The Mountains Of Madness
CHAPTER X (Part 1)
Many people would probably judge us as heartless and also crazy for thinking about the northern tunnels and ravines so quickly after our grim discovery, and I'm not ready to say that we will immediately revive such thoughts but for certain circumstances that break out on us and make a whole new train of speculation. We had replaced the tarp over poor Gedney and stood in a kind of mute confusion when the sounds finally reached our consciousness — of the first sounds we heard since coming down from the open where the mountain wind whimpered faintly from an unnatural height. Though known and ordinary, yet, their presence in this remote world of death is more unexpected and appalling than any strange or amazing tone — as they give new disappointment to all our ideas of cosmic harmony.
Had there been a trail of strange music that enveloped the wide range that Lake's surgical report makes us wish on the other — and which, indeed, were, our exaggerated fantasies have read every wind sound we hear since coming from the horrors of the — camp it will have a kind of hellish suitability to the dead-aeon area around us. A voice from another age was included in the graves of another age. But, as it were, like, the sound destroyed all the adjustments we made in the — seats all of our tacit acceptance of deep Antarctica as a waste completely irrevocable from any rest of normal life like a sterile moon disc. What we heard was not the overwhelming tone of the blasphemy committed by the elder on earth whose incredible fortitude and epoch-denied polar sun had evoked a terrible response. Instead, it was a very normal thing and was so familiarized by our sea days in Victoria Land and our camp days in McMurdo Sound that we were horrified to think about it here, where things like that shouldn't happen. In short — it is just a raucous penguin sound.
The muffled sound drifted from the sub-glacial niche that was almost opposite the corridor where we came — areas that markedly lead to another tunnel towards the deep abyss. The presence of a waterbird living in such a direction — in a world whose surface is long-lived and lifeless uniform — can only yield one conclusion; then our first thought is to verify the objective reality of the voice. It was, indeed, repeated; and it seemed to sometimes originate from more than one throat. Looking for the source, we entered a gate where a lot of debris had been cleared; continue our trail of fire — with additional paper supply taken with a strange sense of disgust from one of the tarpaulin packs on the sled — when we leave during the day.
When the arid floor made room for the detritus splinters, we clearly saw some interesting paths; and so Danforth found the prints different from the kind whose descriptions were too exaggerated. The path indicated by the penguin's shout is exactly as determined by our map and compass as the approach to the mouth-tunnel is more northern, the, and we were happy to find that the highway without the bridge on the ground and the basement floor looked open. The tunnel, according to the chart, should start from the basement of a large pyramidal structure that we seem to vaguely remember from our earth survey as it is so well-preserved. Along our way, a single torch shows the abundance of the usual carvings, but we didn't stop to check all of this.
When we followed the thing into the archway and turned our two torches on the group of three who were indifferent and uncaring, we saw that they were all albinos with no eyes from the same unknown species and giants. Their size is reminiscent of some ancient penguins depicted in Old Ones sculptures, and it did not take long for us to conclude that they were descended from the same stock — undoubtedly survived through retreats to warmer inner regions whose blackness was constantly crushing pigmentation of them and stop the growth of their eyes into useless cracks. That their current habitat is the vast abyss we seek, is not a moment in doubt; and evidence of the continued warmth of the bay and habitability fills us with the most bizarre and rather disturbing fantasies.
We also wondered what caused these three birds to break out of their usual territory. The circumstances and silence of the great dead city make it clear that it has never been a regular seasonal scene, while the apparent indifference of the three towards our presence made it seem strange that any group passing by from the others should surprise them. Could it be that others are taking aggressive actions or trying to increase their meat supply? We doubt whether the pungent odors that the dogs hate can cause the same antipathy in these penguins; because their ancestors clearly lived in excellent relationships with the Old People — a friendly relationship that definitely lingered in the abyss below as long as the old one remained. Regret — in the blaze of the old spirit of pure science — that we can not photograph these strange creatures, the, we immediately left them in a tipping place and pushed towards the abyss whose openness is now positively evident to us, and whose direction is sometimes precisely made clear penguin tracks.