly he seemed struck with an idea.

  "Yes, yes," said he.  "The woman first.  It is better so."

  Saying this he walked toward Almah, and said something to
the hags.

  At this the chief of them--namely, the nightmare hag--led
Almah to the nearest stone, and motioned to her to lie down. 
Almah prepared to obey, but paused a moment to throw at me
one last glance and wave her hand as a last farewell.  Then
without a word she laid herself down upon the stone.  At
this a thrill of fury rushed through all my being, rousing
me from my stupor, impelling me to action, filling my brain
with madness.  The nightmare hag had already raised her long
keen knife in the air.  Another moment and the blow would
have fallen.  But my rifle was at my shoulder; my aim was
deadly.  The report rang out like thunder.  A wild, piercing
yell followed, and when the smoke cleared away the nightmare
hag lay dead at the foot of the altar.  I was already there,
having burst through the astonished crowd, and Almah was in
my arms; and holding her thus for a moment, I put myself in
front of her and stood at bay, with my only thought that of
defending her to the last and selling my life as dearly as
possible.

  The result was amazing.

  After the report there was for some moments a deep
silence, which was followed by a wild, abrupt outcry from
half a million people--the roar of indistinguishable words
bursting forth from the lips of all that throng, whose
accumulated volume arose in one vast thunder-clap of sound,
pealing forth, echoing along the terraced streets, and
rolling on far away in endless reverberations.  It was like
the roar of mighty cataracts, like the sound of many waters;
and at the voice of that vast multitude I shrank back for a
moment.  As I did so I looked down, and beheld a scene as
appalling as the sound that had overawed me.  In all that
countless throng of human beings there was not one who was
not in motion; and all were pressing forward toward the
pyramid as to a common centre.  On every side there was a
multitudinous sea of upturned faces, extending as far as the
eye could reach.  All were in violent agitation, as though
all were possessed by one common impulse which forced them
toward me.  At such a sight I thought of nothing else than
that I was the object of their wrath, and that they were all
with one common fury rushing toward me to wreak vengeance
upon me and upon Almah for the slaughter of the nightmare
hag.

  All this was the work of but a few moments.  And now as I
stood there holding Almah--appalled, despairing, yet
resolute and calm--I became aware of a more imminent danger. 
On the top of the pyramid, at the report of the rifle, all
had fallen down flat on their faces, and it was over them
that I had rushed to Almah's side.  But these now began to
rise, and the hags took up the corpse of the dead, and the
paupers swarmed around with cries of "Mut! mut!" (dead!
dead!) and exclamations of wonder.  Then they all turned
their foul and bleary eyes toward me, and stood as if
transfixed with astonishment.  At length there burst forth
from the crowd one who sought to get at me.  It was the
Chief Pauper.  He still held in his hand the long knife of
sacrifice.  He said not a word, but rushed straight at me,
and as he came I saw murder in his look.  I did not wait for
him, but raising my rifle, discharged the second barrel full
in his face.  He fell down a shattered, blackened heap,
dead.

  As the second report thundered out it drowned all other
sounds, and was again followed by an awful silence.  I
looked around.  Those on the pyramid--paupers and hags--had
again flung themselves on their faces.  On the square below
the whole multitude were on their knees, with their heads
bowed down low.  The silence was more oppressive than
before; it was appalling--it was tremendous!  It seemed like
the dread silence that precedes the more awful outburst of
the hurricane when the storm is gathering up all its
strength to burst with accumulated fury upon its doomed
victim.

  But there was no time to be lost in staring, and that
interval was occupied by me in hastily reloading my rifle. 
It was my last resource now; and if it availed not for
defence it might at least serve to be used against
ourselves.  With this thought I handed the pistol to Almah,
and hurriedly whispered to her that if I were killed, she
could use it against herself.  She took it in silence, but I
read in her face her invincible resolve.

  The storm at last burst.  The immense multitude rose to
their feet, and with one common impulse came pressing on
from every side toward the pyramid, apparently filled with
the one universal desire of reaching me--a desire which was
now all the more intense and vehement from these
interruptions which had taken place.  Why they had fallen on
their knees, why the paupers on the pyramid were still
prostrate, I could not tell; but I saw now the swarming
multitude, and I felt that they were rolling in on every
side--merciless, blood-thirsty, implacable--to tear me to
pieces.  Yet time passed and they did not reach me, for an
obstacle was interposed.  The pyramid had smooth sides.  The
stairways that led up to the summit were narrow, and did not
admit of more than two at a time; yet, had the Kosekin been
like other people, the summit of the pyramid would soon have
been swarming with them; but as they were Kosekin, none came
up to the top; for at the base of the pyramid, at the bottom
of the steps, I saw a strange and incredible struggle.  It
was not, as with us, who should go up first, but who should
go up last; each tried to make his neighbor go before him. 
All were eager to go, but the Kosekin self-denial,
self-sacrifice, and love for the good of others made each
one intensely desirous to make others go up.  This resulted
in a furious struggle, in which, as fast as anyone would be
pushed up the steps a little way, he would jump down again
and turn his efforts toward putting up others; and thus all
the energies of the people were worn out in useless and
unavailing efforts--in a struggle to which, from the very
nature of the case, there could be no end.

  Now those on the pyramid began to rise, and soon all were
on their feet.  Cries burst forth from them.  All were
looking at us, but with nothing like hostility; it was
rather like reverence and adoration, and these feelings were
expressed unmistakably in their cries, among which I could
plainly distinguish such words as these: "Ap Ram!"  "Mosel
anan wacosek!"  "Sopet Mut!"  (The Father of Thunder!  Ruler
of Cloud and Darkness!  Judge of Death!)  These cries passed
to those below.  The struggle ceased.  All stood and joined
in the cry, which was taken up by those nearest, and soon
passed among all those myriads, to be repeated with thunder
echoes far and wide.

  At this it suddenly became plain to me that the danger of
death had passed away; that these people no longer regarded
me as a victim, but rather as some mighty being--some
superior, perhaps supernatural power, who was to be almost
worshipped.  Hence these prostrations, these words, these
cries, these looks.  All these told me that the bitterness
of death had passed away.  At this discovery there was, for
a moment, a feeling of aversion and horror within me at
filling such a position; that I, a weak mortal, should dare
to receive adoration like this; and I recoiled at the
thought: yet this feeling soon passed; for life was at
stake--not my own merely, but that of Almah; and I was ready
now to go through anything if only I might save her: so,
instead of shrinking from this new part, I eagerly seized
upon it, and at once determined to take advantage of the
popular superstition to the utmost.

  Far away over the crests of the mountains I saw the golden
edge of the sun's disc, and the light flowed therefrom in
broad effulgence, throwing out long rays of glory in a
luminous flood over all the land.  I pointed to the glorious
orb, and cried to the paupers, and to all who were nearest,
in a loud voice: 

  "I am Atam-or, the Man of Light!  I come from the land of
light!  I am the Father of Thunder, of Cloud and Darkness;
the Judge of Death!"

  At this the paupers all fell prostrate, and cried out to
me to give them the blessing of death.

  I made no answer, but leading Almah to the edge of the
pyramid, told her to fire the pistol.  A million eyes were
fixed on us.  She held up the pistol and fired.  Immediately
after, I fired both barrels of the rifle; and as the reports
rang out and the smoke cleared away, I heard a mighty
murmur, and once more beheld all prostrate.  Upon this I
hurriedly loaded again, and waited for further revelations.
All the time I could not help wondering at the effect
produced by the rifle now, in comparison with the
indifference with which it had been regarded at my first
arrival in the country.  I could not account for it, but
supposed that the excitement of a great religious festival
and the sudden death of the Chief Pauper and the Chief Hag
had probably deeply impressed them.  In the midst of these
thoughts the whole multitude arose; and once more there came
to my ears the universal uproar of innumerable cries, in the
midst of which I could hear the words, "Ap Ram!"  "Mosel
anan wacosek!"  "Sopet Mut!"


CHAPTER XXXI  CONCLUSION

IN the midst of this the paupers and the hags talked
earnestly together.  Some of those who had been nearest in
rank to the late Chief Pauper and Chief Hag were conspicuous
in the debate.  All looked at me and at Almah, and pointed
toward the sun, which was wheeling along behind the distant
mountain crest, showing a golden disc.  Then they pointed to
the dead bodies; and the hags took the Chief Hag, and the
paupers the Chief Pauper, and laid them side by side on the
central altar.  After this a hag and a pauper advanced
toward us, each carrying the sacrificial knife which had
belonged to the deceased.

  The hag spoke first, addressing Almah, in accordance with
the Kosekin custom, which requires women to take the
precedence in many things.

  "Take this," she said, "O Almah, consort of Atam-or, and
Co-ruler of Clouds and Darkness.  Henceforth you shall be
Judge of Death to the women of the Kosekin."

  She then handed Almah the sacrificial knife of the Chief
Hag, which Almah took in silence.

  Then the pauper presented me with the sacrificial knife of
the Chief Pauper, with the following words:

  "Take this, O Atam-or, Father of Thunder and Ruler of
Clouds and Darkness.  Henceforth you shall be Judge of Death
to the men of the Kosekin, and _Sar Tabakin_ over the whole
nation."

  I received the knife in silence, for I had nothing to say;
but now Almah spoke, as was fitting for her to do, since
with the Kosekin the women must take the precedence; and
here it was expected that she should reply in behalf of both
of us.

  So Almah, holding the sacrificial knife, stood looking at
them, full of dignity, and spoke as follows:

  "We will take this, O Kosekin, and we will reward you all.
We will begin our reign over the Kosekin with memorable acts
of mercy.  These two great victims shall be enough for the
_Mista Kosek_ of this season.  The victims designed for this
sacrifice shall have to deny themselves the blessing of
death, yet they shall be rewarded in other ways; and all the
land from the highest to the lowest shall have reason to
rejoice in our rule.

  "To all you hags and paupers we grant the splendid and
unparalleled boon of exile to Magones.  There you can have
all the suffering which heart can wish, and inevitable
death.  To all classes and ranks in the whole nation we
promise to grant a diminution in their wealth by
one-quarter.  In the abundance of our mercy we are willing
ourselves to bear the burden of all the offerings that may
be necessary in order to accomplish this.  All in the land
may at once give up one-quarter of their whole wealth to us.

  At this the hags and paupers gave a horrible yell of
applause.

  "As rulers of Light and Darkness, we will henceforth
govern the nation in the light as well as in the dark.  We
will sacrifice ourselves so far to the public good as to
live in the light, and in open palaces.  We will consent to
undergo the pains of light and splendor, to endure all the
evils of luxury, magnificence, and boundless wealth, for the
good of the Kosekin nation.  We will consent to forego the
right of separation, and agree to live together, even though
we love one another.  Above all, we will refuse death and
consent to live.  Can any rulers do more than this for the
good of their people?"

  Another outburst of applause followed.

  "In three _joms_," continued Almah, "all you hags and
paupers shall be sent to exile and death on Magones.  As for
the rest of the Kosekin, hear our words.  Tell them from us
that the laborers shall all be elevated to the rank of
paupers, the artisans shall be made laborers, the tradesmen
artisans, the soldiers tradesmen, the Athons soldiers, the
Kohens Athons, and the Meleks Kohens.  There shall be no
Meleks in all the land.  We, in our love for the Kosekin,
will henceforth be the only Meleks.  Then all the misery of
that low station will rest on us; and in our low estate as
Meleks we shall govern this nation in love and self-denial. 
Tell them that we will forego the sacrifice and consent to
live; that we will give up darkness and cavern gloom and
live in light.  Tell them to prepare for us the splendid
palaces of the Meleks, for we will take the most sumptuous
and magnificent of them all.  Tell all the people to present
their offerings.  Tell them that we consent to have endless
retinues of servants, soldiers, followers, and attendants. 
Tell them that with the advent of Almah and Atam-or a new
era begins for the Kosekin, in which every man may be as
poor as he likes, and riches shall be unknown in the land."

  These extraordinary words seemed to fill the paupers with
rapture.  Exclamations of joy burst from them; they
prostrated themselves in an irrepressible impulse of
grateful admiration, as though such promises could only come
from superior beings.  Then most of them hurried down to
communicate to the people below the glorious intelligence. 
Soon it spread from mouth to mouth, and all the people were
filled with the wildest excitement.

  For never before had such a thing been known, and never
had such self-sacrifice been imagined or thought possible,
as that the rulers of the Kosekin could consent to be rich
when they might be paupers; to live together when they might
be separate; to dwell in the light when they might lurk in
the deepest cavern gloom; to remain in life when they might
have the blessing of death.  Selfishness, fear of death, love
of riches, and love of luxury, these were all unintelligible
to the Kosekin, as much as to us would be self-abnegation,
contempt of death, voluntary poverty, and asceticism.  But
as with us self-denying rulers may make others rich and be
popular for this, so here among the Kosekin a selfish ruler
might be popular by making others poor.  Hence the words of
Almah, as they were made known, gave rise to the wildest
excitement and enthusiasm, and the vast multitude poured
forth their feelings in long shouts of rapturous applause.

  Amid this the bodies of the dead were carried down from
the pyramid, and were taken to the _Mista Kosek_ in a long
and solemn procession, accompanied by the singing of wild
and dismal chants.

  And now the sun, rolling along behind the icy mountain
crest, rose higher and higher every moment, and the bright
light of a long day began to illumine the world.  There
sparkled the sea, rising far away like a watery wall, with
the horizon high up in the sky; there rose the circle of
giant mountains, sweeping away till they were blended with
the horizon; there rose the terraces of the amir, all
glowing in the sunlight, with all its countless houses and
cavern-openings and arching trees and pointing pyramids.
Above was the canopy of heaven, no longer black, no longer
studded with stars or glistening with the fitful shimmer of
the aurora, but all radiant with the glorious sunlight, and
disclosing all the splendors of the infinite blue.  At that
sight a thrill of joy passed through me.  The long, long
night at last was over; the darkness had passed away like
some hideous dream; the day was here--the long day that was
to know no shadow and no decline--when all this world should
be illuminated by the ever-circling sun--a sun that would
never set until his long course of many months should be
fully run.  My heart swelled with rapture, my eyes filled
with tears.  "O Light!" I cried; "O gleaming, golden
Sunlight!  O Light of Heaven!--light that brings life and
hope to man!" And I could have fallen on my knees and
worshipped that rising sun.

  But the light which was so glorious to us was painful and
distressing to the Kosekin.  On the top of the pyramid the
paupers crouched, shading their eyes.  The crowd below began
to disperse in all directions, so as to betake themselves to
their coverts and to the caverns, where they might live in
the dark.  Soon nearly all were gone except the paupers at
the foot of the pyramid, who were awaiting our commands, and
a crowd of Meleks and Athons at a distance.  At a gesture
from me the few paupers near us descended and joined those
below.

  Almah and I were alone on the top of the pyramid.

  I caught her in my arms in a rapture of joy.  This
revulsion from the lowest despair--from darkness and from
death back to hope and light and life--was almost too much
to endure.  We both wept, but our tears were those of
happiness.

  "You will be all my own now," said I, "and we can fly from
this hateful land.  We can be united--we can be
married--here before we start--and you will not be cruel
enough to refuse.  You will consent, will you not, to be my
wife before we fly from the Kosekin?"

  At this Almah's face became suffused with smiles and
blushes.  Her arms were about me, and she did not draw away,
but looked up in sweet confusion and said,

  "Why, as to that--I--I cannot be more your--your wife than
I am."

  "What do you mean?" I exclaimed, in wonder.  "My wife!"

  Her eyes dropped again, and she whispered:

  "The ceremony of separation is with the Kosekin the most
sacred form of marriage.  It is the religious form; the
other is merely the civil form."

  This was unintelligible, nor did I try to understand it. 
It was enough to hear this from her own sweet lips; but it
was a strange feeling, and I think I am the only man since
Adam that ever was married without knowing it.

  "As to flight," continued Almah, who had quite adopted the
Kosekin fashion, which makes women take the lead--"as to
flight, we need not hurry.  We are all-powerful now, and
there is no more danger.  We must wait until we send
embassies to my people, and when they are ready to receive
us, we will go.  But now let us leave this, for our servants
are waiting for us, and the light is distressing to them. 
Let us go to the nearest of our palaces and obtain rest and
food."


  Here Featherstone stopped, yawned, and laid down the
manuscript.

  "That's enough for to-day," said he; "I'm tired, and can't
read any more.  It's time for supper."

(End of the serial.)
(Proofread by Virginia Conn)