My head cleared a bit more as I shook it. Upon investigation I found that my back was to a large brass pipe that ran up to the submarine's curved roof, and that my hands were knotted securely behind me on the other side of the pipe. I experienced a brief flash of panic when I realised that the sword Excalibur was no longer strapped to my back. My fears were quickly assuaged, however, when I glanced about and saw the cloth-wrapped bundle, now sodden and stained from the underground ocean, lying a few feet away from me. The Morlocks had not troubled themselves to unwrap it to see what was inside.
The compartment in which I lay bound appeared to be the submarine's engine room. Several yards away was a maze of pipes and shafts, some covered with black grease, some glowing red with heat, all twisting and intertwined about the great cylindrical mass of the main boiler, from whose various gauges and apertures gouts of steam hissed out as though a covey of dragons had housed themselves in it. Long brass rods for the purpose of controlling the engine's valves and other parts were connected to the machinery by intricate systems of gears and chains, then led through metal rings on the ceiling toward the other end of the vessel.
At one time the submarine must have been a marvel of engineering such as no nation on the Earth's surface had ever possessed. Now, though, it was in a sorry state of neglect and abuse. The metal, where not covered with grease and dirt was all pitted and corroded. Several of the brass controlling rods were bent or stuck tight in the rusted metal rings that held them. The glass faces of the gauges on the engine were shattered or smeared over with grease, and the escaping steam from the engine fully indicated its leaky condition.
From all this, I surmised that the submarine was not originally the property of the Morlocks, that they had in fact come into possession of it by foul means, and were using it for their base purposes without thought of properly caring for it. Like most plunderers they took a general delight in seeing the goods of others degraded and trampled beneath their muddy boots.
To whom then had the submarine belonged? In the cunning of its mechanical design it was far advanced of anything produced above ground, yet as I studied it I noticed some curious anomalies. Various panels and corners of the machinery were decorated with engraved lines that formed the complex curved patterns employed by the ancient Celtic artisans of the British Isles' distant past! I had studied ancient artefacts, and considered myself something of an amateur archaeologist, and I easily recognised the intricate knot motifs and stylised designs – yet here they were not applied to brooches and dagger handles, but to a complicated technological device.
A puzzle, indeed. Surely no ancient Britons had ever had the knowledge or resources to build such a craft as this submarine. Who then had?
My mind's probing of this knot was interrupted by the sound of the Morlocks' voices. I heard them coming toward the chamber where I was bound, still arguing volubly among themselves. A group of them burst through the engine room's doorway and surrounded me where I sat tied to the brass pole.
I was a good deal more gently treated by them this time. One of them pulled me to my feet, untied my hands, pushed me away from the pole, then retied the knot behind me again. Their jabbering, excited debate continued as they pushed me through the door.
This was my first chance for a close observation of the enemies of Mankind. The pale, clammy skin of their faces and hands was even more loathsome up close than at a distance, and the white flaxen hair that ran from their brows down along their necks was an additional sepulchral note. One was reminded unnervingly of those stillborn foetuses kept in jars of spirits at medical colleges, with their dead, translucent flesh.
My captors were dressed in dark brown military uniforms with various symbols of rank sewn to their sleeves. Any semblance of command or respect for their officers was lost, though, as they shouted and struck each other on the chest and shoulders to reinforce their point with a mutual barbarity. Round lenses of dark blue glass covered their eyes, and if these glasses were jostled from their position on anyone Morlock's face, his great goggling eyes screwed up tight with pain from the submarine's illumination until they were once again covered.
Through the submarine's central corridor they hurried me forward until we arrived at the pilot chamber where all the overhead brass control rods terminated. Here they were connected to banks of levers and knobbed wheels that served to adjust the various workings of the engine. Other groups of brass rods ran off in other directions. These I assumed were to control the submarine's fins and other steering devices. A system of lenses and mirrors provided the means of observing what lay outside the hull from many different angles – this, I surmised, was how the Morlocks had detected me clinging to the exterior of their craft.
But the most astonishing thing contained in the pilot room was not part of the vessel's equipment at all. Slumped down at the base of the banks of controls was a crumpled, motionless body. Upon my entrance under guard into the chamber I at first took the figure to be a heap of discarded laundry, then a sleeping, drunk, or otherwise insensible Morlock. As my accompanying troop brought me near to it, I saw the upturned face and realised that it was in fact a dead human being.
The cause of the man's demise was quickly apparent. He had been shackled by one ankle to a heavy metal chain that was in turn fastened to the front of the controls. Through long, diligent effort the man had evidently managed to sharpen a link of the chain against the rough textured floor, until the link had acquired a cutting edge equal to that of a knife. He had then employed it on his wrists. The floor around the corpse was stained with his dried blood.
Another mystery – whence had come this human pilot who had preferred death to the continued guidance of the Morlocks' submarine? I had little time to ponder the question, though, as they roughly pushed me forward to the post where the corpse lay. With a maximum amount of jostling and arguing the Morlocks proceeded to unlock the metal circlet around the corpse's ankle, and transfer it to my leg.
So careless were they in not dragging away the body of their former pilot, and so fractious in their conduct toward each other, stopping every few seconds in the re-shackling process in order to hurl imprecations and minor blows against each other, that when they were done all they had managed to accomplish was to place the shackle back upon the dead man's ankle, believing it to be mine. Their handicapped eyesight prevented them from noticing their error, and naturally I did nothing to reveal the condition to them, even arranging my position next to the body so as to conceal the true state. Whatever the ensuing events were to be, I preferred to face them in as unhindered a fashion as possible.
The arguing and general disorder among my captors lessened, and a pair of the Morlocks whom I took to be the highest in rank, due to the abundant decorations and insignia upon their uniforms, fumed their vocalising to me. The whole race of them being of an excitable and unrestrained nature, similar to the natives of Southern Europe in contrast to the more restrained British, the two Morlock officers were so given to gestures of the hand and facial motions that I could nearly divine their meaning from pantomime alone. Beyond this, however, I found myself starting to be able to understand fragments of their speech. The language seemed to be a grossly degenerated sort of pidgin German with infusions of exotic Slav and Oriental tongues with which I was for the most part unfamiliar, all spoken with slobbering labial explosives and harsh guttural stops that sounded like the clearing of mucus from their throats. All in all, a barbaric mode of speech that well fit their bestial nature. Most of it was beyond my comprehension, but l was able to pick up enough to catch their meaning.