CHAPTER XI

by Arthur Conan Doyle

"For once I was the Hero"

Lord John Roxton had a point when he suggested that the bite of those terrifying creatures might carry some sort of toxic quality. The morning after our first adventure on the plateau found both Summerlee and me in intense pain and fever, while Challenger could barely limp due to a severely bruised knee. We decided to stay at our camp all day, with Lord John working diligently, and with whatever help we could offer, to reinforce the thorny walls that served as our only protection.

Throughout that long day, I was plagued by the unsettling feeling that we were being watched, though I couldn’t tell by whom or from where. The sensation was so strong that I mentioned it to Professor Challenger, who dismissed it as a product of the fever-induced excitement in my mind. Time and again, I glanced around, convinced I would see something, but all I found was the dark tangle of our hedge and the solemn, shadowy gloom of the towering trees above us. Yet, the feeling only intensified; I couldn’t shake the sense that something malevolent was lurking nearby. I recalled the Indian superstition of the Curupuri—the terrifying spirit of the woods—and it felt as if that dreadful presence was haunting those who had intruded upon its most sacred and remote sanctuary.

That night, our third in Maple White Land, we experienced something that left a chilling mark on our minds, making us grateful for Lord John’s hard work in fortifying our retreat. We were all sleeping around our dying fire when we were jolted awake—more like shot out of our dreams—by a series of the most horrifying cries and screams I had ever heard. There was no sound I could compare to this terrifying cacophony, which seemed to come from just a few hundred yards away from our camp. It was as deafening as a train whistle, but while that sound is sharp and mechanical, this was deep and resonated with pure agony and horror. We clamped our hands over our ears, desperate to block out that nerve-wracking wail. A cold sweat broke out over my skin, and my heart sank at the sheer misery of it all. It felt as though all the suffering of tortured life, all its monumental grievances against the heavens, and its countless sorrows were concentrated into that one dreadful, anguished cry.

Amidst that high-pitched, piercing sound, there was another noise—intermittent, a low, throaty laugh, a growling chuckle that grotesquely accompanied the shriek. For three or four minutes, this terrifying duet continued, causing the foliage to rustle as startled birds took flight. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. We sat in horrified silence for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Lord John tossed a bundle of twigs onto the fire, and the flames flickered to life, casting a red glow over the tense faces of my companions and illuminating the massive branches above us.

“What was that?” I whispered.

“We’ll find out in the morning,” Lord John replied. “It was close—no more than the glade away.”

“We’ve just been privileged to witness a prehistoric tragedy, a drama that might have unfolded among the reeds by some Jurassic lagoon, where a great dragon pinned a lesser creature in the muck,” Challenger said, his voice more solemn than I had ever heard it. “It’s fortunate for humanity that we came late in the order of creation. There were forces at play in those earlier days that no amount of courage or technology could have faced. What could a sling, a throwing stick, or an arrow do against the kind of power we’ve encountered tonight? Even with a modern rifle, the odds would still favor the monster.”

“I’d back my little friend,” Lord John said, stroking his Express. “But that beast would definitely have a fair shot.”

Summerlee raised his hand.

“Wait!” he exclaimed. “I think I hear something.”

From the utter silence, a deep, steady pat-pat emerged. It was the sound of some animal—soft but heavy pads cautiously making their way across the ground. It crept slowly around our camp before stopping near our entrance. We could hear its low, sibilant breathing. Only our flimsy hedge stood between us and the horror of the night. Each of us grabbed our rifles, and Lord John pulled aside a small bush to create an opening in the hedge.

“By George!” he whispered. “I think I can see it!”

I bent down and looked over his shoulder through the gap. Yes, I could see it too. In the deep shadow of the tree, there was an even darker shadow, a crouching figure that radiated a wild energy and threat. It was no taller than a horse, but its vague outline hinted at immense size and strength. The hissing breath, steady and powerful like an engine’s exhaust, suggested a monstrous creature. As it shifted, I thought I caught a glimpse of two terrifying greenish eyes. There was an unsettling rustling, as if it were inching closer.

“I think it’s about to leap!” I said, raising my rifle.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Lord John whispered urgently. “The sound of a gun in this quiet night would echo for miles. Save it as a last resort.”

“If it gets over the hedge, we’re finished,” Summerlee said, his voice cracking into a nervous laugh.

“No, it can’t get over,” Lord John insisted. “But hold your fire until the very end. Maybe I can handle it. I’ll take the chance.”

It was one of the bravest things I had ever seen. He leaned toward the fire, grabbed a burning branch, and in an instant slipped through a gap he had made in our defenses. The creature moved forward with a terrifying snarl. Without hesitation, Lord John sprinted toward it, his steps light and quick, and thrust the flaming wood into the beast’s face. For a fleeting moment, I saw a grotesque mask resembling a giant toad, covered in warty, leprous skin, with a drooping mouth smeared with fresh blood. Then, there was a crash in the underbrush, and our horrifying visitor vanished.

“I knew it wouldn’t face the fire,” Lord John said, laughing as he returned and tossed the branch onto the pile of wood.

“You shouldn’t have taken such a risk!” we all exclaimed.

“There was no other choice,” he replied. “If it had gotten close, we would have ended up shooting each other trying to take it down. And if we had fired through the hedge and hit it, it would have been on us in no time—not to mention giving away our position. All things considered, I think we’re quite lucky. But what was it?”

Our scholars exchanged hesitant glances.

“Honestly, I can’t classify the creature with any certainty,” Summerlee said, lighting his pipe from the fire.

“In your reluctance to commit, you’re merely demonstrating a commendable scientific caution,” Challenger remarked, his tone condescending. “I’m not prepared to go beyond saying that we’ve almost certainly encountered some form of carnivorous dinosaur tonight. I had already suggested that something like this might exist on this plateau.”

“We must remember,” Summerlee added, “that there are many prehistoric forms that have never been discovered. It would be reckless to assume we can name everything we might encounter.”

“Exactly. A rough classification may be the best we can manage. Tomorrow, we might find more evidence to help us identify it. For now, we can only try to get some sleep,” Challenger said.

“But not without a watchman,” Lord John insisted firmly. “We can’t afford to take chances in a place like this. Two-hour shifts for each of us from now on.”

“I’ll finish my pipe and take the first watch,” Professor Summerlee said, and from that point on, we never let ourselves rest without someone on guard.

By morning, it didn’t take long for us to uncover the source of the horrifying noise that had disturbed us during the night. The iguanodon glade was the scene of a gruesome slaughter. From the pools of blood and the massive chunks of flesh scattered across the green grass, we initially thought multiple animals had been killed. But upon closer inspection, we realized that all this carnage came from one of those unwieldy creatures, which had been literally torn apart by something perhaps not larger, but far more ferocious.

Our two professors sat deep in discussion, examining piece after piece that bore the marks of savage teeth and enormous claws.

“Our judgment must remain tentative,” Professor Challenger said, a large slab of whitish flesh resting on his knee. “The evidence could suggest the presence of a saber-toothed tiger, like those still found in the breccia of our caves; but the creature we saw was undoubtedly larger and more reptilian. Personally, I would lean toward allosaurus.”

“Or megalosaurus,” Summerlee added.

“Exactly. Any of the larger carnivorous dinosaurs could fit the description. Among them are the most terrifying types of animal life that have ever plagued the earth or graced a museum.” He laughed heartily at his own joke, for although he lacked a sense of humor, even the simplest jest from his own lips always amused him to no end.

"The quieter we are, the better," Lord Roxton said sharply. "We have no idea who or what might be nearby. If that guy comes back for his breakfast and finds us here, we won't be laughing anymore. By the way, what’s that mark on the iguanodon's skin?"

On the dull, scaly, slate-colored hide, just above the shoulder, there was a strange black circle that looked like asphalt. None of us could figure out what it meant, though Summerlee thought he had seen something similar on one of the younger ones just two days ago. Challenger remained silent, looking pompous and puffed up, as if he had something to say but was holding back. Finally, Lord John directly asked for his opinion.

"If your lordship would kindly allow me to speak, I would be happy to share my thoughts," he replied with exaggerated sarcasm. "I’m not used to being reprimanded in the way your lordship seems to find acceptable. I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission to smile at a harmless joke."

It wasn’t until he received an apology that our sensitive friend calmed down. Once his ruffled feelings settled, he addressed us from his seat on a fallen tree, speaking as if he were delivering invaluable information to a large audience.

"Regarding the marking," he said, "I tend to agree with my colleague, Professor Summerlee, that these stains are indeed asphalt. Given that this plateau is inherently volcanic, and asphalt is a substance associated with Plutonic forces, I have no doubt that it exists in a liquid state here, and that the creatures may have come into contact with it.

A far more pressing issue is the existence of the carnivorous monster that has left its traces in this glade. We know that this plateau is roughly the size of an average English county. Within this limited space, a variety of creatures, mostly types that have disappeared from the world below, have coexisted for countless years. It seems clear to me that over such a long period, one would expect the carnivorous creatures, multiplying unchecked, to have depleted their food supply and either altered their eating habits or starved. Yet, this has not happened. Therefore, we can only speculate that some natural balance is maintaining the population of these ferocious creatures. One of the many intriguing questions we must explore is what that balance is and how it functions. I hope we will have the chance to study the carnivorous dinosaurs more closely in the future."

"And I hope we won't," I interjected.

The Professor merely raised his eyebrows, the way a schoolmaster might react to a mischievous student's irrelevant comment.

"Perhaps Professor Summerlee has something to add," he said, and the two scholars ascended into a rarefied scientific discussion, weighing the possibilities of birth-rate modifications against the decline of food supply as a check in the struggle for existence.

That morning, we mapped out a small section of the plateau, steering clear of the swamp of the pterodactyls and heading east of our brook instead of west. In that direction, the terrain was still densely wooded, with so much undergrowth that our progress was painfully slow.

I’ve focused on the dangers of Maple White Land so far, but there was another side to it. All morning, we wandered among beautiful flowers—mostly white or yellow, as our professors noted, these being the primitive flower colors. In many areas, the ground was completely covered with them, and as we walked ankle-deep on that wonderful, yielding carpet, the scent was almost intoxicating in its sweetness and intensity. The familiar English bee buzzed around us everywhere. Many of the trees we passed had branches weighed down with fruit, some of which were familiar while others were new. By observing which fruits the birds pecked at, we avoided any risk of poison and added a delicious variety to our food supply.

In the jungle we traversed, we noticed numerous well-trodden paths made by wild beasts, and in the marshy areas, we saw a plethora of strange footprints, including many from the iguanodon. Once, in a grove, we spotted several of these massive creatures grazing, and Lord John, using his binoculars, reported that they too were marked with asphalt, though in a different spot than the one we had examined earlier. What this phenomenon meant, we couldn't begin to guess.

We spotted a variety of small animals, including porcupines, a scaly anteater, and a wild pig with a patchy coat and long, curved tusks. At one point, we caught a glimpse of a green hill in the distance through a gap in the trees. A large, dun-colored creature was moving quickly across the landscape. It passed by so fast that we couldn’t identify it, but if it was indeed a deer, as Lord John suggested, it must have been as massive as the legendary Irish elk that still turn up in the bogs of my homeland.

Since the mysterious visit to our camp, we always returned with a sense of unease. However, this time, everything seemed to be in order.

That evening, we engaged in a serious discussion about our current situation and future plans, which I feel compelled to detail, as it led to a new approach that allowed us to gain a deeper understanding of Maple White Land than we could have achieved in weeks of exploration. Summerlee was the one to kick off the debate. He had been irritable all day, and a comment from Lord John about our plans for the next day finally pushed him over the edge.

“What we should be doing today, tomorrow, and all the time,” he said, “is figuring out how to escape this trap we’ve fallen into. You’re all focused on exploring this land, but I say we should be planning our exit.”

“I’m surprised, sir,” Challenger boomed, stroking his impressive beard, “that a man of science would express such an unworthy sentiment. You’re in a place that offers unparalleled opportunities for the ambitious naturalist, and you suggest leaving before we’ve even scratched the surface of its wonders. I expected more from you, Professor Summerlee.”

“You have to remember,” Summerlee replied sourly, “that I have a large class back in London who are currently at the mercy of a rather incompetent substitute. My situation is different from yours, Professor Challenger, since, as far as I know, you’ve never been responsible for any educational duties.”

“Quite right,” Challenger agreed. “I’ve always felt it would be a crime to divert a mind capable of groundbreaking research to any lesser task. That’s why I’ve resolutely turned down any academic positions offered to me.”

“For instance?” Summerlee sneered, but Lord John quickly steered the conversation in another direction.

“I have to say,” he interjected, “that I think it would be a terrible shame to return to London before I learn a lot more about this place than I currently do.”

“I could never face old McArdle back at my paper,” I admitted. “He’d never forgive me for leaving such untapped stories behind. Besides, it seems pointless to even discuss it since we can’t get down, even if we wanted to.”

“Our young friend compensates for his obvious gaps in knowledge with a fair amount of common sense,” Challenger remarked. “The concerns of his unfortunate profession don’t matter to us; but as he points out, we can’t leave anyway, so discussing it is just a waste of energy.”

“It’s a waste of energy to do anything else,” Summerlee grumbled from behind his pipe. “Let me remind you that we came here on a clear mission, assigned to us at the Zoological Institute meeting in London. That mission was to verify Professor Challenger’s claims. I must admit, we are now in a position to support those claims. Our primary work is therefore complete. As for the vast details that remain to be explored on this plateau, only a large expedition with specialized equipment could hope to tackle it. If we try to do it ourselves, the only outcome will be that we’ll never return with the significant contributions to science that we’ve already made. Professor Challenger found a way to get us onto this plateau when it seemed impossible; I believe we should now ask him to use the same ingenuity to get us back to the world we came from.”

I have to admit, as Summerlee laid out his argument, it struck me as entirely reasonable. Even Challenger seemed to consider that his critics would never be silenced if the proof of his claims never reached those who had doubted him.

"The challenge of getting down seemed daunting at first," he said, "but I truly believe our minds can figure it out. I agree with our colleague that staying in Maple White Land for too long isn’t wise, and we’ll need to think about how to get back soon. However, I refuse to leave until we’ve at least done a basic exploration of this land and can bring back some sort of map."

Professor Summerlee let out an impatient snort.

"We’ve spent two long days exploring," he said, "and we know no more about the geography of this place than we did when we arrived. It’s clear that it’s all densely forested, and it would take months to navigate through it and understand how the different areas relate to one another. If there were a central peak, it might be different, but everything seems to slope downward from what we can see. The farther we go, the less likely we are to get a clear view."

In that moment, inspiration struck me. My gaze fell upon the massive, gnarled trunk of the ginkgo tree that loomed over us. If its trunk was larger than any other, surely its height was impressive as well. If the edge of the plateau was indeed the highest point, then why couldn’t this giant tree serve as a lookout that offered a view of the entire area? Ever since I was a wild child in Ireland, I had been a confident and skilled tree climber. My friends might have been better on rocky terrain, but I knew I could conquer those branches. If I could just get my legs onto the lowest of the giant offshoots, it would be surprising if I couldn’t make my way to the top. My companions were excited by my idea.

"Our young friend," Challenger said, his cheeks puffing up like red apples, "is capable of acrobatic feats that would be impossible for a man of a more solid, though perhaps more imposing, stature. I commend his determination."

"By George, young fellow, you’ve hit the nail on the head!" Lord John exclaimed, clapping me on the back. "I can’t believe we didn’t think of it sooner! There’s not much daylight left, but if you take your notebook, you might be able to sketch out the area. If we stack these three ammunition cases under the branch, I’ll lift you up."

He stood on the boxes while I faced the trunk, and as he began to raise me, Challenger suddenly lunged forward and gave me such a push with his massive hand that I was practically launched into the tree. Gripping the branch with both arms, I scrambled with my feet until I managed to get my body and then my knees onto it. Above me were three sturdy offshoots, like giant rungs of a ladder, and a tangle of branches beyond that allowed me to climb higher. I moved quickly, soon losing sight of the ground and finding only foliage beneath me. Occasionally, I hit a snag, and once I had to shimmy up a vine for several feet, but I was making great progress, and the booming sound of Challenger’s voice felt far away beneath me.

The tree was enormous, and as I looked up, I could see no thinning of the leaves above. There was a thick, bushy clump that seemed to be a parasite on a branch I was climbing. I leaned around it to see what lay beyond, and I nearly lost my grip in shock and horror at what I saw.

A face was staring back at me—only a foot or two away. The creature had been crouched behind the parasite and had peeked around it just as I did. It was a human face—or at least it looked more human than any monkey I’d ever seen. It was long and pale, covered in blotches, with a flattened nose and a protruding jaw, surrounded by coarse whiskers. Its eyes, set beneath heavy brows, were wild and menacing, and as it opened its mouth to snarl what sounded like a curse, I noticed its sharp, curved canine teeth. For a brief moment, I saw hatred and threat in its fierce gaze. Then, in an instant, fear overtook it. There was a crash of breaking branches as it dove wildly into the green chaos below. I caught a glimpse of a hairy body, resembling that of a reddish pig, before it vanished in a flurry of leaves.

"What’s going on?" Roxton shouted from below. "Are you alright?"

"Did you see it?" I yelled, gripping the branch tightly, my nerves on edge.

"We heard a commotion, like you slipped. What happened?"

I was so shaken by the sudden and bizarre appearance of this ape-like creature that I considered climbing back down to share my experience with my friends. But I was already so high up in the tree that it felt like a defeat to return without completing my mission.

After taking a moment to catch my breath and gather my courage, I continued my climb. I stepped onto a decaying branch, which swung beneath me for a few seconds, but for the most part, the ascent was straightforward. Gradually, the leaves around me began to thin, and I felt the wind on my face, signaling that I had reached the top of the forest. I was determined not to look around until I reached the very highest point, so I pushed onward until I found myself on a branch that bent under my weight. Settling into a comfortable fork, I balanced myself securely and gazed down at the breathtaking panorama of this strange land we had stumbled upon.

The sun hung just above the western horizon, casting a bright and clear light over the evening. From this height, I could see the entire plateau spread out beneath me. It was oval-shaped, about thirty miles wide and twenty miles across. The land sloped gently down to a large lake at its center. This lake, perhaps ten miles around, shimmered in vibrant green hues under the evening light, surrounded by a thick fringe of reeds. Its surface was dotted with several yellow sandbanks that glowed golden in the warm sunlight.

I noticed several long, dark shapes resting on the edges of these sandy patches. They were too large to be alligators and too elongated for canoes. Through my binoculars, I could see they were alive, but I couldn't quite figure out what they were.

From the plateau where I stood, wooded slopes with occasional clearings stretched down for five or six miles to the central lake. Right at my feet was a glade inhabited by iguanodons, and further away, I spotted a circular opening in the trees that marked the swamp of the pterodactyls. However, the side of the plateau facing me presented a starkly different view. There, the basalt cliffs mirrored those on the outside, forming a steep escarpment about two hundred feet high, with a wooded slope below.

Along the base of these red cliffs, I could make out several dark openings through my binoculars, which I guessed were cave entrances. Something white shimmered at the mouth of one, but I couldn't make out what it was. I sat there, mapping the landscape until the sun set and darkness made it impossible to see any details. Then, I climbed down to my companions, who were eagerly waiting for me at the bottom of the great tree. For once, I felt like the hero of our expedition. I had conceived the idea and executed it alone, and now I held the map that would save us from a month of blindly navigating unknown dangers. Each of them shook my hand solemnly.

Before they could discuss the details of my map, I had to share my encounter with the ape-man in the branches.

"He’s been there all along," I said.

"How do you know that?" Lord John asked.

"Because I’ve always felt that something malevolent was watching us. I mentioned it to you, Professor Challenger."

"Our young friend did mention something like that," Challenger replied. "He’s also the one among us with that Celtic temperament, which makes him sensitive to such impressions."

"The whole theory of telepathy—" began Summerlee, filling his pipe.

"Is too vast to discuss right now," Challenger interrupted firmly. "Tell me," he added, adopting the tone of a bishop addressing a Sunday school, "did you happen to notice if the creature could cross its thumb over its palm?"

"No, I didn’t."

"Did it have a tail?"

"No."

"Was its foot prehensile?"

"I don’t think it could have moved so quickly among the branches if it couldn’t grip with its feet."

"In South America, if I remember correctly—Professor Summerlee, you can verify this—there are about thirty-six species of monkeys, but the anthropoid ape is not among them. It’s clear that he exists in this country, and he isn’t the hairy, gorilla-like type that’s only seen in Africa or the East." (I was tempted to mention that I had seen his close relative in Kensington.) "This one is a whiskered, colorless type, indicating that he spends his days hidden in the trees. The question we need to address is whether he’s more like an ape or a human. If it’s the latter, he could very well be what the public calls the 'missing link.' Solving this problem is our immediate responsibility."

"That’s not the case at all," Summerlee interjected sharply. "Now that, thanks to Mr. Malone’s intelligence and effort" (I couldn’t help but quote him), "we have our map, our only immediate duty is to get ourselves safely out of this dreadful place."

"The comforts of civilization," Challenger groaned.

"The ink-pots of civilization, my friend. It’s our job to document what we’ve seen and leave the further exploration to others. You all agreed to this before Mr. Malone got us the chart."

"Well," Challenger replied, "I’ll feel much better once I know that the results of our expedition have been communicated to our friends. As for how we’re going to get down from this place, I haven’t the slightest idea. But I’ve never faced a problem that my inventive mind couldn’t solve, and I promise you that tomorrow I’ll focus on figuring out our descent." With that, the conversation came to a close.

That evening, by the flickering firelight and the glow of a single candle, we began to create the first map of the lost world. Every detail I had hastily noted from my lookout was carefully drawn in its proper place. Challenger’s pencil hovered over the large empty space that marked the lake.

"What shall we call it?" he asked.

"Why not use this opportunity to immortalize your own name?" Summerlee replied, his usual sarcasm evident.

"I trust, sir, that my name will have more significant claims to posterity," Challenger retorted sternly. "Anyone can leave behind a meaningless legacy by naming a mountain or a river after themselves. I don’t need such a monument."

Summerlee, with a wry smile, was about to launch another jab when Lord John quickly stepped in.

"It’s up to you, young fellow, to name the lake," he said. "You saw it first, and by George, if you want to call it 'Lake Malone,' no one has a better right."

"Absolutely. Let our young friend name it," Challenger agreed.

"Then," I said, blushing, "let’s call it Lake Gladys."

"Don’t you think 'Central Lake' would be more fitting?" Summerlee suggested.

"I’d prefer Lake Gladys."

Challenger looked at me with understanding and shook his head in playful disapproval. "Boys will be boys," he said. "Lake Gladys it is."