The first American King

At the time appointed on the following day—it was the tenth of June, 1900—Dr. Jaquet called for them and they started on one of their customary walks. The Doctor acted as guide. His course lay inland, in a northwesterly direction, and the trio marched jauntily on, chatting gaily together, until some four miles had been covered. Then the Doctor changed his course and they struck across country through land which was somewhat rocky and broken and thickly covered with scrub bushes and trees of a stunted growth.

“Halloa!” exclaimed Mr. Kearns, “this is pretty rough walking. Remember, too, we have the return journey. What is the use of wearing ourselves out going over ground like this?”

“Follow me,” urged Dr. Jaquet, who was leading and picking the way with care.

“Well, tell us at least where you are leading us,” said Mr. Kearns. “It’s wild enough here never to have been trodden upon by the foot of man.”

Thus questioned, the Doctor explained that he was leading the way to a little tract of land which he owned in the midst of this wilderness of scrub growth, apparently abandoned entirely to the squirrels and the jack-rabbits. He told how he had one day explored this land and had, by the sheerest accident, discovered a natural cave possessing some wonderful peculiarities. He decided to buy the land upon which it was located, and had acquired it for a mere song as it was practically valueless for any purpose whatsoever. He had kept the cave a secret for fear of its being visited by intruders. They, too, must promise him to keep the matter secret. Patience! The ground was rough, but they would soon be there.

“Rough!” exclaimed the Professor; “it’s as rough as civilization.”

“Oh, come,” responded Kearns, “you’re always criticising civilization.”

“Do you think it’s a success?” demanded the Professor.

“Do you dispute it?” challenged Kearns.

“Can it, after all, be said,” answered Professor Dean, thoughtfully, “that mankind at large has really gained any practical good by that progressive evolution known as civilization? Suppose you were the chief of a great tribe existing under primitive conditions, and suppose that you, possessed of all the knowledge of modern life which you have to-day, were confronted with the proposition as to whether you would leave the tribe as it was, or would introduce all the conditions of our present advanced civilization, what would be your decision?”

“Without having given the matter much thought,” replied Mr. Kearns, “my offhand answer would be, I suppose, that I should divest my primitives of breech-clouts and put them into top-hats and trousers, and supply them with churches, theatres, hospitals, hotels, a stock-exchange, a police headquarters, and all the other and usual adjuncts of civilization.”

“And if I were the chief of such tribe, and you brought such proposition to me, I should hesitate long before accepting it,” rejoined the Professor. “I should ponder carefully whether it was not my bounden duty to the tribe to decapitate you, lest you should escape and give the world knowledge of the existence of me and my tribe and thus bring to us by force the civilization which you proffered. What would your civilization mean to the tribe? It would give us great cities and the million and one artificial adjuncts which form part and parcel of modern life. Would the men of the tribe be as happy, as healthy, or as really comfortable in the teeming tenements, or box-like flat houses of the cities which had sprung up, as they were under their tents upon the plains? For those tenements and flat houses they would have to pay rent, and to earn that rent they would be compelled in many instances to convert themselves and their families into industrial slaves. Who ever heard of so-called savages being evicted for non-payment of rent, or dying by the hundreds for want of food as a consequence of economic conditions? And yet, let a great city spring up and you have thousands of such cases every year! You have spoken of the churches which your civilization would erect, but for every church which your great city of modern civilization would bring into existence, it would also create ten, nay one hundred, drinking-shops and gambling-houses and brothels. And as to morality, is a primitive community without churches ever as immoral as a civilized community with a church to every other block? You have spoken, too, of hospitals. It is true, your civilization would bring fine hospitals, with an army of doctors and vast stores of drugs, but with these your civilization, with its artificial forms of life, would bring into existence a thousand and one diseases utterly unknown to men living in a primitive state. Your cures might be very comprehensive and marvelous, but surely it would be infinitely better to escape the diseases themselves, in the first place. With pardonable professional pride, you have also alluded to the existence of a police headquarters, but under primitive conditions such a place would be needless, for the causes which bring about the majority of crimes in a civilized community would not exist. In a word, the primitive tribesmen to whom I have referred would be safe as to their liberty, their homes, their health and their morality, whereas under civilization, and in return for the artificial and really superfluous adjuncts it has to offer, these primitive people must become industrial slaves and rent-sweaters and must surround themselves with all the evils arising from corruption, crime, immorality and disease. Who, I ask you, is the happier? The tribesman procuring his means of livelihood at will by fishing in rivers or in streams, or scouring the woods and the plains in search of game, or the free-man in name, but industrial slave in verity, who under the beneficent sway of our modern civilization ekes out a miserable subsistence in some sweatshop of the city at a dollar and a half a day.”

“I must admit your tribesman would seem to have the best of it,” declared Mr. Kearns.

“And look, too, at the social relations,” continued the Professor. “In primitive life, the savage maiden mates according to her fancy, according to the promptings of her heart. In modern civilization, if we are to judge from what we so often read and hear, a great number of marriages turn upon the question of position, or of money, rather than of true affection. Winsome May, stung by her necessities or her ambition, offers herself up to chill December, or, her dainty flesh quivering with repulsion, surrenders herself into the arms of hoary Midas, and the children of such union are the offspring of Gluttony mated with Disgust. You see, these are questions which affect the very life blood of the nation! In this and a hundred other ways, the tide of social life is interfered with and changed by the ever present influence of that one controlling factor in civilized life—money, money, money! Upon my word, it would seem as if the primitive tribesman had much better, in the interests of his true happiness and well-being, remain as he is!”

“What you say as far as crime is concerned,” replied Mr. Kearns, “is undoubtedly true enough. If you except those offenses perpetrated under the influence of sudden passion, the great majority of crimes arise from the necessities and temptations which form part of modern social life. A good deal has been from time to time written about persons with criminal tendencies. There are undoubtedly such cases, but my experience is that a career of crime involves more hazard, harder work and less pay than almost any other form of occupation a man could go in for. The average criminal would be perfectly willing to undertake any amount of honest work to accomplish his ends, if it were within his power to accomplish them by such means, and he only perpetrates his crime because he sees no other way out of the situation. In saying this I am not justifying his methods, or warranting the soundness of general deductions, but am merely stating a fact. Crime is, as a rule, the result of environment, and this environment grows out of the conditions of modern social life.”

“Then you admit the correctness of the facts upon which my theory is based!” exclaimed the Professor.

“To a certain extent, yes,” replied Mr. Kearns; “but what would you? Would you advocate the renouncement of civilization forthwith and a return to the primitive status?”

“In the existing state of affairs,” answered the Professor gravely, “we are confronting a condition, not a theory. Of course, it would be utterly impracticable to advocate such a course; but I do say that we ought to be more modest in our vaunts as to these benefits conferred by our boasted modern civilization and that we ought to strive to make that civilization give a larger share of well-being and happiness to the great masses of men. As it is, civilization means the accruing of immense advantages to the few with corresponding very doubtful benefits to the many. This is all wrong and will not be permitted to continue forever.”

Thus chatting on, they forced their way over ground which grew rougher and rougher and through brushwood and undergrowth which seemed to become more and more dense. Twice Mr. Kearns had severely stubbed his toe against rocks and the Professor’s nose had been lacerated by some particularly vicious brambles. Both were becoming somewhat tired and were wondering what manner of chase they were being led, when the Doctor suddenly exclaimed:

“Voila! Here we are!”

His body bent almost to earth, Dr. Jaquet squeezed his way between two matted masses of undergrowth and, his companions following, they found themselves in a clearing, entirely surrounded by heavy bushes and covered by a rocky formation of very peculiar outline. From one side of the rock the Doctor removed a quantity of heaped-up brush and disclosed quite a large opening.

“My cave!” declared Dr. Jaquet proudly. “Await me while I make light!”

As he spoke, the Doctor struck a match and descended into the cave. A moment later he reappeared.

“I have lighted the lamp,” he said. “You may enter.”

His companions now perceived some roughly made steps which led down from the opening. These they carefully descended and found themselves in a goodly-sized cave of irregular formation—a cave which was partly the work of nature, but which had evidently been enlarged and partly transformed by human hands. On the floor were a number of heavy rugs and ranged along the walls were various furnishings. In the centre, suspended from the roof, was a handsome Venetian lamp, which now served to illuminate the surroundings.

“Welcome!” exclaimed the Doctor in a loud whisper.

Welcome!

Welcome!

Welcome!

Instantly following the Doctor’s whisper, his utterance was repeated three distinct times in different parts of the cave. The effect was startling and weird.

“This I call ‘The Cave of Whispers,’” said Dr. Jaquet, in response to his companions’ inquiring looks. “See! You whisper and your words they come back to you!”

The Doctor then went on to explain that one of his objects in buying the land and fitting up the cave was to make a study of acoustics: a science comparatively undeveloped to this day. But the place had a peculiar charm for him apart from this, he declared.

The Professor and Mr. Kearns amused themselves for some time whispering various sentences, all of which were faithfully echoed back to them.

“And now,” said Dr. Jaquet, “you must be tired my friends. You shall yourselves rest and I shall give you tobacco to smoke which you will find fit for a Sultan.”

As he spoke, he arranged for them some rugs and cushions and produced a handsome Turkish Narghille, which he placed before them on the floor. This he proceeded to prime with a long-fibred, very pale-colored tobacco, and to each of them he handed an amber stem.

“Smoke, my friends, and enjoy you yourselves,” he said, as he applied a light to the tobacco. “Ah, it is, perhaps, a little chilly here. I will cover you and you shall have the music, too.”

He stretched a rug over each of them, and then, from the side of the cave, brought forth a little music box, which he placed beside him and set in operation.

Dr. Jaquet took up a position facing them and lighted a Turkish cigarette.

“You are quite comfortable, my friends?” he asked.

“Quite!” answered the Professor.

“Delightful!” came the reply from Mr. Kearns.

And the cave echoed back their words.

The tobacco was peculiarly soothing and delicious. It really was, as the Doctor had declared, worthy of a Sultan. Both the Doctor’s companions were somewhat tired after their walk. A peculiar sense of restfulness and comfort was upon them as they lay at ease, smoking the very excellent tobacco and listening to the sweet music falling so gently upon their ears. Thus silently they lay and smoked on. The Doctor’s usual volubility was checked and he quietly smoked his cigarette, his black eyes fixed upon them.

The music box reached the end of its melody. Instantly the Doctor started it again.

“Look!” he said, in a low whisper, bending toward them. “Look at the lamp! See how it throws out to you all the light, all the fire of the diamond.”

Slowly and mechanically, in obedience to his direction, they turned their eyes toward the gorgeous hanging lamp. It was as the Doctor said. From its glittering, multi-colored glass sides the light seemed to refract in a thousand variegated shades. The smoke issued from between the smokers’ lips in slow and dreamy puffs; the rose-water bubbled rhythmically in the pipe; the sweet music played on.

The odor of a strange incense seemed to fill the air. The lamp, grown to giant dimensions, appeared to send forth shafts of ever-changing light. The walls of the cave rolled back, disclosing magnificent cathedral aisles, boundless in expanse and rich in marble and porphyry and gilt, through which the majestic tones of an organ swelled. A sense of religious fervor and of overmastering awe filled their souls.

The scene changed. They were amid the gorgeous splendors of an Oriental palace—a palace which in its vastness was lost to all sense of proportion and whose massive dome reached high to heaven.

Hark! The strains of barbaric music, the clashing of cymbals. A multitude of dancing girls spring, fairy-like, into motion and move and sway in all the graceful, voluptuous motions of the Oriental dance. Their gazelle-like eyes sparkle; the ornaments upon their bosoms flash—surely this is the inner Paradise of Mohammed!

Again the scene changes. The great dome of the Eastern palace parts in twain and they are slowly and deliciously wafted upward. They have no sense of the strangeness of their situation—no fear. Upward, ever upward, they pass to giddy heights and yet this same sense of all-pervading contentment and happiness. The air about them is laden with the perfumes of Araby, and strains of melody of more than earthly sweetness greet the enraptured senses. This must be the music of the spheres—the chant of the heavenly choir! And through this perfumed, music-laden air they are drifting—drifting—drifting——

The amber mouthpieces had dropped from the smokers’ lips; their heads had sunk back upon the cushions; their lids were closed.

Gently, cautiously, the Doctor rose, his black eyes dilated with excitement. Over the sleepers he bent, making mysterious passes toward them as they lay. For an hour or more he thus worked; then with a sigh of exhaustion, the perspiration starting from his brow, he stepped back and contemplated them.

“Sleep on, my friends,” he exclaimed, with a chuckle of satisfaction; “sleep on. Thus could I let you sleep for weeks—many weeks—but, I take it, the twenty-four hours will be enough to convince you that the Doctor Jaquet can make all the world to sleep.”

He replaced the Turkish pipe and the music box in their respective places and put the other articles in the cave in order. Then he procured more rugs and arranging them over the sleepers, tucked them in carefully.

“Au revoir, my friends, until we meet again,” he murmured and, with a sweeping bow to the sleeping forms, he made his exit.

Once outside, he carefully replaced the quantity of brush which effectually concealed the entrance to the cave. As he did so, there was a heavy, rumbling noise in the distance, and he glanced at the sky.

“I must get me home at high speed!” he muttered to himself as he noted the darkening heavens. “There is a storm which is coming.”

He accordingly retraced his steps at his best speed. He had proceeded but little more than half the distance, however, when the storm broke in all its fury: vivid flashes of forked lightning alternating with terrific clashes of thunder. Still he pressed on, not knowing how long the storm might last and bent upon reaching home.

At last, however, this Summer storm reached such a pitch of violence that he found himself compelled to seek shelter until its full fury had in some degree been spent. Not a habitation in sight! Some distance down the road, however, was a great oak, whose wide-spreading branches would afford at least a temporary haven. Hastening his steps, he reached the tree.

At that very instant, the whole heavens were illumined with a tremendous blaze of light. A great zigzag tongue of forked lightning shot forth and darted down upon the oak, rending its massive trunk asunder in one awful stroke.

And at the foot of the shattered tree, as the thunder crashed forth, lay a blackened and blighted shape, horrible to behold—the body of Dr. Raoul Jaquet.