Something terrible has happened to us.
Who could possibly have predicted it?
I cannot imagine how our troubles will end. We may be trapped in this strange and unreachable place for the rest of our lives.
My mind is still in such confusion that I can hardly think clearly about what has happened, let alone what may happen next.
The present looks terrible.
The future looks completely hopeless.
No group of explorers could have found itself in a worse situation.
There would be no point in giving our exact location to our friends and asking them to send a rescue party. Even if such a party could be organized, we would almost certainly be dead long before it could reach us in South America.
We are as completely cut off from civilization as if we were on the moon.
If we are going to survive, we will have to save ourselves.
Fortunately, I have three extraordinary companions.
All three are intelligent, experienced, and remarkably brave.
They are our only real hope.
Whenever I look at their calm faces, I can see a little light in all this darkness.
I hope I look equally calm.
Inside, however, I am terrified.
Let me explain exactly how we came to this disaster.
When I finished my last letter, we were about seven miles from the enormous line of red cliffs that, without any doubt, surrounded the plateau Professor Challenger had described.
As we approached them, the cliffs seemed even higher than Challenger had originally claimed.
In some places they must have been at least a thousand feet high.
Their surfaces were marked with strange horizontal lines, apparently the result of ancient volcanic activity.
They reminded me of the basalt cliffs around Salisbury Crags in Edinburgh.
The top of the cliffs was covered with thick vegetation.
Bushes grew right along the edge, with taller trees farther back.
As far as we could tell, there was no sign of animal life.
That night we camped directly beneath the cliffs.
It was one of the wildest and loneliest places I had ever seen.
The rock wall was not simply vertical.
Near the top, it curved outward, making any attempt to climb it impossible.
Very close to us stood the tall, narrow rock pinnacle I had mentioned earlier.
It looked like a huge red church spire.
Its top reached the same level as the plateau, but a deep gap separated it from the main cliff.
A single tall tree grew on its summit.
The pinnacle itself was perhaps five or six hundred feet high.
Challenger pointed toward the tree.
“That is where I saw the pterodactyl.”
“I climbed about halfway up the rock before I shot it.”
He looked up at the summit.
“I believe a good climber could reach the top, although doing so would not bring him any closer to the plateau.”
As Challenger spoke, I looked at Summerlee.
For the first time, I thought I could see doubt appearing in his face.
His usual mocking expression was gone.
Instead, he looked pale, excited, and deeply impressed.
Challenger noticed it too.
He was clearly enjoying his first real victory over his rival.
“Of course,” Challenger said with heavy sarcasm, “Professor Summerlee now understands that when I say pterodactyl, I really mean a stork.”
He paused.
“Except that this particular stork had no feathers, possessed leathery wings, and had teeth in its jaws.”
He grinned.
Then he bowed repeatedly until Summerlee turned away in disgust.
The next morning, we ate a very simple breakfast of coffee and manioc.
We had to conserve our supplies.
After breakfast, we held a meeting to decide how we could reach the plateau.
Challenger took charge of the discussion.
He sat on a rock like a judge on the bench.
His ridiculous straw hat was pushed back on his head, his heavy beard moved as he spoke, and his eyes looked down at us with complete confidence.
Below him sat the rest of us.
I was young, sunburned, and still in good physical condition from our journey.
Summerlee sat behind his ever-present pipe, looking serious but skeptical.
Lord John leaned against his rifle, alert and ready, his sharp eyes fixed on Challenger.
Behind us stood the two half-breeds and our small group of Indians.
Above us towered the huge red cliffs that blocked our path to the plateau.
“I should remind you,” Challenger began, “that during my previous visit I tried every possible way to climb these cliffs.”
“I failed.”
“And I am a fairly experienced mountaineer.”
“I had no proper climbing equipment with me then. This time, however, I have brought everything necessary.”
He pointed toward the detached pinnacle.
“I am confident that I can climb that rock to the top.”
“But the main cliff is impossible because of the overhang.”
“During my first expedition, I was also limited by the approaching rainy season and by a shortage of supplies.”
“I managed to examine about six miles of cliff to the east, and I found no possible route upward.”
He looked around at us.
“So what do you suggest we do now?”
“There seems to be only one sensible choice,” Summerlee said.
“You already explored the eastern side.”
“We should follow the cliffs westward and look for a place where we can climb.”
“Exactly,” Lord John agreed.
“The plateau probably isn’t enormous.”
“We can follow its edge until we either find a route upward or eventually return to where we started.”
“I have already explained to our young friend,” Challenger said, looking at me, “that an easy route cannot exist.”
“If there were a simple path to the top, the plateau would not be isolated in the first place.”
“And it is precisely because it is isolated that the unusual animals described by Maple White may have survived there.”
“Still,” he continued, “there may be places where an experienced human climber can get up, even though large animals could never get down.”
“So there must be at least one place where a person can climb.”
“How do you know that?” Summerlee asked sharply.
“Because my predecessor, Maple White, actually reached the plateau.”
“Otherwise, how could he have seen and drawn the creature in his notebook?”
“You are assuming facts that have not yet been proved,” Summerlee replied.
“I accept the existence of the plateau because I have seen it.”
“But I have not yet seen any evidence that it contains living creatures.”
“What you accept or refuse to accept is of very little importance,” Challenger said.
He pointed upward.
“I am simply pleased that the plateau has finally forced itself into your understanding.”
Then, to our complete surprise, Challenger suddenly jumped down from the rock.
He grabbed Summerlee by the neck and tilted his head backward.
“Look up!”
His voice was thick with excitement.
“Do I need to provide you with further proof that there is animal life on that plateau?”
A thick line of green vegetation covered the edge of the cliff.
Suddenly, something black and shiny appeared among the leaves.
It slowly moved outward over the edge.
We realized that it was an enormous snake.
Its head was strangely flat and broad, almost like a shovel.
For several seconds it hung above us, twisting and trembling.
The morning sunlight shone across its smooth body.
Then it slowly disappeared back into the vegetation.
Summerlee had been so fascinated that he had allowed Challenger to hold him in that ridiculous position.
Now he pushed Challenger away and straightened himself.
“I would appreciate it, Professor Challenger, if you could make your scientific observations without grabbing me by the chin.”
He adjusted his clothes.
“Even the appearance of an ordinary rock python does not justify such behavior.”
“But it proves that the plateau contains life!” Challenger replied triumphantly.
“Now that I have established that fact for anyone who is not completely blind or prejudiced, I suggest that we break camp and continue west until we find a way up.”
The ground beneath the cliffs was rough and covered with rocks.
Progress was slow.
Then we found something that immediately lifted our spirits.
It was the remains of an old campsite.
There were several empty Chicago meat tins, a bottle marked “Brandy,” a broken tin-opener, and various other pieces of travelers’ rubbish.
We also found a crumpled old newspaper.
It was the Chicago Democrat, although the date had disappeared.
“That isn’t mine,” Challenger said.
“It must have belonged to Maple White.”
Lord John was examining a large tree-fern beside the camp.
“Come and look at this.”
“I think we’ve found a sign.”
A small piece of hard wood had been nailed to the tree.
It pointed west.
“Definitely a sign,” Challenger said.
“What else could it be?”
“Maple White must have realized that he was on a dangerous journey.”
“He left this marker so that anyone following him could know which direction he had taken.”
“We may find more signs as we continue.”
We did.
But the next one was far more disturbing than we could have imagined.
Not far from the cliffs was a thick patch of bamboo, similar to the one we had crossed earlier.
Many of the stems were twenty feet tall.
Their sharp upper ends looked like enormous spears.
As we walked beside the bamboo, I noticed something white among the stems.
I pushed my head into the thicket.
Then I froze.
I was staring at a human skull.
The entire skeleton was still there.
The skull had separated from the body and lay several feet away.
Our Indians quickly cut down enough bamboo for us to examine the remains properly.
Only a few scraps of clothing were left.
But the boots were still visible on the bones.
There was no doubt that the dead man had been European.
Among the bones we found a gold watch made by Hudson of New York.
There was also a chain holding a stylographic pen.
A silver cigarette case lay nearby.
On its lid were the initials:
“J. C., from A. E. S.”
The condition of the metal suggested that the man had not been dead for a very long time.
“Who could he be?” Lord John asked.
“Poor fellow.”
“Almost every bone in his body seems to have been broken.”
Summerlee examined the remains.
“And bamboo has actually grown through his broken ribs.”
“It is a fast-growing plant, but surely the body could not have been here long enough for these stems to reach twenty feet.”
“As for his identity, I have no doubt,” Challenger said.
“Before I joined you at the fazenda, I made very careful inquiries about Maple White.”
“Nobody at Para knew anything useful.”
“Fortunately, I had another clue.”
“One drawing in Maple White’s notebook showed him having lunch with a priest at Rosario.”
“I found that priest.”
“He was an argumentative fellow and took great offense when I suggested that modern science might challenge some of his religious beliefs.”
“But he gave me useful information.”
“Maple White passed through Rosario four years ago.”
“That was two years before I found his body.”
“He was traveling with another American named James Colver.”
“Colver remained in the boat and never met the priest.”
“So I believe these remains must belong to James Colver.”
“I agree,” Lord John said.
“And I think we can work out how he died.”
“Either he fell from the top of the cliff, or someone threw him.”
“Either way, he must have landed on these bamboo stems.”
“Otherwise, how could so many bones have been broken?”
“And how could the bamboo have pierced his body?”
We stood silently around the remains.
Lord John’s explanation seemed horribly convincing.
The cliff towered above the bamboo.
There was little doubt that Colver had fallen from the plateau.
But had he fallen accidentally?
Or had someone—or something—thrown him?
For the first time, the unknown land above us began to seem truly dangerous.
We moved on without speaking.
We continued following the base of the cliffs.
The rock wall remained almost perfectly straight and unbroken, like the enormous Antarctic ice walls I had seen in photographs.
For five miles we found no opening.
Then, suddenly, we saw something that gave us new hope.
Inside a sheltered hollow in the rock, protected from the rain, someone had drawn a white arrow pointing west.
“Maple White again,” Challenger said.
“He must have expected someone worthy to follow his path.”
“He had chalk with him, then?” Summerlee asked.
“Yes.”
“When I examined his belongings, I found a box of colored chalk.”
“I remember that the white chalk had almost completely worn away.”
Summerlee nodded.
“That is convincing evidence.”
“We should follow his directions.”
We continued west.
About five miles later, we found another white arrow.
This time it was beside a narrow crack in the cliff.
Inside the crack was another arrow.
Its point was angled upward.
It seemed to indicate that the route lay above ground level.
The place was dark and oppressive.
The walls were enormous.
Only a narrow strip of blue sky could be seen above us.
Dense vegetation covered both sides of the opening, allowing very little sunlight to reach the ground.
We were exhausted and had not eaten for many hours.
But our excitement would not allow us to stop.
We ordered the Indians to make camp.
Then the four of us, together with the two half-breeds, entered the narrow gorge.
The entrance was only about forty feet wide.
It quickly became narrower until it ended in a sharp, smooth point that could not possibly be climbed.
Clearly, that was not the route Maple White had meant.
We turned back.
The entire gorge was less than a quarter of a mile long.
Then Lord John noticed something.
High above us, hidden in the shadows, was a small patch of even deeper darkness.
“Look there!”
We stared upward.
“It must be a cave.”
The ground beneath it was covered with loose rocks.
Fortunately, the rocks made the climb fairly easy.
When we reached the opening, there was no longer any doubt.
It was a cave leading directly into the cliff.
And beside the entrance was another white arrow.
This was it.
This must have been the route Maple White and James Colver had used to reach the plateau.
We were too excited to wait until morning.
We decided to explore immediately.
Lord John had an electric flashlight in his pack.
He switched it on and went first.
A small circle of yellow light appeared in front of him.
We followed closely behind in single file.
The cave had clearly been carved out by water.
Its walls were smooth.
The floor was covered with rounded stones.
The passage was so narrow that one person could barely squeeze through it while bent over.
For about fifty yards, it went straight into the rock.
Then it began to rise at roughly a forty-five-degree angle.
Soon it became even steeper.
We were forced onto our hands and knees.
Loose stones slipped beneath us as we climbed.
Suddenly Lord John shouted.
“It’s blocked!”
We gathered behind him.
In the flashlight beam we saw a wall of broken basalt stretching from floor to ceiling.
“The roof has collapsed,” Lord John said.
We tried pulling some of the rocks away.
It was useless.
Worse, every large stone we moved threatened to break loose and roll down the slope onto us.
The collapse was far too extensive for us to clear.
The route Maple White had used was gone.
We had no choice but to retreat.
Depressed and exhausted, we made our way back toward the camp.
But before leaving the gorge, something happened that later proved extremely important.
We were standing together at the bottom of the chasm, about forty feet below the cave entrance.
Suddenly, a huge rock came crashing down.
It shot past us with terrifying speed.
We barely escaped being crushed.
We could not see where it had come from.
But the two half-breeds were still near the cave entrance.
They told us that the rock had flown past them and must have come from the top of the cliff.
We looked upward.
The vegetation along the summit was completely still.
We could see no one.
But there was little doubt that the rock had been deliberately thrown at us.
Someone—or something—on the plateau knew we were here.
We hurried out of the gorge.
This changed everything.
Nature itself had already made the plateau almost impossible to reach.
If intelligent enemies were also trying to stop us, our situation seemed hopeless.
And yet none of us could seriously consider returning to London.
The beautiful green edge of that unknown world was only a few hundred feet above our heads.
We had come too far.
We had to explore it.
After discussing our options, we decided to continue around the plateau.
The cliffs might eventually become lower.
Perhaps we would find another route upward.
The cliffs had already begun turning from west toward north.
If the shape of the plateau formed roughly part of a circle, then its total circumference could not be enormous.
At worst, we would return to our original camp within a few days.
That day we marched about twenty-two miles.
Our aneroid showed that we had climbed to roughly three thousand feet above sea level since leaving the canoes.
The change in altitude had noticeably changed both the climate and the vegetation.
The horrible tropical insects were becoming less common.
A few palms remained, along with many tree-ferns.
But the enormous Amazonian trees were gone.
It was almost comforting to see familiar plants such as morning glory, passion flowers, and begonias growing among the harsh rocks.
One red begonia even reminded me of a plant growing in the window of a certain house in Streatham.
But I am drifting into personal memories.
That night, still on the first day of our journey around the plateau, something happened that finally removed any serious doubt about the extraordinary world so close to us.
You will understand why I cannot yet publish this story, my dear McArdle.
Perhaps now you will believe that the Gazette did not send me on some ridiculous wild-goose chase.
If we are ever allowed to publish our findings, there is enough material here to make the greatest story the paper has ever printed.
But I would never dare send these reports to the press without physical evidence.
Otherwise, everyone would laugh at me.
I would become the greatest journalistic liar in history.
You would probably be just as unwilling to risk the reputation of the Gazette.
So the most sensational story we have ever encountered must remain in the editorial drawer for now.
And yet the event itself lasted only a few seconds.
There was no second encounter.
Only our certainty remained.
Here is what happened.
Lord John had shot an ajouti, a small animal resembling a pig.
Half of it had been given to the Indians.
We were roasting the other half over our campfire.
The temperature dropped after sunset, so all of us sat close to the flames.
There was no moon.
A few stars were visible, however, and we could see a short distance across the plain.
Suddenly something came out of the darkness.
It rushed toward us with a powerful rushing sound, almost like an aircraft flying overhead.
For one terrifying moment, enormous leathery wings covered the entire group.
I caught a brief glimpse of a long, snake-like neck.
Then I saw a fierce red eye.
And a huge hooked beak.
To my astonishment, the beak was lined with small, shining teeth.
Then it was gone.
So was our dinner.
A gigantic black shadow, nearly twenty feet across, swept upward into the night.
For a moment its wings blocked the stars.
Then it disappeared beyond the top of the cliff.
We sat around the fire in stunned silence.
It reminded me of the ancient stories of the Harpies attacking the heroes of Virgil.
At last, Summerlee spoke.
“Professor Challenger.”
His voice trembled with emotion.
“I owe you an apology.”
“I was completely wrong.”
“Please forgive me for what I have said in the past.”
It was a generous apology.
For the first time, the two professors shook hands.
That was one thing our first pterodactyl had accomplished.
It had cost us half our dinner, but it had finally brought those two impossible men together.
If prehistoric creatures really lived on the plateau, however, they were not everywhere.
We saw nothing else during the next three days.
Instead, we crossed a miserable, barren region on the northern and eastern sides of the cliffs.
The land alternated between rocky desert and filthy marshes filled with wild birds.
From this side, the plateau was truly impossible to reach.
The only reason we could continue was a narrow, relatively firm ledge running along the foot of the cliffs.
Without it, we would have been forced to turn back.
Again and again we sank waist-deep into the thick mud of ancient tropical swamps.
And there was another danger.
The area seemed to be full of Jaracaca snakes, among the most poisonous and aggressive snakes in South America.
They repeatedly came writhing and striking toward us across the rotten surface of the swamp.
We had to keep our shotguns ready at all times.
One particular hollow in the marsh remains one of the worst memories of my life.
The depression was filled with a sickly green substance produced by some kind of lichen.
It seemed to be a breeding ground for the snakes.
The slopes were crawling with them.
Hundreds of them seemed to be moving toward us.
The Jaracaca has a terrifying habit of attacking humans immediately when it sees them.
There were far too many for us to shoot.
We ran.
We ran until we were exhausted.
Even then, the snakes followed.
When we looked back, we could see their heads and necks rising and falling among the reeds behind us.
We named the place Jaracaca Swamp on our map.
Farther along, the cliffs had changed color.
The red rock had become dark brown.
The vegetation on top was thinner.
The cliffs were also lower, perhaps only three or four hundred feet high.
But nowhere could we find a route upward.
If anything, this section was even harder to climb than the first cliffs we had encountered.
The sheer vertical walls were clearly visible in the photograph I had taken across the rocky desert.
As we discussed the problem, I raised a question.
“Surely rainwater has to come down from the plateau somehow.”
“There must be channels in the rock.”
Challenger patted me on the shoulder.
“Our young friend is showing signs of intelligence.”
“The rain must go somewhere,” I insisted.
“Quite correct.”
“The only problem is that we have already proved with our own eyes that there are no visible channels leading down the cliffs.”
“Then where does the water go?”
“If it does not flow outward, it must flow inward.”
“So there must be a lake in the middle.”
“I would say that is highly likely.”
Summerlee joined in.
“The lake might be inside an old volcanic crater.”
“The entire geological structure is obviously volcanic.”
“In any case, I would expect the plateau to slope toward the center, where there may be a large body of water.”
“It might drain underground and eventually emerge in the marshes of Jaracaca Swamp.”
“Or the water may simply evaporate,” Challenger replied.
The two scientists immediately began another long geological argument.
To me, it might as well have been a conversation in Chinese.
On the sixth day, we completed our first full circuit of the cliffs.
We were back where we had started, beside the isolated rock pinnacle.
We were a miserable group.
We had examined the cliffs extremely carefully.
There was no place where even the best climber could hope to scale them.
The route marked by Maple White was now blocked.
We seemed to have reached the end of the road.
What could we do?
Our food supplies were still sufficient for a while, especially because we could hunt.
But eventually they would run out.
In another couple of months, the rainy season would arrive.
Our camp would then be impossible to maintain.
The rock was harder than marble.
We had neither the time nor the equipment to carve a path up the cliff.
That night, we looked at one another in silence.
No one had much to say.
We went to bed in a gloomy mood.
My last memory before falling asleep was of Challenger sitting beside the fire like an enormous frog.
His great head rested in his hands.
He seemed completely lost in thought.
He did not even notice when I wished him good night.
But the Challenger who appeared the next morning was a completely different man.
He looked cheerful and enormously pleased with himself.
When we gathered for breakfast, his whole body seemed to radiate satisfaction.
His beard stood out proudly.
His chest was thrust forward.
One hand was tucked inside his jacket.
He looked like a man who had just solved the greatest problem in the world.
“Eureka!”
He suddenly shouted.
“Gentlemen, you may congratulate me.”
“And I believe we may congratulate ourselves as well.”
“The problem is solved.”
“You have found a way up?” I asked.
“I believe I have.”
“Where?”
He pointed toward the tall, spire-like rock pinnacle beside us.
Our excitement immediately disappeared.
We stared at it.
Yes, we knew it could be climbed.
But there was still a huge gap between its summit and the plateau.
“We can never cross that gap,” I said.
“We can at least all reach the top of the pinnacle,” Challenger replied.
“Once we are there, I believe my inventive mind may still have something to offer.”
After breakfast, we opened the bundle containing his climbing equipment.
Inside was a coil of very strong but lightweight rope, about 150 feet long.
There were also climbing irons, clamps, and other equipment.
Lord John was an experienced mountaineer.
Summerlee had done some climbing in the past.
I was the least experienced climber among us.
But I was young, strong, and agile, which helped.
The climb was not actually as difficult as I had feared.
The first half was easy.
After that, the rock became increasingly steep.
During the final fifty feet, we were practically hanging from tiny cracks and ledges with our fingers and toes.
I could never have managed it alone.
Neither could Summerlee.
Challenger, incredibly, reached the top first.
It was hard to believe that such a huge man could move so quickly on a rock face.
Once he reached the summit, he secured the rope around the trunk of the large tree growing there.
With the rope supporting us, the rest of us were able to climb the final section.
At last we reached the top.
It was a small grassy platform, about twenty-five feet square.
For several moments I could do nothing but breathe.
Then I looked around.
The view was extraordinary.
The entire Brazilian plain stretched below us.
It seemed to go on forever until the distant horizon disappeared into blue haze.
Closest to us was the rocky slope we had crossed, dotted with tree-ferns.
Farther away, beyond the rounded ridge, I could just make out the huge bamboo forest.
Beyond that, the vegetation became thicker and thicker.
Eventually it merged into the enormous Amazon forest stretching as far as the eye could see.
And far beyond that, for thousands of miles, the great forest continued.
I was still staring at the view when Challenger placed his heavy hand on my shoulder.
“This way, my young friend.”
He smiled.
“Do not look backward. Our goal is ahead.”
I turned.
The plateau was exactly level with the small platform where we stood.
The green bushes and trees were so close that it was difficult to understand why we could not simply step across.
The gap between us was perhaps forty feet.
But forty feet might as well have been forty miles.
I wrapped one arm around the tree and leaned out over the abyss.
Far below, our servants looked tiny and dark against the ground.
The cliff face opposite us was perfectly vertical.
Then Summerlee spoke.
“This is very interesting.”
I turned.
He was examining the tree to which I was holding.
Something about its smooth bark and small, ridged leaves looked familiar.
I stared at it.
“Why, it’s a beech tree!”
“Exactly,” Summerlee said.
“A little piece of home in this distant land.”
“Not merely a reminder of home,” Challenger replied.
“If I may extend your comparison, it is also extremely useful.”
“This beech tree may save us.”
Lord John suddenly understood.
“By George!”
“A bridge!”
“Exactly!”
Challenger smiled proudly.
“A bridge!”
“I spent a considerable part of last night thinking about our situation.”
“You may remember that I once told our young friend that G. E. C. performs at his best when he is trapped.”
“Last night, we were certainly trapped.”
“We needed something that could be turned into a bridge.”
“And here it is.”
It really was an excellent idea.
The tree was more than sixty feet tall.
If we could make it fall in the right direction, it would stretch across the gap.
Challenger had carried a camp axe up with him.
He handed it to me.
“Our young friend has the strength for this job.”
“I believe he will be the most useful person here.”
He paused.
“But please do exactly what I tell you.”
“Do not improvise.”
Following his instructions, I cut into the tree at carefully chosen points.
Fortunately, the tree already leaned naturally toward the plateau.
That made our task much easier.
Lord John and I took turns cutting the trunk.
After a little more than an hour, we heard a tremendous crack.
The tree began to move.
It leaned forward.
Then it crashed down across the gap.
Its branches landed among the bushes on the other side.
For one terrifying second, the trunk rolled toward the edge of our platform.
We thought it was going to fall into the abyss.
But it stopped only a few inches from the edge.
Our bridge was complete.
Without saying a word, we all shook hands with Challenger.
He raised his straw hat and bowed proudly to each of us.
“I claim the honor of being the first man to cross into this unknown land.”
“It will make an excellent subject for a future historical painting.”
He stepped toward the bridge.
Lord John immediately stopped him.
“My dear fellow, I can’t let you do that.”
Challenger’s head snapped backward.
“You cannot let me?”
“When we’re dealing with science, I follow your lead because you’re the scientist.”
“But when we enter my field, you should follow me.”
“Your field?”
“Yes.”
“We all have our professions.”
“Soldiering is mine.”
“We’re entering a completely unknown country.”
“There may be enemies waiting for us.”
“Marching blindly into it just because we can cross the bridge is not how I operate.”
His argument was impossible to dismiss.
Challenger frowned.
“Very well.”
“What do you propose?”
“I don’t know what might be waiting in those bushes.”
“There could be cannibals waiting to have us for lunch.”
“It’s better to think carefully before you end up in somebody’s cooking pot.”
“Malone and I will climb back down.”
“We’ll bring up all four rifles, as well as Gomez and the other half-breed.”
“Then one of us can cross while the others cover him.”
“Once we know it’s safe, everyone else can follow.”
Challenger sat down heavily on the cut stump and groaned with impatience.
But Summerlee and I agreed with Lord John.
When practical matters were involved, he was clearly the man we should follow.
Climbing down was easier now because the rope remained attached to the steepest part of the cliff.
Within an hour, we had brought up the rifles and a shotgun.
The two half-breeds climbed up as well.
Following Lord John’s instructions, they also carried up a large bundle of food in case our first exploration lasted a long time.
Each of us wore a bandolier filled with ammunition.
When everything was ready, Lord John looked at Challenger.
“All right, Challenger.”
“If you still insist on being the first man across, go ahead.”
“I am deeply grateful for your permission,” Challenger replied angrily.
“Since you have been kind enough to allow it, I shall gladly act as pioneer.”
He sat on the tree trunk with one leg hanging over each side of the abyss.
Then he began moving across the bridge.
His hatchet was strapped to his back.
He crossed the entire trunk in a series of awkward hops.
Soon he reached the other side.
He climbed onto the plateau and threw his arms into the air.
“At last!”
“At last!”
I watched him nervously.
I half expected some horrible creature to leap out of the bushes and attack him.
But nothing happened.
Everything remained quiet.
Only a strange, brightly colored bird flew up from beneath his feet and disappeared into the trees.
Summerlee went next.
For such a thin and fragile-looking man, he was remarkably strong.
He insisted on carrying two rifles on his back.
That way, both professors would be armed once he reached the other side.
Then it was my turn.
I tried very hard not to look down into the terrible drop beneath me.
Summerlee held out the end of his rifle.
I grabbed it.
A moment later, I was safely across.
Lord John came last.
And unlike the rest of us, he simply walked across the tree.
He did not even need support.
The man must have nerves of steel.
And there we were.
The four of us stood together on Maple White’s lost plateau.
For a few moments, it felt like the greatest victory of our lives.
None of us could have imagined that our greatest disaster was about to begin.
We had walked only about fifty yards into the thick bushes when we heard a terrible cracking crash behind us.
We all turned and ran back.
The bridge was gone.
I looked over the edge.
Far below, at the foot of the cliff, lay a tangled mass of broken branches and shattered wood.
It was our beech tree.
At first we wondered whether the edge of the platform had broken and allowed the tree to fall.
Then a dark face slowly appeared from behind the rocky pinnacle.
It was Gomez.
But this was not the quiet, smiling Gomez we knew.
His eyes were full of hatred.
His face was twisted with rage and triumph.
“Lord Roxton!”
He shouted across the gap.
“Lord John Roxton!”
“Yes?”
Lord John stepped forward.
“I’m here.”
Gomez burst into wild laughter.
“Yes, there you are, you English dog!”
“And now you are staying there!”
“I have waited a long time for this.”
“Now I finally have my chance.”
“You struggled to climb up.”
“You will find it much harder to climb down.”
“You fools are trapped!”
We were too shocked to answer.
Then we noticed a large broken branch lying on the grass.
It showed how Gomez had managed to push the bridge over the edge.
His face disappeared.
Then it appeared again.
“We nearly killed you with that rock at the cave,” he shouted.
“But this is better.”
“This way will take longer.”
“Your bones will remain up there until they turn white.”
“No one will ever know where you died.”
He pointed angrily at Lord John.
“And while you are dying, remember Lopez.”
“You shot him five years ago on the Putumayo River.”
“I am his brother.”
“Whatever happens to me now, I can die happy because I have finally avenged him.”
He shook his fist at us.
Then his face disappeared again.
If Gomez had simply carried out his revenge and left, things might have ended differently for him.
But he could not resist the urge to make a dramatic speech.
That mistake cost him his life.
Lord John Roxton had earned the name “The Flail of the Lord” because of his ruthless campaigns against violent men.
He was not someone who could safely be mocked and threatened.
Gomez began climbing down the far side of the pinnacle.
But before he could reach the ground, Lord John ran along the edge of the plateau.
He found a place where he could see Gomez clearly.
There was one sharp rifle shot.
We could not see the exact moment of impact.
But we heard Gomez scream.
Then came the distant sound of a body hitting the ground.
Lord John returned to us with a face as hard as stone.
“I’ve been a blind fool.”
“It was my mistake that brought all of you into this.”
“I should have remembered how seriously these people take blood revenge.”
“I should have been more careful.”
“What about the other man?” I asked.
“It took two people to push the tree over.”
“I could have shot him.”
“But I let him go.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t involved.”
Lord John looked troubled.
“Although, as you say, he must have helped.”
Now that we understood what had happened, we could remember several warning signs.
Gomez had always been too interested in our plans.
We had already caught him secretly listening outside our hut.
Several times we had noticed the hatred in his eyes.
We were still discussing the situation when something happening on the plain below suddenly caught our attention.
A man in white clothes was running across the plain.
He was running for his life.
Behind him came the enormous black figure of Zambo.
Our loyal servant was chasing him at full speed.
We watched as Zambo caught the fleeing man and jumped onto his back.
He wrapped both arms around his neck.
The two men rolled across the ground.
A moment later, Zambo stood up.
He looked down at the motionless man.
Then he waved happily toward us.
After that, he ran toward the pinnacle.
The second half-breed lay dead in the middle of the plain.
Both traitors were gone.
But the damage they had caused remained.
There was absolutely no way for us to return to the pinnacle.
Before that moment, we had been men of the outside world.
Now we belonged to the plateau.
The two worlds were separated.
The plain below led back toward our canoes.
Somewhere beyond the hazy horizon was the river that eventually led back to civilization.
But the connection between us and that world was gone.
A single moment had completely changed our lives.
No clever idea seemed capable of rebuilding the bridge.
That was when I truly understood what my three companions were made of.
They were worried, of course.
They were thoughtful and serious.
But none of them panicked.
They possessed an extraordinary calmness.
For the moment, all we could do was sit among the bushes and wait for Zambo.
Soon his honest black face appeared above the rocks.
His enormous body followed.
He looked at us.
“What I do now?”
“You tell me.”
“I do it.”
It was a much easier question to ask than to answer.
One thing was immediately obvious.
Zambo was our only reliable connection with the outside world.
He could not leave us.
“Zambo, you must stay with us.”
“No, no!”
He shook his head.
“I not leave you.”
“Whatever happen, you always find me here.”
“But I cannot keep the Indians.”
“They already say too much Curupuri live here.”
“They want to go home.”
Our Indians had indeed been growing increasingly nervous.
They were tired of the journey and had been talking about returning home for some time.
We knew Zambo was right.
There was no way he could force them to stay.
“Keep them there until tomorrow, Zambo,” I shouted.
“Then I can send a letter back with them.”
“Very good, sir!”
“I promise they wait until tomorrow.”
“But what can I do for you now?”
There was plenty he could do.
And our faithful Zambo did everything we asked.
First, he untied the rope from the tree stump.
He threw one end across the gap to us.
The rope was no thicker than a clothesline, but it was extremely strong.
It could never serve as a bridge.
But it might become very useful if we needed to climb.
Then Zambo tied his end of the rope to the bundle of supplies.
We pulled it across.
That gave us enough food and equipment to survive for at least a week, even if we found nothing else.
Zambo then climbed down again.
He brought up two more loads.
One contained ammunition.
The other contained various supplies.
We pulled everything across using the rope.
By the time he finally climbed back down, evening had arrived.
He promised once more that he would keep the Indians there until the following morning.
And that is how I have spent almost the entire first night on the plateau.
I have been writing this account by the light of a small lantern.
We ate dinner and made camp right beside the cliff edge.
To drink, we opened two bottles of Apollinaris water that we found among the supplies.
Finding fresh water is now our most urgent problem.
But even Lord John had experienced enough danger for one day.
None of us wanted to be the first to venture farther into the unknown at night.
We did not light a fire.
We made as little noise as possible.
Tomorrow—or rather, today, since dawn is already breaking—we will make our first real exploration of this strange land.
I do not know when I will be able to write again.
I do not even know whether I will ever write again.
For now, I can still see the Indians waiting below.
And I am certain that faithful Zambo will soon come to collect this letter.
I only hope it reaches civilization.
P.S.
The more I think about our situation, the worse it seems.
I cannot see any way back.
If there were a tall tree close to the edge of the plateau, we might be able to cut it down and create another bridge.
But there is no suitable tree within fifty yards.
None of us is strong enough to carry a trunk that far.
The rope is obviously far too short for us to lower ourselves back down the cliff.
No.
There is no escape.
We are trapped.
Completely trapped.