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Updated: May 31, 2025
I exclaimed nervously, "but the den has an occupant already." "Ay, and of a kind common enough in these hills, but nothing fit to affright a servant of the true God," echoed Cairnes, striding past me. "I am not wont to fear heathen idols, Master Benteen, nor will I bear back now before those green eyes."
It was a cramped passage for a man of my girth, yet, by digging in firmly with both hands and feet, I managed to advance, until I finally emerged, within space of perhaps a yard, into a much larger excavation, resembling the tunnel we had previously traversed. "Now, Master Cairnes," I spoke back encouragingly, "it is only a short distance to good footing; so take fresh breath and come on."
At first view I thought the way ended here, but Cairnes pointed silently toward the right, and then I perceived where a path led upward, along the merest narrow, jagged shelf, skirting the boiling water, yet ever rising higher above it, until, as my eyes followed its serpentine windings from terrace to terrace, I grew dizzy contemplating the possibilities of so mad a climb.
An economist, using great caution, might possibly have drawn the whole bulk of his data from travelers' accounts, as Cairnes did, and still have reached fairly sound conclusions; but Cairnes gave preference not to the concrete observations of the travelers but to their generalizations, often biased or amateurish, and on them erected his own.
More untimely, in one sense, than any other was the death of Professor Clifford, whose articles in this Review attracted so much attention, and I fear that I may add, gave for a season so much offence six or seven years ago. Cairnes was scarcely fifty when he died, and Bagehot was fifty-one, but Clifford was only four-and-thirty.
With prayer on lips I crouched, sick and dizzy, close in against the wall, watching Cairnes where he followed along the same perilous path. The rock shelf we followed became gradually somewhat wider, so I moved forward with greater freedom. The path continued to ascend, winding unevenly along the precipitous face of the cliff, until we must have climbed nearly to the summit of the mighty bluff.
"Cairnes," I called, "it is about the hour of sunrise. Down in the village I have noticed that whenever the sun touches the crest of these rocks the priests up here go forth, waving a flame into the air from yonder platform. I fear if it were missed, the savages below would come swarming up to discover the cause. Take a light from the pile, and wave it yonder."
Let the foul fiend choose! by all the gods, Cairnes should brain her where she stood, and, Heaven helping me to do the deed, the one I loved should never die by torture! She took her own time for decision, indifferently ignoring the howls of rage, her thin lips curling in contemptuous smile, her glance yet upon the startled Chevalier.
"I have been conversing with good Master Cairnes," I responded gravely. "I found him in no state of mind or body to bring me pleasant thought." "Parbleu! I warrant not from all I hear of that worthy servant," the Chevalier laughed gayly. "'T is told me the grim-faced old hypocrite sits in worshipful state, a veritable god, trussed like a bronze idol or some mummy of the Egyptians.
There could be no doubt regarding the complete emptiness of the Reverend Ezekiel Cairnes, if the breakfast he devoured from our stock of cold provisions was evidence. I have been commonly blessed with robust appetite, yet where that man found space within his ribs to store away all he ate in that hour remains a mystery.
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