The valley of the Vézère was a thick rock-bed, through which the river had—in remote ages—carved a deep channel with almost vertical sides. In time, the course of the stream became diverted at intervals throughout its length. In places the limestone walls fell in or weathered away, leaving broad rock-floors only a few feet above the normal level of the stream. During the melting and rainy seasons, these low areas were subject to intermittent flooding as the Vézère overflowed its banks. This irrigation, further aided by deposition of silt or river mud, gradually transformed the bare rock-floors into fertile meadows, covered—even during the cold season—with fresh, sweet grass.

On the western side of the Vézère River, several miles above its junction with the Dordogne, one of these low, grass-covered areas extended some three miles inland, then terminated abruptly in lofty limestone cliffs. The latter marked the valley border, a step from river lowland to high plateau. A northwestern tributary of the Vézère formed the meadow’s northern boundary.

[179]

This broad lowland was a region much frequented by Mousterian Cave-men, particularly that portion of it lying directly beneath the limestone cliffs. In one place, the massive rock-wall was deeply undercut so that the cliff-face rose not straight upward, but inclined outward, thereby forming an overhanging shelf or canopy protecting the ground directly under it.

Such was the Ferrassie Rock-shelter, summer home and metropolis of the Vézère Cave-folk. It was a human habitation, an open-air camp where men gathered each spring to enjoy the bright, warm sunlight after a winter season of confinement in damp and gloomy caves.

Close to the base of the cliffs and shielded from wind and rain by the overhanging rock, burned a great fire of dead branches and unhewn logs. The smoke therefrom curled outward and upward, clinging closely to the shelving wall. The latter served as a broad chimney enclosed only on one side. The wall was stained greasy black, changing to grey with increased height, indicating that the smoke had followed the same course for an extended period of time.

Arranged in a semi-circle about the fire and with their feet almost in the hot ashes, squatted ten or more grizzled men and women. All sat silent and motionless, gazing into the smoke-wreaths which[180] curled up the overhanging wall. They stared with dull, unseeing eyes, for their minds had grown callous with sorrow and suffering. For them, the joys of life had passed. They were beings, prematurely aged who should have been but in their prime. Their bodies were little more than skin and bone—skeletons clothed in hairy hide, and their faces were stamped with the symbol of death—a dark patch in each hollow parchment cheek. Each drawn face and emaciated body bore the unmistakable signs of famine and disease—hunger-marks—which made those who wore them, hideous in face and form.

On the outside of the group squatting about the fire and beyond the cliff overhang, six or seven younger people, all women, sat, reclined or lay full length about a limestone block. This block lay deeply embedded in the soil. Its exposed part formed a table with a level top about one foot high and a square yard in area. Its surface was scratched and worn. It was a butcher-block where the Cave-men were wont to dismember venison, beef or other game for convenience of handling before subjecting the raw chunks to fire treatment. It served also as an anvil where unusually tough flesh of aged buck, steer or other antiquary could be hammered and softened when no better offered. Lastly, the limb bones could be laid upon the flat stone surface and split open, thereby exposing the marrow within.[181] Cave-men were ever partial to marrow bones and so the butcher-block bore the marks of long hard usage.

It was immaculate, smooth and polished as though freshly scrubbed, a surprising condition considering that cave-men were none too particular as regards their personal habits. But necessity rather than scruple had driven these hungry folk to seek out and consume every scrap of fat or flesh even to the last dried shred. The surface of the butcher-block was licked, gnawed, bitten until no trace of refuse remained, not even the grease veneer nor inlay of brown dried blood.

Now that spring has come at last, the Cave-folk had crawled from their holes to gather hope and strength from the fresh air and the sun’s warm rays. Through the long dreary winter they had remained underground, venturing forth at rare intervals to replenish their diminishing food-supply. Half clad in hide wrappings and with fires continually burning near the entrance of their dwellings, they had huddled together awaiting the return of mild weather which many would never see again. And finally from the rock-holes where they had so long lain, ghostly relics of once powerful men and women had crawled to gaze again upon the sun and feel its warmth beneath the Ferrassie cliffs. The warriors staggered out to the meadows and sought[182] their next meal with ax, dart and throwing-stone, leaving the old people and women behind to await the fruits of the first hunting.

A laughing bark sounded from the outskirts of the camp. Wolves and hyenas prowled where bones and scraps of meat were frequently cast out as refuse or where bodies of men were conveniently placed to be cared for by these ghoulish undertakers, after the fashion of Mousterian funerals.

The bark—a mere nothing in itself—signalled the approach of a band of figures coming across the meadows. The figures were those of men, bearing darts and flint-axes in their hands. In a moment, they were espied by the women who leaped to their feet dancing and shouting: “Here they come! The hunters are returning. What do they bring with them to fill our stomachs?” Those about the fire left their comfortable positions to join in welcoming the newcomers and all hobbled forth, a procession of living skeletons to meet those who stood between them and starvation.

As they glanced wildly from man to man and saw no trace of beef or venison, they gave vent to their bitter disappointment in loud wails—the cries of hunger unappeased. The hunters had returned empty-handed. One of the women, a scrawny old hag, whose eyes protruded with the stare of madness, pushed her way into the group of men, examining[183] each one closely to assure herself that none bore food of any kind. From the way all made room and the rude deference shown her, it was evident that she was a privileged character—a creature who inspired the Cave-men’s awe. The burly Mousterian leader sought to avoid her but she stood in his path and blocked the way.

“No meat?” she whined. “No beef; no venison; not even a rabbit or squirrel?”

The chieftain only shook his head and growled. The old woman was about to make a sneering remark when she caught sight of a figure in the center of the group—a young man of bold mien and powerful build. His hands were held behind him but he bore no weapons. The hag singled him out, elbowing her way through the throng until she stood before him.

“Whom have we here?” she demanded. “Where can men live and keep themselves so well-fed and strong? Does he come to tell us of the good hunting that has put such meat upon his bones?”

“That meat will soon come off,” the chieftain grunted. “Your eyes grow dull, mother or you would remember your good friends. Look closer and see if he does not resemble one of our young men—one who fancies the beasts more than ourselves. He has changed much in several seasons but[184] we, who once knew him, were quick to recognize him.”

“The Ape Boy!” cried the old hag. “I did not know him at first! he has grown so big and strong.” At that moment she perceived the thong which bound the captive’s wrists. Her features assumed an expression of savage cunning. She leered in his face, even as she rubbed one hand upon the other and chuckled to herself:

“And so my young men have not returned empty-handed, after all. I had hoped for beef or venison, but I see that they have done even better. Now we can fill our empty stomachs and cheat the hyenas that howl about us.”

“A welcome change from bugs and willow-bark,” said one of the hunters. “Plump and round he is, like a raccoon stuffed with winter fat.”

“Good; very good,” chuckled the old witch. “A present for your dear old mother, eh? Too long have I lain in your filthy cave with nothing but cold air to stir my stomach. But you shall all share alike and I ask nothing—nothing but the heart all warm and bleeding. Quick, bring him to the butcher-block so that he may be dressed and served without delay.”

“What, and bring the lions down upon us?” cried a voice.

All turned towards the speaker, a young woman[185] who had suddenly appeared from behind a bend in the cliff wall. She was gazing curiously at the prisoner. “You know the rule as well as I,” she said boldly even as the old hag glowered savagely upon her.