They Found Atlantis Read online

  CHAPTER II

  THE SUNKEN CONTINENT

  The Duchess da Solento-Ragina was certainly a lovely young woman. In face and figure she was very like her cousin Sally and, in the distance they might easily have been mistaken for each other but, close to, Camilla’s better breeding showed in her slim wrists and ankles, the more delicate bone construction of her face and larger eyes, the blue of which against her golden hair gave her a slightly more attractive colouring than Sally.

  However, slim ankles do not guarantee a good temper or fine eyes a kindly consideration for the feelings of other people and Camilla, without being by any means an ill-natured girl was a little inclined to abuse the power which her millions gave her. She took an almost childish delight in watching her lovers quarrel for her favour and liked to tantalise them by withdrawing herself unexpectedly at times.

  Now therefore, having introduced herself to Dr. Herman Tisch immediately on his ship’s arrival and secured him as her guest for luncheon, she did not invite what the McKay cynically termed her ‘circus’ to join her table, so only Sally and Rene P. Slinger were privileged to share with her the Herr Doktor’s account of his projected descent to the bottom of the ocean.

  None of his auditors knew more of Atlantis than the bare legend that it had once existed as an island in the centre of the Atlantic, but the fat little German was an expert on his subject so it needed neither the two girls’ eager questioning nor the bald sharp-featured Slinger’s mild scepticism to release a positive spate of facts and figures, geological, botanical, and ethnological from the Doctor between the mouthfuls of a very hearty lunch.

  Afterwards he asked to be excused in order that he might attend to his letters, which he had collected from the Hotel bureau, but promised to join them again later as they went out to drink their coffee on the terrace.

  Nicolas Costello, his sleek fair hair brushed flatly back, and resplendent in a pale blue flannel suit, that no man other than a film star would have dared to wear, had already secured a table and ringed it with basket chairs. He held one facing the lovely prospect of the bay for Camilla and then, without a glance at the others, plumped himself down beside her.

  Count Axel Fersan placed his long delicate hand on the back of another and drew it out for Sally, then he settled himself with leisurely ease between her and Slinger.

  “Where is the Prince?” enquired Camilla with a little frown.

  “Here, Madame!” The tall Roumanian appeared in the French window behind her. He was a magnificent figure of a man and his velvety eyes held a ready smile as he bowed to her.

  “Come on now, Camilla,” Nicky urged. “What’s all this business about getting to the bottom of the Atlantic?”

  The McKay appeared at that moment on his way down to the garden and Camilla called to him. “Come and join us, Captain, you know all about the sea. What are the chances of getting to the bottom of it?”

  “Remarkably few if you happen to be in the British Navy—thank God!” he replied drily as he pulled up a chair. “I’ve managed to avoid it for twenty-eight years.”

  “Oh, stop this fooling,” cut in Nicky impatiently. “Didn’t the little German say there was a whole heap of gold to be got? Let’s hear about it then.”

  The Roumanian’s black eyes flashed with an antagonism that he did not attempt to conceal. “I have heard a rumour that you are bankrupt stock, but thought that you seek an easier way than a gamble with life to make whole your balances.”

  Nicky went scarlet. “See here!” he began but Count Axel’s gentle laughter mocked him into a furious silence.

  The Count was older than the other two. Slim, elegant, of middle height, he had neither the Roumanian’s military swagger or the Greek-god features which had made Nicky’s profile world famous, but he possessed the quiet distinction which scholarship lends to nobility. His face was long, his nose a little pointed, his eyes a quick intelligent hazel. His lightish brown hair was already thinning on his delicately moulded skull.

  “Now children,” Camilla held up her hand to quiet his impish laughter. “Be good, and Rene shall tell you all the Herr Doktor said at lunch of what he plans to do.”

  Slinger hunched himself forward, gave a twirl to the butt of his cigar, and began in a high reedy voice: “I didn’t understand half the scientific stuff he talked, but this is how I get it.

  “Thousands of years ago there was land right in the middle of the North Atlantic—an island as big as France and Germany put together. There were chains of small islands too, one running from it down to Brazil and the other across to Portugal. According to the Professor that’s the only way so many plants and animals that are common to both continents could have got across the ocean.”

  “How about their migrating round the Arctic?” Nicky cut in sceptically.

  Count Axel shook his head. Like the majority of educated Scandinavians he spoke perfect English. “Many of the plants which are known to have existed independently in both hemispheres, such as the banana palm for example, could never have lived north of the temperate zone.”

  “Anyhow,” Slinger went on, “the Herr Doktor postulates that this island was the original Garden of Eden as far as the White Races go. Fertile, fine climate, about like this in its southern part and, above all, isolated for thousands of years by its sea barriers on either side—so completely protected from invasion. That enabled its inhabitants gradually to develop in peace and security until they achieved a wonderful civilisation, the remnants of which are the basis of all the other cultures which have come down to us.”

  “That’s interesting enough as a theory,” agreed the McKay.

  “The Doctor maintains that he can prove it a hundred times over by similarities between the root language of the Central-American Indians and various Mediterranean peoples; by the fact that they had the same hierarchy of Gods, the same system of astrology, the same methods of agriculture, and the same style of architecture. It seems that the Mexicans once went in for Pyramid building just like the Egyptians.”

  “That is so,” Count Axel’s thin mouth twitched at the corners and his rather sad face was lit by a quick smile. “Some of the pyramids built by the Aztecs in Mexico are very large and exactly similar to the early efforts in the valley of the Nile, although they got no further than the step pyramids which the Egyptians achieved as early as their Fourth Dynasty.”

  “You seem to know quite a lot about it already, Count,” Slinger remarked.

  “The rise of ancient civilisations has always interested me, and many people believe that they all owe their origin to trading colonies which were established by the Atlanteans before their island was submerged in some stupendous upheaval.”

  Slinger shook his bald pate. “The Herr Doktor was arguing that if that were the case those colonies would have carried on where the Atlanteans left off and reached a similar high plane within a few generations. His theory is that the Atlanteans held no communication with the outside world at all and that in one frightful day and night of earthquakes the whole continent went down. It must have been a catastrophe utterly unparalleled in the history of the world, but out of the several million people who probably inhabited the island it’s likely that some who were in boats and so on would have been saved and washed ashore alive here and there in the huge tidal waves. A few reached Egypt and started that maybe; another lot struck northern Palestine and got going in Chaldea; a single man perhaps fetched up on the coast of Mexico and another in Brazil. If the Doctor’s right that would explain why the new centres took so long to develop—only a little of the original knowledge would have survived with each man or group you see. Just as to-day, not one of us could carry a thousandth part of modern scientific knowledge and culture with us if we were suddenly dumped down among a barbarous people.”

  “I’ve often wondered just how much we could do if half a dozen people like us were washed up on a desert island,” said Sally.

  “It’s an interesting speculation,” agreed Slinger, “but to get
back—the Doctor thinks that some of these folk who reached Cornwall and Brittany were simple fishermen who could do little more than carry their great religion of sun worship to the natives they found, just as any of us would know enough of Christianity to preach it, however ignorant we might be about electricity and machines. He holds that they founded the Druid’s cult, whereas others, the batch that got to Egypt for example, had educated people amongst them, which would account for the Egyptians worshipping the sun god Ra, but in a more sophisticated way, and coming on with regard to the amenities of life more than all the rest.”

  Count Axel nodded. “That theory fits in very well with the story of the Flood. In addition to the account of it in our scriptures, the Celts, the Babylonians and all the tribes of Central-American Indians preserved legends of it too. I do not think anyone can doubt that the Deluge was an actual historical occurrence and a catastrophe of such tremendous magnitude would naturally be embodied in the race memories of all the people who knew of it. The Herr Doktor’s idea of separate groups surviving is supported too by the fact that all legends of the Flood, although agreeing in their main particulars, differ in their account as to how their central figures were saved. Some, like Noah, had arks, others took refuge in caves on high mountains, others again were washed ashore clinging to great trees, and so on. The most curious thing of all is that Flood legends are very strong among the races of the West Indies and Mediterranean basin, vague if you go further north or south, and practically non-existent if you investigate the folk lore of the Pacific Islands, China, Australia, Malay and Japan. That points so very definitely to the calamity having occurred in the North Atlantic about where the Azores are now.”

  Slinger stood up. “I see you know more of this than I do Count, so I’ll leave you to entertain the party while I find Doctor Tisch. He must have gotten through his mail by now.”

  “Let’s cut out the cackle and come to the gold,” Nicky suggested as Slinger left them.

  “By all means.” Count Axel smiled lazily beneath half lowered lids. “The case for the actual existence of Atlantis before the Deluge rests principally, for its historic foundation, on certain passages in Plato’s Critias and Timœus. According to these a scholarly Greek named Solon visited Egypt about 450 B.C. and a learned Priest of Sais gave him an account of the marvellous island. Atlantis, according to the ancient tradition was preserved in the memory of the Egyptians as the place where early mankind dwelt for many ages in peace and happiness. It was the cradle of all civilisation and, when submerged some nine thousand years before Solon’s time, inhabited by a powerful, wealthy, and cultured people.

  “The capital of Atlantis was a mighty city beneath a great mountain in the northern part of the island. It was ringed by three broad canals, and three defensive zones each of which had high walls strengthened with plates of brass and copper. In the city itself stood the vast temple of Poseidon which was roofed and walled in pure red gold and contained life-size images fashioned from the same precious metal so that—”

  He broke off suddenly as Slinger and the German came out on to the terrace. The latter had lost his cheerful look. He now appeared a fat, hunched, dejected figure while Slinger exclaimed:

  “The Doctor’s had a rotten break. He feared it from a radio message he received a week ago but now it’s been confirmed by mail. Klemo Farquason has crashed on Wall Street, so the whole show’s off.”

  “Seven years I prepare,” bleated the little Doctor, “then for three more years I search for a rich financier who will back my great exploration. Everyone says I am a mad hatter but at last I convinced Mr. Farquason that I am not. Another year while we manufacture the super-bathysphere and have the ship outfitted. He is to meet me here—then I get a radiogram that there may be delay—now this.”

  A general murmur of sympathy went round and Slinger remarked. “I’m afraid it’s not going to be easy for you to find another man with sufficient cash to finance a thing like this where the results are so problematical.”

  “But the loss to science,” moaned the Doctor.

  “Never mind the science,” said Nicky, “how about the gold? Though I don’t see how you’d ever find it. Even if it’s get-at-able, and not buried under five hundred feet of mud, it might be anywhere between Lisbon and Miami. There must be ten thousand square miles of ocean where that continent was before it sank. You might go diving for a life time and not hit the spot where that city was.”

  “No—that is not so,” protested the Doctor angrily. “Eleven years ago, when I was an archæologist on the Euphrates, I dug up a scroll at Eridu which gave me the great secret. The bearing of the stars which fixed the position of the city. The stars in ten thousand years do not vary more than a fraction. I will get within a mile of the temple at the first dive, then I dredge and within a week I will come to it.”

  Nicky stared at him. “That makes all the difference,” he said slowly, then he looked sharply at Camilla. “How about it? People have staked worse bets than this. Why don’t you cut in on it?”

  Camilla straightened and they all watched her in silence for a moment, then: “It would be rather fun,” she said slowly.

  “If the expedition succeeds it will make history,” remarked the Count, “and you, Madam, as the leader of it, will remain famous long after you are dead.”

  It was a subtle piece of flattery and tickled Camilla’s vanity. “Chartering the yacht wouldn’t harm the trust any,” she said thoughtfully, “but I’d have to cut various engagements. How long is it going to take, Doctor?”

  “The work of excavation may go on for years, but I will find the city in a fortnight—less Gnädige Hertzogin.”

  “That means I’ll have to cancel my visit to Scotland,” Camilla hesitated, looking round at the ring of intent faces.

  “Oh let’s—do let’s, please!” Sally exclaimed.

  “All right,” Camilla smiled and exclaimed suddenly: “Will you all come as my guests on this party to discover the lost continent?”

  Only the McKay’s voice rose above quick murmurs of acceptance that greeted her invitation. “If you’re including me I hope you don’t expect me to go under water in that bathysphere?”

  “No, we’ll let you play with a sextant on the bridge, but it would be nice to have the British Navy with us!”

  “Well, what could be fairer than that,” he laughed. “I’d love to come.”

  “Ach! Himmel!” the Doctor cried. “You mean this? You will finance my exploration with your money?”

  “Certainly I will,” Camilla assured him a little pompously.

  An ecstatic smile spread over the German’s face as he grabbed her hand in his pudgy fingers and kissed it.

  Half an hour later the party had broken up. Only Rene P. Slinger and the Doctor remained on the terrace. The latter no longer smiled. His pink face showed doubt and distress.

  “I haf agreed to do this only to save my exploration,” he said heavily.

  “Sure,” nodded Slinger cheerfully, “but haven’t things panned out just as I said. The moment I heard Farquason had fallen down on you a month back I knew that if you brought your outfit here Camilla would jump right into it. Once we get her up to the Azores in that ship of yours and the big boy comes on board you’ll see things happen. Then you can go hunting your lost Atlantis until it rise out of the water again to hit you in the pants.”

  The Doctor ignored the gibe and nodded gloomily. “But there must be no bloodshed mind—no bloodshed—you haf promised me that.”

  CHAPTER III

  SIGNS, SOUNDS, AND A WORRIED LITTLE MAN

  That night, the lovely Camilla, Duchess of Solento-Ragina—née Hart, expended some infinitesimal portion of her millions by giving a party to those friends and retainers who were to accompany her on Doktor Herman Tisch’s mystery ship.

  The retainers, her cousin Sally and her man of business Rene P. Slinger, were in excellent spirits. Sally because she felt that however mad the quest might appear it should prove amusing an
d Slinger, because he had succeeded in his secret design of getting Camilla to undertake the expedition for his own dubious purposes.

  The McKay punished the champagne and blessed his luck that he had chanced to be present when Camilla offered the invitation to her intimates. As a Naval Captain, just retired, he was already finding it a difficult business to live in comfort on his pension and his inclusion in the party meant a few weeks free keep in pleasant company.

  Camilla’s three would-be second husbands—the Roumanian, Prince Vladimir Renescu, the film-star crooner Nicky Costello, and the Swede, Count Axel Fersan—were equally cheerful at the prospect of this voyage, which meant that the heiress to the Hart millions would be safe for some time from the pursuit of other suitors who might arrive upon the scene at any moment; moreover each was visualising in advance the delightful opportunities which might occur to get slender, blue-eyed, Camilla alone upon a moonlit afterdeck, persuade her to accept him, and thus finally rout his rivals before Doktor Tisch’s ship returned to port. The little German doctor alone remained morose and uneasy, tortured by his secret thoughts.

  When dinner was over the whole party migrated to the little Casino which lies half way down the hill between Reids Palace Hotel and Funchal. It was early yet and only about fifty people were scattered about the low cool rooms. The young Roumanian carried Camilla off to dance and Nicky secured Sally solely because he knew that by dancing with her he would be able to keep an eye on Camilla without actually giving his rival the pleasure of seeing him lounge sulkily in the doorway of the dance room. The others passed through the far door and, sitting down at a table on the terrace, ordered drinks.

  The night was fine, the air soft and scented by the semi-tropical moon flowers which open their great white bells only after the sun has set. A sheer cliff dropped from the terrace to the bay, now shrouded in darkness, but out on its gently heaving waters the lights of the shipping, riding at anchor for a few hours after having dropped their passengers and mails for Madeira, twinkled cheerfully. To the left they could catch a glimpse of the lights on the foreshore down in Funchal town, and to the right those of Reids Palace Hotel glimmered from its eminence on the headland of the bay.