"Ventilation," he answered. "The air in these tunnels would be foul
and stagnant, perhaps unbreathable, if we did not drive a constant
current of air through them. You did not notice, a few yards from the
entrance, a wheel which drives a large fan. One of these is placed at
every half mile, and drives on the air from one end of the tunnel to
the other. They are reversed twice in a zyda, so that they may create
no constant counter-current outside."
"But is not the power exerted to drive so great a body of air
exceedingly costly?"
"No," he answered. "As you are aware, electricity is almost our only
motive power, and we calculate that the labour of two men, even
without the help of machines, could in their working zydau
(eight
hours)
collect and reduce a sufficient amount of the elements by which
the current is created to do the work of four hundred men during a
whole day and night."
"And how long," I inquired, "has electricity had so complete a
monopoly of mechanical work?"
"It was first brought into general use," he replied, "about eight
thousand years ago. Before that, heated air supplied our principal
locomotive force, as well as the power of stationary machines wherever
no waterfall of sufficient energy was at hand. For several centuries
the old powers were still employed under conditions favourable to
their use. But we have found electricity so much cheaper than the
cheapest of other artificial forces, so much more powerful than any
supplied by Nature, that we have long discontinued the employment of
any other. Even when we obtain electricity by means of heat, we find
that the gain in application more than compensates the loss in the
transmutation of one force into another."
In the course of little more than half an hour we emerged from the
tunnel, whose gloom, when once the attraction of novelty was gone, was
certainly unpleasant to myself, if not by any means so frightful as
Eveena still found it. There was nothing specially attractive or
noticeable in the valley through which our course now ran, except the
extreme height of its mountain walls, which, though not by any means
perpendicular, rose to a height of some 3000 feet so suddenly that to
climb their sides would have been absolutely impossible. Only during
about two hours in the middle of the day is the sun seen from the
level of the stream; and it is dark in the bottom of this valley long
before the mist has fallen on the plain outside. We had presently,
however, to ascend a slope of some twenty-five feet in the mile, and I
was much interested in the peculiar method by which the ascent was
made. A mere ascent, not greater than that of some rapids up which
American boatmen have managed to carry their barques by manual force,
presented no great difficulty; but some skill is required at
particular points to avoid being overturned by the rush of the water,
and our vessel so careened as to afford much more excuse for Eveena's
outbreak of terror than the tunnel had done. Had I not held her fast
she must certainly have been thrown overboard, the pilot, used to the
danger, having forgotten to warn us. For the rest, in the absence of
rocks, the vessel ascended more easily than a powerful steamer, if she
could find sufficient depth, could make her way up the rapids of the
St. Lawrence or similar streams. We entered the second tunnel without
any sign of alarm from Eveena perceptible to others; only her clinging
to my hand expressed the fear of which she was ashamed but could not
rid herself. Emerging from its mouth, we found ourselves within sight
of the sea and of the town and harbour of Serocasfe, where we were
next day to embark. Landing from the boat, we were met by the friend
whose hospitality Esmo had requested. At his house, half a mile
outside the town, for the first time since our marriage I had to part
for a short period with Eveena, who was led away by the veiled
mistress of the house, while we remained in the entrance chamber or
hall. The evening meal was anticipated by two hours, in order that we
might attend the meeting at which my bride and I were to receive our
formal admission into the Zinta.
"Probably," said Esmo, when, apparently at a sign from him, our host
left us for some minutes alone, "much through which you are about to
pass will seem to you childish or unmeaning. Ceremonial rendered
impressive to us by immemorial antiquity, and cherished the more
because so contrary to the absence of form and ceremony in the life
around us—symbolism which is really the more useful, the more
valuable, because it contains much deeper meaning than is ever
apparent at first sight—have proved their use by experience; and, as
they are generally witnessed for the first time in early youth, make a
sharper impression than they are likely to effect upon a mind like
yours. But they may seem strangely inconsistent with a belief which is
in itself so limited, and founded so absolutely upon logical proof or
practical evidence. The best testimony to the soundness of our policy
in this respect is the fact that our vows, and the rites by which they
are sanctioned, are never broken, that our symbols are regarded with
an awe which no threats, no penalties, can attach to the highest of
civil authorities or the most solemn legal sanctions. The language of
symbol, moreover, has for us two great advantages—one dependent upon
the depth of thought and knowledge with which the symbols themselves
were selected by our Founder, owing to which each generation finds in
them some new truth of which we never dreamed before; the other
arising from the fact that we are a small select body in the midst of
a hostile and jealous race, from whom it is most important to keep the
key of communications which, without the appearance, have all the
effect of ciphers."
"I find," I replied, "in my own world that every religion and every
form of occult mysticism, nay, every science, in its own way and
within its own range, attaches great importance to symbols in
themselves apparently arbitrary. Experience shows that these, symbols
often contain a clue to more than they were originally meant to
convey, and can be employed in reasonings far beyond the grasp of
those who first invented or adopted them. That a body like the
Zinta
could be held together without ceremonial and without formalities,
which, if they had no other value, would have the attraction of
secresy and exclusiveness, seems obviously impossible."
Here our host rejoined us. We passed into the gallery, where several
persons were awaiting us; the men for the most part wearing a small
vizor dependent from the turban, which concealed their faces; the
women all, without exception, closely veiled. As soon as Esmo
appeared, the party formed themselves into a sort of procession two
and two. Motioning me to take the last place, Esmo passed himself to
its head. If the figure beside me were not at once recognised, I could
not mistake the touch of the hand that stole into my own. The lights
in the gallery were extinguished, and then I perceived a lamp held at
the end of a wand of crystal, which gleamed above Esmo's head, and
sufficed to guide us, giving light enough to direct our footsteps and
little more. Perhaps this half-darkness, the twilight which gave a
certain air of mystery to the scene and of uncertainty to the forms of
objects encountered on our route, had its own purpose. We reached very
soon the end of the gallery, and then the procession turned and passed
suddenly into another chamber, apparently narrow, but so faintly
lighted by the lamp in our leader's hands that its dimensions were
matter of mere conjecture. That we were descending a somewhat steep
incline I was soon aware; and when we came again on to level ground I
felt sure that we were passing through a gallery cut in natural rock.
The light was far too dim to enable me to distinguish any openings in
the walls; but the procession constantly lengthened, though it was
impossible to see where and when new members joined. Suddenly the
light disappeared. I stood still for a moment in surprise, and when I
again went forward I became speedily conscious that all our companions
had vanished, and that we stood alone in utter darkness. Fearing to
lead Eveena further where my own steps were absolutely uncertain, I
paused for some time, and with little difficulty decided to remain
where I was, until something should afford an indication of the
purpose of those who had brought us so far, and who must know, if they
had not actual means of observing, that in darkness and solitude I
should not venture to proceed.
Presently, as gradually as in Northern climates the night passes into
morning twilight, the darkness became less absolute. Whence the light
came it was impossible to perceive. Diffused all around and slowly
broadening, it just enabled me to discern a few paces before us the
verge of a gulf. This might have been too shallow for inconvenience,
it might have been deep enough for danger. I waited till my eyes
should be able to penetrate its interior; but before the light entered
it I perceived, apparently growing across it, really coming gradually
into view under the brightening gleam, a species of bridge which—when
the twilight ceased to increase, and remained as dim as that cast by
the crescent moon—assumed the outline of a slender trunk supported by
wings, dark for the most part but defined along the edge by a narrow
band of brightest green, visible in a gleam too faint to show any
object of a deeper shade. Somewhat impatient of the obvious symbolism,
I hurried Eveena forward. Immediately on the other side of the bridge
the path turned almost at right angles; and here a gleam of light
ahead afforded a distinct guidance to our steps. Approaching it, we
were challenged, and I gave the answer with which I had been
previously furnished; an answer which may not be, as it never has
been, written down. A door parted and admitted us into a small
vestibule, at the other end of which a full and bright light streamed
through a portal of translucent crystal. A sentinel, armed only with
the antiquated spear which may have been held by his first predecessor
in office ten thousand Martial years ago, now demanded our names. Mine
he simply repeated, but as I gave that of Eveena, daughter of Esmo, he
lowered his weapon in the salute still traditional among Martial
sentries; and bending his head, touched with his lips the long sleeve
of the cloak of
therne
-down in which she was on this occasion again
enveloped. This homage appeared to surprise her almost as much as
myself, but we had no leisure for observation or inquiry. From behind
the crystal door another challenge was uttered. To this it was the
sentry's part to reply, and as he answered the door parted; that at
the other end of the vestibule having, I observed, closed as we
entered, and so closed that its position was undiscoverable. Before us
opened a hall of considerable size, consisting of three distinct
vaults, defined by two rows of pillars, slender shafts resembling tall
branchless trees, the capital of each being formed by a branching head
like that of the palm. The trunks were covered with golden scales; the
fern-like foliage at the summit was of a bright sparkling emerald. It
was evident to my observation that the entire hall had been excavated
from solid rock, and the pillars left in their places. Each of the
side aisles, if I may so call them, was occupied by four rows of seats
similarly carved in the natural stone; but lined after Martial
fashion, with cushions embroidered in feathers and metals, and covered
by woven fabrics finer than any known to the looms of Lyons or
Cashmere. About two-thirds of the seats were occupied; those to the
right as we entered (that is, on the left of the dais at the end of
the hall) by men, those opposite by women. All, I observed, rose for a
moment as Eveena's name was announced, from the further end of the
hall, by the foremost of three or four persons vested in silver, with
belts of the crimson metal which plays the part of our best-tempered
steel, and bearing in their hands wands of a rose-coloured jewel
resembling a clouded onyx in all but the hue. Each of them wore over
his dress a band or sash of gold, fastened on the left shoulder and
descending to the belt on the right, much resembling the ribbons of
European knighthood. These supported on the left breast a silver star,
or heraldic mullet, of six points. Throughout the rest of the assembly
a similar but smaller star glimmered on every breast, supported,
however, by green or silver bands, the former worn by the body of the
assembly, the latter by a few persons gathered together for the most
part at the upper end of the chamber.... The chief who had first
addressed us bade us pass on, and we left the Hall of the Novitiate as
accepted members of the Order.... That into which we next entered was
so dark that its form and dimensions were scarcely defined to my eyes.
I supposed it, however, to be circular, surmounted by a dome
resembling in colour the olive green Martial sky and spangled by
stars, among which I discerned one or two familiar constellations, but
most distinctly, brightened far beyond its natural brilliancy, the
arch of the
Via Lactea
. Presently, not on any apparent sheet or
screen but as in the air before us, appeared a narrow band of light
crossing the entire visible space. It resembled a rope twisted of
three strands, two of a deep dull hue, the one apparently orange, the
other brown or crimson, contrasting the far more brilliant emerald
strand that formed the third portion of the threefold cord. I had
learnt by this time that metallic cords so twined serve in Mars most
of the uses for which chains are employed on Earth, and I assumed that
this symbol possessed the significance which poetry or ritual might
attach to the latter.
This cord or band retained its position throughout, crossing the dark
background of the scenes now successively presented, each of which
melted into its successor—rapidly, but so gradually that there was
never a distinct point of division, a moment at which it was possible
to say that any new feature was first introduced.