Diggers

The pick & shovel corps of Science toils far afield, probing the earth for traces of vanished animals, men and civilizations. Recent doings of the diggers:

Snefru Pyramid. In inexhaustible Egypt, a young architect named Abd Es Salam Hussein was poking into archeology with an architect's eye. Abd Es Salam was examining the 'blunted pyramid" of Danshur, 20 miles south of Cairo. Why did it look as if its top had been sat on? Most archeologists had thought that it was a primitive pyramid, built by Honi, last Pharaoh of the Third Dynasty, before the classic pyramid evolved.

Abd Es Salam thought differently. The blunted pyramid was full of cracks. What would an architect do, he reasoned, if a pyramid he was building began to crack? He would change the design, of course, to cut the total weight. This would produce an ungraceful, blunted top.

To prove his theory, Abd Es Salam, working with the Egyptian Department of Antiquities, rummaged in the chambers deep in the blunted pyramid. Under a floor he found a mud seal with the name of Pharaoh Snefru, of the Fourth Dynasty. It went a long way toward proving his theory, for Snefru lived after the completion of a perfect classic pyramid nearby. His own pyramid was probably intended to be bigger and higher. When the masonry began to crack, his architect (or the surviving assistant) probably thought of the blunted top design.

Abd Es Salam reasoned further. The dangerous shakiness of Snefru's snafued pyramid must have been known to contemporary Egyptians. Perhaps grave robbers had been extra-cautious in looting it, lest they be entombed with Snefru. They might even be so cautious as to miss some of his treasures. Last week, with 50 native workers, Abd Es Salam was trying to complete the job which, he hopes, ancient robbers did not have courage to finish. Somewhere in the vast pile of jittery, jackstraw masonry he hopes to find an unrobbed royal tomb, protected by an architect's error 5,000 years ago.

War of Nerves. Some archeologists do their most exciting work in a quiet room. One of these is Dr. Samuel N. Kramer of the University of Pennsylvania Museum. On a recent trip to Istanbul, he studied a broken clay tablet inscribed with mazy cuneiform writing by the ancient Sumerians of Mesopotamia. Under his knowing eyes, the scrawlings turned into an epic poem of ancient psychological warfare.

Some 5,000 years ago, Dr. Kramer's tablet told him, King Enmerkar of Erech (in southern Mesopotamia) wanted to take over the neighboring city of Aratta. First he demanded that the Lord of Aratta surrender. When his demand was refused, Enmerkar thundered threats until he chilled the Arattans with fears of a Mesopotamian blitzkrieg. When his victims were thoroughly frightened, he sent them gifts of food. "Oppressed of Aratta, arise," he suggested. "Throw out your ruler. You will avoid a war, and be happier under me." Enmerkar's war of nerves was successful. Aratta's government yielded without a battle.

Jungle Gods. The diplomatic approach has its uses for archeologists too. In 1945, Giles Greville Healey, archeologist for the United Fruit Co., struggled on foot and muleback into the ruin-haunted jungle of Mexico's state of Chiapas. His assignment: to study the Lacandon Indians, thought to be the last remnant of the fabulous Mayas. The Lacandones still speak a Maya dialect, but have relapsed into shy and gentle savagery.

Healey lived with the Lacandones in their remote jungles. Little by little he learned some of their secrets. The Mayan "Old Empire" of the region had fallen long ago; tropical vegetation covered its ruins. But the handful of Lacandones still worship in Mayan temples, keeping the old gods alive.

When the archeologist asked to join them in their temples, the Indians first refused; the gods might resent a stranger. Then they were reminded that the squash crop had been poor for several years. The stranger's visit could not make the gods' service much worse.

Archeologist Healey was led up a mysterious trail to a place called Bonampak, where eleven ancient temples lay hidden in the jungle. The biggest was called "El Tigre" (the mountain lion). When Healey entered its inner sanctum, a live mountain lion bounded out. This pleased the Lacandones; the temple's faithful guardian was on the job.

Bonampak was so big that Healey returned to civilization to get some help. Last winter United Fruit, in cooperation with the Carnegie Institution and the Mexican Government, sent a full-dress expedition to explore it.

Though not the most striking of Mayan "Old Empire" ruins, Bonampak is remarkably well preserved. Three stelae (record stones) have fallen on their faces, protecting their elaborate carvings from weather damage. Three intact inner rooms contain the most perfect specimens of Mayan fresco painting. In full color, Mayan kings, priests and warriors parade across the walls carrying umbrellas, waving fans, blowing horns and beating drums.

When the foreigners left Bonampak, the gentle Lacandones set fire to the huts the intruders had lived in. They hoped that a burnt offering would appease their gods.

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