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diff --git a/4366-h/4366-h.htm b/4366-h/4366-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d90cec --- /dev/null +++ b/4366-h/4366-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7094 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + Can Such Things Be?, by Ambrose Bierce—A Project Gutenberg eBook + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + body {background-color: #ffffc0; } + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Can Such Things Be?, by Ambrose Bierce</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Can Such Things Be?</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Ambrose Bierce</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 14, 2019 [eBook #4366]<br /> +[This file was first posted on January 17, 2002]<br /> +[Most recently updated: March 29, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org from the 1918 Boni and Liveright edition</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAN SUCH THINGS BE? ***</div> + +<h1>CAN SUCH<br /> +THINGS BE?</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +AMBROSE BIERCE</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic labelled B L" +title= +"Decorative graphic labelled B L" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">BONI & LIVERIGHT<br /> +NEW YORK 1918</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1909, <span +class="smcap">by</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Neale Publishing Company</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Death of Halpin Frayser</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Secret of Macarger’s +Gulch</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">One Summer Night</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Moonlit Road</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page62">62</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Diagnosis of Death</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Moxon’s Master</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page88">88</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Tough Tussle</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">One of Twins</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Haunted Valley</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Jug of Sirup</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page155">155</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Staley Fleming’s +hallucination</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page169">169</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Resumed Identity</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page174">174</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Baby Tramp</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page185">185</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Night-doings at</span> +“<span class="smcap">Deadman’s</span>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page194">194</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Beyond the Wall</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page210">210</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Psychological Shipwreck</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page227">227</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Middle Toe of the Right +Foot</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page235">235</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">John Mortonson’s +Funeral</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page252">252</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Realm of the Unreal</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page255">255</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">John Bartine’s Watch</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page268">268</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Damned Thing</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page280">280</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Haïta the Shepherd</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page297">297</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An Inhabitant of Carcosa</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page308">308</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Stranger</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page315">315</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>THE +DEATH OF HALPIN FRAYSER</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<blockquote><p>For by death is wrought greater change than hath +been shown. Whereas in general the spirit that removed +cometh back upon occasion, and is sometimes seen of those in +flesh (appearing in the form of the body it bore) yet it hath +happened that the veritable body without the spirit hath +walked. And it is attested of those encountering who have +lived to speak thereon that a lich so raised up hath no natural +affection, nor remembrance thereof, but only hate. Also, it +is known that some spirits which in life were benign become by +death evil altogether.—<i>Hali</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> dark night in midsummer a man +waking from a dreamless sleep in a forest lifted his head from +the earth, and staring a few moments into the blackness, said: +“Catherine Larue.” He said nothing more; no +reason was known to him why he should have said so much.</p> +<p>The man was Halpin Frayser. He lived in St. Helena, but +where he lives now is uncertain, for he is dead. One who +practices sleeping in the woods with nothing under him but the +dry leaves and the damp earth, and nothing over him but the +branches from which the leaves have fallen and the sky from which +the earth has fallen, cannot hope for great longevity, and +Frayser had already attained the age of thirty-two. There +are persons in this world, millions of persons, and far and away +the best persons, who regard that as a very advanced age. +They are the children. To those who view the voyage of life +from the port of departure the bark that has accomplished any +considerable distance appears already in close approach to the +farther shore. However, it is not certain that Halpin +Frayser came to his death by exposure.</p> +<p>He had been all day in the hills west of the Napa Valley, +looking for doves and such small game as was in season. +Late in the afternoon it had come on to be cloudy, and he had +lost his bearings; and although he had only to go always +downhill—everywhere the way to safety when one is +lost—the absence of trails had so impeded him that he was +overtaken by night while still in the forest. Unable in the +darkness to penetrate the thickets of manzanita and other +undergrowth, utterly bewildered and overcome with fatigue, he had +lain down near the root of a large madroño and fallen into +a dreamless sleep. It was hours later, in the very middle +of the night, that one of God’s mysterious messengers, +gliding ahead of the incalculable host of his companions sweeping +westward with the dawn line, pronounced the awakening word in the +ear of the sleeper, who sat upright and spoke, he knew not why, a +name, he knew not whose.</p> +<p>Halpin Frayser was not much of a philosopher, nor a +scientist. The circumstance that, waking from a deep sleep +at night in the midst of a forest, he had spoken aloud a name +that he had not in memory and hardly had in mind did not arouse +an enlightened curiosity to investigate the phenomenon. He +thought it odd, and with a little perfunctory shiver, as if in +deference to a seasonal presumption that the night was chill, he +lay down again and went to sleep. But his sleep was no +longer dreamless.</p> +<p>He thought he was walking along a dusty road that showed white +in the gathering darkness of a summer night. Whence and +whither it led, and why he traveled it, he did not know, though +all seemed simple and natural, as is the way in dreams; for in +the Land Beyond the Bed surprises cease from troubling and the +judgment is at rest. Soon he came to a parting of the ways; +leading from the highway was a road less traveled, having the +appearance, indeed, of having been long abandoned, because, he +thought, it led to something evil; yet he turned into it without +hesitation, impelled by some imperious necessity.</p> +<p>As he pressed forward he became conscious that his way was +haunted by invisible existences whom he could not definitely +figure to his mind. From among the trees on either side he +caught broken and incoherent whispers in a strange tongue which +yet he partly understood. They seemed to him fragmentary +utterances of a monstrous conspiracy against his body and +soul.</p> +<p>It was now long after nightfall, yet the interminable forest +through which he journeyed was lit with a wan glimmer having no +point of diffusion, for in its mysterious lumination nothing cast +a shadow. A shallow pool in the guttered depression of an +old wheel rut, as from a recent rain, met his eye with a crimson +gleam. He stooped and plunged his hand into it. It +stained his fingers; it was blood! Blood, he then observed, +was about him everywhere. The weeds growing rankly by the +roadside showed it in blots and splashes on their big, broad +leaves. Patches of dry dust between the wheelways were +pitted and spattered as with a red rain. Defiling the +trunks of the trees were broad maculations of crimson, and blood +dripped like dew from their foliage.</p> +<p>All this he observed with a terror which seemed not +incompatible with the fulfillment of a natural expectation. +It seemed to him that it was all in expiation of some crime +which, though conscious of his guilt, he could not rightly +remember. To the menaces and mysteries of his surroundings +the consciousness was an added horror. Vainly he sought by +tracing life backward in memory, to reproduce the moment of his +sin; scenes and incidents came crowding tumultuously into his +mind, one picture effacing another, or commingling with it in +confusion and obscurity, but nowhere could he catch a glimpse of +what he sought. The failure augmented his terror; he felt +as one who has murdered in the dark, not knowing whom nor +why. So frightful was the situation—the mysterious +light burned with so silent and awful a menace; the noxious +plants, the trees that by common consent are invested with a +melancholy or baleful character, so openly in his sight conspired +against his peace; from overhead and all about came so audible +and startling whispers and the sighs of creatures so obviously +not of earth—that he could endure it no longer, and with a +great effort to break some malign spell that bound his faculties +to silence and inaction, he shouted with the full strength of his +lungs! His voice broken, it seemed, into an infinite +multitude of unfamiliar sounds, went babbling and stammering away +into the distant reaches of the forest, died into silence, and +all was as before. But he had made a beginning at +resistance and was encouraged. He said:</p> +<p>“I will not submit unheard. There may be powers +that are not malignant traveling this accursed road. I +shall leave them a record and an appeal. I shall relate my +wrongs, the persecutions that I endure—I, a helpless +mortal, a penitent, an unoffending poet!” Halpin +Frayser was a poet only as he was a penitent: in his dream.</p> +<p>Taking from his clothing a small red-leather pocketbook, +one-half of which was leaved for memoranda, he discovered that he +was without a pencil. He broke a twig from a bush, dipped +it into a pool of blood and wrote rapidly. He had hardly +touched the paper with the point of his twig when a low, wild +peal of laughter broke out at a measureless distance away, and +growing ever louder, seemed approaching ever nearer; a soulless, +heartless, and unjoyous laugh, like that of the loon, solitary by +the lakeside at midnight; a laugh which culminated in an +unearthly shout close at hand, then died away by slow gradations, +as if the accursed being that uttered it had withdrawn over the +verge of the world whence it had come. But the man felt +that this was not so—that it was near by and had not +moved.</p> +<p>A strange sensation began slowly to take possession of his +body and his mind. He could not have said which, if any, of +his senses was affected; he felt it rather as a +consciousness—a mysterious mental assurance of some +overpowering presence—some supernatural malevolence +different in kind from the invisible existences that swarmed +about him, and superior to them in power. He knew that it +had uttered that hideous laugh. And now it seemed to be +approaching him; from what direction he did not know—dared +not conjecture. All his former fears were forgotten or +merged in the gigantic terror that now held him in thrall. +Apart from that, he had but one thought: to complete his written +appeal to the benign powers who, traversing the haunted wood, +might some time rescue him if he should be denied the blessing of +annihilation. He wrote with terrible rapidity, the twig in +his fingers rilling blood without renewal; but in the middle of a +sentence his hands denied their service to his will, his arms +fell to his sides, the book to the earth; and powerless to move +or cry out, he found himself staring into the sharply drawn face +and blank, dead eyes of his own mother, standing white and silent +in the garments of the grave!</p> +<h3><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>II</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> his youth Halpin Frayser had +lived with his parents in Nashville, Tennessee. The +Fraysers were well-to-do, having a good position in such society +as had survived the wreck wrought by civil war. Their +children had the social and educational opportunities of their +time and place, and had responded to good associations and +instruction with agreeable manners and cultivated minds. +Halpin being the youngest and not over robust was perhaps a +trifle “spoiled.” He had the double +disadvantage of a mother’s assiduity and a father’s +neglect. Frayser père was what no Southern man of +means is not—a politician. His country, or rather his +section and State, made demands upon his time and attention so +exacting that to those of his family he was compelled to turn an +ear partly deafened by the thunder of the political captains and +the shouting, his own included.</p> +<p>Young Halpin was of a dreamy, indolent and rather romantic +turn, somewhat more addicted to literature than law, the +profession to which he was bred. Among those of his +relations who professed the modern faith of heredity it was well +understood that in him the character of the late Myron Bayne, a +maternal great-grandfather, had revisited the glimpses of the +moon—by which orb Bayne had in his lifetime been +sufficiently affected to be a poet of no small Colonial +distinction. If not specially observed, it was observable +that while a Frayser who was not the proud possessor of a +sumptuous copy of the ancestral “poetical works” +(printed at the family expense, and long ago withdrawn from an +inhospitable market) was a rare Frayser indeed, there was an +illogical indisposition to honor the great deceased in the person +of his spiritual successor. Halpin was pretty generally +deprecated as an intellectual black sheep who was likely at any +moment to disgrace the flock by bleating in meter. The +Tennessee Fraysers were a practical folk—not practical in +the popular sense of devotion to sordid pursuits, but having a +robust contempt for any qualities unfitting a man for the +wholesome vocation of politics.</p> +<p>In justice to young Halpin it should be said that while in him +were pretty faithfully reproduced most of the mental and moral +characteristics ascribed by history and family tradition to the +famous Colonial bard, his succession to the gift and faculty +divine was purely inferential. Not only had he never been +known to court the muse, but in truth he could not have written +correctly a line of verse to save himself from the Killer of the +Wise. Still, there was no knowing when the dormant faculty +might wake and smite the lyre.</p> +<p>In the meantime the young man was rather a loose fish, +anyhow. Between him and his mother was the most perfect +sympathy, for secretly the lady was herself a devout disciple of +the late and great Myron Bayne, though with the tact so generally +and justly admired in her sex (despite the hardy calumniators who +insist that it is essentially the same thing as cunning) she had +always taken care to conceal her weakness from all eyes but those +of him who shared it. Their common guilt in respect of that +was an added tie between them. If in Halpin’s youth +his mother had “spoiled” him, he had assuredly done +his part toward being spoiled. As he grew to such manhood +as is attainable by a Southerner who does not care which way +elections go the attachment between him and his beautiful +mother—whom from early childhood he had called +Katy—became yearly stronger and more tender. In these +two romantic natures was manifest in a signal way that neglected +phenomenon, the dominance of the sexual element in all the +relations of life, strengthening, softening, and beautifying even +those of consanguinity. The two were nearly inseparable, +and by strangers observing their manner were not infrequently +mistaken for lovers.</p> +<p>Entering his mother’s boudoir one day Halpin Frayser +kissed her upon the forehead, toyed for a moment with a lock of +her dark hair which had escaped from its confining pins, and +said, with an obvious effort at calmness:</p> +<p>“Would you greatly mind, Katy, if I were called away to +California for a few weeks?”</p> +<p>It was hardly needful for Katy to answer with her lips a +question to which her telltale cheeks had made instant +reply. Evidently she would greatly mind; and the tears, +too, sprang into her large brown eyes as corroborative +testimony.</p> +<p>“Ah, my son,” she said, looking up into his face +with infinite tenderness, “I should have known that this +was coming. Did I not lie awake a half of the night weeping +because, during the other half, Grandfather Bayne had come to me +in a dream, and standing by his portrait—young, too, and +handsome as that—pointed to yours on the same wall? +And when I looked it seemed that I could not see the features; +you had been painted with a face cloth, such as we put upon the +dead. Your father has laughed at me, but you and I, dear, +know that such things are not for nothing. And I saw below +the edge of the cloth the marks of hands on your +throat—forgive me, but we have not been used to keep such +things from each other. Perhaps you have another +interpretation. Perhaps it does not mean that you will go +to California. Or maybe you will take me with +you?”</p> +<p>It must be confessed that this ingenious interpretation of the +dream in the light of newly discovered evidence did not wholly +commend itself to the son’s more logical mind; he had, for +the moment at least, a conviction that it foreshadowed a more +simple and immediate, if less tragic, disaster than a visit to +the Pacific Coast. It was Halpin Frayser’s impression +that he was to be garroted on his native heath.</p> +<p>“Are there not medicinal springs in California?” +Mrs. Frayser resumed before he had time to give her the true +reading of the dream—“places where one recovers from +rheumatism and neuralgia? Look—my fingers feel so +stiff; and I am almost sure they have been giving me great pain +while I slept.”</p> +<p>She held out her hands for his inspection. What +diagnosis of her case the young man may have thought it best to +conceal with a smile the historian is unable to state, but for +himself he feels bound to say that fingers looking less stiff, +and showing fewer evidences of even insensible pain, have seldom +been submitted for medical inspection by even the fairest patient +desiring a prescription of unfamiliar scenes.</p> +<p>The outcome of it was that of these two odd persons having +equally odd notions of duty, the one went to California, as the +interest of his client required, and the other remained at home +in compliance with a wish that her husband was scarcely conscious +of entertaining.</p> +<p>While in San Francisco Halpin Frayser was walking one dark +night along the water front of the city, when, with a suddenness +that surprised and disconcerted him, he became a sailor. He +was in fact “shanghaied” aboard a gallant, gallant +ship, and sailed for a far countree. Nor did his +misfortunes end with the voyage; for the ship was cast ashore on +an island of the South Pacific, and it was six years afterward +when the survivors were taken off by a venturesome trading +schooner and brought back to San Francisco.</p> +<p>Though poor in purse, Frayser was no less proud in spirit than +he had been in the years that seemed ages and ages ago. He +would accept no assistance from strangers, and it was while +living with a fellow survivor near the town of St. Helena, +awaiting news and remittances from home, that he had gone gunning +and dreaming.</p> +<h3><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>III</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> apparition confronting the +dreamer in the haunted wood—the thing so like, yet so +unlike his mother—was horrible! It stirred no love +nor longing in his heart; it came unattended with pleasant +memories of a golden past—inspired no sentiment of any +kind; all the finer emotions were swallowed up in fear. He +tried to turn and run from before it, but his legs were as lead; +he was unable to lift his feet from the ground. His arms +hung helpless at his sides; of his eyes only he retained control, +and these he dared not remove from the lusterless orbs of the +apparition, which he knew was not a soul without a body, but that +most dreadful of all existences infesting that haunted +wood—a body without a soul! In its blank stare was +neither love, nor pity, nor intelligence—nothing to which +to address an appeal for mercy. “An appeal will not +lie,” he thought, with an absurd reversion to professional +slang, making the situation more horrible, as the fire of a cigar +might light up a tomb.</p> +<p>For a time, which seemed so long that the world grew gray with +age and sin, and the haunted forest, having fulfilled its purpose +in this monstrous culmination of its terrors, vanished out of his +consciousness with all its sights and sounds, the apparition +stood within a pace, regarding him with the mindless malevolence +of a wild brute; then thrust its hands forward and sprang upon +him with appalling ferocity! The act released his physical +energies without unfettering his will; his mind was still +spellbound, but his powerful body and agile limbs, endowed with a +blind, insensate life of their own, resisted stoutly and +well. For an instant he seemed to see this unnatural +contest between a dead intelligence and a breathing mechanism +only as a spectator—such fancies are in dreams; then he +regained his identity almost as if by a leap forward into his +body, and the straining automaton had a directing will as alert +and fierce as that of its hideous antagonist.</p> +<p>But what mortal can cope with a creature of his dream? +The imagination creating the enemy is already vanquished; the +combat’s result is the combat’s cause. Despite +his struggles—despite his strength and activity, which +seemed wasted in a void, he felt the cold fingers close upon his +throat. Borne backward to the earth, he saw above him the +dead and drawn face within a hand’s breadth of his own, and +then all was black. A sound as of the beating of distant +drums—a murmur of swarming voices, a sharp, far cry signing +all to silence, and Halpin Frayser dreamed that he was dead.</p> +<h3><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>IV</h3> +<p>A <span class="smcap">warm</span>, clear night had been +followed by a morning of drenching fog. At about the middle +of the afternoon of the preceding day a little whiff of light +vapor—a mere thickening of the atmosphere, the ghost of a +cloud—had been observed clinging to the western side of +Mount St. Helena, away up along the barren altitudes near the +summit. It was so thin, so diaphanous, so like a fancy made +visible, that one would have said: “Look quickly! in a +moment it will be gone.”</p> +<p>In a moment it was visibly larger and denser. While with +one edge it clung to the mountain, with the other it reached +farther and farther out into the air above the lower +slopes. At the same time it extended itself to north and +south, joining small patches of mist that appeared to come out of +the mountainside on exactly the same level, with an intelligent +design to be absorbed. And so it grew and grew until the +summit was shut out of view from the valley, and over the valley +itself was an ever-extending canopy, opaque and gray. At +Calistoga, which lies near the head of the valley and the foot of +the mountain, there were a starless night and a sunless +morning. The fog, sinking into the valley, had reached +southward, swallowing up ranch after ranch, until it had blotted +out the town of St. Helena, nine miles away. The dust in +the road was laid; trees were adrip with moisture; birds sat +silent in their coverts; the morning light was wan and ghastly, +with neither color nor fire.</p> +<p>Two men left the town of St. Helena at the first glimmer of +dawn, and walked along the road northward up the valley toward +Calistoga. They carried guns on their shoulders, yet no one +having knowledge of such matters could have mistaken them for +hunters of bird or beast. They were a deputy sheriff from +Napa and a detective from San Francisco—Holker and +Jaralson, respectively. Their business was man-hunting.</p> +<p>“How far is it?” inquired Holker, as they strode +along, their feet stirring white the dust beneath the damp +surface of the road.</p> +<p>“The White Church? Only a half mile +farther,” the other answered. “By the +way,” he added, “it is neither white nor a church; it +is an abandoned schoolhouse, gray with age and neglect. +Religious services were once held in it—when it was white, +and there is a graveyard that would delight a poet. Can you +guess why I sent for you, and told you to come heeled?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I never have bothered you about things of that +kind. I’ve always found you communicative when the +time came. But if I may hazard a guess, you want me to help +you arrest one of the corpses in the graveyard.”</p> +<p>“You remember Branscom?” said Jaralson, treating +his companion’s wit with the inattention that it +deserved.</p> +<p>“The chap who cut his wife’s throat? I +ought; I wasted a week’s work on him and had my expenses +for my trouble. There is a reward of five hundred dollars, +but none of us ever got a sight of him. You don’t +mean to say—”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do. He has been under the noses of you +fellows all the time. He comes by night to the old +graveyard at the White Church.”</p> +<p>“The devil! That’s where they buried his +wife.”</p> +<p>“Well, you fellows might have had sense enough to +suspect that he would return to her grave some time.”</p> +<p>“The very last place that anyone would have expected him +to return to.”</p> +<p>“But you had exhausted all the other places. +Learning your failure at them, I ‘laid for him’ +there.”</p> +<p>“And you found him?”</p> +<p>“Damn it! he found <i>me</i>. The rascal got the +drop on me—regularly held me up and made me travel. +It’s God’s mercy that he didn’t go through +me. Oh, he’s a good one, and I fancy the half of that +reward is enough for me if you’re needy.”</p> +<p>Holker laughed good humoredly, and explained that his +creditors were never more importunate.</p> +<p>“I wanted merely to show you the ground, and arrange a +plan with you,” the detective explained. “I +thought it as well for us to be heeled, even in +daylight.”</p> +<p>“The man must be insane,” said the deputy +sheriff. “The reward is for his capture and +conviction. If he’s mad he won’t be +convicted.”</p> +<p>Mr. Holker was so profoundly affected by that possible failure +of justice that he involuntarily stopped in the middle of the +road, then resumed his walk with abated zeal.</p> +<p>“Well, he looks it,” assented Jaralson. +“I’m bound to admit that a more unshaven, unshorn, +unkempt, and uneverything wretch I never saw outside the ancient +and honorable order of tramps. But I’ve gone in for +him, and can’t make up my mind to let go. +There’s glory in it for us, anyhow. Not another soul +knows that he is this side of the Mountains of the +Moon.”</p> +<p>“All right,” Holker said; “we will go and +view the ground,” and he added, in the words of a once +favorite inscription for tombstones: “‘where you must +shortly lie’—I mean, if old Branscom ever gets tired +of you and your impertinent intrusion. By the way, I heard +the other day that ‘Branscom’ was not his real +name.”</p> +<p>“What is?”</p> +<p>“I can’t recall it. I had lost all interest +in the wretch, and it did not fix itself in my +memory—something like Pardee. The woman whose throat +he had the bad taste to cut was a widow when he met her. +She had come to California to look up some relatives—there +are persons who will do that sometimes. But you know all +that.”</p> +<p>“Naturally.”</p> +<p>“But not knowing the right name, by what happy +inspiration did you find the right grave? The man who told +me what the name was said it had been cut on the +headboard.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know the right grave.” +Jaralson was apparently a trifle reluctant to admit his ignorance +of so important a point of his plan. “I have been +watching about the place generally. A part of our work this +morning will be to identify that grave. Here is the White +Church.”</p> +<p>For a long distance the road had been bordered by fields on +both sides, but now on the left there was a forest of oaks, +madroños, and gigantic spruces whose lower parts only +could be seen, dim and ghostly in the fog. The undergrowth +was, in places, thick, but nowhere impenetrable. For some +moments Holker saw nothing of the building, but as they turned +into the woods it revealed itself in faint gray outline through +the fog, looking huge and far away. A few steps more, and +it was within an arm’s length, distinct, dark with +moisture, and insignificant in size. It had the usual +country-schoolhouse form—belonged to the packing-box order +of architecture; had an underpinning of stones, a moss-grown +roof, and blank window spaces, whence both glass and sash had +long departed. It was ruined, but not a ruin—a +typical Californian substitute for what are known to +guide-bookers abroad as “monuments of the +past.” With scarcely a glance at this uninteresting +structure Jaralson moved on into the dripping undergrowth +beyond.</p> +<p>“I will show you where he held me up,” he +said. “This is the graveyard.”</p> +<p>Here and there among the bushes were small inclosures +containing graves, sometimes no more than one. They were +recognized as graves by the discolored stones or rotting boards +at head and foot, leaning at all angles, some prostrate; by the +ruined picket fences surrounding them; or, infrequently, by the +mound itself showing its gravel through the fallen leaves. +In many instances nothing marked the spot where lay the vestiges +of some poor mortal—who, leaving “a large circle of +sorrowing friends,” had been left by them in +turn—except a depression in the earth, more lasting than +that in the spirits of the mourners. The paths, if any +paths had been, were long obliterated; trees of a considerable +size had been permitted to grow up from the graves and thrust +aside with root or branch the inclosing fences. Over all +was that air of abandonment and decay which seems nowhere so fit +and significant as in a village of the forgotten dead.</p> +<p>As the two men, Jaralson leading, pushed their way through the +growth of young trees, that enterprising man suddenly stopped and +brought up his shotgun to the height of his breast, uttered a low +note of warning, and stood motionless, his eyes fixed upon +something ahead. As well as he could, obstructed by brush, +his companion, though seeing nothing, imitated the posture and so +stood, prepared for what might ensue. A moment later +Jaralson moved cautiously forward, the other following.</p> +<p>Under the branches of an enormous spruce lay the dead body of +a man. Standing silent above it they noted such particulars +as first strike the attention—the face, the attitude, the +clothing; whatever most promptly and plainly answers the unspoken +question of a sympathetic curiosity.</p> +<p>The body lay upon its back, the legs wide apart. One arm +was thrust upward, the other outward; but the latter was bent +acutely, and the hand was near the throat. Both hands were +tightly clenched. The whole attitude was that of desperate +but ineffectual resistance to—what?</p> +<p>Near by lay a shotgun and a game bag through the meshes of +which was seen the plumage of shot birds. All about were +evidences of a furious struggle; small sprouts of poison-oak were +bent and denuded of leaf and bark; dead and rotting leaves had +been pushed into heaps and ridges on both sides of the legs by +the action of other feet than theirs; alongside the hips were +unmistakable impressions of human knees.</p> +<p>The nature of the struggle was made clear by a glance at the +dead man’s throat and face. While breast and hands +were white, those were purple—almost black. The +shoulders lay upon a low mound, and the head was turned back at +an angle otherwise impossible, the expanded eyes staring blankly +backward in a direction opposite to that of the feet. From +the froth filling the open mouth the tongue protruded, black and +swollen. The throat showed horrible contusions; not mere +finger-marks, but bruises and lacerations wrought by two strong +hands that must have buried themselves in the yielding flesh, +maintaining their terrible grasp until long after death. +Breast, throat, face, were wet; the clothing was saturated; drops +of water, condensed from the fog, studded the hair and +mustache.</p> +<p>All this the two men observed without speaking—almost at +a glance. Then Holker said:</p> +<p>“Poor devil! he had a rough deal.”</p> +<p>Jaralson was making a vigilant circumspection of the forest, +his shotgun held in both hands and at full cock, his finger upon +the trigger.</p> +<p>“The work of a maniac,” he said, without +withdrawing his eyes from the inclosing wood. “It was +done by Branscom—Pardee.”</p> +<p>Something half hidden by the disturbed leaves on the earth +caught Holker’s attention. It was a red-leather +pocketbook. He picked it up and opened it. It +contained leaves of white paper for memoranda, and upon the first +leaf was the name “Halpin Frayser.” Written in +red on several succeeding leaves—scrawled as if in haste +and barely legible—were the following lines, which Holker +read aloud, while his companion continued scanning the dim gray +confines of their narrow world and hearing matter of apprehension +in the drip of water from every burdened branch:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Enthralled by some mysterious spell, I +stood<br /> +In the lit gloom of an enchanted wood.<br /> + The cypress there and myrtle twined their boughs,<br +/> +Significant, in baleful brotherhood.</p> +<p>“The brooding willow whispered to the yew;<br /> +Beneath, the deadly nightshade and the rue,<br /> + With immortelles self-woven into strange<br /> +Funereal shapes, and horrid nettles grew.</p> +<p>“No song of bird nor any drone of bees,<br /> +Nor light leaf lifted by the wholesome breeze:<br /> + The air was stagnant all, and Silence was<br /> +A living thing that breathed among the trees.</p> +<p>“Conspiring spirits whispered in the gloom,<br /> +Half-heard, the stilly secrets of the tomb.<br /> + With blood the trees were all adrip; the leaves<br +/> +Shone in the witch-light with a ruddy bloom.</p> +<p>“I cried aloud!—the spell, unbroken still,<br /> +Rested upon my spirit and my will.<br /> + Unsouled, unhearted, hopeless and forlorn,<br /> +I strove with monstrous presages of ill!</p> +<p>“At last the viewless—”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Holker ceased reading; there was no more to read. The +manuscript broke off in the middle of a line.</p> +<p>“That sounds like Bayne,” said Jaralson, who was +something of a scholar in his way. He had abated his +vigilance and stood looking down at the body.</p> +<p>“Who’s Bayne?” Holker asked rather +incuriously.</p> +<p>“Myron Bayne, a chap who flourished in the early years +of the nation—more than a century ago. Wrote mighty +dismal stuff; I have his collected works. That poem is not +among them, but it must have been omitted by mistake.”</p> +<p>“It is cold,” said Holker; “let us leave +here; we must have up the coroner from Napa.”</p> +<p>Jaralson said nothing, but made a movement in +compliance. Passing the end of the slight elevation of +earth upon which the dead man’s head and shoulders lay, his +foot struck some hard substance under the rotting forest leaves, +and he took the trouble to kick it into view. It was a +fallen headboard, and painted on it were the hardly decipherable +words, “Catharine Larue.”</p> +<p>“Larue, Larue!” exclaimed Holker, with sudden +animation. “Why, that is the real name of +Branscom—not Pardee. And—bless my soul! how it +all comes to me—the murdered woman’s name had been +Frayser!”</p> +<p>“There is some rascally mystery here,” said +Detective Jaralson. “I hate anything of that +kind.”</p> +<p>There came to them out of the fog—seemingly from a great +distance—the sound of a laugh, a low, deliberate, soulless +laugh, which had no more of joy than that of a hyena +night-prowling in the desert; a laugh that rose by slow +gradation, louder and louder, clearer, more distinct and +terrible, until it seemed barely outside the narrow circle of +their vision; a laugh so unnatural, so unhuman, so devilish, that +it filled those hardy man-hunters with a sense of dread +unspeakable! They did not move their weapons nor think of +them; the menace of that horrible sound was not of the kind to be +met with arms. As it had grown out of silence, so now it +died away; from a culminating shout which had seemed almost in +their ears, it drew itself away into the distance, until its +failing notes, joyless and mechanical to the last, sank to +silence at a measureless remove.</p> +<h2><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>THE +SECRET OF MACARGER’S GULCH</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Northwestwardly</span> from Indian Hill, +about nine miles as the crow flies, is Macarger’s +Gulch. It is not much of a gulch—a mere depression +between two wooded ridges of inconsiderable height. From +its mouth up to its head—for gulches, like rivers, have an +anatomy of their own—the distance does not exceed two +miles, and the width at bottom is at only one place more than a +dozen yards; for most of the distance on either side of the +little brook which drains it in winter, and goes dry in the early +spring, there is no level ground at all; the steep slopes of the +hills, covered with an almost impenetrable growth of manzanita +and chemisal, are parted by nothing but the width of the water +course. No one but an occasional enterprising hunter of the +vicinity ever goes into Macarger’s Gulch, and five miles +away it is unknown, even by name. Within that distance in +any direction are far more conspicuous topographical features +without names, and one might try in vain to ascertain by local +inquiry the origin of the name of this one.</p> +<p>About midway between the head and the mouth of +Macarger’s Gulch, the hill on the right as you ascend is +cloven by another gulch, a short dry one, and at the junction of +the two is a level space of two or three acres, and there a few +years ago stood an old board house containing one small +room. How the component parts of the house, few and simple +as they were, had been assembled at that almost inaccessible +point is a problem in the solution of which there would be +greater satisfaction than advantage. Possibly the creek bed +is a reformed road. It is certain that the gulch was at one +time pretty thoroughly prospected by miners, who must have had +some means of getting in with at least pack animals carrying +tools and supplies; their profits, apparently, were not such as +would have justified any considerable outlay to connect +Macarger’s Gulch with any center of civilization enjoying +the distinction of a sawmill. The house, however, was +there, most of it. It lacked a door and a window frame, and +the chimney of mud and stones had fallen into an unlovely heap, +overgrown with rank weeds. Such humble furniture as there +may once have been and much of the lower weatherboarding, had +served as fuel in the camp fires of hunters; as had also, +probably, the curbing of an old well, which at the time I write +of existed in the form of a rather wide but not very deep +depression near by.</p> +<p>One afternoon in the summer of 1874, I passed up +Macarger’s Gulch from the narrow valley into which it +opens, by following the dry bed of the brook. I was +quail-shooting and had made a bag of about a dozen birds by the +time I had reached the house described, of whose existence I was +until then unaware. After rather carelessly inspecting the +ruin I resumed my sport, and having fairly good success prolonged +it until near sunset, when it occurred to me that I was a long +way from any human habitation—too far to reach one by +nightfall. But in my game bag was food, and the old house +would afford shelter, if shelter were needed on a warm and +dewless night in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, where one +may sleep in comfort on the pine needles, without covering. +I am fond of solitude and love the night, so my resolution to +“camp out” was soon taken, and by the time that it +was dark I had made my bed of boughs and grasses in a corner of +the room and was roasting a quail at a fire that I had kindled on +the hearth. The smoke escaped out of the ruined chimney, +the light illuminated the room with a kindly glow, and as I ate +my simple meal of plain bird and drank the remains of a bottle of +red wine which had served me all the afternoon in place of the +water, which the region did not supply, I experienced a sense of +comfort which better fare and accommodations do not always +give.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, there was something lacking. I had a sense +of comfort, but not of security. I detected myself staring +more frequently at the open doorway and blank window than I could +find warrant for doing. Outside these apertures all was +black, and I was unable to repress a certain feeling of +apprehension as my fancy pictured the outer world and filled it +with unfriendly entities, natural and supernatural—chief +among which, in their respective classes, were the grizzly bear, +which I knew was occasionally still seen in that region, and the +ghost, which I had reason to think was not. Unfortunately, +our feelings do not always respect the law of probabilities, and +to me that evening, the possible and the impossible were equally +disquieting.</p> +<p>Everyone who has had experience in the matter must have +observed that one confronts the actual and imaginary perils of +the night with far less apprehension in the open air than in a +house with an open doorway. I felt this now as I lay on my +leafy couch in a corner of the room next to the chimney and +permitted my fire to die out. So strong became my sense of +the presence of something malign and menacing in the place, that +I found myself almost unable to withdraw my eyes from the +opening, as in the deepening darkness it became more and more +indistinct. And when the last little flame flickered and +went out I grasped the shotgun which I had laid at my side and +actually turned the muzzle in the direction of the now invisible +entrance, my thumb on one of the hammers, ready to cock the +piece, my breath suspended, my muscles rigid and tense. But +later I laid down the weapon with a sense of shame and +mortification. What did I fear, and why?—I, to whom +the night had been</p> + +<blockquote><p> a +more familiar face<br /> +Than that of man—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I, in whom that element of hereditary superstition from which +none of us is altogether free had given to solitude and darkness +and silence only a more alluring interest and charm! I was +unable to comprehend my folly, and losing in the conjecture the +thing conjectured of, I fell asleep. And then I +dreamed.</p> +<p>I was in a great city in a foreign land—a city whose +people were of my own race, with minor differences of speech and +costume; yet precisely what these were I could not say; my sense +of them was indistinct. The city was dominated by a great +castle upon an overlooking height whose name I knew, but could +not speak. I walked through many streets, some broad and +straight with high, modern buildings, some narrow, gloomy, and +tortuous, between the gables of quaint old houses whose +overhanging stories, elaborately ornamented with carvings in wood +and stone, almost met above my head.</p> +<p>I sought someone whom I had never seen, yet knew that I should +recognize when found. My quest was not aimless and +fortuitous; it had a definite method. I turned from one +street into another without hesitation and threaded a maze of +intricate passages, devoid of the fear of losing my way.</p> +<p>Presently I stopped before a low door in a plain stone house +which might have been the dwelling of an artisan of the better +sort, and without announcing myself, entered. The room, +rather sparely furnished, and lighted by a single window with +small diamond-shaped panes, had but two occupants; a man and a +woman. They took no notice of my intrusion, a circumstance +which, in the manner of dreams, appeared entirely natural. +They were not conversing; they sat apart, unoccupied and +sullen.</p> +<p>The woman was young and rather stout, with fine large eyes and +a certain grave beauty; my memory of her expression is +exceedingly vivid, but in dreams one does not observe the details +of faces. About her shoulders was a plaid shawl. The +man was older, dark, with an evil face made more forbidding by a +long scar extending from near the left temple diagonally downward +into the black mustache; though in my dreams it seemed rather to +haunt the face as a thing apart—I can express it no +otherwise—than to belong to it. The moment that I +found the man and woman I knew them to be husband and wife.</p> +<p>What followed, I remember indistinctly; all was confused and +inconsistent—made so, I think, by gleams of +consciousness. It was as if two pictures, the scene of my +dream, and my actual surroundings, had been blended, one +overlying the other, until the former, gradually fading, +disappeared, and I was broad awake in the deserted cabin, +entirely and tranquilly conscious of my situation.</p> +<p>My foolish fear was gone, and opening my eyes I saw that my +fire, not altogether burned out, had revived by the falling of a +stick and was again lighting the room. I had probably slept +only a few minutes, but my commonplace dream had somehow so +strongly impressed me that I was no longer drowsy; and after a +little while I rose, pushed the embers of my fire together, and +lighting my pipe proceeded in a rather ludicrously methodical way +to meditate upon my vision.</p> +<p>It would have puzzled me then to say in what respect it was +worth attention. In the first moment of serious thought +that I gave to the matter I recognized the city of my dream as +Edinburgh, where I had never been; so if the dream was a memory +it was a memory of pictures and description. The +recognition somehow deeply impressed me; it was as if something +in my mind insisted rebelliously against will and reason on the +importance of all this. And that faculty, whatever it was, +asserted also a control of my speech. “Surely,” +I said aloud, quite involuntarily, “the MacGregors must +have come here from Edinburgh.”</p> +<p>At the moment, neither the substance of this remark nor the +fact of my making it, surprised me in the least; it seemed +entirely natural that I should know the name of my dreamfolk and +something of their history. But the absurdity of it all +soon dawned upon me: I laughed aloud, knocked the ashes from my +pipe and again stretched myself upon my bed of boughs and grass, +where I lay staring absently into my failing fire, with no +further thought of either my dream or my surroundings. +Suddenly the single remaining flame crouched for a moment, then, +springing upward, lifted itself clear of its embers and expired +in air. The darkness was absolute.</p> +<p>At that instant—almost, it seemed, before the gleam of +the blaze had faded from my eyes—there was a dull, dead +sound, as of some heavy body falling upon the floor, which shook +beneath me as I lay. I sprang to a sitting posture and +groped at my side for my gun; my notion was that some wild beast +had leaped in through the open window. While the flimsy +structure was still shaking from the impact I heard the sound of +blows, the scuffling of feet upon the floor, and then—it +seemed to come from almost within reach of my hand, the sharp +shrieking of a woman in mortal agony. So horrible a cry I +had never heard nor conceived; it utterly unnerved me; I was +conscious for a moment of nothing but my own terror! +Fortunately my hand now found the weapon of which it was in +search, and the familiar touch somewhat restored me. I +leaped to my feet, straining my eyes to pierce the +darkness. The violent sounds had ceased, but more terrible +than these, I heard, at what seemed long intervals, the faint +intermittent gasping of some living, dying thing!</p> +<p>As my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light of the coals in +the fireplace, I saw first the shapes of the door and window, +looking blacker than the black of the walls. Next, the +distinction between wall and floor became discernible, and at +last I was sensible to the form and full expanse of the floor +from end to end and side to side. Nothing was visible and +the silence was unbroken.</p> +<p>With a hand that shook a little, the other still grasping my +gun, I restored my fire and made a critical examination of the +place. There was nowhere any sign that the cabin had been +entered. My own tracks were visible in the dust covering +the floor, but there were no others. I relit my pipe, +provided fresh fuel by ripping a thin board or two from the +inside of the house—I did not care to go into the darkness +out of doors—and passed the rest of the night smoking and +thinking, and feeding my fire; not for added years of life would +I have permitted that little flame to expire again.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Some years afterward I met in Sacramento a man named Morgan, +to whom I had a note of introduction from a friend in San +Francisco. Dining with him one evening at his home I +observed various “trophies” upon the wall, indicating +that he was fond of shooting. It turned out that he was, +and in relating some of his feats he mentioned having been in the +region of my adventure.</p> +<p>“Mr. Morgan,” I asked abruptly, “do you know +a place up there called Macarger’s Gulch?”</p> +<p>“I have good reason to,” he replied; “it was +I who gave to the newspapers, last year, the accounts of the +finding of the skeleton there.”</p> +<p>I had not heard of it; the accounts had been published, it +appeared, while I was absent in the East.</p> +<p>“By the way,” said Morgan, “the name of the +gulch is a corruption; it should have been called +‘MacGregor’s.’ My dear,” he added, +speaking to his wife, “Mr. Elderson has upset his +wine.”</p> +<p>That was hardly accurate—I had simply dropped it, glass +and all.</p> +<p>“There was an old shanty once in the gulch,” +Morgan resumed when the ruin wrought by my awkwardness had been +repaired, “but just previously to my visit it had been +blown down, or rather blown away, for its <i>débris</i> +was scattered all about, the very floor being parted, plank from +plank. Between two of the sleepers still in position I and +my companion observed the remnant of a plaid shawl, and examining +it found that it was wrapped about the shoulders of the body of a +woman, of which but little remained besides the bones, partly +covered with fragments of clothing, and brown dry skin. But +we will spare Mrs. Morgan,” he added with a smile. +The lady had indeed exhibited signs of disgust rather than +sympathy.</p> +<p>“It is necessary to say, however,” he went on, +“that the skull was fractured in several places, as by +blows of some blunt instrument; and that instrument +itself—a pick-handle, still stained with blood—lay +under the boards near by.”</p> +<p>Mr. Morgan turned to his wife. “Pardon me, my +dear,” he said with affected solemnity, “for +mentioning these disagreeable particulars, the natural though +regrettable incidents of a conjugal quarrel—resulting, +doubtless, from the luckless wife’s +insubordination.”</p> +<p>“I ought to be able to overlook it,” the lady +replied with composure; “you have so many times asked me to +in those very words.”</p> +<p>I thought he seemed rather glad to go on with his story.</p> +<p>“From these and other circumstances,” he said, +“the coroner’s jury found that the deceased, Janet +MacGregor, came to her death from blows inflicted by some person +to the jury unknown; but it was added that the evidence pointed +strongly to her husband, Thomas MacGregor, as the guilty +person. But Thomas MacGregor has never been found nor heard +of. It was learned that the couple came from Edinburgh, but +not—my dear, do you not observe that Mr. Elderson’s +boneplate has water in it?”</p> +<p>I had deposited a chicken bone in my finger bowl.</p> +<p>“In a little cupboard I found a photograph of MacGregor, +but it did not lead to his capture.”</p> +<p>“Will you let me see it?” I said.</p> +<p>The picture showed a dark man with an evil face made more +forbidding by a long scar extending from near the temple +diagonally downward into the black mustache.</p> +<p>“By the way, Mr. Elderson,” said my affable host, +“may I know why you asked about ‘Macarger’s +Gulch’?”</p> +<p>“I lost a mule near there once,” I replied, +“and the mischance has—has quite—upset +me.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” said Mr. Morgan, with the mechanical +intonation of an interpreter translating, “the loss of Mr. +Elderson’s mule has peppered his coffee.”</p> +<h2><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>ONE +SUMMER NIGHT</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> fact that Henry Armstrong was +buried did not seem to him to prove that he was dead: he had +always been a hard man to convince. That he really was +buried, the testimony of his senses compelled him to admit. +His posture—flat upon his back, with his hands crossed upon +his stomach and tied with something that he easily broke without +profitably altering the situation—the strict confinement of +his entire person, the black darkness and profound silence, made +a body of evidence impossible to controvert and he accepted it +without cavil.</p> +<p>But dead—no; he was only very, very ill. He had, +withal, the invalid’s apathy and did not greatly concern +himself about the uncommon fate that had been allotted to +him. No philosopher was he—just a plain, commonplace +person gifted, for the time being, with a pathological +indifference: the organ that he feared consequences with was +torpid. So, with no particular apprehension for his +immediate future, he fell asleep and all was peace with Henry +Armstrong.</p> +<p>But something was going on overhead. It was a dark +summer night, shot through with infrequent shimmers of lightning +silently firing a cloud lying low in the west and portending a +storm. These brief, stammering illuminations brought out +with ghastly distinctness the monuments and headstones of the +cemetery and seemed to set them dancing. It was not a night +in which any credible witness was likely to be straying about a +cemetery, so the three men who were there, digging into the grave +of Henry Armstrong, felt reasonably secure.</p> +<p>Two of them were young students from a medical college a few +miles away; the third was a gigantic negro known as Jess. +For many years Jess had been employed about the cemetery as a +man-of-all-work and it was his favorite pleasantry that he knew +“every soul in the place.” From the nature of +what he was now doing it was inferable that the place was not so +populous as its register may have shown it to be.</p> +<p>Outside the wall, at the part of the grounds farthest from the +public road, were a horse and a light wagon, waiting.</p> +<p>The work of excavation was not difficult: the earth with which +the grave had been loosely filled a few hours before offered +little resistance and was soon thrown out. Removal of the +casket from its box was less easy, but it was taken out, for it +was a perquisite of Jess, who carefully unscrewed the cover and +laid it aside, exposing the body in black trousers and white +shirt. At that instant the air sprang to flame, a cracking +shock of thunder shook the stunned world and Henry Armstrong +tranquilly sat up. With inarticulate cries the men fled in +terror, each in a different direction. For nothing on earth +could two of them have been persuaded to return. But Jess +was of another breed.</p> +<p>In the gray of the morning the two students, pallid and +haggard from anxiety and with the terror of their adventure still +beating tumultuously in their blood, met at the medical +college.</p> +<p>“You saw it?” cried one.</p> +<p>“God! yes—what are we to do?”</p> +<p>They went around to the rear of the building, where they saw a +horse, attached to a light wagon, hitched to a gatepost near the +door of the dissecting-room. Mechanically they entered the +room. On a bench in the obscurity sat the negro Jess. +He rose, grinning, all eyes and teeth.</p> +<p>“I’m waiting for my pay,” he said.</p> +<p>Stretched naked on a long table lay the body of Henry +Armstrong, the head defiled with blood and clay from a blow with +a spade.</p> +<h2><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>THE +MOONLIT ROAD</h2> +<h3>I<br /> +STATEMENT OF JOEL HETMAN, JR.</h3> +<p>I <span class="smcap">am</span> the most unfortunate of +men. Rich, respected, fairly well educated and of sound +health—with many other advantages usually valued by those +having them and coveted by those who have them not—I +sometimes think that I should be less unhappy if they had been +denied me, for then the contrast between my outer and my inner +life would not be continually demanding a painful +attention. In the stress of privation and the need of +effort I might sometimes forget the somber secret ever baffling +the conjecture that it compels.</p> +<p>I am the only child of Joel and Julia Hetman. The one +was a well-to-do country gentleman, the other a beautiful and +accomplished woman to whom he was passionately attached with what +I now know to have been a jealous and exacting devotion. +The family home was a few miles from Nashville, Tennessee, a +large, irregularly built dwelling of no particular order of +architecture, a little way off the road, in a park of trees and +shrubbery.</p> +<p>At the time of which I write I was nineteen years old, a +student at Yale. One day I received a telegram from my +father of such urgency that in compliance with its unexplained +demand I left at once for home. At the railway station in +Nashville a distant relative awaited me to apprise me of the +reason for my recall: my mother had been barbarously +murdered—why and by whom none could conjecture, but the +circumstances were these: My father had gone to Nashville, +intending to return the next afternoon. Something prevented +his accomplishing the business in hand, so he returned on the +same night, arriving just before the dawn. In his testimony +before the coroner he explained that having no latchkey and not +caring to disturb the sleeping servants, he had, with no clearly +defined intention, gone round to the rear of the house. As +he turned an angle of the building, he heard a sound as of a door +gently closed, and saw in the darkness, indistinctly, the figure +of a man, which instantly disappeared among the trees of the +lawn. A hasty pursuit and brief search of the grounds in +the belief that the trespasser was some one secretly visiting a +servant proving fruitless, he entered at the unlocked door and +mounted the stairs to my mother’s chamber. Its door +was open, and stepping into black darkness he fell headlong over +some heavy object on the floor. I may spare myself the +details; it was my poor mother, dead of strangulation by human +hands!</p> +<p>Nothing had been taken from the house, the servants had heard +no sound, and excepting those terrible finger-marks upon the dead +woman’s throat—dear God! that I might forget +them!—no trace of the assassin was ever found.</p> +<p>I gave up my studies and remained with my father, who, +naturally, was greatly changed. Always of a sedate, +taciturn disposition, he now fell into so deep a dejection that +nothing could hold his attention, yet anything—a footfall, +the sudden closing of a door—aroused in him a fitful +interest; one might have called it an apprehension. At any +small surprise of the senses he would start visibly and sometimes +turn pale, then relapse into a melancholy apathy deeper than +before. I suppose he was what is called a “nervous +wreck.” As to me, I was younger then than +now—there is much in that. Youth is Gilead, in which +is balm for every wound. Ah, that I might again dwell in +that enchanted land! Unacquainted with grief, I knew not +how to appraise my bereavement; I could not rightly estimate the +strength of the stroke.</p> +<p>One night, a few months after the dreadful event, my father +and I walked home from the city. The full moon was about +three hours above the eastern horizon; the entire countryside had +the solemn stillness of a summer night; our footfalls and the +ceaseless song of the katydids were the only sound aloof. +Black shadows of bordering trees lay athwart the road, which, in +the short reaches between, gleamed a ghostly white. As we +approached the gate to our dwelling, whose front was in shadow, +and in which no light shone, my father suddenly stopped and +clutched my arm, saying, hardly above his breath:</p> +<p>“God! God! what is that?”</p> +<p>“I hear nothing,” I replied.</p> +<p>“But see—see!” he said, pointing along the +road, directly ahead.</p> +<p>I said: “Nothing is there. Come, father, let us go +in—you are ill.”</p> +<p>He had released my arm and was standing rigid and motionless +in the center of the illuminated roadway, staring like one bereft +of sense. His face in the moonlight showed a pallor and +fixity inexpressibly distressing. I pulled gently at his +sleeve, but he had forgotten my existence. Presently he +began to retire backward, step by step, never for an instant +removing his eyes from what he saw, or thought he saw. I +turned half round to follow, but stood irresolute. I do not +recall any feeling of fear, unless a sudden chill was its +physical manifestation. It seemed as if an icy wind had +touched my face and enfolded my body from head to foot; I could +feel the stir of it in my hair.</p> +<p>At that moment my attention was drawn to a light that suddenly +streamed from an upper window of the house: one of the servants, +awakened by what mysterious premonition of evil who can say, and +in obedience to an impulse that she was never able to name, had +lit a lamp. When I turned to look for my father he was +gone, and in all the years that have passed no whisper of his +fate has come across the borderland of conjecture from the realm +of the unknown.</p> +<h3><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>II<br +/> +STATEMENT OF CASPAR GRATTAN</h3> +<p>To-day I am said to live; to-morrow, here in this room, will +lie a senseless shape of clay that all too long was I. If +anyone lift the cloth from the face of that unpleasant thing it +will be in gratification of a mere morbid curiosity. Some, +doubtless, will go further and inquire, “Who was +he?” In this writing I supply the only answer that I +am able to make—Caspar Grattan. Surely, that should +be enough. The name has served my small need for more than +twenty years of a life of unknown length. True, I gave it +to myself, but lacking another I had the right. In this +world one must have a name; it prevents confusion, even when it +does not establish identity. Some, though, are known by +numbers, which also seem inadequate distinctions.</p> +<p>One day, for illustration, I was passing along a street of a +city, far from here, when I met two men in uniform, one of whom, +half pausing and looking curiously into my face, said to his +companion, “That man looks like 767.” Something +in the number seemed familiar and horrible. Moved by an +uncontrollable impulse, I sprang into a side street and ran until +I fell exhausted in a country lane.</p> +<p>I have never forgotten that number, and always it comes to +memory attended by gibbering obscenity, peals of joyless +laughter, the clang of iron doors. So I say a name, even if +self-bestowed, is better than a number. In the register of +the potter’s field I shall soon have both. What +wealth!</p> +<p>Of him who shall find this paper I must beg a little +consideration. It is not the history of my life; the +knowledge to write that is denied me. This is only a record +of broken and apparently unrelated memories, some of them as +distinct and sequent as brilliant beads upon a thread, others +remote and strange, having the character of crimson dreams with +interspaces blank and black—witch-fires glowing still and +red in a great desolation.</p> +<p>Standing upon the shore of eternity, I turn for a last look +landward over the course by which I came. There are twenty +years of footprints fairly distinct, the impressions of bleeding +feet. They lead through poverty and pain, devious and +unsure, as of one staggering beneath a burden—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Remote, unfriended, +melancholy, slow.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Ah, the poet’s prophecy of Me—how admirable, how +dreadfully admirable!</p> +<p>Backward beyond the beginning of this <i>via +dolorosa</i>—this epic of suffering with episodes of +sin—I see nothing clearly; it comes out of a cloud. I +know that it spans only twenty years, yet I am an old man.</p> +<p>One does not remember one’s birth—one has to be +told. But with me it was different; life came to me +full-handed and dowered me with all my faculties and +powers. Of a previous existence I know no more than others, +for all have stammering intimations that may be memories and may +be dreams. I know only that my first consciousness was of +maturity in body and mind—a consciousness accepted without +surprise or conjecture. I merely found myself walking in a +forest, half-clad, footsore, unutterably weary and hungry. +Seeing a farmhouse, I approached and asked for food, which was +given me by one who inquired my name. I did not know, yet +knew that all had names. Greatly embarrassed, I retreated, +and night coming on, lay down in the forest and slept.</p> +<p>The next day I entered a large town which I shall not +name. Nor shall I recount further incidents of the life +that is now to end—a life of wandering, always and +everywhere haunted by an overmastering sense of crime in +punishment of wrong and of terror in punishment of crime. +Let me see if I can reduce it to narrative.</p> +<p>I seem once to have lived near a great city, a prosperous +planter, married to a woman whom I loved and distrusted. We +had, it sometimes seems, one child, a youth of brilliant parts +and promise. He is at all times a vague figure, never +clearly drawn, frequently altogether out of the picture.</p> +<p>One luckless evening it occurred to me to test my wife’s +fidelity in a vulgar, commonplace way familiar to everyone who +has acquaintance with the literature of fact and fiction. I +went to the city, telling my wife that I should be absent until +the following afternoon. But I returned before daybreak and +went to the rear of the house, purposing to enter by a door with +which I had secretly so tampered that it would seem to lock, yet +not actually fasten. As I approached it, I heard it gently +open and close, and saw a man steal away into the darkness. +With murder in my heart, I sprang after him, but he had vanished +without even the bad luck of identification. Sometimes now +I cannot even persuade myself that it was a human being.</p> +<p>Crazed with jealousy and rage, blind and bestial with all the +elemental passions of insulted manhood, I entered the house and +sprang up the stairs to the door of my wife’s +chamber. It was closed, but having tampered with its lock +also, I easily entered and despite the black darkness soon stood +by the side of her bed. My groping hands told me that +although disarranged it was unoccupied.</p> +<p>“She is below,” I thought, “and terrified by +my entrance has evaded me in the darkness of the hall.”</p> +<p>With the purpose of seeking her I turned to leave the room, +but took a wrong direction—the right one! My foot +struck her, cowering in a corner of the room. Instantly my +hands were at her throat, stifling a shriek, my knees were upon +her struggling body; and there in the darkness, without a word of +accusation or reproach, I strangled her till she died!</p> +<p>There ends the dream. I have related it in the past +tense, but the present would be the fitter form, for again and +again the somber tragedy reenacts itself in my +consciousness—over and over I lay the plan, I suffer the +confirmation, I redress the wrong. Then all is blank; and +afterward the rains beat against the grimy window-panes, or the +snows fall upon my scant attire, the wheels rattle in the squalid +streets where my life lies in poverty and mean employment. +If there is ever sunshine I do not recall it; if there are birds +they do not sing.</p> +<p>There is another dream, another vision of the night. I +stand among the shadows in a moonlit road. I am aware of +another presence, but whose I cannot rightly determine. In +the shadow of a great dwelling I catch the gleam of white +garments; then the figure of a woman confronts me in the +road—my murdered wife! There is death in the face; +there are marks upon the throat. The eyes are fixed on mine +with an infinite gravity which is not reproach, nor hate, nor +menace, nor anything less terrible than recognition. Before +this awful apparition I retreat in terror—a terror that is +upon me as I write. I can no longer rightly shape the +words. See! they—</p> +<p>Now I am calm, but truly there is no more to tell: the +incident ends where it began—in darkness and in doubt.</p> +<p>Yes, I am again in control of myself: “the captain of my +soul.” But that is not respite; it is another stage +and phase of expiation. My penance, constant in degree, is +mutable in kind: one of its variants is tranquillity. After +all, it is only a life-sentence. “To Hell for +life”—that is a foolish penalty: the culprit chooses +the duration of his punishment. To-day my term expires.</p> +<p>To each and all, the peace that was not mine.</p> +<h3><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>III<br +/> +STATEMENT OF THE LATE JULIA HETMAN,<br /> +THROUGH THE MEDIUM BAYROLLES</h3> +<p>I had retired early and fallen almost immediately into a +peaceful sleep, from which I awoke with that indefinable sense of +peril which is, I think, a common experience in that other, +earlier life. Of its unmeaning character, too, I was +entirely persuaded, yet that did not banish it. My husband, +Joel Hetman, was away from home; the servants slept in another +part of the house. But these were familiar conditions; they +had never before distressed me. Nevertheless, the strange +terror grew so insupportable that conquering my reluctance to +move I sat up and lit the lamp at my bedside. Contrary to +my expectation this gave me no relief; the light seemed rather an +added danger, for I reflected that it would shine out under the +door, disclosing my presence to whatever evil thing might lurk +outside. You that are still in the flesh, subject to +horrors of the imagination, think what a monstrous fear that must +be which seeks in darkness security from malevolent existences of +the night. That is to spring to close quarters with an +unseen enemy—the strategy of despair!</p> +<p>Extinguishing the lamp I pulled the bed-clothing about my head +and lay trembling and silent, unable to shriek, forgetful to +pray. In this pitiable state I must have lain for what you +call hours—with us there are no hours, there is no +time.</p> +<p>At last it came—a soft, irregular sound of footfalls on +the stairs! They were slow, hesitant, uncertain, as of +something that did not see its way; to my disordered reason all +the more terrifying for that, as the approach of some blind and +mindless malevolence to which is no appeal. I even thought +that I must have left the hall lamp burning and the groping of +this creature proved it a monster of the night. This was +foolish and inconsistent with my previous dread of the light, but +what would you have? Fear has no brains; it is an +idiot. The dismal witness that it bears and the cowardly +counsel that it whispers are unrelated. We know this well, +we who have passed into the Realm of Terror, who skulk in eternal +dusk among the scenes of our former lives, invisible even to +ourselves and one another, yet hiding forlorn in lonely places; +yearning for speech with our loved ones, yet dumb, and as fearful +of them as they of us. Sometimes the disability is removed, +the law suspended: by the deathless power of love or hate we +break the spell—we are seen by those whom we would warn, +console, or punish. What form we seem to them to bear we +know not; we know only that we terrify even those whom we most +wish to comfort, and from whom we most crave tenderness and +sympathy.</p> +<p>Forgive, I pray you, this inconsequent digression by what was +once a woman. You who consult us in this imperfect +way—you do not understand. You ask foolish questions +about things unknown and things forbidden. Much that we +know and could impart in our speech is meaningless in +yours. We must communicate with you through a stammering +intelligence in that small fraction of our language that you +yourselves can speak. You think that we are of another +world. No, we have knowledge of no world but yours, though +for us it holds no sunlight, no warmth, no music, no laughter, no +song of birds, nor any companionship. O God! what a thing +it is to be a ghost, cowering and shivering in an altered world, +a prey to apprehension and despair!</p> +<p>No, I did not die of fright: the Thing turned and went +away. I heard it go down the stairs, hurriedly, I thought, +as if itself in sudden fear. Then I rose to call for +help. Hardly had my shaking hand found the doorknob +when—merciful heaven!—I heard it returning. Its +footfalls as it remounted the stairs were rapid, heavy and loud; +they shook the house. I fled to an angle of the wall and +crouched upon the floor. I tried to pray. I tried to +call the name of my dear husband. Then I heard the door +thrown open. There was an interval of unconsciousness, and +when I revived I felt a strangling clutch upon my +throat—felt my arms feebly beating against something that +bore me backward—felt my tongue thrusting itself from +between my teeth! And then I passed into this life.</p> +<p>No, I have no knowledge of what it was. The sum of what +we knew at death is the measure of what we know afterward of all +that went before. Of this existence we know many things, +but no new light falls upon any page of that; in memory is +written all of it that we can read. Here are no heights of +truth overlooking the confused landscape of that dubitable +domain. We still dwell in the Valley of the Shadow, lurk in +its desolate places, peering from brambles and thickets at its +mad, malign inhabitants. How should we have new knowledge +of that fading past?</p> +<p>What I am about to relate happened on a night. We know +when it is night, for then you retire to your houses and we can +venture from our places of concealment to move unafraid about our +old homes, to look in at the windows, even to enter and gaze upon +your faces as you sleep. I had lingered long near the +dwelling where I had been so cruelly changed to what I am, as we +do while any that we love or hate remain. Vainly I had +sought some method of manifestation, some way to make my +continued existence and my great love and poignant pity +understood by my husband and son. Always if they slept they +would wake, or if in my desperation I dared approach them when +they were awake, would turn toward me the terrible eyes of the +living, frightening me by the glances that I sought from the +purpose that I held.</p> +<p>On this night I had searched for them without success, fearing +to find them; they were nowhere in the house, nor about the +moonlit lawn. For, although the sun is lost to us forever, +the moon, full-orbed or slender, remains to us. Sometimes +it shines by night, sometimes by day, but always it rises and +sets, as in that other life.</p> +<p>I left the lawn and moved in the white light and silence along +the road, aimless and sorrowing. Suddenly I heard the voice +of my poor husband in exclamations of astonishment, with that of +my son in reassurance and dissuasion; and there by the shadow of +a group of trees they stood—near, so near! Their +faces were toward me, the eyes of the elder man fixed upon +mine. He saw me—at last, at last, he saw me! In +the consciousness of that, my terror fled as a cruel dream. +The death-spell was broken: Love had conquered Law! Mad +with exultation I shouted—I <i>must</i> have shouted, +“He sees, he sees: he will understand!” Then, +controlling myself, I moved forward, smiling and consciously +beautiful, to offer myself to his arms, to comfort him with +endearments, and, with my son’s hand in mine, to speak +words that should restore the broken bonds between the living and +the dead.</p> +<p>Alas! alas! his face went white with fear, his eyes were as +those of a hunted animal. He backed away from me, as I +advanced, and at last turned and fled into the +wood—whither, it is not given to me to know.</p> +<p>To my poor boy, left doubly desolate, I have never been able +to impart a sense of my presence. Soon he, too, must pass +to this Life Invisible and be lost to me forever.</p> +<h2><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>A +DIAGNOSIS OF DEATH</h2> +<p>“I am not so superstitious as some of your +physicians—men of science, as you are pleased to be +called,” said Hawver, replying to an accusation that had +not been made. “Some of you—only a few, I +confess—believe in the immortality of the soul, and in +apparitions which you have not the honesty to call ghosts. +I go no further than a conviction that the living are sometimes +seen where they are not, but have been—where they have +lived so long, perhaps so intensely, as to have left their +impress on everything about them. I know, indeed, that +one’s environment may be so affected by one’s +personality as to yield, long afterward, an image of one’s +self to the eyes of another. Doubtless the impressing +personality has to be the right kind of personality as the +perceiving eyes have to be the right kind of eyes—mine, for +example.”</p> +<p>“Yes, the right kind of eyes, conveying sensations to +the wrong kind of brain,” said Dr. Frayley, smiling.</p> +<p>“Thank you; one likes to have an expectation gratified; +that is about the reply that I supposed you would have the +civility to make.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me. But you say that you know. That +is a good deal to say, don’t you think? Perhaps you +will not mind the trouble of saying how you learned.”</p> +<p>“You will call it an hallucination,” Hawver said, +“but that does not matter.” And he told the +story.</p> +<p>“Last summer I went, as you know, to pass the hot +weather term in the town of Meridian. The relative at whose +house I had intended to stay was ill, so I sought other +quarters. After some difficulty I succeeded in renting a +vacant dwelling that had been occupied by an eccentric doctor of +the name of Mannering, who had gone away years before, no one +knew where, not even his agent. He had built the house +himself and had lived in it with an old servant for about ten +years. His practice, never very extensive, had after a few +years been given up entirely. Not only so, but he had +withdrawn himself almost altogether from social life and become a +recluse. I was told by the village doctor, about the only +person with whom he held any relations, that during his +retirement he had devoted himself to a single line of study, the +result of which he had expounded in a book that did not commend +itself to the approval of his professional brethren, who, indeed, +considered him not entirely sane. I have not seen the book +and cannot now recall the title of it, but I am told that it +expounded a rather startling theory. He held that it was +possible in the case of many a person in good health to forecast +his death with precision, several months in advance of the +event. The limit, I think, was eighteen months. There +were local tales of his having exerted his powers of prognosis, +or perhaps you would say diagnosis; and it was said that in every +instance the person whose friends he had warned had died suddenly +at the appointed time, and from no assignable cause. All +this, however, has nothing to do with what I have to tell; I +thought it might amuse a physician.</p> +<p>“The house was furnished, just as he had lived in +it. It was a rather gloomy dwelling for one who was neither +a recluse nor a student, and I think it gave something of its +character to me—perhaps some of its former occupant’s +character; for always I felt in it a certain melancholy that was +not in my natural disposition, nor, I think, due to +loneliness. I had no servants that slept in the house, but +I have always been, as you know, rather fond of my own society, +being much addicted to reading, though little to study. +Whatever was the cause, the effect was dejection and a sense of +impending evil; this was especially so in Dr. Mannering’s +study, although that room was the lightest and most airy in the +house. The doctor’s life-size portrait in oil hung in +that room, and seemed completely to dominate it. There was +nothing unusual in the picture; the man was evidently rather good +looking, about fifty years old, with iron-gray hair, a +smooth-shaven face and dark, serious eyes. Something in the +picture always drew and held my attention. The man’s +appearance became familiar to me, and rather +‘haunted’ me.</p> +<p>“One evening I was passing through this room to my +bedroom, with a lamp—there is no gas in Meridian. I +stopped as usual before the portrait, which seemed in the +lamplight to have a new expression, not easily named, but +distinctly uncanny. It interested but did not disturb +me. I moved the lamp from one side to the other and +observed the effects of the altered light. While so engaged +I felt an impulse to turn round. As I did so I saw a man +moving across the room directly toward me! As soon as he +came near enough for the lamplight to illuminate the face I saw +that it was Dr. Mannering himself; it was as if the portrait were +walking!</p> +<p>“‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, somewhat +coldly, ‘but if you knocked I did not hear.’</p> +<p>“He passed me, within an arm’s length, lifted his +right forefinger, as in warning, and without a word went on out +of the room, though I observed his exit no more than I had +observed his entrance.</p> +<p>“Of course, I need not tell you that this was what you +will call an hallucination and I call an apparition. That +room had only two doors, of which one was locked; the other led +into a bedroom, from which there was no exit. My feeling on +realizing this is not an important part of the incident.</p> +<p>“Doubtless this seems to you a very commonplace +‘ghost story’—one constructed on the regular +lines laid down by the old masters of the art. If that were +so I should not have related it, even if it were true. The +man was not dead; I met him to-day in Union street. He +passed me in a crowd.”</p> +<p>Hawver had finished his story and both men were silent. +Dr. Frayley absently drummed on the table with his fingers.</p> +<p>“Did he say anything to-day?” he +asked—“anything from which you inferred that he was +not dead?”</p> +<p>Hawver stared and did not reply.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” continued Frayley, “he made a +sign, a gesture—lifted a finger, as in warning. +It’s a trick he had—a habit when saying something +serious—announcing the result of a diagnosis, for +example.”</p> +<p>“Yes, he did—just as his apparition had +done. But, good God! did you ever know him?”</p> +<p>Hawver was apparently growing nervous.</p> +<p>“I knew him. I have read his book, as will every +physician some day. It is one of the most striking and +important of the century’s contributions to medical +science. Yes, I knew him; I attended him in an illness +three years ago. He died.”</p> +<p>Hawver sprang from his chair, manifestly disturbed. He +strode forward and back across the room; then approached his +friend, and in a voice not altogether steady, said: +“Doctor, have you anything to say to me—as a +physician?”</p> +<p>“No, Hawver; you are the healthiest man I ever +knew. As a friend I advise you to go to your room. +You play the violin like an angel. Play it; play something +light and lively. Get this cursed bad business off your +mind.”</p> +<p>The next day Hawver was found dead in his room, the violin at +his neck, the bow upon the strings, his music open before him at +Chopin’s funeral march.</p> +<h2><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>MOXON’S MASTER</h2> +<p>“<span class="smcap">Are</span> you serious?—do +you really believe that a machine thinks?”</p> +<p>I got no immediate reply; Moxon was apparently intent upon the +coals in the grate, touching them deftly here and there with the +fire-poker till they signified a sense of his attention by a +brighter glow. For several weeks I had been observing in +him a growing habit of delay in answering even the most trivial +of commonplace questions. His air, however, was that of +preoccupation rather than deliberation: one might have said that +he had “something on his mind.”</p> +<p>Presently he said:</p> +<p>“What is a ‘machine’? The word has +been variously defined. Here is one definition from a +popular dictionary: ‘Any instrument or organization by +which power is applied and made effective, or a desired effect +produced.’ Well, then, is not a man a machine? +And you will admit that he thinks—or thinks he +thinks.”</p> +<p>“If you do not wish to answer my question,” I +said, rather testily, “why not say so?—all that you +say is mere evasion. You know well enough that when I say +‘machine’ I do not mean a man, but something that man +has made and controls.”</p> +<p>“When it does not control him,” he said, rising +abruptly and looking out of a window, whence nothing was visible +in the blackness of a stormy night. A moment later he +turned about and with a smile said: “I beg your pardon; I +had no thought of evasion. I considered the dictionary +man’s unconscious testimony suggestive and worth something +in the discussion. I can give your question a direct answer +easily enough: I do believe that a machine thinks about the work +that it is doing.”</p> +<p>That was direct enough, certainly. It was not altogether +pleasing, for it tended to confirm a sad suspicion that +Moxon’s devotion to study and work in his machine-shop had +not been good for him. I knew, for one thing, that he +suffered from insomnia, and that is no light affliction. +Had it affected his mind? His reply to my question seemed +to me then evidence that it had; perhaps I should think +differently about it now. I was younger then, and among the +blessings that are not denied to youth is ignorance. +Incited by that great stimulant to controversy, I said:</p> +<p>“And what, pray, does it think with—in the absence +of a brain?”</p> +<p>The reply, coming with less than his customary delay, took his +favorite form of counter-interrogation:</p> +<p>“With what does a plant think—in the absence of a +brain?”</p> +<p>“Ah, plants also belong to the philosopher class! +I should be pleased to know some of their conclusions; you may +omit the premises.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” he replied, apparently unaffected by my +foolish irony, “you may be able to infer their convictions +from their acts. I will spare you the familiar examples of +the sensitive mimosa, the several insectivorous flowers and those +whose stamens bend down and shake their pollen upon the entering +bee in order that he may fertilize their distant mates. But +observe this. In an open spot in my garden I planted a +climbing vine. When it was barely above the surface I set a +stake into the soil a yard away. The vine at once made for +it, but as it was about to reach it after several days I removed +it a few feet. The vine at once altered its course, making +an acute angle, and again made for the stake. This +manœuvre was repeated several times, but finally, as if +discouraged, the vine abandoned the pursuit and ignoring further +attempts to divert it traveled to a small tree, further away, +which it climbed.</p> +<p>“Roots of the eucalyptus will prolong themselves +incredibly in search of moisture. A well-known +horticulturist relates that one entered an old drain pipe and +followed it until it came to a break, where a section of the pipe +had been removed to make way for a stone wall that had been built +across its course. The root left the drain and followed the +wall until it found an opening where a stone had fallen +out. It crept through and following the other side of the +wall back to the drain, entered the unexplored part and resumed +its journey.”</p> +<p>“And all this?”</p> +<p>“Can you miss the significance of it? It shows the +consciousness of plants. It proves that they +think.”</p> +<p>“Even if it did—what then? We were speaking, +not of plants, but of machines. They may be composed partly +of wood—wood that has no longer vitality—or wholly of +metal. Is thought an attribute also of the mineral +kingdom?”</p> +<p>“How else do you explain the phenomena, for example, of +crystallization?”</p> +<p>“I do not explain them.”</p> +<p>“Because you cannot without affirming what you wish to +deny, namely, intelligent cooperation among the constituent +elements of the crystals. When soldiers form lines, or +hollow squares, you call it reason. When wild geese in +flight take the form of a letter V you say instinct. When +the homogeneous atoms of a mineral, moving freely in solution, +arrange themselves into shapes mathematically perfect, or +particles of frozen moisture into the symmetrical and beautiful +forms of snowflakes, you have nothing to say. You have not +even invented a name to conceal your heroic unreason.”</p> +<p>Moxon was speaking with unusual animation and +earnestness. As he paused I heard in an adjoining room +known to me as his “machine-shop,” which no one but +himself was permitted to enter, a singular thumping sound, as of +some one pounding upon a table with an open hand. Moxon +heard it at the same moment and, visibly agitated, rose and +hurriedly passed into the room whence it came. I thought it +odd that any one else should be in there, and my interest in my +friend—with doubtless a touch of unwarrantable +curiosity—led me to listen intently, though, I am happy to +say, not at the keyhole. There were confused sounds, as of +a struggle or scuffle; the floor shook. I distinctly heard +hard breathing and a hoarse whisper which said “Damn +you!” Then all was silent, and presently Moxon +reappeared and said, with a rather sorry smile:</p> +<p>“Pardon me for leaving you so abruptly. I have a +machine in there that lost its temper and cut up +rough.”</p> +<p>Fixing my eyes steadily upon his left cheek, which was +traversed by four parallel excoriations showing blood, I +said:</p> +<p>“How would it do to trim its nails?”</p> +<p>I could have spared myself the jest; he gave it no attention, +but seated himself in the chair that he had left and resumed the +interrupted monologue as if nothing had occurred:</p> +<p>“Doubtless you do not hold with those (I need not name +them to a man of your reading) who have taught that all matter is +sentient, that every atom is a living, feeling, conscious +being. <i>I</i> do. There is no such thing as dead, +inert matter: it is all alive; all instinct with force, actual +and potential; all sensitive to the same forces in its +environment and susceptible to the contagion of higher and +subtler ones residing in such superior organisms as it may be +brought into relation with, as those of man when he is fashioning +it into an instrument of his will. It absorbs something of +his intelligence and purpose—more of them in proportion to +the complexity of the resulting machine and that of its work.</p> +<p>“Do you happen to recall Herbert Spencer’s +definition of ‘Life’? I read it thirty years +ago. He may have altered it afterward, for anything I know, +but in all that time I have been unable to think of a single word +that could profitably be changed or added or removed. It +seems to me not only the best definition, but the only possible +one.</p> +<p>“‘Life,’ he says, ‘is a definite +combination of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous and +successive, in correspondence with external coexistences and +sequences.’”</p> +<p>“That defines the phenomenon,” I said, “but +gives no hint of its cause.”</p> +<p>“That,” he replied, “is all that any +definition can do. As Mill points out, we know nothing of +cause except as an antecedent—nothing of effect except as a +consequent. Of certain phenomena, one never occurs without +another, which is dissimilar: the first in point of time we call +cause, the second, effect. One who had many times seen a +rabbit pursued by a dog, and had never seen rabbits and dogs +otherwise, would think the rabbit the cause of the dog.</p> +<p>“But I fear,” he added, laughing naturally enough, +“that my rabbit is leading me a long way from the track of +my legitimate quarry: I’m indulging in the pleasure of the +chase for its own sake. What I want you to observe is that +in Herbert Spencer’s definition of ‘life’ the +activity of a machine is included—there is nothing in the +definition that is not applicable to it. According to this +sharpest of observers and deepest of thinkers, if a man during +his period of activity is alive, so is a machine when in +operation. As an inventor and constructor of machines I +know that to be true.”</p> +<p>Moxon was silent for a long time, gazing absently into the +fire. It was growing late and I thought it time to be +going, but somehow I did not like the notion of leaving him in +that isolated house, all alone except for the presence of some +person of whose nature my conjectures could go no further than +that it was unfriendly, perhaps malign. Leaning toward him +and looking earnestly into his eyes while making a motion with my +hand through the door of his workshop, I said:</p> +<p>“Moxon, whom have you in there?”</p> +<p>Somewhat to my surprise he laughed lightly and answered +without hesitation:</p> +<p>“Nobody; the incident that you have in mind was caused +by my folly in leaving a machine in action with nothing to act +upon, while I undertook the interminable task of enlightening +your understanding. Do you happen to know that +Consciousness is the creature of Rhythm?”</p> +<p>“O bother them both!” I replied, rising and laying +hold of my overcoat. “I’m going to wish you +good night; and I’ll add the hope that the machine which +you inadvertently left in action will have her gloves on the next +time you think it needful to stop her.”</p> +<p>Without waiting to observe the effect of my shot I left the +house.</p> +<p>Rain was falling, and the darkness was intense. In the +sky beyond the crest of a hill toward which I groped my way along +precarious plank sidewalks and across miry, unpaved streets I +could see the faint glow of the city’s lights, but behind +me nothing was visible but a single window of Moxon’s +house. It glowed with what seemed to me a mysterious and +fateful meaning. I knew it was an uncurtained aperture in +my friend’s “machine-shop,” and I had little +doubt that he had resumed the studies interrupted by his duties +as my instructor in mechanical consciousness and the fatherhood +of Rhythm. Odd, and in some degree humorous, as his +convictions seemed to me at that time, I could not wholly divest +myself of the feeling that they had some tragic relation to his +life and character—perhaps to his destiny—although I +no longer entertained the notion that they were the vagaries of a +disordered mind. Whatever might be thought of his views, +his exposition of them was too logical for that. Over and +over, his last words came back to me: “Consciousness is the +creature of Rhythm.” Bald and terse as the statement +was, I now found it infinitely alluring. At each recurrence +it broadened in meaning and deepened in suggestion. Why, +here, (I thought) is something upon which to found a +philosophy. If consciousness is the product of rhythm all +things <i>are</i> conscious, for all have motion, and all motion +is rhythmic. I wondered if Moxon knew the significance and +breadth of his thought—the scope of this momentous +generalization; or had he arrived at his philosophic faith by the +tortuous and uncertain road of observation?</p> +<p>That faith was then new to me, and all Moxon’s +expounding had failed to make me a convert; but now it seemed as +if a great light shone about me, like that which fell upon Saul +of Tarsus; and out there in the storm and darkness and solitude I +experienced what Lewes calls “The endless variety and +excitement of philosophic thought.” I exulted in a +new sense of knowledge, a new pride of reason. My feet +seemed hardly to touch the earth; it was as if I were uplifted +and borne through the air by invisible wings.</p> +<p>Yielding to an impulse to seek further light from him whom I +now recognized as my master and guide, I had unconsciously turned +about, and almost before I was aware of having done so found +myself again at Moxon’s door. I was drenched with +rain, but felt no discomfort. Unable in my excitement to +find the doorbell I instinctively tried the knob. It turned +and, entering, I mounted the stairs to the room that I had so +recently left. All was dark and silent; Moxon, as I had +supposed, was in the adjoining room—the +“machine-shop.” Groping along the wall until I +found the communicating door I knocked loudly several times, but +got no response, which I attributed to the uproar outside, for +the wind was blowing a gale and dashing the rain against the thin +walls in sheets. The drumming upon the shingle roof +spanning the unceiled room was loud and incessant.</p> +<p>I had never been invited into the machine-shop—had, +indeed, been denied admittance, as had all others, with one +exception, a skilled metal worker, of whom no one knew anything +except that his name was Haley and his habit silence. But +in my spiritual exaltation, discretion and civility were alike +forgotten and I opened the door. What I saw took all +philosophical speculation out of me in short order.</p> +<p>Moxon sat facing me at the farther side of a small table upon +which a single candle made all the light that was in the +room. Opposite him, his back toward me, sat another +person. On the table between the two was a chessboard; the +men were playing. I knew little of chess, but as only a few +pieces were on the board it was obvious that the game was near +its close. Moxon was intensely interested—not so +much, it seemed to me, in the game as in his antagonist, upon +whom he had fixed so intent a look that, standing though I did +directly in the line of his vision, I was altogether +unobserved. His face was ghastly white, and his eyes +glittered like diamonds. Of his antagonist I had only a +back view, but that was sufficient; I should not have cared to +see his face.</p> +<p>He was apparently not more than five feet in height, with +proportions suggesting those of a gorilla—a tremendous +breadth of shoulders, thick, short neck and broad, squat head, +which had a tangled growth of black hair and was topped with a +crimson fez. A tunic of the same color, belted tightly to +the waist, reached the seat—apparently a box—upon +which he sat; his legs and feet were not seen. His left +forearm appeared to rest in his lap; he moved his pieces with his +right hand, which seemed disproportionately long.</p> +<p>I had shrunk back and now stood a little to one side of the +doorway and in shadow. If Moxon had looked farther than the +face of his opponent he could have observed nothing now, except +that the door was open. Something forbade me either to +enter or to retire, a feeling—I know not how it +came—that I was in the presence of an imminent tragedy and +might serve my friend by remaining. With a scarcely +conscious rebellion against the indelicacy of the act I +remained.</p> +<p>The play was rapid. Moxon hardly glanced at the board +before making his moves, and to my unskilled eye seemed to move +the piece most convenient to his hand, his motions in doing so +being quick, nervous and lacking in precision. The response +of his antagonist, while equally prompt in the inception, was +made with a slow, uniform, mechanical and, I thought, somewhat +theatrical movement of the arm, that was a sore trial to my +patience. There was something unearthly about it all, and I +caught myself shuddering. But I was wet and cold.</p> +<p>Two or three times after moving a piece the stranger slightly +inclined his head, and each time I observed that Moxon shifted +his king. All at once the thought came to me that the man +was dumb. And then that he was a machine—an automaton +chess-player! Then I remembered that Moxon had once spoken +to me of having invented such a piece of mechanism, though I did +not understand that it had actually been constructed. Was +all his talk about the consciousness and intelligence of machines +merely a prelude to eventual exhibition of this device—only +a trick to intensify the effect of its mechanical action upon me +in my ignorance of its secret?</p> +<p>A fine end, this, of all my intellectual transports—my +“endless variety and excitement of philosophic +thought!” I was about to retire in disgust when +something occurred to hold my curiosity. I observed a shrug +of the thing’s great shoulders, as if it were irritated: +and so natural was this—so entirely human—that in my +new view of the matter it startled me. Nor was that all, +for a moment later it struck the table sharply with its clenched +hand. At that gesture Moxon seemed even more startled than +I: he pushed his chair a little backward, as in alarm.</p> +<p>Presently Moxon, whose play it was, raised his hand high above +the board, pounced upon one of his pieces like a sparrow-hawk and +with the exclamation “checkmate!” rose quickly to his +feet and stepped behind his chair. The automaton sat +motionless.</p> +<p>The wind had now gone down, but I heard, at lessening +intervals and progressively louder, the rumble and roll of +thunder. In the pauses between I now became conscious of a +low humming or buzzing which, like the thunder, grew momentarily +louder and more distinct. It seemed to come from the body +of the automaton, and was unmistakably a whirring of +wheels. It gave me the impression of a disordered mechanism +which had escaped the repressive and regulating action of some +controlling part—an effect such as might be expected if a +pawl should be jostled from the teeth of a ratchet-wheel. +But before I had time for much conjecture as to its nature my +attention was taken by the strange motions of the automaton +itself. A slight but continuous convulsion appeared to have +possession of it. In body and head it shook like a man with +palsy or an ague chill, and the motion augmented every moment +until the entire figure was in violent agitation. Suddenly +it sprang to its feet and with a movement almost too quick for +the eye to follow shot forward across table and chair, with both +arms thrust forth to their full length—the posture and +lunge of a diver. Moxon tried to throw himself backward out +of reach, but he was too late: I saw the horrible thing’s +hands close upon his throat, his own clutch its wrists. +Then the table was overturned, the candle thrown to the floor and +extinguished, and all was black dark. But the noise of the +struggle was dreadfully distinct, and most terrible of all were +the raucous, squawking sounds made by the strangled man’s +efforts to breathe. Guided by the infernal hubbub, I sprang +to the rescue of my friend, but had hardly taken a stride in the +darkness when the whole room blazed with a blinding white light +that burned into my brain and heart and memory a vivid picture of +the combatants on the floor, Moxon underneath, his throat still +in the clutch of those iron hands, his head forced backward, his +eyes protruding, his mouth wide open and his tongue thrust out; +and—horrible contrast!—upon the painted face of his +assassin an expression of tranquil and profound thought, as in +the solution of a problem in chess! This I observed, then +all was blackness and silence.</p> +<p>Three days later I recovered consciousness in a +hospital. As the memory of that tragic night slowly evolved +in my ailing brain recognized in my attendant Moxon’s +confidential workman, Haley. Responding to a look he +approached, smiling.</p> +<p>“Tell me about it,” I managed to say, +faintly—“all about it.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he said; “you were carried +unconscious from a burning house—Moxon’s. +Nobody knows how you came to be there. You may have to do a +little explaining. The origin of the fire is a bit +mysterious, too. My own notion is that the house was struck +by lightning.”</p> +<p>“And Moxon?”</p> +<p>“Buried yesterday—what was left of him.”</p> +<p>Apparently this reticent person could unfold himself on +occasion. When imparting shocking intelligence to the sick +he was affable enough. After some moments of the keenest +mental suffering I ventured to ask another question:</p> +<p>“Who rescued me?”</p> +<p>“Well, if that interests you—I did.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Haley, and may God bless you for +it. Did you rescue, also, that charming product of your +skill, the automaton chess-player that murdered its +inventor?”</p> +<p>The man was silent a long time, looking away from me. +Presently he turned and gravely said:</p> +<p>“Do you know that?”</p> +<p>“I do,” I replied; “I saw it +done.”</p> +<p>That was many years ago. If asked to-day I should answer +less confidently.</p> +<h2><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>A +TOUGH TUSSLE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> night in the autumn of 1861 a +man sat alone in the heart of a forest in western Virginia. +The region was one of the wildest on the continent—the +Cheat Mountain country. There was no lack of people close +at hand, however; within a mile of where the man sat was the now +silent camp of a whole Federal brigade. Somewhere +about—it might be still nearer—was a force of the +enemy, the numbers unknown. It was this uncertainty as to +its numbers and position that accounted for the man’s +presence in that lonely spot; he was a young officer of a Federal +infantry regiment and his business there was to guard his +sleeping comrades in the camp against a surprise. He was in +command of a detachment of men constituting a picket-guard. +These men he had stationed just at nightfall in an irregular +line, determined by the nature of the ground, several hundred +yards in front of where he now sat. The line ran through +the forest, among the rocks and laurel thickets, the men fifteen +or twenty paces apart, all in concealment and under injunction of +strict silence and unremitting vigilance. In four hours, if +nothing occurred, they would be relieved by a fresh detachment +from the reserve now resting in care of its captain some distance +away to the left and rear. Before stationing his men the +young officer of whom we are writing had pointed out to his two +sergeants the spot at which he would be found if it should be +necessary to consult him, or if his presence at the front line +should be required.</p> +<p>It was a quiet enough spot—the fork of an old wood-road, +on the two branches of which, prolonging themselves deviously +forward in the dim moonlight, the sergeants were themselves +stationed, a few paces in rear of the line. If driven +sharply back by a sudden onset of the enemy—and pickets are +not expected to make a stand after firing—the men would +come into the converging roads and naturally following them to +their point of intersection could be rallied and +“formed.” In his small way the author of these +dispositions was something of a strategist; if Napoleon had +planned as intelligently at Waterloo he would have won that +memorable battle and been overthrown later.</p> +<p>Second-Lieutenant Brainerd Byring was a brave and efficient +officer, young and comparatively inexperienced as he was in the +business of killing his fellow-men. He had enlisted in the +very first days of the war as a private, with no military +knowledge whatever, had been made first-sergeant of his company +on account of his education and engaging manner, and had been +lucky enough to lose his captain by a Confederate bullet; in the +resulting promotions he had gained a commission. He had +been in several engagements, such as they were—at Philippi, +Rich Mountain, Carrick’s Ford and Greenbrier—and had +borne himself with such gallantry as not to attract the attention +of his superior officers. The exhilaration of battle was +agreeable to him, but the sight of the dead, with their clay +faces, blank eyes and stiff bodies, which when not unnaturally +shrunken were unnaturally swollen, had always intolerably +affected him. He felt toward them a kind of reasonless +antipathy that was something more than the physical and spiritual +repugnance common to us all. Doubtless this feeling was due +to his unusually acute sensibilities—his keen sense of the +beautiful, which these hideous things outraged. Whatever +may have been the cause, he could not look upon a dead body +without a loathing which had in it an element of +resentment. What others have respected as the dignity of +death had to him no existence—was altogether +unthinkable. Death was a thing to be hated. It was +not picturesque, it had no tender and solemn side—a dismal +thing, hideous in all its manifestations and suggestions. +Lieutenant Byring was a braver man than anybody knew, for nobody +knew his horror of that which he was ever ready to incur.</p> +<p>Having posted his men, instructed his sergeants and retired to +his station, he seated himself on a log, and with senses all +alert began his vigil. For greater ease he loosened his +sword-belt and taking his heavy revolver from his holster laid it +on the log beside him. He felt very comfortable, though he +hardly gave the fact a thought, so intently did he listen for any +sound from the front which might have a menacing +significance—a shout, a shot, or the footfall of one of his +sergeants coming to apprise him of something worth knowing. +From the vast, invisible ocean of moonlight overhead fell, here +and there, a slender, broken stream that seemed to plash against +the intercepting branches and trickle to earth, forming small +white pools among the clumps of laurel. But these leaks +were few and served only to accentuate the blackness of his +environment, which his imagination found it easy to people with +all manner of unfamiliar shapes, menacing, uncanny, or merely +grotesque.</p> +<p>He to whom the portentous conspiracy of night and solitude and +silence in the heart of a great forest is not an unknown +experience needs not to be told what another world it all +is—how even the most commonplace and familiar objects take +on another character. The trees group themselves +differently; they draw closer together, as if in fear. The +very silence has another quality than the silence of the +day. And it is full of half-heard whispers—whispers +that startle—ghosts of sounds long dead. There are +living sounds, too, such as are never heard under other +conditions: notes of strange night-birds, the cries of small +animals in sudden encounters with stealthy foes or in their +dreams, a rustling in the dead leaves—it may be the leap of +a wood-rat, it may be the footfall of a panther. What +caused the breaking of that twig?—what the low, alarmed +twittering in that bushful of birds? There are sounds +without a name, forms without substance, translations in space of +objects which have not been seen to move, movements wherein +nothing is observed to change its place. Ah, children of +the sunlight and the gaslight, how little you know of the world +in which you live!</p> +<p>Surrounded at a little distance by armed and watchful friends, +Byring felt utterly alone. Yielding himself to the solemn +and mysterious spirit of the time and place, he had forgotten the +nature of his connection with the visible and audible aspects and +phases of the night. The forest was boundless; men and the +habitations of men did not exist. The universe was one +primeval mystery of darkness, without form and void, himself the +sole, dumb questioner of its eternal secret. Absorbed in +thoughts born of this mood, he suffered the time to slip away +unnoted. Meantime the infrequent patches of white light +lying amongst the tree-trunks had undergone changes of size, form +and place. In one of them near by, just at the roadside, +his eye fell upon an object that he had not previously +observed. It was almost before his face as he sat; he could +have sworn that it had not before been there. It was partly +covered in shadow, but he could see that it was a human +figure. Instinctively he adjusted the clasp of his +sword-belt and laid hold of his pistol—again he was in a +world of war, by occupation an assassin.</p> +<p>The figure did not move. Rising, pistol in hand, he +approached. The figure lay upon its back, its upper part in +shadow, but standing above it and looking down upon the face, he +saw that it was a dead body. He shuddered and turned from +it with a feeling of sickness and disgust, resumed his seat upon +the log, and forgetting military prudence struck a match and lit +a cigar. In the sudden blackness that followed the +extinction of the flame he felt a sense of relief; he could no +longer see the object of his aversion. Nevertheless, he +kept his eyes set in that direction until it appeared again with +growing distinctness. It seemed to have moved a trifle +nearer.</p> +<p>“Damn the thing!” he muttered. “What +does it want?”</p> +<p>It did not appear to be in need of anything but a soul.</p> +<p>Byring turned away his eyes and began humming a tune, but he +broke off in the middle of a bar and looked at the dead +body. Its presence annoyed him, though he could hardly have +had a quieter neighbor. He was conscious, too, of a vague, +indefinable feeling that was new to him. It was not fear, +but rather a sense of the supernatural—in which he did not +at all believe.</p> +<p>“I have inherited it,” he said to himself. +“I suppose it will require a thousand ages—perhaps +ten thousand—for humanity to outgrow this feeling. +Where and when did it originate? Away back, probably, in +what is called the cradle of the human race—the plains of +Central Asia. What we inherit as a superstition our +barbarous ancestors must have held as a reasonable +conviction. Doubtless they believed themselves justified by +facts whose nature we cannot even conjecture in thinking a dead +body a malign thing endowed with some strange power of mischief, +with perhaps a will and a purpose to exert it. Possibly +they had some awful form of religion of which that was one of the +chief doctrines, sedulously taught by their priesthood, as ours +teach the immortality of the soul. As the Aryans moved +slowly on, to and through the Caucasus passes, and spread over +Europe, new conditions of life must have resulted in the +formulation of new religions. The old belief in the +malevolence of the dead body was lost from the creeds and even +perished from tradition, but it left its heritage of terror, +which is transmitted from generation to generation—is as +much a part of us as are our blood and bones.”</p> +<p>In following out his thought he had forgotten that which +suggested it; but now his eye fell again upon the corpse. +The shadow had now altogether uncovered it. He saw the +sharp profile, the chin in the air, the whole face, ghastly white +in the moonlight. The clothing was gray, the uniform of a +Confederate soldier. The coat and waistcoat, unbuttoned, +had fallen away on each side, exposing the white shirt. The +chest seemed unnaturally prominent, but the abdomen had sunk in, +leaving a sharp projection at the line of the lower ribs. +The arms were extended, the left knee was thrust upward. +The whole posture impressed Byring as having been studied with a +view to the horrible.</p> +<p>“Bah!” he exclaimed; “he was an +actor—he knows how to be dead.”</p> +<p>He drew away his eyes, directing them resolutely along one of +the roads leading to the front, and resumed his philosophizing +where he had left off.</p> +<p>“It may be that our Central Asian ancestors had not the +custom of burial. In that case it is easy to understand +their fear of the dead, who really were a menace and an +evil. They bred pestilences. Children were taught to +avoid the places where they lay, and to run away if by +inadvertence they came near a corpse. I think, indeed, +I’d better go away from this chap.”</p> +<p>He half rose to do so, then remembered that he had told his +men in front and the officer in the rear who was to relieve him +that he could at any time be found at that spot. It was a +matter of pride, too. If he abandoned his post he feared +they would think he feared the corpse. He was no coward and +he was unwilling to incur anybody’s ridicule. So he +again seated himself, and to prove his courage looked boldly at +the body. The right arm—the one farthest from +him—was now in shadow. He could barely see the hand +which, he had before observed, lay at the root of a clump of +laurel. There had been no change, a fact which gave him a +certain comfort, he could not have said why. He did not at +once remove his eyes; that which we do not wish to see has a +strange fascination, sometimes irresistible. Of the woman +who covers her eyes with her hands and looks between the fingers +let it be said that the wits have dealt with her not altogether +justly.</p> +<p>Byring suddenly became conscious of a pain in his right +hand. He withdrew his eyes from his enemy and looked at +it. He was grasping the hilt of his drawn sword so tightly +that it hurt him. He observed, too, that he was leaning +forward in a strained attitude—crouching like a gladiator +ready to spring at the throat of an antagonist. His teeth +were clenched and he was breathing hard. This matter was +soon set right, and as his muscles relaxed and he drew a long +breath he felt keenly enough the ludicrousness of the +incident. It affected him to laughter. Heavens! what +sound was that? what mindless devil was uttering an unholy glee +in mockery of human merriment? He sprang to his feet and +looked about him, not recognizing his own laugh.</p> +<p>He could no longer conceal from himself the horrible fact of +his cowardice; he was thoroughly frightened! He would have +run from the spot, but his legs refused their office; they gave +way beneath him and he sat again upon the log, violently +trembling. His face was wet, his whole body bathed in a +chill perspiration. He could not even cry out. +Distinctly he heard behind him a stealthy tread, as of some wild +animal, and dared not look over his shoulder. Had the +soulless living joined forces with the soulless dead?—was +it an animal? Ah, if he could but be assured of that! +But by no effort of will could he now unfix his gaze from the +face of the dead man.</p> +<p>I repeat that Lieutenant Byring was a brave and intelligent +man. But what would you have? Shall a man cope, +single-handed, with so monstrous an alliance as that of night and +solitude and silence and the dead,—while an incalculable +host of his own ancestors shriek into the ear of his spirit their +coward counsel, sing their doleful death-songs in his heart, and +disarm his very blood of all its iron? The odds are too +great—courage was not made for so rough use as that.</p> +<p>One sole conviction now had the man in possession: that the +body had moved. It lay nearer to the edge of its plot of +light—there could be no doubt of it. It had also +moved its arms, for, look, they are both in the shadow! A +breath of cold air struck Byring full in the face; the boughs of +trees above him stirred and moaned. A strongly defined +shadow passed across the face of the dead, left it luminous, +passed back upon it and left it half obscured. The horrible +thing was visibly moving! At that moment a single shot rang +out upon the picket-line—a lonelier and louder, though more +distant, shot than ever had been heard by mortal ear! It +broke the spell of that enchanted man; it slew the silence and +the solitude, dispersed the hindering host from Central Asia and +released his modern manhood. With a cry like that of some +great bird pouncing upon its prey he sprang forward, hot-hearted +for action!</p> +<p>Shot after shot now came from the front. There were +shoutings and confusion, hoof-beats and desultory cheers. +Away to the rear, in the sleeping camp, were a singing of bugles +and grumble of drums. Pushing through the thickets on +either side the roads came the Federal pickets, in full retreat, +firing backward at random as they ran. A straggling group +that had followed back one of the roads, as instructed, suddenly +sprang away into the bushes as half a hundred horsemen thundered +by them, striking wildly with their sabres as they passed. +At headlong speed these mounted madmen shot past the spot where +Byring had sat, and vanished round an angle of the road, shouting +and firing their pistols. A moment later there was a roar +of musketry, followed by dropping shots—they had +encountered the reserve-guard in line; and back they came in dire +confusion, with here and there an empty saddle and many a +maddened horse, bullet-stung, snorting and plunging with +pain. It was all over—“an affair of +outposts.”</p> +<p>The line was reëstablished with fresh men, the roll +called, the stragglers were reformed. The Federal commander +with a part of his staff, imperfectly clad, appeared upon the +scene, asked a few questions, looked exceedingly wise and +retired. After standing at arms for an hour the brigade in +camp “swore a prayer or two” and went to bed.</p> +<p>Early the next morning a fatigue-party, commanded by a captain +and accompanied by a surgeon, searched the ground for dead and +wounded. At the fork of the road, a little to one side, +they found two bodies lying close together—that of a +Federal officer and that of a Confederate private. The +officer had died of a sword-thrust through the heart, but not, +apparently, until he had inflicted upon his enemy no fewer than +five dreadful wounds. The dead officer lay on his face in a +pool of blood, the weapon still in his breast. They turned +him on his back and the surgeon removed it.</p> +<p>“Gad!” said the captain—“It is +Byring!”—adding, with a glance at the other, +“They had a tough tussle.”</p> +<p>The surgeon was examining the sword. It was that of a +line officer of Federal infantry—exactly like the one worn +by the captain. It was, in fact, Byring’s own. +The only other weapon discovered was an undischarged revolver in +the dead officer’s belt.</p> +<p>The surgeon laid down the sword and approached the other +body. It was frightfully gashed and stabbed, but there was +no blood. He took hold of the left foot and tried to +straighten the leg. In the effort the body was +displaced. The dead do not wish to be moved—it +protested with a faint, sickening odor. Where it had lain +were a few maggots, manifesting an imbecile activity.</p> +<p>The surgeon looked at the captain. The captain looked at +the surgeon.</p> +<h2><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>ONE +OF TWINS</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">A LETTER FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF +THE LATE MORTIMER BARR</p> +<p><span class="smcap">You</span> ask me if in my experience as +one of a pair of twins I ever observed anything unaccountable by +the natural laws with which we have acquaintance. As to +that you shall judge; perhaps we have not all acquaintance with +the same natural laws. You may know some that I do not, and +what is to me unaccountable may be very clear to you.</p> +<p>You knew my brother John—that is, you knew him when you +knew that I was not present; but neither you nor, I believe, any +human being could distinguish between him and me if we chose to +seem alike. Our parents could not; ours is the only +instance of which I have any knowledge of so close resemblance as +that. I speak of my brother John, but I am not at all sure +that his name was not Henry and mine John. We were +regularly christened, but afterward, in the very act of tattooing +us with small distinguishing marks, the operator lost his +reckoning; and although I bear upon my forearm a small +“H” and he bore a “J,” it is by no means +certain that the letters ought not to have been transposed. +During our boyhood our parents tried to distinguish us more +obviously by our clothing and other simple devices, but we would +so frequently exchange suits and otherwise circumvent the enemy +that they abandoned all such ineffectual attempts, and during all +the years that we lived together at home everybody recognized the +difficulty of the situation and made the best of it by calling us +both “Jehnry.” I have often wondered at my +father’s forbearance in not branding us conspicuously upon +our unworthy brows, but as we were tolerably good boys and used +our power of embarrassment and annoyance with commendable +moderation, we escaped the iron. My father was, in fact, a +singularly good-natured man, and I think quietly enjoyed +nature’s practical joke.</p> +<p>Soon after we had come to California, and settled at San Jose +(where the only good fortune that awaited us was our meeting with +so kind a friend as you) the family, as you know, was broken up +by the death of both my parents in the same week. My father +died insolvent and the homestead was sacrificed to pay his +debts. My sisters returned to relatives in the East, but +owing to your kindness John and I, then twenty-two years of age, +obtained employment in San Francisco, in different quarters of +the town. Circumstances did not permit us to live together, +and we saw each other infrequently, sometimes not oftener than +once a week. As we had few acquaintances in common, the +fact of our extraordinary likeness was little known. I come +now to the matter of your inquiry.</p> +<p>One day soon after we had come to this city I was walking down +Market street late in the afternoon, when I was accosted by a +well-dressed man of middle age, who after greeting me cordially +said: “Stevens, I know, of course, that you do not go out +much, but I have told my wife about you, and she would be glad to +see you at the house. I have a notion, too, that my girls +are worth knowing. Suppose you come out to-morrow at six +and dine with us, <i>en famille</i>; and then if the ladies +can’t amuse you afterward I’ll stand in with a few +games of billiards.”</p> +<p>This was said with so bright a smile and so engaging a manner +that I had not the heart to refuse, and although I had never seen +the man in my life I promptly replied: “You are very good, +sir, and it will give me great pleasure to accept the +invitation. Please present my compliments to Mrs. Margovan +and ask her to expect me.”</p> +<p>With a shake of the hand and a pleasant parting word the man +passed on. That he had mistaken me for my brother was plain +enough. That was an error to which I was accustomed and +which it was not my habit to rectify unless the matter seemed +important. But how had I known that this man’s name +was Margovan? It certainly is not a name that one would +apply to a man at random, with a probability that it would be +right. In point of fact, the name was as strange to me as +the man.</p> +<p>The next morning I hastened to where my brother was employed +and met him coming out of the office with a number of bills that +he was to collect. I told him how I had +“committed” him and added that if he didn’t +care to keep the engagement I should be delighted to continue the +impersonation.</p> +<p>“That’s queer,” he said thoughtfully. +“Margovan is the only man in the office here whom I know +well and like. When he came in this morning and we had +passed the usual greetings some singular impulse prompted me to +say: ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Margovan, but I neglected +to ask your address.’ I got the address, but what +under the sun I was to do with it, I did not know until +now. It’s good of you to offer to take the +consequence of your impudence, but I’ll eat that dinner +myself, if you please.”</p> +<p>He ate a number of dinners at the same place—more than +were good for him, I may add without disparaging their quality; +for he fell in love with Miss Margovan, proposed marriage to her +and was heartlessly accepted.</p> +<p>Several weeks after I had been informed of the engagement, but +before it had been convenient for me to make the acquaintance of +the young woman and her family, I met one day on Kearney street a +handsome but somewhat dissipated-looking man whom something +prompted me to follow and watch, which I did without any scruple +whatever. He turned up Geary street and followed it until +he came to Union square. There he looked at his watch, then +entered the square. He loitered about the paths for some +time, evidently waiting for someone. Presently he was +joined by a fashionably dressed and beautiful young woman and the +two walked away up Stockton street, I following. I now felt +the necessity of extreme caution, for although the girl was a +stranger it seemed to me that she would recognize me at a +glance. They made several turns from one street to another +and finally, after both had taken a hasty look all +about—which I narrowly evaded by stepping into a +doorway—they entered a house of which I do not care to +state the location. Its location was better than its +character.</p> +<p>I protest that my action in playing the spy upon these two +strangers was without assignable motive. It was one of +which I might or might not be ashamed, according to my estimate +of the character of the person finding it out. As an +essential part of a narrative educed by your question it is +related here without hesitancy or shame.</p> +<p>A week later John took me to the house of his prospective +father-in-law, and in Miss Margovan, as you have already +surmised, but to my profound astonishment, I recognized the +heroine of that discreditable adventure. A gloriously +beautiful heroine of a discreditable adventure I must in justice +admit that she was; but that fact has only this importance: her +beauty was such a surprise to me that it cast a doubt upon her +identity with the young woman I had seen before; how could the +marvelous fascination of her face have failed to strike me at +that time? But no—there was no possibility of error; +the difference was due to costume, light and general +surroundings.</p> +<p>John and I passed the evening at the house, enduring, with the +fortitude of long experience, such delicate enough banter as our +likeness naturally suggested. When the young lady and I +were left alone for a few minutes I looked her squarely in the +face and said with sudden gravity:</p> +<p>“You, too, Miss Margovan, have a double: I saw her last +Tuesday afternoon in Union square.”</p> +<p>She trained her great gray eyes upon me for a moment, but her +glance was a trifle less steady than my own and she withdrew it, +fixing it on the tip of her shoe.</p> +<p>“Was she very like me?” she asked, with an +indifference which I thought a little overdone.</p> +<p>“So like,” said I, “that I greatly admired +her, and being unwilling to lose sight of her I confess that I +followed her until—Miss Margovan, are you sure that you +understand?”</p> +<p>She was now pale, but entirely calm. She again raised +her eyes to mine, with a look that did not falter.</p> +<p>“What do you wish me to do?” she asked. +“You need not fear to name your terms. I accept +them.”</p> +<p>It was plain, even in the brief time given me for reflection, +that in dealing with this girl ordinary methods would not do, and +ordinary exactions were needless.</p> +<p>“Miss Margovan,” I said, doubtless with something +of the compassion in my voice that I had in my heart, “it +is impossible not to think you the victim of some horrible +compulsion. Rather than impose new embarrassments upon you +I would prefer to aid you to regain your freedom.”</p> +<p>She shook her head, sadly and hopelessly, and I continued, +with agitation:</p> +<p>“Your beauty unnerves me. I am disarmed by your +frankness and your distress. If you are free to act upon +conscience you will, I believe, do what you conceive to be best; +if you are not—well, Heaven help us all! You have +nothing to fear from me but such opposition to this marriage as I +can try to justify on—on other grounds.”</p> +<p>These were not my exact words, but that was the sense of them, +as nearly as my sudden and conflicting emotions permitted me to +express it. I rose and left her without another look at +her, met the others as they reentered the room and said, as +calmly as I could: “I have been bidding Miss Margovan good +evening; it is later than I thought.”</p> +<p>John decided to go with me. In the street he asked if I +had observed anything singular in Julia’s manner.</p> +<p>“I thought her ill,” I replied; “that is why +I left.” Nothing more was said.</p> +<p>The next evening I came late to my lodgings. The events +of the previous evening had made me nervous and ill; I had tried +to cure myself and attain to clear thinking by walking in the +open air, but I was oppressed with a horrible presentiment of +evil—a presentiment which I could not formulate. It +was a chill, foggy night; my clothing and hair were damp and I +shook with cold. In my dressing-gown and slippers before a +blazing grate of coals I was even more uncomfortable. I no +longer shivered but shuddered—there is a difference. +The dread of some impending calamity was so strong and +dispiriting that I tried to drive it away by inviting a real +sorrow—tried to dispel the conception of a terrible future +by substituting the memory of a painful past. I recalled +the death of my parents and endeavored to fix my mind upon the +last sad scenes at their bedsides and their graves. It all +seemed vague and unreal, as having occurred ages ago and to +another person. Suddenly, striking through my thought and +parting it as a tense cord is parted by the stroke of +steel—I can think of no other comparison—I heard a +sharp cry as of one in mortal agony! The voice was that of +my brother and seemed to come from the street outside my +window. I sprang to the window and threw it open. A +street lamp directly opposite threw a wan and ghastly light upon +the wet pavement and the fronts of the houses. A single +policeman, with upturned collar, was leaning against a gatepost, +quietly smoking a cigar. No one else was in sight. I +closed the window and pulled down the shade, seated myself before +the fire and tried to fix my mind upon my surroundings. By +way of assisting, by performance of some familiar act, I looked +at my watch; it marked half-past eleven. Again I heard that +awful cry! It seemed in the room—at my side. I +was frightened and for some moments had not the power to +move. A few minutes later—I have no recollection of +the intermediate time—I found myself hurrying along an +unfamiliar street as fast as I could walk. I did not know +where I was, nor whither I was going, but presently sprang up the +steps of a house before which were two or three carriages and in +which were moving lights and a subdued confusion of voices. +It was the house of Mr. Margovan.</p> +<p>You know, good friend, what had occurred there. In one +chamber lay Julia Margovan, hours dead by poison; in another John +Stevens, bleeding from a pistol wound in the chest, inflicted by +his own hand. As I burst into the room, pushed aside the +physicians and laid my hand upon his forehead he unclosed his +eyes, stared blankly, closed them slowly and died without a +sign.</p> +<p>I knew no more until six weeks afterward, when I had been +nursed back to life by your own saintly wife in your own +beautiful home. All of that you know, but what you do not +know is this—which, however, has no bearing upon the +subject of your psychological researches—at least not upon +that branch of them in which, with a delicacy and consideration +all your own, you have asked for less assistance than I think I +have given you:</p> +<p>One moonlight night several years afterward I was passing +through Union square. The hour was late and the square +deserted. Certain memories of the past naturally came into +my mind as I came to the spot where I had once witnessed that +fateful assignation, and with that unaccountable perversity which +prompts us to dwell upon thoughts of the most painful character I +seated myself upon one of the benches to indulge them. A +man entered the square and came along the walk toward me. +His hands were clasped behind him, his head was bowed; he seemed +to observe nothing. As he approached the shadow in which I +sat I recognized him as the man whom I had seen meet Julia +Margovan years before at that spot. But he was terribly +altered—gray, worn and haggard. Dissipation and vice +were in evidence in every look; illness was no less +apparent. His clothing was in disorder, his hair fell +across his forehead in a derangement which was at once uncanny +and picturesque. He looked fitter for restraint than +liberty—the restraint of a hospital.</p> +<p>With no defined purpose I rose and confronted him. He +raised his head and looked me full in the face. I have no +words to describe the ghastly change that came over his own; it +was a look of unspeakable terror—he thought himself eye to +eye with a ghost. But he was a courageous man. +“Damn you, John Stevens!” he cried, and lifting his +trembling arm he dashed his fist feebly at my face and fell +headlong upon the gravel as I walked away.</p> +<p>Somebody found him there, stone-dead. Nothing more is +known of him, not even his name. To know of a man that he +is dead should be enough.</p> +<h2><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>THE +HAUNTED VALLEY</h2> +<h3>I<br /> +HOW TREES ARE FELLED IN CHINA</h3> +<p>A <span class="smcap">half-mile</span> north from Jo. +Dunfer’s, on the road from Hutton’s to Mexican Hill, +the highway dips into a sunless ravine which opens out on either +hand in a half-confidential manner, as if it had a secret to +impart at some more convenient season. I never used to ride +through it without looking first to the one side and then to the +other, to see if the time had arrived for the revelation. +If I saw nothing—and I never did see anything—there +was no feeling of disappointment, for I knew the disclosure was +merely withheld temporarily for some good reason which I had no +right to question. That I should one day be taken into full +confidence I no more doubted than I doubted the existence of Jo. +Dunfer himself, through whose premises the ravine ran.</p> +<p>It was said that Jo. had once undertaken to erect a cabin in +some remote part of it, but for some reason had abandoned the +enterprise and constructed his present hermaphrodite habitation, +half residence and half groggery, at the roadside, upon an +extreme corner of his estate; as far away as possible, as if on +purpose to show how radically he had changed his mind.</p> +<p>This Jo. Dunfer—or, as he was familiarly known in the +neighborhood, Whisky Jo.—was a very important personage in +those parts. He was apparently about forty years of age, a +long, shock-headed fellow, with a corded face, a gnarled arm and +a knotty hand like a bunch of prison-keys. He was a hairy +man, with a stoop in his walk, like that of one who is about to +spring upon something and rend it.</p> +<p>Next to the peculiarity to which he owed his local +appellation, Mr. Dunfer’s most obvious characteristic was a +deep-seated antipathy to the Chinese. I saw him once in a +towering rage because one of his herdsmen had permitted a +travel-heated Asian to slake his thirst at the horse-trough in +front of the saloon end of Jo.’s establishment. I +ventured faintly to remonstrate with Jo. for his unchristian +spirit, but he merely explained that there was nothing about +Chinamen in the New Testament, and strode away to wreak his +displeasure upon his dog, which also, I suppose, the inspired +scribes had overlooked.</p> +<p>Some days afterward, finding him sitting alone in his barroom, +I cautiously approached the subject, when, greatly to my relief, +the habitual austerity of his expression visibly softened into +something that I took for condescension.</p> +<p>“You young Easterners,” he said, “are a +mile-and-a-half too good for this country, and you don’t +catch on to our play. People who don’t know a +Chileño from a Kanaka can afford to hang out liberal ideas +about Chinese immigration, but a fellow that has to fight for his +bone with a lot of mongrel coolies hasn’t any time for +foolishness.”</p> +<p>This long consumer, who had probably never done an honest +day’s-work in his life, sprung the lid of a Chinese +tobacco-box and with thumb and forefinger forked out a wad like a +small haycock. Holding this reinforcement within supporting +distance he fired away with renewed confidence.</p> +<p>“They’re a flight of devouring locusts, and +they’re going for everything green in this God blest land, +if you want to know.”</p> +<p>Here he pushed his reserve into the breach and when his +gabble-gear was again disengaged resumed his uplifting +discourse.</p> +<p>“I had one of them on this ranch five years ago, and +I’ll tell you about it, so that you can see the nub of this +whole question. I didn’t pan out particularly well +those days—drank more whisky than was prescribed for me and +didn’t seem to care for my duty as a patriotic American +citizen; so I took that pagan in, as a kind of cook. But +when I got religion over at the Hill and they talked of running +me for the Legislature it was given to me to see the light. +But what was I to do? If I gave him the go somebody else +would take him, and mightn’t treat him white. +<i>What</i> was I to do? What would any good Christian do, +especially one new to the trade and full to the neck with the +brotherhood of Man and the fatherhood of God?”</p> +<p>Jo. paused for a reply, with an expression of unstable +satisfaction, as of one who has solved a problem by a distrusted +method. Presently he rose and swallowed a glass of whisky +from a full bottle on the counter, then resumed his story.</p> +<p>“Besides, he didn’t count for +much—didn’t know anything and gave himself +airs. They all do that. I said him nay, but he muled +it through on that line while he lasted; but after turning the +other cheek seventy and seven times I doctored the dice so that +he didn’t last forever. And I’m almighty glad I +had the sand to do it.”</p> +<p>Jo.’s gladness, which somehow did not impress me, was +duly and ostentatiously celebrated at the bottle.</p> +<p>“About five years ago I started in to stick up a +shack. That was before this one was built, and I put it in +another place. I set Ah Wee and a little cuss named Gopher +to cutting the timber. Of course I didn’t expect Ah +Wee to help much, for he had a face like a day in June and big +black eyes—I guess maybe they were the damn’dest eyes +in this neck o’ woods.”</p> +<p>While delivering this trenchant thrust at common sense Mr. +Dunfer absently regarded a knot-hole in the thin board partition +separating the bar from the living-room, as if that were one of +the eyes whose size and color had incapacitated his servant for +good service.</p> +<p>“Now you Eastern galoots won’t believe anything +against the yellow devils,” he suddenly flamed out with an +appearance of earnestness not altogether convincing, “but I +tell you that Chink was the perversest scoundrel outside San +Francisco. The miserable pigtail Mongolian went to hewing +away at the saplings all round the stems, like a worm o’ +the dust gnawing a radish. I pointed out his error as +patiently as I knew how, and showed him how to cut them on two +sides, so as to make them fall right; but no sooner would I turn +my back on him, like this”—and he turned it on me, +amplifying the illustration by taking some more +liquor—“than he was at it again. It was just +this way: while I looked at him, <i>so</i>”—regarding +me rather unsteadily and with evident complexity of +vision—“he was all right; but when I looked away, +<i>so</i>”—taking a long pull at the +bottle—“he defied me. Then I’d gaze at +him reproachfully, <i>so</i>, and butter wouldn’t have +melted in his mouth.”</p> +<p>Doubtless Mr. Dunfer honestly intended the look that he fixed +upon me to be merely reproachful, but it was singularly fit to +arouse the gravest apprehension in any unarmed person incurring +it; and as I had lost all interest in his pointless and +interminable narrative, I rose to go. Before I had fairly +risen, he had again turned to the counter, and with a barely +audible “so,” had emptied the bottle at a gulp.</p> +<p>Heavens! what a yell! It was like a Titan in his last, +strong agony. Jo. staggered back after emitting it, as a +cannon recoils from its own thunder, and then dropped into his +chair, as if he had been “knocked in the head” like a +beef—his eyes drawn sidewise toward the wall, with a stare +of terror. Looking in the same direction, I saw that the +knot-hole in the wall had indeed become a human eye—a full, +black eye, that glared into my own with an entire lack of +expression more awful than the most devilish glitter. I +think I must have covered my face with my hands to shut out the +horrible illusion, if such it was, and Jo.’s little white +man-of-all-work coming into the room broke the spell, and I +walked out of the house with a sort of dazed fear that +<i>delirium tremens</i> might be infectious. My horse was +hitched at the watering-trough, and untying him I mounted and +gave him his head, too much troubled in mind to note whither he +took me.</p> +<p>I did not know what to think of all this, and like every one +who does not know what to think I thought a great deal, and to +little purpose. The only reflection that seemed at all +satisfactory, was, that on the morrow I should be some miles +away, with a strong probability of never returning.</p> +<p>A sudden coolness brought me out of my abstraction, and +looking up I found myself entering the deep shadows of the +ravine. The day was stifling; and this transition from the +pitiless, visible heat of the parched fields to the cool gloom, +heavy with pungency of cedars and vocal with twittering of the +birds that had been driven to its leafy asylum, was exquisitely +refreshing. I looked for my mystery, as usual, but not +finding the ravine in a communicative mood, dismounted, led my +sweating animal into the undergrowth, tied him securely to a tree +and sat down upon a rock to meditate.</p> +<p>I began bravely by analyzing my pet superstition about the +place. Having resolved it into its constituent elements I +arranged them in convenient troops and squadrons, and collecting +all the forces of my logic bore down upon them from impregnable +premises with the thunder of irresistible conclusions and a great +noise of chariots and general intellectual shouting. Then, +when my big mental guns had overturned all opposition, and were +growling almost inaudibly away on the horizon of pure +speculation, the routed enemy straggled in upon their rear, +massed silently into a solid phalanx, and captured me, bag and +baggage. An indefinable dread came upon me. I rose to +shake it off, and began threading the narrow dell by an old, +grass-grown cow-path that seemed to flow along the bottom, as a +substitute for the brook that Nature had neglected to +provide.</p> +<p>The trees among which the path straggled were ordinary, +well-behaved plants, a trifle perverted as to trunk and eccentric +as to bough, but with nothing unearthly in their general +aspect. A few loose bowlders, which had detached themselves +from the sides of the depression to set up an independent +existence at the bottom, had dammed up the pathway, here and +there, but their stony repose had nothing in it of the stillness +of death. There was a kind of death-chamber hush in the +valley, it is true, and a mysterious whisper above: the wind was +just fingering the tops of the trees—that was all.</p> +<p>I had not thought of connecting Jo. Dunfer’s drunken +narrative with what I now sought, and only when I came into a +clear space and stumbled over the level trunks of some small +trees did I have the revelation. This was the site of the +abandoned “shack.” The discovery was verified +by noting that some of the rotting stumps were hacked all round, +in a most unwoodmanlike way, while others were cut straight +across, and the butt ends of the corresponding trunks had the +blunt wedge-form given by the axe of a master.</p> +<p>The opening among the trees was not more than thirty paces +across. At one side was a little knoll—a natural +hillock, bare of shrubbery but covered with wild grass, and on +this, standing out of the grass, the headstone of a grave!</p> +<p>I do not remember that I felt anything like surprise at this +discovery. I viewed that lonely grave with something of the +feeling that Columbus must have had when he saw the hills and +headlands of the new world. Before approaching it I +leisurely completed my survey of the surroundings. I was +even guilty of the affectation of winding my watch at that +unusual hour, and with needless care and deliberation. Then +I approached my mystery.</p> +<p>The grave—a rather short one—was in somewhat +better repair than was consistent with its obvious age and +isolation, and my eyes, I dare say, widened a trifle at a clump +of unmistakable garden flowers showing evidence of recent +watering. The stone had clearly enough done duty once as a +doorstep. In its front was carved, or rather dug, an +inscription. It read thus:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">AH +WEE—CHINAMAN.<br /> +Age unknown. Worked for Jo. Dunfer.<br /> +This monument is erected by him to keep the Chink’s<br /> +memory green. Likewise as a warning to Celestials<br /> +not to take on airs. Devil take ’em!<br /> +She Was a Good Egg.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I cannot adequately relate my astonishment at this uncommon +inscription! The meagre but sufficient identification of +the deceased; the impudent candor of confession; the brutal +anathema; the ludicrous change of sex and sentiment—all +marked this record as the work of one who must have been at least +as much demented as bereaved. I felt that any further +disclosure would be a paltry anti-climax, and with an unconscious +regard for dramatic effect turned squarely about and walked +away. Nor did I return to that part of the county for four +years.</p> +<h3><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>II<br /> +WHO DRIVES SANE OXEN SHOULD HIMSELF BE SANE</h3> +<p>“Gee-up, there, old Fuddy-Duddy!”</p> +<p>This unique adjuration came from the lips of a queer little +man perched upon a wagonful of firewood, behind a brace of oxen +that were hauling it easily along with a simulation of mighty +effort which had evidently not imposed on their lord and +master. As that gentleman happened at the moment to be +staring me squarely in the face as I stood by the roadside it was +not altogether clear whether he was addressing me or his beasts; +nor could I say if they were named Fuddy and Duddy and were both +subjects of the imperative verb “to gee-up.” +Anyhow the command produced no effect on us, and the queer little +man removed his eyes from mine long enough to spear Fuddy and +Duddy alternately with a long pole, remarking, quietly but with +feeling: “Dern your skin,” as if they enjoyed that +integument in common. Observing that my request for a ride +took no attention, and finding myself falling slowly astern, I +placed one foot upon the inner circumference of a hind wheel and +was slowly elevated to the level of the hub, whence I boarded the +concern, <i>sans cérémonie</i>, and scrambling +forward seated myself beside the driver—who took no notice +of me until he had administered another indiscriminate +castigation to his cattle, accompanied with the advice to +“buckle down, you derned Incapable!” Then, the +master of the outfit (or rather the former master, for I could +not suppress a whimsical feeling that the entire establishment +was my lawful prize) trained his big, black eyes upon me with an +expression strangely, and somewhat unpleasantly, familiar, laid +down his rod—which neither blossomed nor turned into a +serpent, as I half expected—folded his arms, and gravely +demanded, “W’at did you do to +W’isky?”</p> +<p>My natural reply would have been that I drank it, but there +was something about the query that suggested a hidden +significance, and something about the man that did not invite a +shallow jest. And so, having no other answer ready, I +merely held my tongue, but felt as if I were resting under an +imputation of guilt, and that my silence was being construed into +a confession.</p> +<p>Just then a cold shadow fell upon my cheek, and caused me to +look up. We were descending into my ravine! I cannot +describe the sensation that came upon me: I had not seen it since +it unbosomed itself four years before, and now I felt like one to +whom a friend has made some sorrowing confession of crime long +past, and who has basely deserted him in consequence. The +old memories of Jo. Dunfer, his fragmentary revelation, and the +unsatisfying explanatory note by the headstone, came back with +singular distinctness. I wondered what had become of Jo., +and—I turned sharply round and asked my prisoner. He +was intently watching his cattle, and without withdrawing his +eyes replied:</p> +<p>“Gee-up, old Terrapin! He lies aside of Ah Wee up +the gulch. Like to see it? They always come back to +the spot—I’ve been expectin’ you. +H-woa!”</p> +<p>At the enunciation of the aspirate, Fuddy-Duddy, the incapable +terrapin, came to a dead halt, and before the vowel had died away +up the ravine had folded up all his eight legs and lain down in +the dusty road, regardless of the effect upon his derned +skin. The queer little man slid off his seat to the ground +and started up the dell without deigning to look back to see if I +was following. But I was.</p> +<p>It was about the same season of the year, and at near the same +hour of the day, of my last visit. The jays clamored +loudly, and the trees whispered darkly, as before; and I somehow +traced in the two sounds a fanciful analogy to the open +boastfulness of Mr. Jo. Dunfer’s mouth and the mysterious +reticence of his manner, and to the mingled hardihood and +tenderness of his sole literary production—the +epitaph. All things in the valley seemed unchanged, +excepting the cow-path, which was almost wholly overgrown with +weeds. When we came out into the “clearing,” +however, there was change enough. Among the stumps and +trunks of the fallen saplings, those that had been hacked +“China fashion” were no longer distinguishable from +those that were cut “’Melican way.” It +was as if the Old-World barbarism and the New-World civilization +had reconciled their differences by the arbitration of an +impartial decay—as is the way of civilizations. The +knoll was there, but the Hunnish brambles had overrun and all but +obliterated its effete grasses; and the patrician garden-violet +had capitulated to his plebeian brother—perhaps had merely +reverted to his original type. Another grave—a long, +robust mound—had been made beside the first, which seemed +to shrink from the comparison; and in the shadow of a new +headstone the old one lay prostrate, with its marvelous +inscription illegible by accumulation of leaves and soil. +In point of literary merit the new was inferior to the +old—was even repulsive in its terse and savage +jocularity:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">JO. DUNFER. DONE +FOR.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I turned from it with indifference, and brushing away the +leaves from the tablet of the dead pagan restored to light the +mocking words which, fresh from their long neglect, seemed to +have a certain pathos. My guide, too, appeared to take on +an added seriousness as he read it, and I fancied that I could +detect beneath his whimsical manner something of manliness, +almost of dignity. But while I looked at him his former +aspect, so subtly inhuman, so tantalizingly familiar, crept back +into his big eyes, repellant and attractive. I resolved to +make an end of the mystery if possible.</p> +<p>“My friend,” I said, pointing to the smaller +grave, “did Jo. Dunfer murder that Chinaman?”</p> +<p>He was leaning against a tree and looking across the open +space into the top of another, or into the blue sky beyond. +He neither withdrew his eyes, nor altered his posture as he +slowly replied:</p> +<p>“No, sir; he justifiably homicided him.”</p> +<p>“Then he really did kill him.”</p> +<p>“Kill ’im? I should say he did, +rather. Doesn’t everybody know that? +Didn’t he stan’ up before the coroner’s jury +and confess it? And didn’t they find a verdict of +‘Came to ’is death by a wholesome Christian sentiment +workin’ in the Caucasian breast’? An’ +didn’t the church at the Hill turn W’isky down for +it? And didn’t the sovereign people elect him Justice +of the Peace to get even on the gospelers? I don’t +know where you were brought up.”</p> +<p>“But did Jo. do that because the Chinaman did not, or +would n’ot, learn to cut down trees like a white +man?”</p> +<p>“Sure!—it stan’s so on the record, which +makes it true an’ legal. My knowin’ better +doesn’t make any difference with legal truth; it +wasn’t my funeral and I wasn’t invited to deliver an +oration. But the fact is, W’isky was jealous o’ +<i>me</i>”—and the little wretch actually swelled out +like a turkeycock and made a pretense of adjusting an imaginary +neck-tie, noting the effect in the palm of his hand, held up +before him to represent a mirror.</p> +<p>“Jealous of <i>you</i>!” I repeated with +ill-mannered astonishment.</p> +<p>“That’s what I said. Why +not?—don’t I look all right?”</p> +<p>He assumed a mocking attitude of studied grace, and twitched +the wrinkles out of his threadbare waistcoat. Then, +suddenly dropping his voice to a low pitch of singular sweetness, +he continued:</p> +<p>“W’isky thought a lot o’ that Chink; nobody +but me knew how ’e doted on ’im. Couldn’t +bear ’im out of ’is sight, the derned +protoplasm! And w’en ’e came down to this +clear-in’ one day an’ found him an’ me +neglectin’ our work—him asleep an’ me grapplin +a tarantula out of ’is sleeve—W’isky laid hold +of my axe and let us have it, good an’ hard! I dodged +just then, for the spider bit me, but Ah Wee got it bad in the +side an’ tumbled about like anything. W’isky +was just weigh-in’ me out one w’en ’e saw the +spider fastened on my finger; then ’e knew he’d made +a jack ass of ’imself. He threw away the axe and got +down on ’is knees alongside of Ah Wee, who gave a last +little kick and opened ’is eyes—he had eyes like +mine—an’ puttin’ up ’is hands drew down +W’isky’s ugly head and held it there w’ile +’e stayed. That wasn’t long, for a +tremblin’ ran through ’im and ’e gave a bit of +a moan an’ beat the game.”</p> +<p>During the progress of the story the narrator had become +transfigured. The comic, or rather, the sardonic element +was all out of him, and as he painted that strange scene it was +with difficulty that I kept my composure. And this +consummate actor had somehow so managed me that the sympathy due +to his <i>dramatis personæ</i> was given to himself. +I stepped forward to grasp his hand, when suddenly a broad grin +danced across his face and with a light, mocking laugh he +continued:</p> +<p>“W’en W’isky got ’is nut out o’ +that ’e was a sight to see! All his fine +clothes—he dressed mighty blindin’ those +days—were spoiled everlastin’! ’Is hair +was towsled and his face—what I could see of it—was +whiter than the ace of lilies. ’E stared once at me, +and looked away as if I didn’t count; an’ then there +were shootin’ pains chasin’ one another from my +bitten finger into my head, and it was Gopher to the dark. +That’s why I wasn’t at the inquest.”</p> +<p>“But why did you hold your tongue afterward?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“It’s that kind of tongue,” he replied, and +not another word would he say about it.</p> +<p>“After that W’isky took to drinkin’ harder +an’ harder, and was rabider an’ rabider anti-coolie, +but I don’t think ’e was ever particularly glad that +’e dispelled Ah Wee. He didn’t put on so much +dog about it w’en we were alone as w’en he had the +ear of a derned Spectacular Extravaganza like you. ’E +put up that headstone and gouged the inscription accordin’ +to his varyin’ moods. It took ’im three weeks, +workin’ between drinks. I gouged his in one +day.”</p> +<p>“When did Jo. die?” I asked rather absently. +The answer took my breath:</p> +<p>“Pretty soon after I looked at him through that +knot-hole, w’en you had put something in his w’isky, +you derned Borgia!”</p> +<p>Recovering somewhat from my surprise at this astounding +charge, I was half-minded to throttle the audacious accuser, but +was restrained by a sudden conviction that came to me in the +light of a revelation. I fixed a grave look upon him and +asked, as calmly as I could: “And when did you go +luny?”</p> +<p>“Nine years ago!” he shrieked, throwing out his +clenched hands—“nine years ago, w’en that big +brute killed the woman who loved him better than she did +me!—me who had followed ’er from San Francisco, where +’e won ’er at draw poker!—me who had watched +over ’er for years w’en the scoundrel she belonged to +was ashamed to acknowledge ’er and treat ’er +white!—me who for her sake kept ’is cussed secret +till it ate ’im up!—me who w’en you poisoned +the beast fulfilled ’is last request to lay ’im +alongside ’er and give ’im a stone to the head of +’im! And I’ve never since seen ’er grave +till now, for I didn’t want to meet ’im +here.”</p> +<p>“Meet him? Why, Gopher, my poor fellow, he is +dead!”</p> +<p>“That’s why I’m afraid of +’im.”</p> +<p>I followed the little wretch back to his wagon and wrung his +hand at parting. It was now nightfall, and as I stood there +at the roadside in the deepening gloom, watching the blank +outlines of the receding wagon, a sound was borne to me on the +evening wind—a sound as of a series of vigorous +thumps—and a voice came out of the night:</p> +<p>“Gee-up, there, you derned old Geranium.”</p> +<h2><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>A +JUG OF SIRUP</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> narrative begins with the +death of its hero. Silas Deemer died on the 16th day of +July, 1863, and two days later his remains were buried. As +he had been personally known to every man, woman and well-grown +child in the village, the funeral, as the local newspaper phrased +it, “was largely attended.” In accordance with +a custom of the time and place, the coffin was opened at the +graveside and the entire assembly of friends and neighbors filed +past, taking a last look at the face of the dead. And then, +before the eyes of all, Silas Deemer was put into the +ground. Some of the eyes were a trifle dim, but in a +general way it may be said that at that interment there was lack +of neither observance nor observation; Silas was indubitably +dead, and none could have pointed out any ritual delinquency that +would have justified him in coming back from the grave. Yet +if human testimony is good for anything (and certainly it once +put an end to witchcraft in and about Salem) he came back.</p> +<p>I forgot to state that the death and burial of Silas Deemer +occurred in the little village of Hillbrook, where he had lived +for thirty-one years. He had been what is known in some +parts of the Union (which is admittedly a free country) as a +“merchant”; that is to say, he kept a retail shop for +the sale of such things as are commonly sold in shops of that +character. His honesty had never been questioned, so far as +is known, and he was held in high esteem by all. The only +thing that could be urged against him by the most censorious was +a too close attention to business. It was not urged against +him, though many another, who manifested it in no greater degree, +was less leniently judged. The business to which Silas was +devoted was mostly his own—that, possibly, may have made a +difference.</p> +<p>At the time of Deemer’s death nobody could recollect a +single day, Sundays excepted, that he had not passed in his +“store,” since he had opened it more than a +quarter-century before. His health having been perfect +during all that time, he had been unable to discern any validity +in whatever may or might have been urged to lure him astray from +his counter and it is related that once when he was summoned to +the county seat as a witness in an important law case and did not +attend, the lawyer who had the hardihood to move that he be +“admonished” was solemnly informed that the Court +regarded the proposal with “surprise.” Judicial +surprise being an emotion that attorneys are not commonly +ambitious to arouse, the motion was hastily withdrawn and an +agreement with the other side effected as to what Mr. Deemer +would have said if he had been there—the other side pushing +its advantage to the extreme and making the supposititious +testimony distinctly damaging to the interests of its +proponents. In brief, it was the general feeling in all +that region that Silas Deemer was the one immobile verity of +Hillbrook, and that his translation in space would precipitate +some dismal public ill or strenuous calamity.</p> +<p>Mrs. Deemer and two grown daughters occupied the upper rooms +of the building, but Silas had never been known to sleep +elsewhere than on a cot behind the counter of the store. +And there, quite by accident, he was found one night, dying, and +passed away just before the time for taking down the +shutters. Though speechless, he appeared conscious, and it +was thought by those who knew him best that if the end had +unfortunately been delayed beyond the usual hour for opening the +store the effect upon him would have been deplorable.</p> +<p>Such had been Silas Deemer—such the fixity and invariety +of his life and habit, that the village humorist (who had once +attended college) was moved to bestow upon him the sobriquet of +“Old Ibidem,” and, in the first issue of the local +newspaper after the death, to explain without offence that Silas +had taken “a day off.” It was more than a day, +but from the record it appears that well within a month Mr. +Deemer made it plain that he had not the leisure to be dead.</p> +<p>One of Hillbrook’s most respected citizens was Alvan +Creede, a banker. He lived in the finest house in town, +kept a carriage and was a most estimable man variously. He +knew something of the advantages of travel, too, having been +frequently in Boston, and once, it was thought, in New York, +though he modestly disclaimed that glittering distinction. +The matter is mentioned here merely as a contribution to an +understanding of Mr. Creede’s worth, for either way it is +creditable to him—to his intelligence if he had put +himself, even temporarily, into contact with metropolitan +culture; to his candor if he had not.</p> +<p>One pleasant summer evening at about the hour of ten Mr. +Creede, entering at his garden gate, passed up the gravel walk, +which looked very white in the moonlight, mounted the stone steps +of his fine house and pausing a moment inserted his latchkey in +the door. As he pushed this open he met his wife, who was +crossing the passage from the parlor to the library. She +greeted him pleasantly and pulling the door further back held it +for him to enter. Instead he turned and, looking about his +feet in front of the threshold, uttered an exclamation of +surprise.</p> +<p>“Why!—what the devil,” he said, “has +become of that jug?”</p> +<p>“What jug, Alvan?” his wife inquired, not very +sympathetically.</p> +<p>“A jug of maple sirup—I brought it along from the +store and set it down here to open the door. What +the—”</p> +<p>“There, there, Alvan, please don’t swear +again,” said the lady, interrupting. Hillbrook, by +the way, is not the only place in Christendom where a vestigial +polytheism forbids the taking in vain of the Evil One’s +name.</p> +<p>The jug of maple sirup which the easy ways of village life had +permitted Hillbrook’s foremost citizen to carry home from +the store was not there.</p> +<p>“Are you quite sure, Alvan?”</p> +<p>“My dear, do you suppose a man does not know when he is +carrying a jug? I bought that sirup at Deemer’s as I +was passing. Deemer himself drew it and lent me the jug, +and I—”</p> +<p>The sentence remains to this day unfinished. Mr. Creede +staggered into the house, entered the parlor and dropped into an +armchair, trembling in every limb. He had suddenly +remembered that Silas Deemer was three weeks dead.</p> +<p>Mrs. Creede stood by her husband, regarding him with surprise +and anxiety.</p> +<p>“For Heaven’s sake,” she said, “what +ails you?”</p> +<p>Mr. Creede’s ailment having no obvious relation to the +interests of the better land he did not apparently deem it +necessary to expound it on that demand; he said +nothing—merely stared. There were long moments of +silence broken by nothing but the measured ticking of the clock, +which seemed somewhat slower than usual, as if it were civilly +granting them an extension of time in which to recover their +wits.</p> +<p>“Jane, I have gone mad—that is it.” He +spoke thickly and hurriedly. “You should have told +me; you must have observed my symptoms before they became so +pronounced that I have observed them myself. I thought I +was passing Deemer’s store; it was open and lit +up—that is what I thought; of course it is never open +now. Silas Deemer stood at his desk behind the +counter. My God, Jane, I saw him as distinctly as I see +you. Remembering that you had said you wanted some maple +sirup, I went in and bought some—that is all—I bought +two quarts of maple sirup from Silas Deemer, who is dead and +underground, but nevertheless drew that sirup from a cask and +handed it to me in a jug. He talked with me, too, rather +gravely, I remember, even more so than was his way, but not a +word of what he said can I now recall. But I saw +him—good Lord, I saw and talked with him—and he is +dead! So I thought, but I’m mad, Jane, I’m as +crazy as a beetle; and you have kept it from me.”</p> +<p>This monologue gave the woman time to collect what faculties +she had.</p> +<p>“Alvan,” she said, “you have given no +evidence of insanity, believe me. This was undoubtedly an +illusion—how should it be anything else? That would +be too terrible! But there is no insanity; you are working +too hard at the bank. You should not have attended the +meeting of directors this evening; any one could see that you +were ill; I knew something would occur.”</p> +<p>It may have seemed to him that the prophecy had lagged a bit, +awaiting the event, but he said nothing of that, being concerned +with his own condition. He was calm now, and could think +coherently.</p> +<p>“Doubtless the phenomenon was subjective,” he +said, with a somewhat ludicrous transition to the slang of +science. “Granting the possibility of spiritual +apparition and even materialization, yet the apparition and +materialization of a half-gallon brown clay jug—a piece of +coarse, heavy pottery evolved from nothing—that is hardly +thinkable.”</p> +<p>As he finished speaking, a child ran into the room—his +little daughter. She was clad in a bedgown. Hastening +to her father she threw her arms about his neck, saying: +“You naughty papa, you forgot to come in and kiss me. +We heard you open the gate and got up and looked out. And, +papa dear, Eddy says mayn’t he have the little jug when it +is empty?”</p> +<p>As the full import of that revelation imparted itself to Alvan +Creede’s understanding he visibly shuddered. For the +child could not have heard a word of the conversation.</p> +<p>The estate of Silas Deemer being in the hands of an +administrator who had thought it best to dispose of the +“business” the store had been closed ever since the +owner’s death, the goods having been removed by another +“merchant” who had purchased them <i>en +bloc</i>. The rooms above were vacant as well, for the +widow and daughters had gone to another town.</p> +<p>On the evening immediately after Alvan Creede’s +adventure (which had somehow “got out”) a crowd of +men, women and children thronged the sidewalk opposite the +store. That the place was haunted by the spirit of the late +Silas Deemer was now well known to every resident of Hillbrook, +though many affected disbelief. Of these the hardiest, and +in a general way the youngest, threw stones against the front of +the building, the only part accessible, but carefully missed the +unshuttered windows. Incredulity had not grown to +malice. A few venturesome souls crossed the street and +rattled the door in its frame; struck matches and held them near +the window; attempted to view the black interior. Some of +the spectators invited attention to their wit by shouting and +groaning and challenging the ghost to a footrace.</p> +<p>After a considerable time had elapsed without any +manifestation, and many of the crowd had gone away, all those +remaining began to observe that the interior of the store was +suffused with a dim, yellow light. At this all +demonstrations ceased; the intrepid souls about the door and +windows fell back to the opposite side of the street and were +merged in the crowd; the small boys ceased throwing stones. +Nobody spoke above his breath; all whispered excitedly and +pointed to the now steadily growing light. How long a time +had passed since the first faint glow had been observed none +could have guessed, but eventually the illumination was bright +enough to reveal the whole interior of the store; and there, +standing at his desk behind the counter, Silas Deemer was +distinctly visible!</p> +<p>The effect upon the crowd was marvelous. It began +rapidly to melt away at both flanks, as the timid left the +place. Many ran as fast as their legs would let them; +others moved off with greater dignity, turning occasionally to +look backward over the shoulder. At last a score or more, +mostly men, remained where they were, speechless, staring, +excited. The apparition inside gave them no attention; it +was apparently occupied with a book of accounts.</p> +<p>Presently three men left the crowd on the sidewalk as if by a +common impulse and crossed the street. One of them, a heavy +man, was about to set his shoulder against the door when it +opened, apparently without human agency, and the courageous +investigators passed in. No sooner had they crossed the +threshold than they were seen by the awed observers outside to be +acting in the most unaccountable way. They thrust out their +hands before them, pursued devious courses, came into violent +collision with the counter, with boxes and barrels on the floor, +and with one another. They turned awkwardly hither and +thither and seemed trying to escape, but unable to retrace their +steps. Their voices were heard in exclamations and +curses. But in no way did the apparition of Silas Deemer +manifest an interest in what was going on.</p> +<p>By what impulse the crowd was moved none ever recollected, but +the entire mass—men, women, children, dogs—made a +simultaneous and tumultuous rush for the entrance. They +congested the doorway, pushing for precedence—resolving +themselves at length into a line and moving up step by +step. By some subtle spiritual or physical alchemy +observation had been transmuted into action—the sightseers +had become participants in the spectacle—the audience had +usurped the stage.</p> +<p>To the only spectator remaining on the other side of the +street—Alvan Creede, the banker—the interior of the +store with its inpouring crowd continued in full illumination; +all the strange things going on there were clearly visible. +To those inside all was black darkness. It was as if each +person as he was thrust in at the door had been stricken blind, +and was maddened by the mischance. They groped with aimless +imprecision, tried to force their way out against the current, +pushed and elbowed, struck at random, fell and were trampled, +rose and trampled in their turn. They seized one another by +the garments, the hair, the beard—fought like animals, +cursed, shouted, called one another opprobrious and obscene +names. When, finally, Alvan Creede had seen the last person +of the line pass into that awful tumult the light that had +illuminated it was suddenly quenched and all was as black to him +as to those within. He turned away and left the place.</p> +<p>In the early morning a curious crowd had gathered about +“Deemer’s.” It was composed partly of +those who had run away the night before, but now had the courage +of sunshine, partly of honest folk going to their daily +toil. The door of the store stood open; the place was +vacant, but on the walls, the floor, the furniture, were shreds +of clothing and tangles of hair. Hillbrook militant had +managed somehow to pull itself out and had gone home to medicine +its hurts and swear that it had been all night in bed. On +the dusty desk, behind the counter, was the sales-book. The +entries in it, in Deemer’s handwriting, had ceased on the +16th day of July, the last of his life. There was no record +of a later sale to Alvan Creede.</p> +<p>That is the entire story—except that men’s +passions having subsided and reason having resumed its immemorial +sway, it was confessed in Hillbrook that, considering the +harmless and honorable character of his first commercial +transaction under the new conditions, Silas Deemer, deceased, +might properly have been suffered to resume business at the old +stand without mobbing. In that judgment the local historian +from whose unpublished work these facts are compiled had the +thoughtfulness to signify his concurrence.</p> +<h2><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>STALEY FLEMING’S HALLUCINATION</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Of</span> two men who were talking one was +a physician.</p> +<p>“I sent for you, Doctor,” said the other, +“but I don’t think you can do me any good. May +be you can recommend a specialist in psychopathy. I fancy +I’m a bit loony.”</p> +<p>“You look all right,” the physician said.</p> +<p>“You shall judge—I have hallucinations. I +wake every night and see in my room, intently watching me, a big +black Newfoundland dog with a white forefoot.”</p> +<p>“You say you wake; are you sure about that? +‘Hallucinations’ are sometimes only +dreams.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I wake, all right. Sometimes I lie still a +long time, looking at the dog as earnestly as the dog looks at +me—I always leave the light going. When I can’t +endure it any longer I sit up in bed—and nothing is +there!”</p> +<p>“’M, ’m—what is the beast’s +expression?”</p> +<p>“It seems to me sinister. Of course I know that, +except in art, an animal’s face in repose has always the +same expression. But this is not a real animal. +Newfoundland dogs are pretty mild looking, you know; what’s +the matter with this one?”</p> +<p>“Really, my diagnosis would have no value: I am not +going to treat the dog.”</p> +<p>The physician laughed at his own pleasantry, but narrowly +watched his patient from the corner of his eye. Presently +he said: “Fleming, your description of the beast fits the +dog of the late Atwell Barton.”</p> +<p>Fleming half-rose from his chair, sat again and made a visible +attempt at indifference. “I remember Barton,” +he said; “I believe he was—it was reported +that—wasn’t there something suspicious in his +death?”</p> +<p>Looking squarely now into the eyes of his patient, the +physician said: “Three years ago the body of your old +enemy, Atwell Barton, was found in the woods near his house and +yours. He had been stabbed to death. There have been +no arrests; there was no clew. Some of us had +‘theories.’ I had one. Have +you?”</p> +<p>“I? Why, bless your soul, what could I know about +it? You remember that I left for Europe almost immediately +afterward—a considerable time afterward. In the few +weeks since my return you could not expect me to construct a +‘theory.’ In fact, I have not given the matter +a thought. What about his dog?”</p> +<p>“It was first to find the body. It died of +starvation on his grave.”</p> +<p>We do not know the inexorable law underlying +coincidences. Staley Fleming did not, or he would perhaps +not have sprung to his feet as the night wind brought in through +the open window the long wailing howl of a distant dog. He +strode several times across the room in the steadfast gaze of the +physician; then, abruptly confronting him, almost shouted: +“What has all this to do with my trouble, Dr. +Halderman? You forget why you were sent for.”</p> +<p>Rising, the physician laid his hand upon his patient’s +arm and said, gently: “Pardon me. I cannot diagnose +your disorder off-hand—to-morrow, perhaps. Please go +to bed, leaving your door unlocked; I will pass the night here +with your books. Can you call me without rising?”</p> +<p>“Yes, there is an electric bell.”</p> +<p>“Good. If anything disturbs you push the button +without sitting up. Good night.”</p> +<p>Comfortably installed in an armchair the man of medicine +stared into the glowing coals and thought deeply and long, but +apparently to little purpose, for he frequently rose and opening +a door leading to the staircase, listened intently; then resumed +his seat. Presently, however, he fell asleep, and when he +woke it was past midnight. He stirred the failing fire, +lifted a book from the table at his side and looked at the +title. It was Denneker’s +“Meditations.” He opened it at random and began +to read:</p> +<p>“Forasmuch as it is ordained of God that all flesh hath +spirit and thereby taketh on spiritual powers, so, also, the +spirit hath powers of the flesh, even when it is gone out of the +flesh and liveth as a thing apart, as many a violence performed +by wraith and lemure sheweth. And there be who say that man +is not single in this, but the beasts have the like evil +inducement, and—”</p> +<p>The reading was interrupted by a shaking of the house, as by +the fall of a heavy object. The reader flung down the book, +rushed from the room and mounted the stairs to Fleming’s +bed-chamber. He tried the door, but contrary to his +instructions it was locked. He set his shoulder against it +with such force that it gave way. On the floor near the +disordered bed, in his night clothes, lay Fleming gasping away +his life.</p> +<p>The physician raised the dying man’s head from the floor +and observed a wound in the throat. “I should have +thought of this,” he said, believing it suicide.</p> +<p>When the man was dead an examination disclosed the +unmistakable marks of an animal’s fangs deeply sunken into +the jugular vein.</p> +<p>But there was no animal.</p> +<h2><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>A +RESUMED IDENTITY</h2> +<h3>I<br /> +THE REVIEW AS A FORM OF WELCOME</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> summer night a man stood on a +low hill overlooking a wide expanse of forest and field. By +the full moon hanging low in the west he knew what he might not +have known otherwise: that it was near the hour of dawn. A +light mist lay along the earth, partly veiling the lower features +of the landscape, but above it the taller trees showed in +well-defined masses against a clear sky. Two or three +farmhouses were visible through the haze, but in none of them, +naturally, was a light. Nowhere, indeed, was any sign or +suggestion of life except the barking of a distant dog, which, +repeated with mechanical iteration, served rather to accentuate +than dispel the loneliness of the scene.</p> +<p>The man looked curiously about him on all sides, as one who +among familiar surroundings is unable to determine his exact +place and part in the scheme of things. It is so, perhaps, +that we shall act when, risen from the dead, we await the call to +judgment.</p> +<p>A hundred yards away was a straight road, showing white in the +moonlight. Endeavoring to orient himself, as a surveyor or +navigator might say, the man moved his eyes slowly along its +visible length and at a distance of a quarter-mile to the south +of his station saw, dim and gray in the haze, a group of horsemen +riding to the north. Behind them were men afoot, marching +in column, with dimly gleaming rifles aslant above their +shoulders. They moved slowly and in silence. Another +group of horsemen, another regiment of infantry, another and +another—all in unceasing motion toward the man’s +point of view, past it, and beyond. A battery of artillery +followed, the cannoneers riding with folded arms on limber and +caisson. And still the interminable procession came out of +the obscurity to south and passed into the obscurity to north, +with never a sound of voice, nor hoof, nor wheel.</p> +<p>The man could not rightly understand: he thought himself deaf; +said so, and heard his own voice, although it had an unfamiliar +quality that almost alarmed him; it disappointed his ear’s +expectancy in the matter of <i>timbre</i> and resonance. +But he was not deaf, and that for the moment sufficed.</p> +<p>Then he remembered that there are natural phenomena to which +some one has given the name “acoustic shadows.” +If you stand in an acoustic shadow there is one direction from +which you will hear nothing. At the battle of +Gaines’s Mill, one of the fiercest conflicts of the Civil +War, with a hundred guns in play, spectators a mile and a half +away on the opposite side of the Chickahominy valley heard +nothing of what they clearly saw. The bombardment of Port +Royal, heard and felt at St. Augustine, a hundred and fifty miles +to the south, was inaudible two miles to the north in a still +atmosphere. A few days before the surrender at Appomattox a +thunderous engagement between the commands of Sheridan and +Pickett was unknown to the latter commander, a mile in the rear +of his own line.</p> +<p>These instances were not known to the man of whom we write, +but less striking ones of the same character had not escaped his +observation. He was profoundly disquieted, but for another +reason than the uncanny silence of that moonlight march.</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” he said to himself—and again it +was as if another had spoken his thought—“if those +people are what I take them to be we have lost the battle and +they are moving on Nashville!”</p> +<p>Then came a thought of self—an apprehension—a +strong sense of personal peril, such as in another we call +fear. He stepped quickly into the shadow of a tree. +And still the silent battalions moved slowly forward in the +haze.</p> +<p>The chill of a sudden breeze upon the back of his neck drew +his attention to the quarter whence it came, and turning to the +east he saw a faint gray light along the horizon—the first +sign of returning day. This increased his apprehension.</p> +<p>“I must get away from here,” he thought, “or +I shall be discovered and taken.”</p> +<p>He moved out of the shadow, walking rapidly toward the graying +east. From the safer seclusion of a clump of cedars he +looked back. The entire column had passed out of sight: the +straight white road lay bare and desolate in the moonlight!</p> +<p>Puzzled before, he was now inexpressibly astonished. So +swift a passing of so slow an army!—he could not comprehend +it. Minute after minute passed unnoted; he had lost his +sense of time. He sought with a terrible earnestness a +solution of the mystery, but sought in vain. When at last +he roused himself from his abstraction the sun’s rim was +visible above the hills, but in the new conditions he found no +other light than that of day; his understanding was involved as +darkly in doubt as before.</p> +<p>On every side lay cultivated fields showing no sign of war and +war’s ravages. From the chimneys of the farmhouses +thin ascensions of blue smoke signaled preparations for a +day’s peaceful toil. Having stilled its immemorial +allocution to the moon, the watch-dog was assisting a negro who, +prefixing a team of mules to the plow, was flatting and sharping +contentedly at his task. The hero of this tale stared +stupidly at the pastoral picture as if he had never seen such a +thing in all his life; then he put his hand to his head, passed +it through his hair and, withdrawing it, attentively considered +the palm—a singular thing to do. Apparently reassured +by the act, he walked confidently toward the road.</p> +<h3>II<br /> +WHEN YOU HAVE LOST YOUR LIFE CONSULT A PHYSICIAN</h3> +<p>Dr. Stilling Malson, of Murfreesboro, having visited a patient +six or seven miles away, on the Nashville road, had remained with +him all night. At daybreak he set out for home on +horseback, as was the custom of doctors of the time and +region. He had passed into the neighborhood of +Stone’s River battlefield when a man approached him from +the roadside and saluted in the military fashion, with a movement +of the right hand to the hat-brim. But the hat was not a +military hat, the man was not in uniform and had not a martial +bearing. The doctor nodded civilly, half thinking that the +stranger’s uncommon greeting was perhaps in deference to +the historic surroundings. As the stranger evidently +desired speech with him he courteously reined in his horse and +waited.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the stranger, “although a +civilian, you are perhaps an enemy.”</p> +<p>“I am a physician,” was the non-committal +reply.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said the other. “I am a +lieutenant, of the staff of General Hazen.” He paused +a moment and looked sharply at the person whom he was addressing, +then added, “Of the Federal army.”</p> +<p>The physician merely nodded.</p> +<p>“Kindly tell me,” continued the other, “what +has happened here. Where are the armies? Which has +won the battle?”</p> +<p>The physician regarded his questioner curiously with half-shut +eyes. After a professional scrutiny, prolonged to the limit +of politeness, “Pardon me,” he said; “one +asking information should be willing to impart it. Are you +wounded?” he added, smiling.</p> +<p>“Not seriously—it seems.”</p> +<p>The man removed the unmilitary hat, put his hand to his head, +passed it through his hair and, withdrawing it, attentively +considered the palm.</p> +<p>“I was struck by a bullet and have been +unconscious. It must have been a light, glancing blow: I +find no blood and feel no pain. I will not trouble you for +treatment, but will you kindly direct me to my command—to +any part of the Federal army—if you know?”</p> +<p>Again the doctor did not immediately reply: he was recalling +much that is recorded in the books of his +profession—something about lost identity and the effect of +familiar scenes in restoring it. At length he looked the +man in the face, smiled, and said:</p> +<p>“Lieutenant, you are not wearing the uniform of your +rank and service.”</p> +<p>At this the man glanced down at his civilian attire, lifted +his eyes, and said with hesitation:</p> +<p>“That is true. I—I don’t quite +understand.”</p> +<p>Still regarding him sharply but not unsympathetically the man +of science bluntly inquired:</p> +<p>“How old are you?”</p> +<p>“Twenty-three—if that has anything to do with +it.”</p> +<p>“You don’t look it; I should hardly have guessed +you to be just that.”</p> +<p>The man was growing impatient. “We need not +discuss that,” he said; “I want to know about the +army. Not two hours ago I saw a column of troops moving +northward on this road. You must have met them. Be +good enough to tell me the color of their clothing, which I was +unable to make out, and I’ll trouble you no +more.”</p> +<p>“You are quite sure that you saw them?”</p> +<p>“Sure? My God, sir, I could have counted +them!”</p> +<p>“Why, really,” said the physician, with an amusing +consciousness of his own resemblance to the loquacious barber of +the Arabian Nights, “this is very interesting. I met +no troops.”</p> +<p>The man looked at him coldly, as if he had himself observed +the likeness to the barber. “It is plain,” he +said, “that you do not care to assist me. Sir, you +may go to the devil!”</p> +<p>He turned and strode away, very much at random, across the +dewy fields, his half-penitent tormentor quietly watching him +from his point of vantage in the saddle till he disappeared +beyond an array of trees.</p> +<h3>III<br /> +THE DANGER OF LOOKING INTO A POOL OF WATER</h3> +<p>After leaving the road the man slackened his pace, and now +went forward, rather deviously, with a distinct feeling of +fatigue. He could not account for this, though truly the +interminable loquacity of that country doctor offered itself in +explanation. Seating himself upon a rock, he laid one hand +upon his knee, back upward, and casually looked at it. It +was lean and withered. He lifted both hands to his +face. It was seamed and furrowed; he could trace the lines +with the tips of his fingers. How strange!—a mere +bullet-stroke and a brief unconsciousness should not make one a +physical wreck.</p> +<p>“I must have been a long time in hospital,” he +said aloud. “Why, what a fool I am! The battle +was in December, and it is now summer!” He laughed. +“No wonder that fellow thought me an escaped lunatic. +He was wrong: I am only an escaped patient.”</p> +<p>At a little distance a small plot of ground enclosed by a +stone wall caught his attention. With no very definite +intent he rose and went to it. In the center was a square, +solid monument of hewn stone. It was brown with age, +weather-worn at the angles, spotted with moss and lichen. +Between the massive blocks were strips of grass the leverage of +whose roots had pushed them apart. In answer to the +challenge of this ambitious structure Time had laid his +destroying hand upon it, and it would soon be “one with +Nineveh and Tyre.” In an inscription on one side his +eye caught a familiar name. Shaking with excitement, he +craned his body across the wall and read:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">HAZEN’S +BRIGADE<br /> +to<br /> +The Memory of Its Soldiers<br /> +who fell at<br /> +Stone River, Dec. 31, 1862.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The man fell back from the wall, faint and sick. Almost +within an arm’s length was a little depression in the +earth; it had been filled by a recent rain—a pool of clear +water. He crept to it to revive himself, lifted the upper +part of his body on his trembling arms, thrust forward his head +and saw the reflection of his face, as in a mirror. He +uttered a terrible cry. His arms gave way; he fell, face +downward, into the pool and yielded up the life that had spanned +another life.</p> +<h2><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>A +BABY TRAMP</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">If</span> you had seen little Jo standing +at the street corner in the rain, you would hardly have admired +him. It was apparently an ordinary autumn rainstorm, but +the water which fell upon Jo (who was hardly old enough to be +either just or unjust, and so perhaps did not come under the law +of impartial distribution) appeared to have some property +peculiar to itself: one would have said it was dark and +adhesive—sticky. But that could hardly be so, even in +Blackburg, where things certainly did occur that were a good deal +out of the common.</p> +<p>For example, ten or twelve years before, a shower of small +frogs had fallen, as is credibly attested by a contemporaneous +chronicle, the record concluding with a somewhat obscure +statement to the effect that the chronicler considered it good +growing-weather for Frenchmen.</p> +<p>Some years later Blackburg had a fall of crimson snow; it is +cold in Blackburg when winter is on, and the snows are frequent +and deep. There can be no doubt of it—the snow in +this instance was of the color of blood and melted into water of +the same hue, if water it was, not blood. The phenomenon +had attracted wide attention, and science had as many +explanations as there were scientists who knew nothing about +it. But the men of Blackburg—men who for many years +had lived right there where the red snow fell, and might be +supposed to know a good deal about the matter—shook their +heads and said something would come of it.</p> +<p>And something did, for the next summer was made memorable by +the prevalence of a mysterious disease—epidemic, endemic, +or the Lord knows what, though the physicians +didn’t—which carried away a full half of the +population. Most of the other half carried themselves away +and were slow to return, but finally came back, and were now +increasing and multiplying as before, but Blackburg had not since +been altogether the same.</p> +<p>Of quite another kind, though equally “out of the +common,” was the incident of Hetty Parlow’s +ghost. Hetty Parlow’s maiden name had been Brownon, +and in Blackburg that meant more than one would think.</p> +<p>The Brownons had from time immemorial—from the very +earliest of the old colonial days—been the leading family +of the town. It was the richest and it was the best, and +Blackburg would have shed the last drop of its plebeian blood in +defense of the Brownon fair fame. As few of the +family’s members had ever been known to live permanently +away from Blackburg, although most of them were educated +elsewhere and nearly all had traveled, there was quite a number +of them. The men held most of the public offices, and the +women were foremost in all good works. Of these latter, +Hetty was most beloved by reason of the sweetness of her +disposition, the purity of her character and her singular +personal beauty. She married in Boston a young scapegrace +named Parlow, and like a good Brownon brought him to Blackburg +forthwith and made a man and a town councilman of him. They +had a child which they named Joseph and dearly loved, as was then +the fashion among parents in all that region. Then they +died of the mysterious disorder already mentioned, and at the age +of one whole year Joseph set up as an orphan.</p> +<p>Unfortunately for Joseph the disease which had cut off his +parents did not stop at that; it went on and extirpated nearly +the whole Brownon contingent and its allies by marriage; and +those who fled did not return. The tradition was broken, +the Brownon estates passed into alien hands and the only Brownons +remaining in that place were underground in Oak Hill Cemetery, +where, indeed, was a colony of them powerful enough to resist the +encroachment of surrounding tribes and hold the best part of the +grounds. But about the ghost:</p> +<p>One night, about three years after the death of Hetty Parlow, +a number of the young people of Blackburg were passing Oak Hill +Cemetery in a wagon—if you have been there you will +remember that the road to Greenton runs alongside it on the +south. They had been attending a May Day festival at +Greenton; and that serves to fix the date. Altogether there +may have been a dozen, and a jolly party they were, considering +the legacy of gloom left by the town’s recent somber +experiences. As they passed the cemetery the man driving +suddenly reined in his team with an exclamation of +surprise. It was sufficiently surprising, no doubt, for +just ahead, and almost at the roadside, though inside the +cemetery, stood the ghost of Hetty Parlow. There could be +no doubt of it, for she had been personally known to every youth +and maiden in the party. That established the thing’s +identity; its character as ghost was signified by all the +customary signs—the shroud, the long, undone hair, the +“far-away look”—everything. This +disquieting apparition was stretching out its arms toward the +west, as if in supplication for the evening star, which, +certainly, was an alluring object, though obviously out of +reach. As they all sat silent (so the story goes) every +member of that party of merrymakers—they had merry-made on +coffee and lemonade only—distinctly heard that ghost call +the name “Joey, Joey!” A moment later nothing +was there. Of course one does not have to believe all +that.</p> +<p>Now, at that moment, as was afterward ascertained, Joey was +wandering about in the sage-brush on the opposite side of the +continent, near Winnemucca, in the State of Nevada. He had +been taken to that town by some good persons distantly related to +his dead father, and by them adopted and tenderly cared +for. But on that evening the poor child had strayed from +home and was lost in the desert.</p> +<p>His after history is involved in obscurity and has gaps which +conjecture alone can fill. It is known that he was found by +a family of Piute Indians, who kept the little wretch with them +for a time and then sold him—actually sold him for money to +a woman on one of the east-bound trains, at a station a long way +from Winnemucca. The woman professed to have made all +manner of inquiries, but all in vain: so, being childless and a +widow, she adopted him herself. At this point of his career +Jo seemed to be getting a long way from the condition of +orphanage; the interposition of a multitude of parents between +himself and that woeful state promised him a long immunity from +its disadvantages.</p> +<p>Mrs. Darnell, his newest mother, lived in Cleveland, +Ohio. But her adopted son did not long remain with +her. He was seen one afternoon by a policeman, new to that +beat, deliberately toddling away from her house, and being +questioned answered that he was “a doin’ +home.” He must have traveled by rail, somehow, for +three days later he was in the town of Whiteville, which, as you +know, is a long way from Blackburg. His clothing was in +pretty fair condition, but he was sinfully dirty. Unable to +give any account of himself he was arrested as a vagrant and +sentenced to imprisonment in the Infants’ Sheltering +Home—where he was washed.</p> +<p>Jo ran away from the Infants’ Sheltering Home at +Whiteville—just took to the woods one day, and the Home +knew him no more forever.</p> +<p>We find him next, or rather get back to him, standing forlorn +in the cold autumn rain at a suburban street corner in Blackburg; +and it seems right to explain now that the raindrops falling upon +him there were really not dark and gummy; they only failed to +make his face and hands less so. Jo was indeed fearfully +and wonderfully besmirched, as by the hand of an artist. +And the forlorn little tramp had no shoes; his feet were bare, +red, and swollen, and when he walked he limped with both +legs. As to clothing—ah, you would hardly have had +the skill to name any single garment that he wore, or say by what +magic he kept it upon him. That he was cold all over and +all through did not admit of a doubt; he knew it himself. +Anyone would have been cold there that evening; but, for that +reason, no one else was there. How Jo came to be there +himself, he could not for the flickering little life of him have +told, even if gifted with a vocabulary exceeding a hundred +words. From the way he stared about him one could have seen +that he had not the faintest notion of where (nor why) he +was.</p> +<p>Yet he was not altogether a fool in his day and generation; +being cold and hungry, and still able to walk a little by bending +his knees very much indeed and putting his feet down toes first, +he decided to enter one of the houses which flanked the street at +long intervals and looked so bright and warm. But when he +attempted to act upon that very sensible decision a burly dog +came bowsing out and disputed his right. Inexpressibly +frightened and believing, no doubt (with some reason, too) that +brutes without meant brutality within, he hobbled away from all +the houses, and with gray, wet fields to right of him and gray, +wet fields to left of him—with the rain half blinding him +and the night coming in mist and darkness, held his way along the +road that leads to Greenton. That is to say, the road leads +those to Greenton who succeed in passing the Oak Hill +Cemetery. A considerable number every year do not.</p> +<p>Jo did not.</p> +<p>They found him there the next morning, very wet, very cold, +but no longer hungry. He had apparently entered the +cemetery gate—hoping, perhaps, that it led to a house where +there was no dog—and gone blundering about in the darkness, +falling over many a grave, no doubt, until he had tired of it all +and given up. The little body lay upon one side, with one +soiled cheek upon one soiled hand, the other hand tucked away +among the rags to make it warm, the other cheek washed clean and +white at last, as for a kiss from one of God’s great +angels. It was observed—though nothing was thought of +it at the time, the body being as yet unidentified—that the +little fellow was lying upon the grave of Hetty Parlow. The +grave, however, had not opened to receive him. That is a +circumstance which, without actual irreverence, one may wish had +been ordered otherwise.</p> +<h2><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>THE +NIGHT-DOINGS AT “DEADMAN’S”</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">A STORY THAT IS UNTRUE</p> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a singularly sharp night, +and clear as the heart of a diamond. Clear nights have a +trick of being keen. In darkness you may be cold and not +know it; when you see, you suffer. This night was bright +enough to bite like a serpent. The moon was moving +mysteriously along behind the giant pines crowning the South +Mountain, striking a cold sparkle from the crusted snow, and +bringing out against the black west the ghostly outlines of the +Coast Range, beyond which lay the invisible Pacific. The +snow had piled itself, in the open spaces along the bottom of the +gulch, into long ridges that seemed to heave, and into hills that +appeared to toss and scatter spray. The spray was sunlight, +twice reflected: dashed once from the moon, once from the +snow.</p> +<p>In this snow many of the shanties of the abandoned mining camp +were obliterated, (a sailor might have said they had gone down) +and at irregular intervals it had overtopped the tall trestles +which had once supported a river called a flume; for, of course, +“flume” is <i>flumen</i>. Among the advantages +of which the mountains cannot deprive the gold-hunter is the +privilege of speaking Latin. He says of his dead neighbor, +“He has gone up the flume.” This is not a bad +way to say, “His life has returned to the Fountain of +Life.”</p> +<p>While putting on its armor against the assaults of the wind, +this snow had neglected no coign of vantage. Snow pursued +by the wind is not wholly unlike a retreating army. In the +open field it ranges itself in ranks and battalions; where it can +get a foothold it makes a stand; where it can take cover it does +so. You may see whole platoons of snow cowering behind a +bit of broken wall. The devious old road, hewn out of the +mountain side, was full of it. Squadron upon squadron had +struggled to escape by this line, when suddenly pursuit had +ceased. A more desolate and dreary spot than +Deadman’s Gulch in a winter midnight it is impossible to +imagine. Yet Mr. Hiram Beeson elected to live there, the +sole inhabitant.</p> +<p>Away up the side of the North Mountain his little pine-log +shanty projected from its single pane of glass a long, thin beam +of light, and looked not altogether unlike a black beetle +fastened to the hillside with a bright new pin. Within it +sat Mr. Beeson himself, before a roaring fire, staring into its +hot heart as if he had never before seen such a thing in all his +life. He was not a comely man. He was gray; he was +ragged and slovenly in his attire; his face was wan and haggard; +his eyes were too bright. As to his age, if one had +attempted to guess it, one might have said forty-seven, then +corrected himself and said seventy-four. He was really +twenty-eight. Emaciated he was; as much, perhaps, as he +dared be, with a needy undertaker at Bentley’s Flat and a +new and enterprising coroner at Sonora. Poverty and zeal +are an upper and a nether millstone. It is dangerous to +make a third in that kind of sandwich.</p> +<p>As Mr. Beeson sat there, with his ragged elbows on his ragged +knees, his lean jaws buried in his lean hands, and with no +apparent intention of going to bed, he looked as if the slightest +movement would tumble him to pieces. Yet during the last +hour he had winked no fewer than three times.</p> +<p>There was a sharp rapping at the door. A rap at that +time of night and in that weather might have surprised an +ordinary mortal who had dwelt two years in the gulch without +seeing a human face, and could not fail to know that the country +was impassable; but Mr. Beeson did not so much as pull his eyes +out of the coals. And even when the door was pushed open he +only shrugged a little more closely into himself, as one does who +is expecting something that he would rather not see. You +may observe this movement in women when, in a mortuary chapel, +the coffin is borne up the aisle behind them.</p> +<p>But when a long old man in a blanket overcoat, his head tied +up in a handkerchief and nearly his entire face in a muffler, +wearing green goggles and with a complexion of glittering +whiteness where it could be seen, strode silently into the room, +laying a hard, gloved hand on Mr. Beeson’s shoulder, the +latter so far forgot himself as to look up with an appearance of +no small astonishment; whomever he may have been expecting, he +had evidently not counted on meeting anyone like this. +Nevertheless, the sight of this unexpected guest produced in Mr. +Beeson the following sequence: a feeling of astonishment; a sense +of gratification; a sentiment of profound good will. Rising +from his seat, he took the knotty hand from his shoulder, and +shook it up and down with a fervor quite unaccountable; for in +the old man’s aspect was nothing to attract, much to +repel. However, attraction is too general a property for +repulsion to be without it. The most attractive object in +the world is the face we instinctively cover with a cloth. +When it becomes still more attractive—fascinating—we +put seven feet of earth above it.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Mr. Beeson, releasing the old +man’s hand, which fell passively against his thigh with a +quiet clack, “it is an extremely disagreeable night. +Pray be seated; I am very glad to see you.”</p> +<p>Mr. Beeson spoke with an easy good breeding that one would +hardly have expected, considering all things. Indeed, the +contrast between his appearance and his manner was sufficiently +surprising to be one of the commonest of social phenomena in the +mines. The old man advanced a step toward the fire, glowing +cavernously in the green goggles. Mr. Beeson resumed:</p> +<p>“You bet your life I am!”</p> +<p>Mr. Beeson’s elegance was not too refined; it had made +reasonable concessions to local taste. He paused a moment, +letting his eyes drop from the muffled head of his guest, down +along the row of moldy buttons confining the blanket overcoat, to +the greenish cowhide boots powdered with snow, which had begun to +melt and run along the floor in little rills. He took an +inventory of his guest, and appeared satisfied. Who would +not have been? Then he continued:</p> +<p>“The cheer I can offer you is, unfortunately, in keeping +with my surroundings; but I shall esteem myself highly favored if +it is your pleasure to partake of it, rather than seek better at +Bentley’s Flat.”</p> +<p>With a singular refinement of hospitable humility Mr. Beeson +spoke as if a sojourn in his warm cabin on such a night, as +compared with walking fourteen miles up to the throat in snow +with a cutting crust, would be an intolerable hardship. By +way of reply, his guest unbuttoned the blanket overcoat. +The host laid fresh fuel on the fire, swept the hearth with the +tail of a wolf, and added:</p> +<p>“But <i>I</i> think you’d better +skedaddle.”</p> +<p>The old man took a seat by the fire, spreading his broad soles +to the heat without removing his hat. In the mines the hat +is seldom removed except when the boots are. Without +further remark Mr. Beeson also seated himself in a chair which +had been a barrel, and which, retaining much of its original +character, seemed to have been designed with a view to preserving +his dust if it should please him to crumble. For a moment +there was silence; then, from somewhere among the pines, came the +snarling yelp of a coyote; and simultaneously the door rattled in +its frame. There was no other connection between the two +incidents than that the coyote has an aversion to storms, and the +wind was rising; yet there seemed somehow a kind of supernatural +conspiracy between the two, and Mr. Beeson shuddered with a vague +sense of terror. He recovered himself in a moment and again +addressed his guest.</p> +<p>“There are strange doings here. I will tell you +everything, and then if you decide to go I shall hope to +accompany you over the worst of the way; as far as where Baldy +Peterson shot Ben Hike—I dare say you know the +place.”</p> +<p>The old man nodded emphatically, as intimating not merely that +he did, but that he did indeed.</p> +<p>“Two years ago,” began Mr. Beeson, “I, with +two companions, occupied this house; but when the rush to the +Flat occurred we left, along with the rest. In ten hours +the Gulch was deserted. That evening, however, I discovered +I had left behind me a valuable pistol (that is it) and returned +for it, passing the night here alone, as I have passed every +night since. I must explain that a few days before we left, +our Chinese domestic had the misfortune to die while the ground +was frozen so hard that it was impossible to dig a grave in the +usual way. So, on the day of our hasty departure, we cut +through the floor there, and gave him such burial as we +could. But before putting him down I had the extremely bad +taste to cut off his pigtail and spike it to that beam above his +grave, where you may see it at this moment, or, preferably, when +warmth has given you leisure for observation.</p> +<p>“I stated, did I not, that the Chinaman came to his +death from natural causes? I had, of course, nothing to do +with that, and returned through no irresistible attraction, or +morbid fascination, but only because I had forgotten a +pistol. This is clear to you, is it not, sir?”</p> +<p>The visitor nodded gravely. He appeared to be a man of +few words, if any. Mr. Beeson continued:</p> +<p>“According to the Chinese faith, a man is like a kite: +he cannot go to heaven without a tail. Well, to shorten +this tedious story—which, however, I thought it my duty to +relate—on that night, while I was here alone and thinking +of anything but him, that Chinaman came back for his pigtail.</p> +<p>“He did not get it.”</p> +<p>At this point Mr. Beeson relapsed into blank silence. +Perhaps he was fatigued by the unwonted exercise of speaking; +perhaps he had conjured up a memory that demanded his undivided +attention. The wind was now fairly abroad, and the pines +along the mountainside sang with singular distinctness. The +narrator continued:</p> +<p>“You say you do not see much in that, and I must confess +I do not myself.</p> +<p>“But he keeps coming!”</p> +<p>There was another long silence, during which both stared into +the fire without the movement of a limb. Then Mr. Beeson +broke out, almost fiercely, fixing his eyes on what he could see +of the impassive face of his auditor:</p> +<p>“Give it him? Sir, in this matter I have no +intention of troubling anyone for advice. You will pardon +me, I am sure”—here he became singularly +persuasive—“but I have ventured to nail that pigtail +fast, and have assumed the somewhat onerous obligation of +guarding it. So it is quite impossible to act on your +considerate suggestion.</p> +<p>“Do you play me for a Modoc?”</p> +<p>Nothing could exceed the sudden ferocity with which he thrust +this indignant remonstrance into the ear of his guest. It +was as if he had struck him on the side of the head with a steel +gauntlet. It was a protest, but it was a challenge. +To be mistaken for a coward—to be played for a Modoc: these +two expressions are one. Sometimes it is a Chinaman. +Do you play me for a Chinaman? is a question frequently addressed +to the ear of the suddenly dead.</p> +<p>Mr. Beeson’s buffet produced no effect, and after a +moment’s pause, during which the wind thundered in the +chimney like the sound of clods upon a coffin, he resumed:</p> +<p>“But, as you say, it is wearing me out. I feel +that the life of the last two years has been a mistake—a +mistake that corrects itself; you see how. The grave! +No; there is no one to dig it. The ground is frozen, +too. But you are very welcome. You may say at +Bentley’s—but that is not important. It was +very tough to cut: they braid silk into their pigtails. +Kwaagh.”</p> +<p>Mr. Beeson was speaking with his eyes shut, and he +wandered. His last word was a snore. A moment later +he drew a long breath, opened his eyes with an effort, made a +single remark, and fell into a deep sleep. What he said was +this:</p> +<p>“They are swiping my dust!”</p> +<p>Then the aged stranger, who had not uttered one word since his +arrival, arose from his seat and deliberately laid off his outer +clothing, looking as angular in his flannels as the late +Signorina Festorazzi, an Irish woman, six feet in height, and +weighing fifty-six pounds, who used to exhibit herself in her +chemise to the people of San Francisco. He then crept into +one of the “bunks,” having first placed a revolver in +easy reach, according to the custom of the country. This +revolver he took from a shelf, and it was the one which Mr. +Beeson had mentioned as that for which he had returned to the +Gulch two years before.</p> +<p>In a few moments Mr. Beeson awoke, and seeing that his guest +had retired he did likewise. But before doing so he +approached the long, plaited wisp of pagan hair and gave it a +powerful tug, to assure himself that it was fast and firm. +The two beds—mere shelves covered with blankets not +overclean—faced each other from opposite sides of the room, +the little square trapdoor that had given access to the +Chinaman’s grave being midway between. This, by the +way, was crossed by a double row of spike-heads. In his +resistance to the supernatural, Mr. Beeson had not disdained the +use of material precautions.</p> +<p>The fire was now low, the flames burning bluely and +petulantly, with occasional flashes, projecting spectral shadows +on the walls—shadows that moved mysteriously about, now +dividing, now uniting. The shadow of the pendent queue, +however, kept moodily apart, near the roof at the further end of +the room, looking like a note of admiration. The song of +the pines outside had now risen to the dignity of a triumphal +hymn. In the pauses the silence was dreadful.</p> +<p>It was during one of these intervals that the trap in the +floor began to lift. Slowly and steadily it rose, and +slowly and steadily rose the swaddled head of the old man in the +bunk to observe it. Then, with a clap that shook the house +to its foundation, it was thrown clean back, where it lay with +its unsightly spikes pointing threateningly upward. Mr. +Beeson awoke, and without rising, pressed his fingers into his +eyes. He shuddered; his teeth chattered. His guest +was now reclining on one elbow, watching the proceedings with the +goggles that glowed like lamps.</p> +<p>Suddenly a howling gust of wind swooped down the chimney, +scattering ashes and smoke in all directions, for a moment +obscuring everything. When the firelight again illuminated +the room there was seen, sitting gingerly on the edge of a stool +by the hearthside, a swarthy little man of prepossessing +appearance and dressed with faultless taste, nodding to the old +man with a friendly and engaging smile. “From San +Francisco, evidently,” thought Mr. Beeson, who having +somewhat recovered from his fright was groping his way to a +solution of the evening’s events.</p> +<p>But now another actor appeared upon the scene. Out of +the square black hole in the middle of the floor protruded the +head of the departed Chinaman, his glassy eyes turned upward in +their angular slits and fastened on the dangling queue above with +a look of yearning unspeakable. Mr. Beeson groaned, and +again spread his hands upon his face. A mild odor of opium +pervaded the place. The phantom, clad only in a short blue +tunic quilted and silken but covered with grave-mold, rose +slowly, as if pushed by a weak spiral spring. Its knees +were at the level of the floor, when with a quick upward impulse +like the silent leaping of a flame it grasped the queue with both +hands, drew up its body and took the tip in its horrible yellow +teeth. To this it clung in a seeming frenzy, grimacing +ghastly, surging and plunging from side to side in its efforts to +disengage its property from the beam, but uttering no +sound. It was like a corpse artificially convulsed by means +of a galvanic battery. The contrast between its superhuman +activity and its silence was no less than hideous!</p> +<p>Mr. Beeson cowered in his bed. The swarthy little +gentleman uncrossed his legs, beat an impatient tattoo with the +toe of his boot and consulted a heavy gold watch. The old +man sat erect and quietly laid hold of the revolver.</p> +<p>Bang!</p> +<p>Like a body cut from the gallows the Chinaman plumped into the +black hole below, carrying his tail in his teeth. The +trapdoor turned over, shutting down with a snap. The +swarthy little gentleman from San Francisco sprang nimbly from +his perch, caught something in the air with his hat, as a boy +catches a butterfly, and vanished into the chimney as if drawn up +by suction.</p> +<p>From away somewhere in the outer darkness floated in through +the open door a faint, far cry—a long, sobbing wail, as of +a child death-strangled in the desert, or a lost soul borne away +by the Adversary. It may have been the coyote.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>In the early days of the following spring a party of miners on +their way to new diggings passed along the Gulch, and straying +through the deserted shanties found in one of them the body of +Hiram Beeson, stretched upon a bunk, with a bullet hole through +the heart. The ball had evidently been fired from the +opposite side of the room, for in one of the oaken beams overhead +was a shallow blue dint, where it had struck a knot and been +deflected downward to the breast of its victim. Strongly +attached to the same beam was what appeared to be an end of a +rope of braided horsehair, which had been cut by the bullet in +its passage to the knot. Nothing else of interest was +noted, excepting a suit of moldy and incongruous clothing, +several articles of which were afterward identified by +respectable witnesses as those in which certain deceased citizens +of Deadman’s had been buried years before. But it is +not easy to understand how that could be, unless, indeed, the +garments had been worn as a disguise by Death himself—which +is hardly credible.</p> +<h2><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>BEYOND THE WALL</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Many</span> years ago, on my way from +Hongkong to New York, I passed a week in San Francisco. A +long time had gone by since I had been in that city, during which +my ventures in the Orient had prospered beyond my hope; I was +rich and could afford to revisit my own country to renew my +friendship with such of the companions of my youth as still lived +and remembered me with the old affection. Chief of these, I +hoped, was Mohun Dampier, an old schoolmate with whom I had held +a desultory correspondence which had long ceased, as is the way +of correspondence between men. You may have observed that +the indisposition to write a merely social letter is in the ratio +of the square of the distance between you and your +correspondent. It is a law.</p> +<p>I remembered Dampier as a handsome, strong young fellow of +scholarly tastes, with an aversion to work and a marked +indifference to many of the things that the world cares for, +including wealth, of which, however, he had inherited enough to +put him beyond the reach of want. In his family, one of the +oldest and most aristocratic in the country, it was, I think, a +matter of pride that no member of it had ever been in trade nor +politics, nor suffered any kind of distinction. Mohun was a +trifle sentimental, and had in him a singular element of +superstition, which led him to the study of all manner of occult +subjects, although his sane mental health safeguarded him against +fantastic and perilous faiths. He made daring incursions +into the realm of the unreal without renouncing his residence in +the partly surveyed and charted region of what we are pleased to +call certitude.</p> +<p>The night of my visit to him was stormy. The Californian +winter was on, and the incessant rain plashed in the deserted +streets, or, lifted by irregular gusts of wind, was hurled +against the houses with incredible fury. With no small +difficulty my cabman found the right place, away out toward the +ocean beach, in a sparsely populated suburb. The dwelling, +a rather ugly one, apparently, stood in the center of its +grounds, which as nearly as I could make out in the gloom were +destitute of either flowers or grass. Three or four trees, +writhing and moaning in the torment of the tempest, appeared to +be trying to escape from their dismal environment and take the +chance of finding a better one out at sea. The house was a +two-story brick structure with a tower, a story higher, at one +corner. In a window of that was the only visible +light. Something in the appearance of the place made me +shudder, a performance that may have been assisted by a rill of +rain-water down my back as I scuttled to cover in the +doorway.</p> +<p>In answer to my note apprising him of my wish to call, Dampier +had written, “Don’t ring—open the door and come +up.” I did so. The staircase was dimly lighted +by a single gas-jet at the top of the second flight. I +managed to reach the landing without disaster and entered by an +open door into the lighted square room of the tower. +Dampier came forward in gown and slippers to receive me, giving +me the greeting that I wished, and if I had held a thought that +it might more fitly have been accorded me at the front door the +first look at him dispelled any sense of his inhospitality.</p> +<p>He was not the same. Hardly past middle age, he had gone +gray and had acquired a pronounced stoop. His figure was +thin and angular, his face deeply lined, his complexion +dead-white, without a touch of color. His eyes, unnaturally +large, glowed with a fire that was almost uncanny.</p> +<p>He seated me, proffered a cigar, and with grave and obvious +sincerity assured me of the pleasure that it gave him to meet +me. Some unimportant conversation followed, but all the +while I was dominated by a melancholy sense of the great change +in him. This he must have perceived, for he suddenly said +with a bright enough smile, “You are disappointed in +me—<i>non sum qualis eram</i>.”</p> +<p>I hardly knew what to reply, but managed to say: “Why, +really, I don’t know: your Latin is about the +same.”</p> +<p>He brightened again. “No,” he said, +“being a dead language, it grows in appropriateness. +But please have the patience to wait: where I am going there is +perhaps a better tongue. Will you care to have a message in +it?”</p> +<p>The smile faded as he spoke, and as he concluded he was +looking into my eyes with a gravity that distressed me. Yet +I would not surrender myself to his mood, nor permit him to see +how deeply his prescience of death affected me.</p> +<p>“I fancy that it will be long,” I said, +“before human speech will cease to serve our need; and then +the need, with its possibilities of service, will have +passed.”</p> +<p>He made no reply, and I too was silent, for the talk had taken +a dispiriting turn, yet I knew not how to give it a more +agreeable character. Suddenly, in a pause of the storm, +when the dead silence was almost startling by contrast with the +previous uproar, I heard a gentle tapping, which appeared to come +from the wall behind my chair. The sound was such as might +have been made by a human hand, not as upon a door by one asking +admittance, but rather, I thought, as an agreed signal, an +assurance of someone’s presence in an adjoining room; most +of us, I fancy, have had more experience of such communications +than we should care to relate. I glanced at Dampier. +If possibly there was something of amusement in the look he did +not observe it. He appeared to have forgotten my presence, +and was staring at the wall behind me with an expression in his +eyes that I am unable to name, although my memory of it is as +vivid to-day as was my sense of it then. The situation was +embarrassing; I rose to take my leave. At this he seemed to +recover himself.</p> +<p>“Please be seated,” he said; “it is +nothing—no one is there.”</p> +<p>But the tapping was repeated, and with the same gentle, slow +insistence as before.</p> +<p>“Pardon me,” I said, “it is late. May +I call to-morrow?”</p> +<p>He smiled—a little mechanically, I thought. +“It is very delicate of you,” said he, “but +quite needless. Really, this is the only room in the tower, +and no one is there. At least—” He left the +sentence incomplete, rose, and threw up a window, the only +opening in the wall from which the sound seemed to come. +“See.”</p> +<p>Not clearly knowing what else to do I followed him to the +window and looked out. A street-lamp some little distance +away gave enough light through the murk of the rain that was +again falling in torrents to make it entirely plain that +“no one was there.” In truth there was nothing +but the sheer blank wall of the tower.</p> +<p>Dampier closed the window and signing me to my seat resumed +his own.</p> +<p>The incident was not in itself particularly mysterious; any +one of a dozen explanations was possible (though none has +occurred to me), yet it impressed me strangely, the more, +perhaps, from my friend’s effort to reassure me, which +seemed to dignify it with a certain significance and +importance. He had proved that no one was there, but in +that fact lay all the interest; and he proffered no +explanation. His silence was irritating and made me +resentful.</p> +<p>“My good friend,” I said, somewhat ironically, I +fear, “I am not disposed to question your right to harbor +as many spooks as you find agreeable to your taste and consistent +with your notions of companionship; that is no business of +mine. But being just a plain man of affairs, mostly of this +world, I find spooks needless to my peace and comfort. I am +going to my hotel, where my fellow-guests are still in the +flesh.”</p> +<p>It was not a very civil speech, but he manifested no feeling +about it. “Kindly remain,” he said. +“I am grateful for your presence here. What you have +heard to-night I believe myself to have heard twice before. +Now I <i>know</i> it was no illusion. That is much to +me—more than you know. Have a fresh cigar and a good +stock of patience while I tell you the story.”</p> +<p>The rain was now falling more steadily, with a low, monotonous +susurration, interrupted at long intervals by the sudden slashing +of the boughs of the trees as the wind rose and failed. The +night was well advanced, but both sympathy and curiosity held me +a willing listener to my friend’s monologue, which I did +not interrupt by a single word from beginning to end.</p> +<p>“Ten years ago,” he said, “I occupied a +ground-floor apartment in one of a row of houses, all alike, away +at the other end of the town, on what we call Rincon Hill. +This had been the best quarter of San Francisco, but had fallen +into neglect and decay, partly because the primitive character of +its domestic architecture no longer suited the maturing tastes of +our wealthy citizens, partly because certain public improvements +had made a wreck of it. The row of dwellings in one of +which I lived stood a little way back from the street, each +having a miniature garden, separated from its neighbors by low +iron fences and bisected with mathematical precision by a +box-bordered gravel walk from gate to door.</p> +<p>“One morning as I was leaving my lodging I observed a +young girl entering the adjoining garden on the left. It +was a warm day in June, and she was lightly gowned in +white. From her shoulders hung a broad straw hat profusely +decorated with flowers and wonderfully beribboned in the fashion +of the time. My attention was not long held by the +exquisite simplicity of her costume, for no one could look at her +face and think of anything earthly. Do not fear; I shall +not profane it by description; it was beautiful +exceedingly. All that I had ever seen or dreamed of +loveliness was in that matchless living picture by the hand of +the Divine Artist. So deeply did it move me that, without a +thought of the impropriety of the act, I unconsciously bared my +head, as a devout Catholic or well-bred Protestant uncovers +before an image of the Blessed Virgin. The maiden showed no +displeasure; she merely turned her glorious dark eyes upon me +with a look that made me catch my breath, and without other +recognition of my act passed into the house. For a moment I +stood motionless, hat in hand, painfully conscious of my +rudeness, yet so dominated by the emotion inspired by that vision +of incomparable beauty that my penitence was less poignant than +it should have been. Then I went my way, leaving my heart +behind. In the natural course of things I should probably +have remained away until nightfall, but by the middle of the +afternoon I was back in the little garden, affecting an interest +in the few foolish flowers that I had never before +observed. My hope was vain; she did not appear.</p> +<p>“To a night of unrest succeeded a day of expectation and +disappointment, but on the day after, as I wandered aimlessly +about the neighborhood, I met her. Of course I did not +repeat my folly of uncovering, nor venture by even so much as too +long a look to manifest an interest in her; yet my heart was +beating audibly. I trembled and consciously colored as she +turned her big black eyes upon me with a look of obvious +recognition entirely devoid of boldness or coquetry.</p> +<p>“I will not weary you with particulars; many times +afterward I met the maiden, yet never either addressed her or +sought to fix her attention. Nor did I take any action +toward making her acquaintance. Perhaps my forbearance, +requiring so supreme an effort of self-denial, will not be +entirely clear to you. That I was heels over head in love +is true, but who can overcome his habit of thought, or +reconstruct his character?</p> +<p>“I was what some foolish persons are pleased to call, +and others, more foolish, are pleased to be called—an +aristocrat; and despite her beauty, her charms and graces, the +girl was not of my class. I had learned her +name—which it is needless to speak—and something of +her family. She was an orphan, a dependent niece of the +impossible elderly fat woman in whose lodging-house she +lived. My income was small and I lacked the talent for +marrying; it is perhaps a gift. An alliance with that +family would condemn me to its manner of life, part me from my +books and studies, and in a social sense reduce me to the +ranks. It is easy to deprecate such considerations as these +and I have not retained myself for the defense. Let +judgment be entered against me, but in strict justice all my +ancestors for generations should be made co-defendants and I be +permitted to plead in mitigation of punishment the imperious +mandate of heredity. To a mésalliance of that kind +every globule of my ancestral blood spoke in opposition. In +brief, my tastes, habits, instinct, with whatever of reason my +love had left me—all fought against it. Moreover, I +was an irreclaimable sentimentalist, and found a subtle charm in +an impersonal and spiritual relation which acquaintance might +vulgarize and marriage would certainly dispel. No woman, I +argued, is what this lovely creature seems. Love is a +delicious dream; why should I bring about my own awakening?</p> +<p>“The course dictated by all this sense and sentiment was +obvious. Honor, pride, prudence, preservation of my +ideals—all commanded me to go away, but for that I was too +weak. The utmost that I could do by a mighty effort of will +was to cease meeting the girl, and that I did. I even +avoided the chance encounters of the garden, leaving my lodging +only when I knew that she had gone to her music lessons, and +returning after nightfall. Yet all the while I was as one +in a trance, indulging the most fascinating fancies and ordering +my entire intellectual life in accordance with my dream. +Ah, my friend, as one whose actions have a traceable relation to +reason, you cannot know the fool’s paradise in which I +lived.</p> +<p>“One evening the devil put it into my head to be an +unspeakable idiot. By apparently careless and purposeless +questioning I learned from my gossipy landlady that the young +woman’s bedroom adjoined my own, a party-wall +between. Yielding to a sudden and coarse impulse I gently +rapped on the wall. There was no response, naturally, but I +was in no mood to accept a rebuke. A madness was upon me +and I repeated the folly, the offense, but again ineffectually, +and I had the decency to desist.</p> +<p>“An hour later, while absorbed in some of my infernal +studies, I heard, or thought I heard, my signal answered. +Flinging down my books I sprang to the wall and as steadily as my +beating heart would permit gave three slow taps upon it. +This time the response was distinct, unmistakable: one, two, +three—an exact repetition of my signal. That was all +I could elicit, but it was enough—too much.</p> +<p>“The next evening, and for many evenings afterward, that +folly went on, I always having ‘the last word.’ +During the whole period I was deliriously happy, but with the +perversity of my nature I persevered in my resolution not to see +her. Then, as I should have expected, I got no further +answers. ‘She is disgusted,’ I said to myself, +‘with what she thinks my timidity in making no more +definite advances’; and I resolved to seek her and make her +acquaintance and—what? I did not know, nor do I now +know, what might have come of it. I know only that I passed +days and days trying to meet her, and all in vain; she was +invisible as well as inaudible. I haunted the streets where +we had met, but she did not come. From my window I watched +the garden in front of her house, but she passed neither in nor +out. I fell into the deepest dejection, believing that she +had gone away, yet took no steps to resolve my doubt by inquiry +of my landlady, to whom, indeed, I had taken an unconquerable +aversion from her having once spoken of the girl with less of +reverence than I thought befitting.</p> +<p>“There came a fateful night. Worn out with +emotion, irresolution and despondency, I had retired early and +fallen into such sleep as was still possible to me. In the +middle of the night something—some malign power bent upon +the wrecking of my peace forever—caused me to open my eyes +and sit up, wide awake and listening intently for I knew not +what. Then I thought I heard a faint tapping on the +wall—the mere ghost of the familiar signal. In a few +moments it was repeated: one, two, three—no louder than +before, but addressing a sense alert and strained to receive +it. I was about to reply when the Adversary of Peace again +intervened in my affairs with a rascally suggestion of +retaliation. She had long and cruelly ignored me; now I +would ignore her. Incredible fatuity—may God forgive +it! All the rest of the night I lay awake, fortifying my +obstinacy with shameless justifications and—listening.</p> +<p>“Late the next morning, as I was leaving the house, I +met my landlady, entering.</p> +<p>“‘Good morning, Mr. Dampier,’ she +said. ‘Have you heard the news?’</p> +<p>“I replied in words that I had heard no news; in manner, +that I did not care to hear any. The manner escaped her +observation.</p> +<p>“‘About the sick young lady next door,’ she +babbled on. ‘What! you did not know? Why, she +has been ill for weeks. And now—’</p> +<p>“I almost sprang upon her. ‘And now,’ +I cried, ‘now what?’</p> +<p>“‘She is dead.’</p> +<p>“That is not the whole story. In the middle of the +night, as I learned later, the patient, awakening from a long +stupor after a week of delirium, had asked—it was her last +utterance—that her bed be moved to the opposite side of the +room. Those in attendance had thought the request a vagary +of her delirium, but had complied. And there the poor +passing soul had exerted its failing will to restore a broken +connection—a golden thread of sentiment between its +innocence and a monstrous baseness owning a blind, brutal +allegiance to the Law of Self.</p> +<p>“What reparation could I make? Are there masses +that can be said for the repose of souls that are abroad such +nights as this—spirits ‘blown about by the viewless +winds’—coming in the storm and darkness with signs +and portents, hints of memory and presages of doom?</p> +<p>“This is the third visitation. On the first +occasion I was too skeptical to do more than verify by natural +methods the character of the incident; on the second, I responded +to the signal after it had been several times repeated, but +without result. To-night’s recurrence completes the +‘fatal triad’ expounded by Parapelius +Necromantius. There is no more to tell.”</p> +<p>When Dampier had finished his story I could think of nothing +relevant that I cared to say, and to question him would have been +a hideous impertinence. I rose and bade him good night in a +way to convey to him a sense of my sympathy, which he silently +acknowledged by a pressure of the hand. That night, alone +with his sorrow and remorse, he passed into the Unknown.</p> +<h2><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>A +PSYCHOLOGICAL SHIPWRECK</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the summer of 1874 I was in +Liverpool, whither I had gone on business for the mercantile +house of Bronson & Jarrett, New York. I am William +Jarrett; my partner was Zenas Bronson. The firm failed last +year, and unable to endure the fall from affluence to poverty he +died.</p> +<p>Having finished my business, and feeling the lassitude and +exhaustion incident to its dispatch, I felt that a protracted sea +voyage would be both agreeable and beneficial, so instead of +embarking for my return on one of the many fine passenger +steamers I booked for New York on the sailing vessel +<i>Morrow</i>, upon which I had shipped a large and valuable +invoice of the goods I had bought. The <i>Morrow</i> was an +English ship with, of course, but little accommodation for +passengers, of whom there were only myself, a young woman and her +servant, who was a middle-aged negress. I thought it +singular that a traveling English girl should be so attended, but +she afterward explained to me that the woman had been left with +her family by a man and his wife from South Carolina, both of +whom had died on the same day at the house of the young +lady’s father in Devonshire—a circumstance in itself +sufficiently uncommon to remain rather distinctly in my memory, +even had it not afterward transpired in conversation with the +young lady that the name of the man was William Jarrett, the same +as my own. I knew that a branch of my family had settled in +South Carolina, but of them and their history I was ignorant.</p> +<p>The <i>Morrow</i> sailed from the mouth of the Mersey on the +15th of June and for several weeks we had fair breezes and +unclouded skies. The skipper, an admirable seaman but +nothing more, favored us with very little of his society, except +at his table; and the young woman, Miss Janette Harford, and I +became very well acquainted. We were, in truth, nearly +always together, and being of an introspective turn of mind I +often endeavored to analyze and define the novel feeling with +which she inspired me—a secret, subtle, but powerful +attraction which constantly impelled me to seek her; but the +attempt was hopeless. I could only be sure that at least it +was not love. Having assured myself of this and being +certain that she was quite as whole-hearted, I ventured one +evening (I remember it was on the 3d of July) as we sat on deck +to ask her, laughingly, if she could assist me to resolve my +psychological doubt.</p> +<p>For a moment she was silent, with averted face, and I began to +fear I had been extremely rude and indelicate; then she fixed her +eyes gravely on my own. In an instant my mind was dominated +by as strange a fancy as ever entered human consciousness. +It seemed as if she were looking at me, not <i>with</i>, but +<i>through</i>, those eyes—from an immeasurable distance +behind them—and that a number of other persons, men, women +and children, upon whose faces I caught strangely familiar +evanescent expressions, clustered about her, struggling with +gentle eagerness to look at me through the same orbs. Ship, +ocean, sky—all had vanished. I was conscious of +nothing but the figures in this extraordinary and fantastic +scene. Then all at once darkness fell upon me, and anon +from out of it, as to one who grows accustomed by degrees to a +dimmer light, my former surroundings of deck and mast and cordage +slowly resolved themselves. Miss Harford had closed her +eyes and was leaning back in her chair, apparently asleep, the +book she had been reading open in her lap. Impelled by +surely I cannot say what motive, I glanced at the top of the +page; it was a copy of that rare and curious work, +“Denneker’s Meditations,” and the lady’s +index finger rested on this passage:</p> +<p>“To sundry it is given to be drawn away, and to be apart +from the body for a season; for, as concerning rills which would +flow across each other the weaker is borne along by the stronger, +so there be certain of kin whose paths intersecting, their souls +do bear company, the while their bodies go fore-appointed ways, +unknowing.”</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Miss Harford arose, shuddering; the sun had sunk below the +horizon, but it was not cold. There was not a breath of +wind; there were no clouds in the sky, yet not a star was +visible. A hurried tramping sounded on the deck; the +captain, summoned from below, joined the first officer, who stood +looking at the barometer. “Good God!” I heard +him exclaim.</p> +<p>An hour later the form of Janette Harford, invisible in the +darkness and spray, was torn from my grasp by the cruel vortex of +the sinking ship, and I fainted in the cordage of the floating +mast to which I had lashed myself.</p> +<p>It was by lamplight that I awoke. I lay in a berth amid +the familiar surroundings of the stateroom of a steamer. On +a couch opposite sat a man, half undressed for bed, reading a +book. I recognized the face of my friend Gordon Doyle, whom +I had met in Liverpool on the day of my embarkation, when he was +himself about to sail on the steamer <i>City of Prague</i>, on +which he had urged me to accompany him.</p> +<p>After some moments I now spoke his name. He simply said, +“Well,” and turned a leaf in his book without +removing his eyes from the page.</p> +<p>“Doyle,” I repeated, “did they save +<i>her</i>?”</p> +<p>He now deigned to look at me and smiled as if amused. He +evidently thought me but half awake.</p> +<p>“Her? Whom do you mean?”</p> +<p>“Janette Harford.”</p> +<p>His amusement turned to amazement; he stared at me fixedly, +saying nothing.</p> +<p>“You will tell me after a while,” I continued; +“I suppose you will tell me after a while.”</p> +<p>A moment later I asked: “What ship is this?”</p> +<p>Doyle stared again. “The steamer <i>City of +Prague</i>, bound from Liverpool to New York, three weeks out +with a broken shaft. Principal passenger, Mr. Gordon Doyle; +ditto lunatic, Mr. William Jarrett. These two distinguished +travelers embarked together, but they are about to part, it being +the resolute intention of the former to pitch the latter +overboard.”</p> +<p>I sat bolt upright. “Do you mean to say that I +have been for three weeks a passenger on this steamer?”</p> +<p>“Yes, pretty nearly; this is the 3d of July.”</p> +<p>“Have I been ill?”</p> +<p>“Right as a trivet all the time, and punctual at your +meals.”</p> +<p>“My God! Doyle, there is some mystery here; do +have the goodness to be serious. Was I not rescued from the +wreck of the ship <i>Morrow</i>?”</p> +<p>Doyle changed color, and approaching me, laid his fingers on +my wrist. A moment later, “What do you know of +Janette Harford?” he asked very calmly.</p> +<p>“First tell me what <i>you</i> know of her?”</p> +<p>Mr. Doyle gazed at me for some moments as if thinking what to +do, then seating himself again on the couch, said:</p> +<p>“Why should I not? I am engaged to marry Janette +Harford, whom I met a year ago in London. Her family, one +of the wealthiest in Devonshire, cut up rough about it, and we +eloped—are eloping rather, for on the day that you and I +walked to the landing stage to go aboard this steamer she and her +faithful servant, a negress, passed us, driving to the ship +<i>Morrow</i>. She would not consent to go in the same +vessel with me, and it had been deemed best that she take a +sailing vessel in order to avoid observation and lessen the risk +of detection. I am now alarmed lest this cursed breaking of +our machinery may detain us so long that the <i>Morrow</i> will +get to New York before us, and the poor girl will not know where +to go.”</p> +<p>I lay still in my berth—so still I hardly +breathed. But the subject was evidently not displeasing to +Doyle, and after a short pause he resumed:</p> +<p>“By the way, she is only an adopted daughter of the +Harfords. Her mother was killed at their place by being +thrown from a horse while hunting, and her father, mad with +grief, made away with himself the same day. No one ever +claimed the child, and after a reasonable time they adopted +her. She has grown up in the belief that she is their +daughter.”</p> +<p>“Doyle, what book are you reading?”</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s called ‘Denneker’s +Meditations.’ It’s a rum lot, Janette gave it +to me; she happened to have two copies. Want to see +it?”</p> +<p>He tossed me the volume, which opened as it fell. On one +of the exposed pages was a marked passage:</p> +<p>“To sundry it is given to be drawn away, and to be apart +from the body for a season; for, as concerning rills which would +flow across each other the weaker is borne along by the stronger, +so there be certain of kin whose paths intersecting, their souls +do bear company, the while their bodies go fore-appointed ways, +unknowing.”</p> +<p>“She had—she has—a singular taste in +reading,” I managed to say, mastering my agitation.</p> +<p>“Yes. And now perhaps you will have the kindness +to explain how you knew her name and that of the ship she sailed +in.”</p> +<p>“You talked of her in your sleep,” I said.</p> +<p>A week later we were towed into the port of New York. +But the <i>Morrow</i> was never heard from.</p> +<h2><a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>THE +MIDDLE TOE OF THE RIGHT FOOT</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is well known that the old +Manton house is haunted. In all the rural district near +about, and even in the town of Marshall, a mile away, not one +person of unbiased mind entertains a doubt of it; incredulity is +confined to those opinionated persons who will be called +“cranks” as soon as the useful word shall have +penetrated the intellectual demesne of the Marshall +<i>Advance</i>. The evidence that the house is haunted is +of two kinds: the testimony of disinterested witnesses who have +had ocular proof, and that of the house itself. The former +may be disregarded and ruled out on any of the various grounds of +objection which may be urged against it by the ingenious; but +facts within the observation of all are material and +controlling.</p> +<p>In the first place, the Manton house has been unoccupied by +mortals for more than ten years, and with its outbuildings is +slowly falling into decay—a circumstance which in itself +the judicious will hardly venture to ignore. It stands a +little way off the loneliest reach of the Marshall and Harriston +road, in an opening which was once a farm and is still disfigured +with strips of rotting fence and half covered with brambles +overrunning a stony and sterile soil long unacquainted with the +plow. The house itself is in tolerably good condition, +though badly weather-stained and in dire need of attention from +the glazier, the smaller male population of the region having +attested in the manner of its kind its disapproval of dwelling +without dwellers. It is two stories in height, nearly +square, its front pierced by a single doorway flanked on each +side by a window boarded up to the very top. Corresponding +windows above, not protected, serve to admit light and rain to +the rooms of the upper floor. Grass and weeds grow pretty +rankly all about, and a few shade trees, somewhat the worse for +wind, and leaning all in one direction, seem to be making a +concerted effort to run away. In short, as the Marshall +town humorist explained in the columns of the <i>Advance</i>, +“the proposition that the Manton house is badly haunted is +the only logical conclusion from the premises.” The +fact that in this dwelling Mr. Manton thought it expedient one +night some ten years ago to rise and cut the throats of his wife +and two small children, removing at once to another part of the +country, has no doubt done its share in directing public +attention to the fitness of the place for supernatural +phenomena.</p> +<p>To this house, one summer evening, came four men in a +wagon. Three of them promptly alighted, and the one who had +been driving hitched the team to the only remaining post of what +had been a fence. The fourth remained seated in the +wagon. “Come,” said one of his companions, +approaching him, while the others moved away in the direction of +the dwelling—“this is the place.”</p> +<p>The man addressed did not move. “By God!” he +said harshly, “this is a trick, and it looks to me as if +you were in it.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps I am,” the other said, looking him +straight in the face and speaking in a tone which had something +of contempt in it. “You will remember, however, that +the choice of place was with your own assent left to the other +side. Of course if you are afraid of +spooks—”</p> +<p>“I am afraid of nothing,” the man interrupted with +another oath, and sprang to the ground. The two then joined +the others at the door, which one of them had already opened with +some difficulty, caused by rust of lock and hinge. All +entered. Inside it was dark, but the man who had unlocked +the door produced a candle and matches and made a light. He +then unlocked a door on their right as they stood in the +passage. This gave them entrance to a large, square room +that the candle but dimly lighted. The floor had a thick +carpeting of dust, which partly muffled their footfalls. +Cobwebs were in the angles of the walls and depended from the +ceiling like strips of rotting lace, making undulatory movements +in the disturbed air. The room had two windows in adjoining +sides, but from neither could anything be seen except the rough +inner surfaces of boards a few inches from the glass. There +was no fireplace, no furniture; there was nothing: besides the +cobwebs and the dust, the four men were the only objects there +which were not a part of the structure.</p> +<p>Strange enough they looked in the yellow light of the +candle. The one who had so reluctantly alighted was +especially spectacular—he might have been called +sensational. He was of middle age, heavily built, deep +chested and broad shouldered. Looking at his figure, one +would have said that he had a giant’s strength; at his +features, that he would use it like a giant. He was clean +shaven, his hair rather closely cropped and gray. His low +forehead was seamed with wrinkles above the eyes, and over the +nose these became vertical. The heavy black brows followed +the same law, saved from meeting only by an upward turn at what +would otherwise have been the point of contact. Deeply +sunken beneath these, glowed in the obscure light a pair of eyes +of uncertain color, but obviously enough too small. There +was something forbidding in their expression, which was not +bettered by the cruel mouth and wide jaw. The nose was well +enough, as noses go; one does not expect much of noses. All +that was sinister in the man’s face seemed accentuated by +an unnatural pallor—he appeared altogether bloodless.</p> +<p>The appearance of the other men was sufficiently commonplace: +they were such persons as one meets and forgets that he +met. All were younger than the man described, between whom +and the eldest of the others, who stood apart, there was +apparently no kindly feeling. They avoided looking at each +other.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” said the man holding the candle and +keys, “I believe everything is right. Are you ready, +Mr. Rosser?”</p> +<p>The man standing apart from the group bowed and smiled.</p> +<p>“And you, Mr. Grossmith?”</p> +<p>The heavy man bowed and scowled.</p> +<p>“You will be pleased to remove your outer +clothing.”</p> +<p>Their hats, coats, waistcoats and neckwear were soon removed +and thrown outside the door, in the passage. The man with +the candle now nodded, and the fourth man—he who had urged +Grossmith to leave the wagon—produced from the pocket of +his overcoat two long, murderous-looking bowie-knives, which he +drew now from their leather scabbards.</p> +<p>“They are exactly alike,” he said, presenting one +to each of the two principals—for by this time the dullest +observer would have understood the nature of this meeting. +It was to be a duel to the death.</p> +<p>Each combatant took a knife, examined it critically near the +candle and tested the strength of blade and handle across his +lifted knee. Their persons were then searched in turn, each +by the second of the other.</p> +<p>“If it is agreeable to you, Mr. Grossmith,” said +the man holding the light, “you will place yourself in that +corner.”</p> +<p>He indicated the angle of the room farthest from the door, +whither Grossmith retired, his second parting from him with a +grasp of the hand which had nothing of cordiality in it. In +the angle nearest the door Mr. Rosser stationed himself, and +after a whispered consultation his second left him, joining the +other near the door. At that moment the candle was suddenly +extinguished, leaving all in profound darkness. This may +have been done by a draught from the opened door; whatever the +cause, the effect was startling.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” said a voice which sounded strangely +unfamiliar in the altered condition affecting the relations of +the senses—“gentlemen, you will not move until you +hear the closing of the outer door.”</p> +<p>A sound of trampling ensued, then the closing of the inner +door; and finally the outer one closed with a concussion which +shook the entire building.</p> +<p>A few minutes afterward a belated farmer’s boy met a +light wagon which was being driven furiously toward the town of +Marshall. He declared that behind the two figures on the +front seat stood a third, with its hands upon the bowed shoulders +of the others, who appeared to struggle vainly to free themselves +from its grasp. This figure, unlike the others, was clad in +white, and had undoubtedly boarded the wagon as it passed the +haunted house. As the lad could boast a considerable former +experience with the supernatural thereabouts his word had the +weight justly due to the testimony of an expert. The story +(in connection with the next day’s events) eventually +appeared in the <i>Advance</i>, with some slight literary +embellishments and a concluding intimation that the gentlemen +referred to would be allowed the use of the paper’s columns +for their version of the night’s adventure. But the +privilege remained without a claimant.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>The events that led up to this “duel in the dark” +were simple enough. One evening three young men of the town +of Marshall were sitting in a quiet corner of the porch of the +village hotel, smoking and discussing such matters as three +educated young men of a Southern village would naturally find +interesting. Their names were King, Sancher and +Rosser. At a little distance, within easy hearing, but +taking no part in the conversation, sat a fourth. He was a +stranger to the others. They merely knew that on his +arrival by the stage-coach that afternoon he had written in the +hotel register the name Robert Grossmith. He had not been +observed to speak to anyone except the hotel clerk. He +seemed, indeed, singularly fond of his own company—or, as +the <i>personnel</i> of the <i>Advance</i> expressed it, +“grossly addicted to evil associations.” But +then it should be said in justice to the stranger that the +<i>personnel</i> was himself of a too convivial disposition +fairly to judge one differently gifted, and had, moreover, +experienced a slight rebuff in an effort at an +“interview.”</p> +<p>“I hate any kind of deformity in a woman,” said +King, “whether natural or—acquired. I have a +theory that any physical defect has its correlative mental and +moral defect.”</p> +<p>“I infer, then,” said Rosser, gravely, “that +a lady lacking the moral advantage of a nose would find the +struggle to become Mrs. King an arduous enterprise.”</p> +<p>“Of course you may put it that way,” was the +reply; “but, seriously, I once threw over a most charming +girl on learning quite accidentally that she had suffered +amputation of a toe. My conduct was brutal if you like, but +if I had married that girl I should have been miserable for life +and should have made her so.”</p> +<p>“Whereas,” said Sancher, with a light laugh, +“by marrying a gentleman of more liberal views she escaped +with a parted throat.”</p> +<p>“Ah, you know to whom I refer. Yes, she married +Manton, but I don’t know about his liberality; I’m +not sure but he cut her throat because he discovered that she +lacked that excellent thing in woman, the middle toe of the right +foot.”</p> +<p>“Look at that chap!” said Rosser in a low voice, +his eyes fixed upon the stranger.</p> +<p>That chap was obviously listening intently to the +conversation.</p> +<p>“Damn his impudence!” muttered +King—“what ought we to do?”</p> +<p>“That’s an easy one,” Rosser replied, +rising. “Sir,” he continued, addressing the +stranger, “I think it would be better if you would remove +your chair to the other end of the veranda. The presence of +gentlemen is evidently an unfamiliar situation to you.”</p> +<p>The man sprang to his feet and strode forward with clenched +hands, his face white with rage. All were now +standing. Sancher stepped between the belligerents.</p> +<p>“You are hasty and unjust,” he said to Rosser; +“this gentleman has done nothing to deserve such +language.”</p> +<p>But Rosser would not withdraw a word. By the custom of +the country and the time there could be but one outcome to the +quarrel.</p> +<p>“I demand the satisfaction due to a gentleman,” +said the stranger, who had become more calm. “I have +not an acquaintance in this region. Perhaps you, +sir,” bowing to Sancher, “will be kind enough to +represent me in this matter.”</p> +<p>Sancher accepted the trust—somewhat reluctantly it must +be confessed, for the man’s appearance and manner were not +at all to his liking. King, who during the colloquy had +hardly removed his eyes from the stranger’s face and had +not spoken a word, consented with a nod to act for Rosser, and +the upshot of it was that, the principals having retired, a +meeting was arranged for the next evening. The nature of +the arrangements has been already disclosed. The duel with +knives in a dark room was once a commoner feature of Southwestern +life than it is likely to be again. How thin a veneering of +“chivalry” covered the essential brutality of the +code under which such encounters were possible we shall see.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p>In the blaze of a midsummer noonday the old Manton house was +hardly true to its traditions. It was of the earth, +earthy. The sunshine caressed it warmly and affectionately, +with evident disregard of its bad reputation. The grass +greening all the expanse in its front seemed to grow, not rankly, +but with a natural and joyous exuberance, and the weeds blossomed +quite like plants. Full of charming lights and shadows and +populous with pleasant-voiced birds, the neglected shade trees no +longer struggled to run away, but bent reverently beneath their +burdens of sun and song. Even in the glassless upper +windows was an expression of peace and contentment, due to the +light within. Over the stony fields the visible heat danced +with a lively tremor incompatible with the gravity which is an +attribute of the supernatural.</p> +<p>Such was the aspect under which the place presented itself to +Sheriff Adams and two other men who had come out from Marshall to +look at it. One of these men was Mr. King, the +sheriff’s deputy; the other, whose name was Brewer, was a +brother of the late Mrs. Manton. Under a beneficent law of +the State relating to property which has been for a certain +period abandoned by an owner whose residence cannot be +ascertained, the sheriff was legal custodian of the Manton farm +and appurtenances thereunto belonging. His present visit +was in mere perfunctory compliance with some order of a court in +which Mr. Brewer had an action to get possession of the property +as heir to his deceased sister. By a mere coincidence, the +visit was made on the day after the night that Deputy King had +unlocked the house for another and very different purpose. +His presence now was not of his own choosing: he had been ordered +to accompany his superior and at the moment could think of +nothing more prudent than simulated alacrity in obedience to the +command.</p> +<p>Carelessly opening the front door, which to his surprise was +not locked, the sheriff was amazed to see, lying on the floor of +the passage into which it opened, a confused heap of men’s +apparel. Examination showed it to consist of two hats, and +the same number of coats, waistcoats and scarves, all in a +remarkably good state of preservation, albeit somewhat defiled by +the dust in which they lay. Mr. Brewer was equally +astonished, but Mr. King’s emotion is not of record. +With a new and lively interest in his own actions the sheriff now +unlatched and pushed open a door on the right, and the three +entered. The room was apparently vacant—no; as their +eyes became accustomed to the dimmer light something was visible +in the farthest angle of the wall. It was a human +figure—that of a man crouching close in the corner. +Something in the attitude made the intruders halt when they had +barely passed the threshold. The figure more and more +clearly defined itself. The man was upon one knee, his back +in the angle of the wall, his shoulders elevated to the level of +his ears, his hands before his face, palms outward, the fingers +spread and crooked like claws; the white face turned upward on +the retracted neck had an expression of unutterable fright, the +mouth half open, the eyes incredibly expanded. He was stone +dead. Yet, with the exception of a bowie-knife, which had +evidently fallen from his own hand, not another object was in the +room.</p> +<p>In thick dust that covered the floor were some confused +footprints near the door and along the wall through which it +opened. Along one of the adjoining walls, too, past the +boarded-up windows, was the trail made by the man himself in +reaching his corner. Instinctively in approaching the body +the three men followed that trail. The sheriff grasped one +of the outthrown arms; it was as rigid as iron, and the +application of a gentle force rocked the entire body without +altering the relation of its parts. Brewer, pale with +excitement, gazed intently into the distorted face. +“God of mercy!” he suddenly cried, “it is +Manton!”</p> +<p>“You are right,” said King, with an evident +attempt at calmness: “I knew Manton. He then wore a +full beard and his hair long, but this is he.”</p> +<p>He might have added: “I recognized him when he +challenged Rosser. I told Rosser and Sancher who he was +before we played him this horrible trick. When Rosser left +this dark room at our heels, forgetting his outer clothing in the +excitement, and driving away with us in his shirt +sleeves—all through the discreditable proceedings we knew +whom we were dealing with, murderer and coward that he +was!”</p> +<p>But nothing of this did Mr. King say. With his better +light he was trying to penetrate the mystery of the man’s +death. That he had not once moved from the corner where he +had been stationed; that his posture was that of neither attack +nor defense; that he had dropped his weapon; that he had +obviously perished of sheer horror of something that he +saw—these were circumstances which Mr. King’s +disturbed intelligence could not rightly comprehend.</p> +<p>Groping in intellectual darkness for a clew to his maze of +doubt, his gaze, directed mechanically downward in the way of one +who ponders momentous matters, fell upon something which, there, +in the light of day and in the presence of living companions, +affected him with terror. In the dust of years that lay +thick upon the floor—leading from the door by which they +had entered, straight across the room to within a yard of +Manton’s crouching corpse—were three parallel lines +of footprints—light but definite impressions of bare feet, +the outer ones those of small children, the inner a +woman’s. From the point at which they ended they did +not return; they pointed all one way. Brewer, who had +observed them at the same moment, was leaning forward in an +attitude of rapt attention, horribly pale.</p> +<p>“Look at that!” he cried, pointing with both hands +at the nearest print of the woman’s right foot, where she +had apparently stopped and stood. “The middle toe is +missing—it was Gertrude!”</p> +<p>Gertrude was the late Mrs. Manton, sister to Mr. Brewer.</p> +<h2><a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 252</span>JOHN +MORTONSON’S FUNERAL <a name="citation252"></a><a +href="#footnote252" class="citation">[252]</a></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">John Mortonson</span> was dead: his lines +in “the tragedy ‘Man’” had all been +spoken and he had left the stage.</p> +<p>The body rested in a fine mahogany coffin fitted with a plate +of glass. All arrangements for the funeral had been so well +attended to that had the deceased known he would doubtless have +approved. The face, as it showed under the glass, was not +disagreeable to look upon: it bore a faint smile, and as the +death had been painless, had not been distorted beyond the +repairing power of the undertaker. At two o’clock of +the afternoon the friends were to assemble to pay their last +tribute of respect to one who had no further need of friends and +respect. The surviving members of the family came severally +every few minutes to the casket and wept above the placid +features beneath the glass. This did them no good; it did +no good to John Mortonson; but in the presence of death reason +and philosophy are silent.</p> +<p>As the hour of two approached the friends began to arrive and +after offering such consolation to the stricken relatives as the +proprieties of the occasion required, solemnly seated themselves +about the room with an augmented consciousness of their +importance in the scheme funereal. Then the minister came, +and in that overshadowing presence the lesser lights went into +eclipse. His entrance was followed by that of the widow, +whose lamentations filled the room. She approached the +casket and after leaning her face against the cold glass for a +moment was gently led to a seat near her daughter. +Mournfully and low the man of God began his eulogy of the dead, +and his doleful voice, mingled with the sobbing which it was its +purpose to stimulate and sustain, rose and fell, seemed to come +and go, like the sound of a sullen sea. The gloomy day grew +darker as he spoke; a curtain of cloud underspread the sky and a +few drops of rain fell audibly. It seemed as if all nature +were weeping for John Mortonson.</p> +<p>When the minister had finished his eulogy with prayer a hymn +was sung and the pall-bearers took their places beside the +bier. As the last notes of the hymn died away the widow ran +to the coffin, cast herself upon it and sobbed +hysterically. Gradually, however, she yielded to +dissuasion, becoming more composed; and as the minister was in +the act of leading her away her eyes sought the face of the dead +beneath the glass. She threw up her arms and with a shriek +fell backward insensible.</p> +<p>The mourners sprang forward to the coffin, the friends +followed, and as the clock on the mantel solemnly struck three +all were staring down upon the face of John Mortonson, +deceased.</p> +<p>They turned away, sick and faint. One man, trying in his +terror to escape the awful sight, stumbled against the coffin so +heavily as to knock away one of its frail supports. The +coffin fell to the floor, the glass was shattered to bits by the +concussion.</p> +<p>From the opening crawled John Mortonson’s cat, which +lazily leapt to the floor, sat up, tranquilly wiped its crimson +muzzle with a forepaw, then walked with dignity from the +room.</p> +<h2><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>THE +REALM OF THE UNREAL</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> a part of the distance between +Auburn and Newcastle the road—first on one side of a creek +and then on the other—occupies the whole bottom of the +ravine, being partly cut out of the steep hillside, and partly +built up with bowlders removed from the creek-bed by the +miners. The hills are wooded, the course of the ravine is +sinuous. In a dark night careful driving is required in +order not to go off into the water. The night that I have +in memory was dark, the creek a torrent, swollen by a recent +storm. I had driven up from Newcastle and was within about +a mile of Auburn in the darkest and narrowest part of the ravine, +looking intently ahead of my horse for the roadway. +Suddenly I saw a man almost under the animal’s nose, and +reined in with a jerk that came near setting the creature upon +its haunches.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” I said; “I did not see +you, sir.”</p> +<p>“You could hardly be expected to see me,” the man +replied, civilly, approaching the side of the vehicle; “and +the noise of the creek prevented my hearing you.”</p> +<p>I at once recognized the voice, although five years had passed +since I had heard it. I was not particularly well pleased +to hear it now.</p> +<p>“You are Dr. Dorrimore, I think,” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes; and you are my good friend Mr. Manrich. I am +more than glad to see you—the excess,” he added, with +a light laugh, “being due to the fact that I am going your +way, and naturally expect an invitation to ride with +you.”</p> +<p>“Which I extend with all my heart.”</p> +<p>That was not altogether true.</p> +<p>Dr. Dorrimore thanked me as he seated himself beside me, and I +drove cautiously forward, as before. Doubtless it is fancy, +but it seems to me now that the remaining distance was made in a +chill fog; that I was uncomfortably cold; that the way was longer +than ever before, and the town, when we reached it, cheerless, +forbidding, and desolate. It must have been early in the +evening, yet I do not recollect a light in any of the houses nor +a living thing in the streets. Dorrimore explained at some +length how he happened to be there, and where he had been during +the years that had elapsed since I had seen him. I recall +the fact of the narrative, but none of the facts narrated. +He had been in foreign countries and had returned—this is +all that my memory retains, and this I already knew. As to +myself I cannot remember that I spoke a word, though doubtless I +did. Of one thing I am distinctly conscious: the +man’s presence at my side was strangely distasteful and +disquieting—so much so that when I at last pulled up under +the lights of the Putnam House I experienced a sense of having +escaped some spiritual peril of a nature peculiarly +forbidding. This sense of relief was somewhat modified by +the discovery that Dr. Dorrimore was living at the same +hotel.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>In partial explanation of my feelings regarding Dr. Dorrimore +I will relate briefly the circumstances under which I had met him +some years before. One evening a half-dozen men of whom I +was one were sitting in the library of the Bohemian Club in San +Francisco. The conversation had turned to the subject of +sleight-of-hand and the feats of the <i>prestidigitateurs</i>, +one of whom was then exhibiting at a local theatre.</p> +<p>“These fellows are pretenders in a double sense,” +said one of the party; “they can do nothing which it is +worth one’s while to be made a dupe by. The humblest +wayside juggler in India could mystify them to the verge of +lunacy.”</p> +<p>“For example, how?” asked another, lighting a +cigar.</p> +<p>“For example, by all their common and familiar +performances—throwing large objects into the air which +never come down; causing plants to sprout, grow visibly and +blossom, in bare ground chosen by spectators; putting a man into +a wicker basket, piercing him through and through with a sword +while he shrieks and bleeds, and then—the basket being +opened nothing is there; tossing the free end of a silken ladder +into the air, mounting it and disappearing.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” I said, rather uncivilly, I +fear. “You surely do not believe such +things?”</p> +<p>“Certainly not: I have seen them too often.”</p> +<p>“But I do,” said a journalist of considerable +local fame as a picturesque reporter. “I have so +frequently related them that nothing but observation could shake +my conviction. Why, gentlemen, I have my own word for +it.”</p> +<p>Nobody laughed—all were looking at something behind +me. Turning in my seat I saw a man in evening dress who had +just entered the room. He was exceedingly dark, almost +swarthy, with a thin face, black-bearded to the lips, an +abundance of coarse black hair in some disorder, a high nose and +eyes that glittered with as soulless an expression as those of a +cobra. One of the group rose and introduced him as Dr. +Dorrimore, of Calcutta. As each of us was presented in turn +he acknowledged the fact with a profound bow in the Oriental +manner, but with nothing of Oriental gravity. His smile +impressed me as cynical and a trifle contemptuous. His +whole demeanor I can describe only as disagreeably engaging.</p> +<p>His presence led the conversation into other channels. +He said little—I do not recall anything of what he did +say. I thought his voice singularly rich and melodious, but +it affected me in the same way as his eyes and smile. In a +few minutes I rose to go. He also rose and put on his +overcoat.</p> +<p>“Mr. Manrich,” he said, “I am going your +way.”</p> +<p>“The devil you are!” I thought. “How +do you know which way I am going?” Then I said, +“I shall be pleased to have your company.”</p> +<p>We left the building together. No cabs were in sight, +the street cars had gone to bed, there was a full moon and the +cool night air was delightful; we walked up the California street +hill. I took that direction thinking he would naturally +wish to take another, toward one of the hotels.</p> +<p>“You do not believe what is told of the Hindu +jugglers,” he said abruptly.</p> +<p>“How do you know that?” I asked.</p> +<p>Without replying he laid his hand lightly upon my arm and with +the other pointed to the stone sidewalk directly in front. +There, almost at our feet, lay the dead body of a man, the face +upturned and white in the moonlight! A sword whose hilt +sparkled with gems stood fixed and upright in the breast; a pool +of blood had collected on the stones of the sidewalk.</p> +<p>I was startled and terrified—not only by what I saw, but +by the circumstances under which I saw it. Repeatedly +during our ascent of the hill my eyes, I thought, had traversed +the whole reach of that sidewalk, from street to street. +How could they have been insensible to this dreadful object now +so conspicuous in the white moonlight?</p> +<p>As my dazed faculties cleared I observed that the body was in +evening dress; the overcoat thrown wide open revealed the +dress-coat, the white tie, the broad expanse of shirt front +pierced by the sword. And—horrible +revelation!—the face, except for its pallor, was that of my +companion! It was to the minutest detail of dress and +feature Dr. Dorrimore himself. Bewildered and horrified, I +turned to look for the living man. He was nowhere visible, +and with an added terror I retired from the place, down the hill +in the direction whence I had come. I had taken but a few +strides when a strong grasp upon my shoulder arrested me. I +came near crying out with terror: the dead man, the sword still +fixed in his breast, stood beside me! Pulling out the sword +with his disengaged hand, he flung it from him, the moonlight +glinting upon the jewels of its hilt and the unsullied steel of +its blade. It fell with a clang upon the sidewalk ahead +and—vanished! The man, swarthy as before, relaxed his +grasp upon my shoulder and looked at me with the same cynical +regard that I had observed on first meeting him. The dead +have not that look—it partly restored me, and turning my +head backward, I saw the smooth white expanse of sidewalk, +unbroken from street to street.</p> +<p>“What is all this nonsense, you devil?” I +demanded, fiercely enough, though weak and trembling in every +limb.</p> +<p>“It is what some are pleased to call jugglery,” he +answered, with a light, hard laugh.</p> +<p>He turned down Dupont street and I saw him no more until we +met in the Auburn ravine.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p>On the day after my second meeting with Dr. Dorrimore I did +not see him: the clerk in the Putnam House explained that a +slight illness confined him to his rooms. That afternoon at +the railway station I was surprised and made happy by the +unexpected arrival of Miss Margaret Corray and her mother, from +Oakland.</p> +<p>This is not a love story. I am no storyteller, and love +as it is cannot be portrayed in a literature dominated and +enthralled by the debasing tyranny which “sentences +letters” in the name of the Young Girl. Under the +Young Girl’s blighting reign—or rather under the rule +of those false Ministers of the Censure who have appointed +themselves to the custody of her welfare—love</p> + +<blockquote><p> veils +her sacred fires,<br /> +And, unaware, Morality expires,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>famished upon the sifted meal and distilled water of a prudish +purveyance.</p> +<p>Let it suffice that Miss Corray and I were engaged in +marriage. She and her mother went to the hotel at which I +lived, and for two weeks I saw her daily. That I was happy +needs hardly be said; the only bar to my perfect enjoyment of +those golden days was the presence of Dr. Dorrimore, whom I had +felt compelled to introduce to the ladies.</p> +<p>By them he was evidently held in favor. What could I +say? I knew absolutely nothing to his discredit. His +manners were those of a cultivated and considerate gentleman; and +to women a man’s manner is the man. On one or two +occasions when I saw Miss Corray walking with him I was furious, +and once had the indiscretion to protest. Asked for +reasons, I had none to give and fancied I saw in her expression a +shade of contempt for the vagaries of a jealous mind. In +time I grew morose and consciously disagreeable, and resolved in +my madness to return to San Francisco the next day. Of +this, however, I said nothing.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p>There was at Auburn an old, abandoned cemetery. It was +nearly in the heart of the town, yet by night it was as gruesome +a place as the most dismal of human moods could crave. The +railings about the plats were prostrate, decayed, or altogether +gone. Many of the graves were sunken, from others grew +sturdy pines, whose roots had committed unspeakable sin. +The headstones were fallen and broken across; brambles overran +the ground; the fence was mostly gone, and cows and pigs wandered +there at will; the place was a dishonor to the living, a calumny +on the dead, a blasphemy against God.</p> +<p>The evening of the day on which I had taken my madman’s +resolution to depart in anger from all that was dear to me found +me in that congenial spot. The light of the half moon fell +ghostly through the foliage of trees in spots and patches, +revealing much that was unsightly, and the black shadows seemed +conspiracies withholding to the proper time revelations of darker +import. Passing along what had been a gravel path, I saw +emerging from shadow the figure of Dr. Dorrimore. I was +myself in shadow, and stood still with clenched hands and set +teeth, trying to control the impulse to leap upon and strangle +him. A moment later a second figure joined him and clung to +his arm. It was Margaret Corray!</p> +<p>I cannot rightly relate what occurred. I know that I +sprang forward, bent upon murder; I know that I was found in the +gray of the morning, bruised and bloody, with finger marks upon +my throat. I was taken to the Putnam House, where for days +I lay in a delirium. All this I know, for I have been +told. And of my own knowledge I know that when +consciousness returned with convalescence I sent for the clerk of +the hotel.</p> +<p>“Are Mrs. Corray and her daughter still here?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“What name did you say?”</p> +<p>“Corray.”</p> +<p>“Nobody of that name has been here.”</p> +<p>“I beg you will not trifle with me,” I said +petulantly. “You see that I am all right now; tell me +the truth.”</p> +<p>“I give you my word,” he replied with evident +sincerity, “we have had no guests of that name.”</p> +<p>His words stupefied me. I lay for a few moments in +silence; then I asked: “Where is Dr. Dorrimore?”</p> +<p>“He left on the morning of your fight and has not been +heard of since. It was a rough deal he gave you.”</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p>Such are the facts of this case. Margaret Corray is now +my wife. She has never seen Auburn, and during the weeks +whose history as it shaped itself in my brain I have endeavored +to relate, was living at her home in Oakland, wondering where her +lover was and why he did not write. The other day I saw in +the Baltimore <i>Sun</i> the following paragraph:</p> +<p>“Professor Valentine Dorrimore, the hypnotist, had a +large audience last night. The lecturer, who has lived most +of his life in India, gave some marvelous exhibitions of his +power, hypnotizing anyone who chose to submit himself to the +experiment, by merely looking at him. In fact, he twice +hypnotized the entire audience (reporters alone exempted), making +all entertain the most extraordinary illusions. The most +valuable feature of the lecture was the disclosure of the methods +of the Hindu jugglers in their famous performances, familiar in +the mouths of travelers. The professor declares that these +thaumaturgists have acquired such skill in the art which he +learned at their feet that they perform their miracles by simply +throwing the ‘spectators’ into a state of hypnosis +and telling them what to see and hear. His assertion that a +peculiarly susceptible subject may be kept in the realm of the +unreal for weeks, months, and even years, dominated by whatever +delusions and hallucinations the operator may from time to time +suggest, is a trifle disquieting.”</p> +<h2><a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>JOHN +BARTINE’S WATCH</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">A STORY BY A PHYSICIAN</p> +<p>“<span class="smcap">The</span> exact time? Good +God! my friend, why do you insist? One would +think—but what does it matter; it is easily +bedtime—isn’t that near enough? But, here, if +you must set your watch, take mine and see for +yourself.”</p> +<p>With that he detached his watch—a tremendously heavy, +old-fashioned one—from the chain, and handed it to me; then +turned away, and walking across the room to a shelf of books, +began an examination of their backs. His agitation and +evident distress surprised me; they appeared reasonless. +Having set my watch by his, I stepped over to where he stood and +said, “Thank you.”</p> +<p>As he took his timepiece and reattached it to the guard I +observed that his hands were unsteady. With a tact upon +which I greatly prided myself, I sauntered carelessly to the +sideboard and took some brandy and water; then, begging his +pardon for my thoughtlessness, asked him to have some and went +back to my seat by the fire, leaving him to help himself, as was +our custom. He did so and presently joined me at the +hearth, as tranquil as ever.</p> +<p>This odd little incident occurred in my apartment, where John +Bartine was passing an evening. We had dined together at +the club, had come home in a cab and—in short, everything +had been done in the most prosaic way; and why John Bartine +should break in upon the natural and established order of things +to make himself spectacular with a display of emotion, apparently +for his own entertainment, I could nowise understand. The +more I thought of it, while his brilliant conversational gifts +were commending themselves to my inattention, the more curious I +grew, and of course had no difficulty in persuading myself that +my curiosity was friendly solicitude. That is the disguise +that curiosity usually assumes to evade resentment. So I +ruined one of the finest sentences of his disregarded monologue +by cutting it short without ceremony.</p> +<p>“John Bartine,” I said, “you must try to +forgive me if I am wrong, but with the light that I have at +present I cannot concede your right to go all to pieces when +asked the time o’ night. I cannot admit that it is +proper to experience a mysterious reluctance to look your own +watch in the face and to cherish in my presence, without +explanation, painful emotions which are denied to me, and which +are none of my business.”</p> +<p>To this ridiculous speech Bartine made no immediate reply, but +sat looking gravely into the fire. Fearing that I had +offended I was about to apologize and beg him to think no more +about the matter, when looking me calmly in the eyes he said:</p> +<p>“My dear fellow, the levity of your manner does not at +all disguise the hideous impudence of your demand; but happily I +had already decided to tell you what you wish to know, and no +manifestation of your unworthiness to hear it shall alter my +decision. Be good enough to give me your attention and you +shall hear all about the matter.</p> +<p>“This watch,” he said, “had been in my +family for three generations before it fell to me. Its +original owner, for whom it was made, was my great-grandfather, +Bramwell Olcott Bartine, a wealthy planter of Colonial Virginia, +and as stanch a Tory as ever lay awake nights contriving new +kinds of maledictions for the head of Mr. Washington, and new +methods of aiding and abetting good King George. One day +this worthy gentleman had the deep misfortune to perform for his +cause a service of capital importance which was not recognized as +legitimate by those who suffered its disadvantages. It does +not matter what it was, but among its minor consequences was my +excellent ancestor’s arrest one night in his own house by a +party of Mr. Washington’s rebels. He was permitted to +say farewell to his weeping family, and was then marched away +into the darkness which swallowed him up forever. Not the +slenderest clew to his fate was ever found. After the war +the most diligent inquiry and the offer of large rewards failed +to turn up any of his captors or any fact concerning his +disappearance. He had disappeared, and that was +all.”</p> +<p>Something in Bartine’s manner that was not in his +words—I hardly knew what it was—prompted me to +ask:</p> +<p>“What is your view of the matter—of the justice of +it?”</p> +<p>“My view of it,” he flamed out, bringing his +clenched hand down upon the table as if he had been in a public +house dicing with blackguards—“my view of it is that +it was a characteristically dastardly assassination by that +damned traitor, Washington, and his ragamuffin rebels!”</p> +<p>For some minutes nothing was said: Bartine was recovering his +temper, and I waited. Then I said:</p> +<p>“Was that all?”</p> +<p>“No—there was something else. A few weeks +after my great-grandfather’s arrest his watch was found +lying on the porch at the front door of his dwelling. It +was wrapped in a sheet of letter paper bearing the name of Rupert +Bartine, his only son, my grandfather. I am wearing that +watch.”</p> +<p>Bartine paused. His usually restless black eyes were +staring fixedly into the grate, a point of red light in each, +reflected from the glowing coals. He seemed to have +forgotten me. A sudden threshing of the branches of a tree +outside one of the windows, and almost at the same instant a +rattle of rain against the glass, recalled him to a sense of his +surroundings. A storm had risen, heralded by a single gust +of wind, and in a few moments the steady plash of the water on +the pavement was distinctly heard. I hardly know why I +relate this incident; it seemed somehow to have a certain +significance and relevancy which I am unable now to +discern. It at least added an element of seriousness, +almost solemnity. Bartine resumed:</p> +<p>“I have a singular feeling toward this watch—a +kind of affection for it; I like to have it about me, though +partly from its weight, and partly for a reason I shall now +explain, I seldom carry it. The reason is this: Every +evening when I have it with me I feel an unaccountable desire to +open and consult it, even if I can think of no reason for wishing +to know the time. But if I yield to it, the moment my eyes +rest upon the dial I am filled with a mysterious +apprehension—a sense of imminent calamity. And this +is the more insupportable the nearer it is to eleven +o’clock—by this watch, no matter what the actual hour +may be. After the hands have registered eleven the desire +to look is gone; I am entirely indifferent. Then I can +consult the thing as often as I like, with no more emotion than +you feel in looking at your own. Naturally I have trained +myself not to look at that watch in the evening before eleven; +nothing could induce me. Your insistence this evening upset +me a trifle. I felt very much as I suppose an opium-eater +might feel if his yearning for his special and particular kind of +hell were re-enforced by opportunity and advice.</p> +<p>“Now that is my story, and I have told it in the +interest of your trumpery science; but if on any evening +hereafter you observe me wearing this damnable watch, and you +have the thoughtfulness to ask me the hour, I shall beg leave to +put you to the inconvenience of being knocked down.”</p> +<p>His humor did not amuse me. I could see that in relating +his delusion he was again somewhat disturbed. His +concluding smile was positively ghastly, and his eyes had resumed +something more than their old restlessness; they shifted hither +and thither about the room with apparent aimlessness and I +fancied had taken on a wild expression, such as is sometimes +observed in cases of dementia. Perhaps this was my own +imagination, but at any rate I was now persuaded that my friend +was afflicted with a most singular and interesting +monomania. Without, I trust, any abatement of my +affectionate solicitude for him as a friend, I began to regard +him as a patient, rich in possibilities of profitable +study. Why not? Had he not described his delusion in +the interest of science? Ah, poor fellow, he was doing more +for science than he knew: not only his story but himself was in +evidence. I should cure him if I could, of course, but +first I should make a little experiment in psychology—nay, +the experiment itself might be a step in his restoration.</p> +<p>“That is very frank and friendly of you, Bartine,” +I said cordially, “and I’m rather proud of your +confidence. It is all very odd, certainly. Do you +mind showing me the watch?”</p> +<p>He detached it from his waistcoat, chain and all, and passed +it to me without a word. The case was of gold, very thick +and strong, and singularly engraved. After closely +examining the dial and observing that it was nearly twelve +o’clock, I opened it at the back and was interested to +observe an inner case of ivory, upon which was painted a +miniature portrait in that exquisite and delicate manner which +was in vogue during the eighteenth century.</p> +<p>“Why, bless my soul!” I exclaimed, feeling a sharp +artistic delight—“how under the sun did you get that +done? I thought miniature painting on ivory was a lost +art.”</p> +<p>“That,” he replied, gravely smiling, “is not +I; it is my excellent great-grandfather, the late Bramwell Olcott +Bartine, Esquire, of Virginia. He was younger then than +later—about my age, in fact. It is said to resemble +me; do you think so?”</p> +<p>“Resemble you? I should say so! Barring the +costume, which I supposed you to have assumed out of compliment +to the art—or for <i>vraisemblance</i>, so to say—and +the no mustache, that portrait is you in every feature, line, and +expression.”</p> +<p>No more was said at that time. Bartine took a book from +the table and began reading. I heard outside the incessant +plash of the rain in the street. There were occasional +hurried footfalls on the sidewalks; and once a slower, heavier +tread seemed to cease at my door—a policeman, I thought, +seeking shelter in the doorway. The boughs of the trees +tapped significantly on the window panes, as if asking for +admittance. I remember it all through these years and years +of a wiser, graver life.</p> +<p>Seeing myself unobserved, I took the old-fashioned key that +dangled from the chain and quickly turned back the hands of the +watch a full hour; then, closing the case, I handed Bartine his +property and saw him replace it on his person.</p> +<p>“I think you said,” I began, with assumed +carelessness, “that after eleven the sight of the dial no +longer affects you. As it is now nearly +twelve”—looking at my own +timepiece—“perhaps, if you don’t resent my +pursuit of proof, you will look at it now.”</p> +<p>He smiled good-humoredly, pulled out the watch again, opened +it, and instantly sprang to his feet with a cry that Heaven has +not had the mercy to permit me to forget! His eyes, their +blackness strikingly intensified by the pallor of his face, were +fixed upon the watch, which he clutched in both hands. For +some time he remained in that attitude without uttering another +sound; then, in a voice that I should not have recognized as his, +he said:</p> +<p>“Damn you! it is two minutes to eleven!”</p> +<p>I was not unprepared for some such outbreak, and without +rising replied, calmly enough:</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon; I must have misread your watch in +setting my own by it.”</p> +<p>He shut the case with a sharp snap and put the watch in his +pocket. He looked at me and made an attempt to smile, but +his lower lip quivered and he seemed unable to close his +mouth. His hands, also, were shaking, and he thrust them, +clenched, into the pockets of his sack-coat. The courageous +spirit was manifestly endeavoring to subdue the coward +body. The effort was too great; he began to sway from side +to side, as from vertigo, and before I could spring from my chair +to support him his knees gave way and he pitched awkwardly +forward and fell upon his face. I sprang to assist him to +rise; but when John Bartine rises we shall all rise.</p> +<p>The <i>post-mortem</i> examination disclosed nothing; every +organ was normal and sound. But when the body had been +prepared for burial a faint dark circle was seen to have +developed around the neck; at least I was so assured by several +persons who said they saw it, but of my own knowledge I cannot +say if that was true.</p> +<p>Nor can I set limitations to the law of heredity. I do +not know that in the spiritual world a sentiment or emotion may +not survive the heart that held it, and seek expression in a +kindred life, ages removed. Surely, if I were to guess at +the fate of Bramwell Olcott Bartine, I should guess that he was +hanged at eleven o’clock in the evening, and that he had +been allowed several hours in which to prepare for the +change.</p> +<p>As to John Bartine, my friend, my patient for five minutes, +and—Heaven forgive me!—my victim for eternity, there +is no more to say. He is buried, and his watch with +him—I saw to that. May God rest his soul in Paradise, +and the soul of his Virginian ancestor, if, indeed, they are two +souls.</p> +<h2><a name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 280</span>THE +DAMNED THING</h2> +<h3>I<br /> +ONE DOES NOT ALWAYS EAT WHAT IS ON THE TABLE</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">By</span> the light of a tallow candle +which had been placed on one end of a rough table a man was +reading something written in a book. It was an old account +book, greatly worn; and the writing was not, apparently, very +legible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame +of the candle to get a stronger light on it. The shadow of +the book would then throw into obscurity a half of the room, +darkening a number of faces and figures; for besides the reader, +eight other men were present. Seven of them sat against the +rough log walls, silent, motionless, and the room being small, +not very far from the table. By extending an arm any one of +them could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table, +face upward, partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his +sides. He was dead.</p> +<p>The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke; +all seemed to be waiting for something to occur; the dead man +only was without expectation. From the blank darkness +outside came in, through the aperture that served for a window, +all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in the +wilderness—the long nameless note of a distant coyote; the +stilly pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange cries +of night birds, so different from those of the birds of day; the +drone of great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus +of small sounds that seem always to have been but half heard when +they have suddenly ceased, as if conscious of an +indiscretion. But nothing of all this was noted in that +company; its members were not overmuch addicted to idle interest +in matters of no practical importance; that was obvious in every +line of their rugged faces—obvious even in the dim light of +the single candle. They were evidently men of the +vicinity—farmers and woodsmen.</p> +<p>The person reading was a trifle different; one would have said +of him that he was of the world, worldly, albeit there was that +in his attire which attested a certain fellowship with the +organisms of his environment. His coat would hardly have +passed muster in San Francisco; his foot-gear was not of urban +origin, and the hat that lay by him on the floor (he was the only +one uncovered) was such that if one had considered it as an +article of mere personal adornment he would have missed its +meaning. In countenance the man was rather prepossessing, +with just a hint of sternness; though that he may have assumed or +cultivated, as appropriate to one in authority. For he was +a coroner. It was by virtue of his office that he had +possession of the book in which he was reading; it had been found +among the dead man’s effects—in his cabin, where the +inquest was now taking place.</p> +<p>When the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his +breast pocket. At that moment the door was pushed open and +a young man entered. He, clearly, was not of mountain birth +and breeding: he was clad as those who dwell in cities. His +clothing was dusty, however, as from travel. He had, in +fact, been riding hard to attend the inquest.</p> +<p>The coroner nodded; no one else greeted him.</p> +<p>“We have waited for you,” said the coroner. +“It is necessary to have done with this business +to-night.”</p> +<p>The young man smiled. “I am sorry to have kept +you,” he said. “I went away, not to evade your +summons, but to post to my newspaper an account of what I suppose +I am called back to relate.”</p> +<p>The coroner smiled.</p> +<p>“The account that you posted to your newspaper,” +he said, “differs, probably, from that which you will give +here under oath.”</p> +<p>“That,” replied the other, rather hotly and with a +visible flush, “is as you please. I used manifold +paper and have a copy of what I sent. It was not written as +news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may go as a +part of my testimony under oath.”</p> +<p>“But you say it is incredible.”</p> +<p>“That is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear that it is +true.”</p> +<p>The coroner was silent for a time, his eyes upon the +floor. The men about the sides of the cabin talked in +whispers, but seldom withdrew their gaze from the face of the +corpse. Presently the coroner lifted his eyes and said: +“We will resume the inquest.”</p> +<p>The men removed their hats. The witness was sworn.</p> +<p>“What is your name?” the coroner asked.</p> +<p>“William Harker.”</p> +<p>“Age?”</p> +<p>“Twenty-seven.”</p> +<p>“You knew the deceased, Hugh Morgan?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You were with him when he died?”</p> +<p>“Near him.”</p> +<p>“How did that happen—your presence, I +mean?”</p> +<p>“I was visiting him at this place to shoot and +fish. A part of my purpose, however, was to study him and +his odd, solitary way of life. He seemed a good model for a +character in fiction. I sometimes write stories.”</p> +<p>“I sometimes read them.”</p> +<p>“Thank you.”</p> +<p>“Stories in general—not yours.”</p> +<p>Some of the jurors laughed. Against a sombre background +humor shows high lights. Soldiers in the intervals of +battle laugh easily, and a jest in the death chamber conquers by +surprise.</p> +<p>“Relate the circumstances of this man’s +death,” said the coroner. “You may use any +notes or memoranda that you please.”</p> +<p>The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his +breast pocket he held it near the candle and turning the leaves +until he found the passage that he wanted began to read.</p> +<h3>II<br /> +WHAT MAY HAPPEN IN A FIELD OF WILD OATS</h3> +<p>“ . . . The sun had hardly risen when we left the +house. We were looking for quail, each with a shotgun, but +we had only one dog. Morgan said that our best ground was +beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we crossed it by +a trail through the <i>chaparral</i>. On the other side was +comparatively level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. +As we emerged from the <i>chaparral</i> Morgan was but a few +yards in advance. Suddenly we heard, at a little distance +to our right and partly in front, a noise as of some animal +thrashing about in the bushes, which we could see were violently +agitated.</p> +<p>“‘We’ve started a deer,’ I said. +‘I wish we had brought a rifle.’</p> +<p>“Morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the +agitated <i>chaparral</i>, said nothing, but had cocked both +barrels of his gun and was holding it in readiness to aim. +I thought him a trifle excited, which surprised me, for he had a +reputation for exceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden +and imminent peril.</p> +<p>“‘O, come,’ I said. ‘You are not +going to fill up a deer with quail-shot, are you?’</p> +<p>“Still he did not reply; but catching a sight of his +face as he turned it slightly toward me I was struck by the +intensity of his look. Then I understood that we had +serious business in hand and my first conjecture was that we had +‘jumped’ a grizzly. I advanced to +Morgan’s side, cocking my piece as I moved.</p> +<p>“The bushes were now quiet and the sounds had ceased, +but Morgan was as attentive to the place as before.</p> +<p>“‘What is it? What the devil is it?’ I +asked.</p> +<p>“‘That Damned Thing!’ he replied, without +turning his head. His voice was husky and unnatural. +He trembled visibly.</p> +<p>“I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild +oats near the place of the disturbance moving in the most +inexplicable way. I can hardly describe it. It seemed +as if stirred by a streak of wind, which not only bent it, but +pressed it down—crushed it so that it did not rise; and +this movement was slowly prolonging itself directly toward +us.</p> +<p>“Nothing that I had ever seen had affected me so +strangely as this unfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon, yet I +am unable to recall any sense of fear. I remember—and +tell it here because, singularly enough, I recollected it +then—that once in looking carelessly out of an open window +I momentarily mistook a small tree close at hand for one of a +group of larger trees at a little distance away. It looked +the same size as the others, but being more distinctly and +sharply defined in mass and detail seemed out of harmony with +them. It was a mere falsification of the law of aërial +perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me. We so +rely upon the orderly operation of familiar natural laws that any +seeming suspension of them is noted as a menace to our safety, a +warning of unthinkable calamity. So now the apparently +causeless movement of the herbage and the slow, undeviating +approach of the line of disturbance were distinctly +disquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened, and +I could hardly credit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw his +gun to his shoulder and fire both barrels at the agitated +grain! Before the smoke of the discharge had cleared away I +heard a loud savage cry—a scream like that of a wild +animal—and flinging his gun upon the ground Morgan sprang +away and ran swiftly from the spot. At the same instant I +was thrown violently to the ground by the impact of something +unseen in the smoke—some soft, heavy substance that seemed +thrown against me with great force.</p> +<p>“Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, +which seemed to have been struck from my hands, I heard Morgan +crying out as if in mortal agony, and mingling with his cries +were such hoarse, savage sounds as one hears from fighting +dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled to my feet and +looked in the direction of Morgan’s retreat; and may Heaven +in mercy spare me from another sight like that! At a +distance of less than thirty yards was my friend, down upon one +knee, his head thrown back at a frightful angle, hatless, his +long hair in disorder and his whole body in violent movement from +side to side, backward and forward. His right arm was +lifted and seemed to lack the hand—at least, I could see +none. The other arm was invisible. At times, as my +memory now reports this extraordinary scene, I could discern but +a part of his body; it was as if he had been partly blotted +out—I cannot otherwise express it—then a shifting of +his position would bring it all into view again.</p> +<p>“All this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet +in that time Morgan assumed all the postures of a determined +wrestler vanquished by superior weight and strength. I saw +nothing but him, and him not always distinctly. During the +entire incident his shouts and curses were heard, as if through +an enveloping uproar of such sounds of rage and fury as I had +never heard from the throat of man or brute!</p> +<p>“For a moment only I stood irresolute, then throwing +down my gun I ran forward to my friend’s assistance. +I had a vague belief that he was suffering from a fit, or some +form of convulsion. Before I could reach his side he was +down and quiet. All sounds had ceased, but with a feeling +of such terror as even these awful events had not inspired I now +saw again the mysterious movement of the wild oats, prolonging +itself from the trampled area about the prostrate man toward the +edge of a wood. It was only when it had reached the wood +that I was able to withdraw my eyes and look at my +companion. He was dead.”</p> +<h3>III<br /> +A MAN THOUGH NAKED MAY BE IN RAGS</h3> +<p>The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead +man. Lifting an edge of the sheet he pulled it away, +exposing the entire body, altogether naked and showing in the +candle-light a claylike yellow. It had, however, broad +maculations of bluish black, obviously caused by extravasated +blood from contusions. The chest and sides looked as if +they had been beaten with a bludgeon. There were dreadful +lacerations; the skin was torn in strips and shreds.</p> +<p>The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a +silk handkerchief which had been passed under the chin and +knotted on the top of the head. When the handkerchief was +drawn away it exposed what had been the throat. Some of the +jurors who had risen to get a better view repented their +curiosity and turned away their faces. Witness Harker went +to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and +sick. Dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man’s +neck the coroner stepped to an angle of the room and from a pile +of clothing produced one garment after another, each of which he +held up a moment for inspection. All were torn, and stiff +with blood. The jurors did not make a closer +inspection. They seemed rather uninterested. They +had, in truth, seen all this before; the only thing that was new +to them being Harker’s testimony.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” the coroner said, “we have no +more evidence, I think. Your duty has been already +explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to ask you may go +outside and consider your verdict.”</p> +<p>The foreman rose—a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely +clad.</p> +<p>“I should like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner,” +he said. “What asylum did this yer last witness +escape from?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Harker,” said the coroner, gravely and +tranquilly, “from what asylum did you last +escape?”</p> +<p>Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven +jurors rose and solemnly filed out of the cabin.</p> +<p>“If you have done insulting me, sir,” said Harker, +as soon as he and the officer were left alone with the dead man, +“I suppose I am at liberty to go?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door +latch. The habit of his profession was strong in +him—stronger than his sense of personal dignity. He +turned about and said:</p> +<p>“The book that you have there—I recognize it as +Morgan’s diary. You seemed greatly interested in it; +you read in it while I was testifying. May I see it? +The public would like—”</p> +<p>“The book will cut no figure in this matter,” +replied the official, slipping it into his coat pocket; +“all the entries in it were made before the writer’s +death.”</p> +<p>As Harker passed out of the house the jury reentered and stood +about the table, on which the now covered corpse showed under the +sheet with sharp definition. The foreman seated himself +near the candle, produced from his breast pocket a pencil and +scrap of paper and wrote rather laboriously the following +verdict, which with various degrees of effort all signed:</p> +<p>“We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their +death at the hands of a mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all +the same, they had fits.”</p> +<h3>IV<br /> +AN EXPLANATION FROM THE TOMB</h3> +<p>In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain interesting +entries having, possibly, a scientific value as +suggestions. At the inquest upon his body the book was not +put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought it not worth while +to confuse the jury. The date of the first of the entries +mentioned cannot be ascertained; the upper part of the leaf is +torn away; the part of the entry remaining follows:</p> +<p>“ . . . would run in a half-circle, keeping his head +turned always toward the centre, and again he would stand still, +barking furiously. At last he ran away into the brush as +fast as he could go. I thought at first that he had gone +mad, but on returning to the house found no other alteration in +his manner than what was obviously due to fear of punishment.</p> +<p>“Can a dog see with his nose? Do odors impress +some cerebral centre with images of the thing that emitted them? +. . .</p> +<p>“Sept. 2.—Looking at the stars last night as they +rose above the crest of the ridge east of the house, I observed +them successively disappear—from left to right. Each +was eclipsed but an instant, and only a few at the same time, but +along the entire length of the ridge all that were within a +degree or two of the crest were blotted out. It was as if +something had passed along between me and them; but I could not +see it, and the stars were not thick enough to define its +outline. Ugh! I don’t like this.” . . +.</p> +<p>Several weeks’ entries are missing, three leaves being +torn from the book.</p> +<p>“Sept. 27.—It has been about here again—I +find evidences of its presence every day. I watched again +all last night in the same cover, gun in hand, double-charged +with buckshot. In the morning the fresh footprints were +there, as before. Yet I would have sworn that I did not +sleep—indeed, I hardly sleep at all. It is terrible, +insupportable! If these amazing experiences are real I +shall go mad; if they are fanciful I am mad already.</p> +<p>“Oct. 3.—I shall not go—it shall not drive +me away. No, this is <i>my</i> house, <i>my</i> land. +God hates a coward . . .</p> +<p>“Oct. 5.—I can stand it no longer; I have invited +Harker to pass a few weeks with me—he has a level +head. I can judge from his manner if he thinks me mad.</p> +<p>“Oct. 7.—I have the solution of the mystery; it +came to me last night—suddenly, as by revelation. How +simple—how terribly simple!</p> +<p>“There are sounds that we cannot hear. At either +end of the scale are notes that stir no chord of that imperfect +instrument, the human ear. They are too high or too +grave. I have observed a flock of blackbirds occupying an +entire tree-top—the tops of several trees—and all in +full song. Suddenly—in a moment—at absolutely +the same instant—all spring into the air and fly +away. How? They could not all see one +another—whole tree-tops intervened. At no point could +a leader have been visible to all. There must have been a +signal of warning or command, high and shrill above the din, but +by me unheard. I have observed, too, the same simultaneous +flight when all were silent, among not only blackbirds, but other +birds—quail, for example, widely separated by +bushes—even on opposite sides of a hill.</p> +<p>“It is known to seamen that a school of whales basking +or sporting on the surface of the ocean, miles apart, with the +convexity of the earth between, will sometimes dive at the same +instant—all gone out of sight in a moment. The signal +has been sounded—too grave for the ear of the sailor at the +masthead and his comrades on the deck—who nevertheless feel +its vibrations in the ship as the stones of a cathedral are +stirred by the bass of the organ.</p> +<p>“As with sounds, so with colors. At each end of +the solar spectrum the chemist can detect the presence of what +are known as ‘actinic’ rays. They represent +colors—integral colors in the composition of +light—which we are unable to discern. The human eye +is an imperfect instrument; its range is but a few octaves of the +real ‘chromatic scale.’ I am not mad; there are +colors that we cannot see.</p> +<p>“And, God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a +color!”</p> +<h2><a name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +297</span>HAÏTA THE SHEPHERD</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the heart of Haïta the +illusions of youth had not been supplanted by those of age and +experience. His thoughts were pure and pleasant, for his +life was simple and his soul devoid of ambition. He rose +with the sun and went forth to pray at the shrine of Hastur, the +god of shepherds, who heard and was pleased. After +performance of this pious rite Haïta unbarred the gate of +the fold and with a cheerful mind drove his flock afield, eating +his morning meal of curds and oat cake as he went, occasionally +pausing to add a few berries, cold with dew, or to drink of the +waters that came away from the hills to join the stream in the +middle of the valley and be borne along with it, he knew not +whither.</p> +<p>During the long summer day, as his sheep cropped the good +grass which the gods had made to grow for them, or lay with their +forelegs doubled under their breasts and chewed the cud, +Haïta, reclining in the shadow of a tree, or sitting upon a +rock, played so sweet music upon his reed pipe that sometimes +from the corner of his eye he got accidental glimpses of the +minor sylvan deities, leaning forward out of the copse to hear; +but if he looked at them directly they vanished. From +this—for he must be thinking if he would not turn into one +of his own sheep—he drew the solemn inference that +happiness may come if not sought, but if looked for will never be +seen; for next to the favor of Hastur, who never disclosed +himself, Haïta most valued the friendly interest of his +neighbors, the shy immortals of the wood and stream. At +nightfall he drove his flock back to the fold, saw that the gate +was secure and retired to his cave for refreshment and for +dreams.</p> +<p>So passed his life, one day like another, save when the storms +uttered the wrath of an offended god. Then Haïta +cowered in his cave, his face hidden in his hands, and prayed +that he alone might be punished for his sins and the world saved +from destruction. Sometimes when there was a great rain, +and the stream came out of its banks, compelling him to urge his +terrified flock to the uplands, he interceded for the people in +the cities which he had been told lay in the plain beyond the two +blue hills forming the gateway of his valley.</p> +<p>“It is kind of thee, O Hastur,” so he prayed, +“to give me mountains so near to my dwelling and my fold +that I and my sheep can escape the angry torrents; but the rest +of the world thou must thyself deliver in some way that I know +not of, or I will no longer worship thee.”</p> +<p>And Hastur, knowing that Haïta was a youth who kept his +word, spared the cities and turned the waters into the sea.</p> +<p>So he had lived since he could remember. He could not +rightly conceive any other mode of existence. The holy +hermit who dwelt at the head of the valley, a full hour’s +journey away, from whom he had heard the tale of the great cities +where dwelt people—poor souls!—who had no sheep, gave +him no knowledge of that early time, when, so he reasoned, he +must have been small and helpless like a lamb.</p> +<p>It was through thinking on these mysteries and marvels, and on +that horrible change to silence and decay which he felt sure must +some time come to him, as he had seen it come to so many of his +flock—as it came to all living things except the +birds—that Haïta first became conscious how miserable +and hopeless was his lot.</p> +<p>“It is necessary,” he said, “that I know +whence and how I came; for how can one perform his duties unless +able to judge what they are by the way in which he was intrusted +with them? And what contentment can I have when I know not +how long it is going to last? Perhaps before another sun I +may be changed, and then what will become of the sheep? +What, indeed, will have become of me?”</p> +<p>Pondering these things Haïta became melancholy and +morose. He no longer spoke cheerfully to his flock, nor ran +with alacrity to the shrine of Hastur. In every breeze he +heard whispers of malign deities whose existence he now first +observed. Every cloud was a portent signifying disaster, +and the darkness was full of terrors. His reed pipe when +applied to his lips gave out no melody, but a dismal wail; the +sylvan and riparian intelligences no longer thronged the +thicket-side to listen, but fled from the sound, as he knew by +the stirred leaves and bent flowers. He relaxed his +vigilance and many of his sheep strayed away into the hills and +were lost. Those that remained became lean and ill for lack +of good pasturage, for he would not seek it for them, but +conducted them day after day to the same spot, through mere +abstraction, while puzzling about life and death—of +immortality he knew not.</p> +<p>One day while indulging in the gloomiest reflections he +suddenly sprang from the rock upon which he sat, and with a +determined gesture of the right hand exclaimed: “I will no +longer be a suppliant for knowledge which the gods +withhold. Let them look to it that they do me no +wrong. I will do my duty as best I can and if I err upon +their own heads be it!”</p> +<p>Suddenly, as he spoke, a great brightness fell about him, +causing him to look upward, thinking the sun had burst through a +rift in the clouds; but there were no clouds. No more than +an arm’s length away stood a beautiful maiden. So +beautiful she was that the flowers about her feet folded their +petals in despair and bent their heads in token of submission; so +sweet her look that the humming birds thronged her eyes, +thrusting their thirsty bills almost into them, and the wild bees +were about her lips. And such was her brightness that the +shadows of all objects lay divergent from her feet, turning as +she moved.</p> +<p>Haïta was entranced. Rising, he knelt before her in +adoration, and she laid her hand upon his head.</p> +<p>“Come,” she said in a voice that had the music of +all the bells of his flock—“come, thou art not to +worship me, who am no goddess, but if thou art truthful and +dutiful I will abide with thee.”</p> +<p>Haïta seized her hand, and stammering his joy and +gratitude arose, and hand in hand they stood and smiled into each +other’s eyes. He gazed on her with reverence and +rapture. He said: “I pray thee, lovely maid, tell me +thy name and whence and why thou comest.”</p> +<p>At this she laid a warning finger on her lip and began to +withdraw. Her beauty underwent a visible alteration that +made him shudder, he knew not why, for still she was +beautiful. The landscape was darkened by a giant shadow +sweeping across the valley with the speed of a vulture. In +the obscurity the maiden’s figure grew dim and indistinct +and her voice seemed to come from a distance, as she said, in a +tone of sorrowful reproach: “Presumptuous and ungrateful +youth! must I then so soon leave thee? Would nothing do but +thou must at once break the eternal compact?”</p> +<p>Inexpressibly grieved, Haïta fell upon his knees and +implored her to remain—rose and sought her in the deepening +darkness—ran in circles, calling to her aloud, but all in +vain. She was no longer visible, but out of the gloom he +heard her voice saying: “Nay, thou shalt not have me by +seeking. Go to thy duty, faithless shepherd, or we shall +never meet again.”</p> +<p>Night had fallen; the wolves were howling in the hills and the +terrified sheep crowding about Haïta’s feet. In +the demands of the hour he forgot his disappointment, drove his +sheep to the fold and repairing to the place of worship poured +out his heart in gratitude to Hastur for permitting him to save +his flock, then retired to his cave and slept.</p> +<p>When Haïta awoke the sun was high and shone in at the +cave, illuminating it with a great glory. And there, beside +him, sat the maiden. She smiled upon him with a smile that +seemed the visible music of his pipe of reeds. He dared not +speak, fearing to offend her as before, for he knew not what he +could venture to say.</p> +<p>“Because,” she said, “thou didst thy duty by +the flock, and didst not forget to thank Hastur for staying the +wolves of the night, I am come to thee again. Wilt thou +have me for a companion?”</p> +<p>“Who would not have thee forever?” replied +Haïta. “Oh! never again leave me +until—until I—change and become silent and +motionless.”</p> +<p>Haïta had no word for death.</p> +<p>“I wish, indeed,” he continued, “that thou +wert of my own sex, that we might wrestle and run races and so +never tire of being together.”</p> +<p>At these words the maiden arose and passed out of the cave, +and Haïta, springing from his couch of fragrant boughs to +overtake and detain her, observed to his astonishment that the +rain was falling and the stream in the middle of the valley had +come out of its banks. The sheep were bleating in terror, +for the rising waters had invaded their fold. And there was +danger for the unknown cities of the distant plain.</p> +<p>It was many days before Haïta saw the maiden again. +One day he was returning from the head of the valley, where he +had gone with ewe’s milk and oat cake and berries for the +holy hermit, who was too old and feeble to provide himself with +food.</p> +<p>“Poor old man!” he said aloud, as he trudged along +homeward. “I will return to-morrow and bear him on my +back to my own dwelling, where I can care for him. +Doubtless it is for this that Hastur has reared me all these many +years, and gives me health and strength.”</p> +<p>As he spoke, the maiden, clad in glittering garments, met him +in the path with a smile that took away his breath.</p> +<p>“I am come again,” she said, “to dwell with +thee if thou wilt now have me, for none else will. Thou +mayest have learned wisdom, and art willing to take me as I am, +nor care to know.”</p> +<p>Haïta threw himself at her feet. “Beautiful +being,” he cried, “if thou wilt but deign to accept +all the devotion of my heart and soul—after Hastur be +served—it is thine forever. But, alas! thou art +capricious and wayward. Before to-morrow’s sun I may +lose thee again. Promise, I beseech thee, that however in +my ignorance I may offend, thou wilt forgive and remain always +with me.”</p> +<p>Scarcely had he finished speaking when a troop of bears came +out of the hills, racing toward him with crimson mouths and fiery +eyes. The maiden again vanished, and he turned and fled for +his life. Nor did he stop until he was in the cot of the +holy hermit, whence he had set out. Hastily barring the +door against the bears he cast himself upon the ground and +wept.</p> +<p>“My son,” said the hermit from his couch of straw, +freshly gathered that morning by Haïta’s hands, +“it is not like thee to weep for bears—tell me what +sorrow hath befallen thee, that age may minister to the hurts of +youth with such balms as it hath of its wisdom.”</p> +<p>Haïta told him all: how thrice he had met the radiant +maid, and thrice she had left him forlorn. He related +minutely all that had passed between them, omitting no word of +what had been said.</p> +<p>When he had ended, the holy hermit was a moment silent, then +said: “My son, I have attended to thy story, and I know the +maiden. I have myself seen her, as have many. Know, +then, that her name, which she would not even permit thee to +inquire, is Happiness. Thou saidst the truth to her, that +she is capricious for she imposeth conditions that man cannot +fulfill, and delinquency is punished by desertion. She +cometh only when unsought, and will not be questioned. One +manifestation of curiosity, one sign of doubt, one expression of +misgiving, and she is away! How long didst thou have her at +any time before she fled?”</p> +<p>“Only a single instant,” answered Haïta, +blushing with shame at the confession. “Each time I +drove her away in one moment.”</p> +<p>“Unfortunate youth!” said the holy hermit, +“but for thine indiscretion thou mightst have had her for +two.”</p> +<h2><a name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 308</span>AN +INHABITANT OF CARCOSA</h2> +<blockquote><p>For there be divers sorts of death—some +wherein the body remaineth; and in some it vanisheth quite away +with the spirit. This commonly occurreth only in solitude +(such is God’s will) and, none seeing the end, we say the +man is lost, or gone on a long journey—which indeed he +hath; but sometimes it hath happened in sight of many, as +abundant testimony showeth. In one kind of death the spirit +also dieth, and this it hath been known to do while yet the body +was in vigor for many years. Sometimes, as is veritably +attested, it dieth with the body, but after a season is raised up +again in that place where the body did decay.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Pondering</span> these words of Hali (whom +God rest) and questioning their full meaning, as one who, having +an intimation, yet doubts if there be not something behind, other +than that which he has discerned, I noted not whither I had +strayed until a sudden chill wind striking my face revived in me +a sense of my surroundings. I observed with astonishment +that everything seemed unfamiliar. On every side of me +stretched a bleak and desolate expanse of plain, covered with a +tall overgrowth of sere grass, which rustled and whistled in the +autumn wind with heaven knows what mysterious and disquieting +suggestion. Protruded at long intervals above it, stood +strangely shaped and somber-colored rocks, which seemed to have +an understanding with one another and to exchange looks of +uncomfortable significance, as if they had reared their heads to +watch the issue of some foreseen event. A few blasted trees +here and there appeared as leaders in this malevolent conspiracy +of silent expectation.</p> +<p>The day, I thought, must be far advanced, though the sun was +invisible; and although sensible that the air was raw and chill +my consciousness of that fact was rather mental than +physical—I had no feeling of discomfort. Over all the +dismal landscape a canopy of low, lead-colored clouds hung like a +visible curse. In all this there were a menace and a +portent—a hint of evil, an intimation of doom. Bird, +beast, or insect there was none. The wind sighed in the +bare branches of the dead trees and the gray grass bent to +whisper its dread secret to the earth; but no other sound nor +motion broke the awful repose of that dismal place.</p> +<p>I observed in the herbage a number of weather-worn stones, +evidently shaped with tools. They were broken, covered with +moss and half sunken in the earth. Some lay prostrate, some +leaned at various angles, none was vertical. They were +obviously headstones of graves, though the graves themselves no +longer existed as either mounds or depressions; the years had +leveled all. Scattered here and there, more massive blocks +showed where some pompous tomb or ambitious monument had once +flung its feeble defiance at oblivion. So old seemed these +relics, these vestiges of vanity and memorials of affection and +piety, so battered and worn and stained—so neglected, +deserted, forgotten the place, that I could not help thinking +myself the discoverer of the burial-ground of a prehistoric race +of men whose very name was long extinct.</p> +<p>Filled with these reflections, I was for some time heedless of +the sequence of my own experiences, but soon I thought, +“How came I hither?” A moment’s +reflection seemed to make this all clear and explain at the same +time, though in a disquieting way, the singular character with +which my fancy had invested all that I saw or heard. I was +ill. I remembered now that I had been prostrated by a +sudden fever, and that my family had told me that in my periods +of delirium I had constantly cried out for liberty and air, and +had been held in bed to prevent my escape out-of-doors. Now +I had eluded the vigilance of my attendants and had wandered +hither to—to where? I could not conjecture. +Clearly I was at a considerable distance from the city where I +dwelt—the ancient and famous city of Carcosa.</p> +<p>No signs of human life were anywhere visible nor audible; no +rising smoke, no watch-dog’s bark, no lowing of cattle, no +shouts of children at play—nothing but that dismal +burial-place, with its air of mystery and dread, due to my own +disordered brain. Was I not becoming again delirious, there +beyond human aid? Was it not indeed <i>all</i> an illusion +of my madness? I called aloud the names of my wives and +sons, reached out my hands in search of theirs, even as I walked +among the crumbling stones and in the withered grass.</p> +<p>A noise behind me caused me to turn about. A wild +animal—a lynx—was approaching. The thought came +to me: If I break down here in the desert—if the fever +return and I fail, this beast will be at my throat. I +sprang toward it, shouting. It trotted tranquilly by within +a hand’s breadth of me and disappeared behind a rock.</p> +<p>A moment later a man’s head appeared to rise out of the +ground a short distance away. He was ascending the farther +slope of a low hill whose crest was hardly to be distinguished +from the general level. His whole figure soon came into +view against the background of gray cloud. He was half +naked, half clad in skins. His hair was unkempt, his beard +long and ragged. In one hand he carried a bow and arrow; +the other held a blazing torch with a long trail of black +smoke. He walked slowly and with caution, as if he feared +falling into some open grave concealed by the tall grass. +This strange apparition surprised but did not alarm, and taking +such a course as to intercept him I met him almost face to face, +accosting him with the familiar salutation, “God keep +you.”</p> +<p>He gave no heed, nor did he arrest his pace.</p> +<p>“Good stranger,” I continued, “I am ill and +lost. Direct me, I beseech you, to Carcosa.”</p> +<p>The man broke into a barbarous chant in an unknown tongue, +passing on and away.</p> +<p>An owl on the branch of a decayed tree hooted dismally and was +answered by another in the distance. Looking upward, I saw +through a sudden rift in the clouds Aldebaran and the +Hyades! In all this there was a hint of night—the +lynx, the man with the torch, the owl. Yet I saw—I +saw even the stars in absence of the darkness. I saw, but +was apparently not seen nor heard. Under what awful spell +did I exist?</p> +<p>I seated myself at the root of a great tree, seriously to +consider what it were best to do. That I was mad I could no +longer doubt, yet recognized a ground of doubt in the +conviction. Of fever I had no trace. I had, withal, a +sense of exhilaration and vigor altogether unknown to me—a +feeling of mental and physical exaltation. My senses seemed +all alert; I could feel the air as a ponderous substance; I could +hear the silence.</p> +<p>A great root of the giant tree against whose trunk I leaned as +I sat held inclosed in its grasp a slab of stone, a part of which +protruded into a recess formed by another root. The stone +was thus partly protected from the weather, though greatly +decomposed. Its edges were worn round, its corners eaten +away, its surface deeply furrowed and scaled. Glittering +particles of mica were visible in the earth about +it—vestiges of its decomposition. This stone had +apparently marked the grave out of which the tree had sprung ages +ago. The tree’s exacting roots had robbed the grave +and made the stone a prisoner.</p> +<p>A sudden wind pushed some dry leaves and twigs from the +uppermost face of the stone; I saw the low-relief letters of an +inscription and bent to read it. God in Heaven! <i>my</i> +name in full!—the date of <i>my</i> birth!—the date +of <i>my</i> death!</p> +<p>A level shaft of light illuminated the whole side of the tree +as I sprang to my feet in terror. The sun was rising in the +rosy east. I stood between the tree and his broad red +disk—no shadow darkened the trunk!</p> +<p>A chorus of howling wolves saluted the dawn. I saw them +sitting on their haunches, singly and in groups, on the summits +of irregular mounds and tumuli filling a half of my desert +prospect and extending to the horizon. And then I knew that +these were ruins of the ancient and famous city of Carcosa.</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>Such are the facts imparted to the medium Bayrolles by the +spirit Hoseib Alar Robardin.</p> +<h2><a name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 315</span>THE +STRANGER</h2> +<p>A <span class="smcap">man</span> stepped out of the darkness +into the little illuminated circle about our failing campfire and +seated himself upon a rock.</p> +<p>“You are not the first to explore this region,” he +said, gravely.</p> +<p>Nobody controverted his statement; he was himself proof of its +truth, for he was not of our party and must have been somewhere +near when we camped. Moreover, he must have companions not +far away; it was not a place where one would be living or +traveling alone. For more than a week we had seen, besides +ourselves and our animals, only such living things as +rattlesnakes and horned toads. In an Arizona desert one +does not long coexist with only such creatures as these: one must +have pack animals, supplies, arms—“an +outfit.” And all these imply comrades. It was +perhaps a doubt as to what manner of men this unceremonious +stranger’s comrades might be, together with something in +his words interpretable as a challenge, that caused every man of +our half-dozen “gentlemen adventurers” to rise to a +sitting posture and lay his hand upon a weapon—an act +signifying, in that time and place, a policy of +expectation. The stranger gave the matter no attention and +began again to speak in the same deliberate, uninflected monotone +in which he had delivered his first sentence:</p> +<p>“Thirty years ago Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George +W. Kent and Berry Davis, all of Tucson, crossed the Santa +Catalina mountains and traveled due west, as nearly as the +configuration of the country permitted. We were prospecting +and it was our intention, if we found nothing, to push through to +the Gila river at some point near Big Bend, where we understood +there was a settlement. We had a good outfit but no +guide—just Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and +Berry Davis.”</p> +<p>The man repeated the names slowly and distinctly, as if to fix +them in the memories of his audience, every member of which was +now attentively observing him, but with a slackened apprehension +regarding his possible companions somewhere in the darkness that +seemed to enclose us like a black wall; in the manner of this +volunteer historian was no suggestion of an unfriendly +purpose. His act was rather that of a harmless lunatic than +an enemy. We were not so new to the country as not to know +that the solitary life of many a plainsman had a tendency to +develop eccentricities of conduct and character not always easily +distinguishable from mental aberration. A man is like a +tree: in a forest of his fellows he will grow as straight as his +generic and individual nature permits; alone in the open, he +yields to the deforming stresses and tortions that environ +him. Some such thoughts were in my mind as I watched the +man from the shadow of my hat, pulled low to shut out the +firelight. A witless fellow, no doubt, but what could he be +doing there in the heart of a desert?</p> +<p>Having undertaken to tell this story, I wish that I could +describe the man’s appearance; that would be a natural +thing to do. Unfortunately, and somewhat strangely, I find +myself unable to do so with any degree of confidence, for +afterward no two of us agreed as to what he wore and how he +looked; and when I try to set down my own impressions they elude +me. Anyone can tell some kind of story; narration is one of +the elemental powers of the race. But the talent for +description is a gift.</p> +<p>Nobody having broken silence the visitor went on to say:</p> +<p>“This country was not then what it is now. There +was not a ranch between the Gila and the Gulf. There was a +little game here and there in the mountains, and near the +infrequent water-holes grass enough to keep our animals from +starvation. If we should be so fortunate as to encounter no +Indians we might get through. But within a week the purpose +of the expedition had altered from discovery of wealth to +preservation of life. We had gone too far to go back, for +what was ahead could be no worse than what was behind; so we +pushed on, riding by night to avoid Indians and the intolerable +heat, and concealing ourselves by day as best we could. +Sometimes, having exhausted our supply of wild meat and emptied +our casks, we were days without food or drink; then a water-hole +or a shallow pool in the bottom of an <i>arroyo</i> so restored +our strength and sanity that we were able to shoot some of the +wild animals that sought it also. Sometimes it was a bear, +sometimes an antelope, a coyote, a cougar—that was as God +pleased; all were food.</p> +<p>“One morning as we skirted a mountain range, seeking a +practicable pass, we were attacked by a band of Apaches who had +followed our trail up a gulch—it is not far from +here. Knowing that they outnumbered us ten to one, they +took none of their usual cowardly precautions, but dashed upon us +at a gallop, firing and yelling. Fighting was out of the +question: we urged our feeble animals up the gulch as far as +there was footing for a hoof, then threw ourselves out of our +saddles and took to the <i>chaparral</i> on one of the slopes, +abandoning our entire outfit to the enemy. But we retained +our rifles, every man—Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George +W. Kent and Berry Davis.”</p> +<p>“Same old crowd,” said the humorist of our +party. He was an Eastern man, unfamiliar with the decent +observances of social intercourse. A gesture of disapproval +from our leader silenced him and the stranger proceeded with his +tale:</p> +<p>“The savages dismounted also, and some of them ran up +the gulch beyond the point at which we had left it, cutting off +further retreat in that direction and forcing us on up the +side. Unfortunately the <i>chaparral</i> extended only a +short distance up the slope, and as we came into the open ground +above we took the fire of a dozen rifles; but Apaches shoot badly +when in a hurry, and God so willed it that none of us fell. +Twenty yards up the slope, beyond the edge of the brush, were +vertical cliffs, in which, directly in front of us, was a narrow +opening. Into that we ran, finding ourselves in a cavern +about as large as an ordinary room in a house. Here for a +time we were safe: a single man with a repeating rifle could +defend the entrance against all the Apaches in the land. +But against hunger and thirst we had no defense. Courage we +still had, but hope was a memory.</p> +<p>“Not one of those Indians did we afterward see, but by +the smoke and glare of their fires in the gulch we knew that by +day and by night they watched with ready rifles in the edge of +the bush—knew that if we made a sortie not a man of us +would live to take three steps into the open. For three +days, watching in turn, we held out before our suffering became +insupportable. Then—it was the morning of the fourth +day—Ramon Gallegos said:</p> +<p>“‘Senores, I know not well of the good God and +what please him. I have live without religion, and I am not +acquaint with that of you. Pardon, senores, if I shock you, +but for me the time is come to beat the game of the +Apache.’</p> +<p>“He knelt upon the rock floor of the cave and pressed +his pistol against his temple. ‘Madre de Dios,’ +he said, ‘comes now the soul of Ramon Gallegos.’</p> +<p>“And so he left us—William Shaw, George W. Kent +and Berry Davis.</p> +<p>“I was the leader: it was for me to speak.</p> +<p>“‘He was a brave man,’ I +said—‘he knew when to die, and how. It is +foolish to go mad from thirst and fall by Apache bullets, or be +skinned alive—it is in bad taste. Let us join Ramon +Gallegos.’</p> +<p>“‘That is right,’ said William Shaw.</p> +<p>“‘That is right,’ said George W. Kent.</p> +<p>“I straightened the limbs of Ramon Gallegos and put a +handkerchief over his face. Then William Shaw said: +‘I should like to look like that—a little +while.’</p> +<p>“And George W. Kent said that he felt that way, too.</p> +<p>“‘It shall be so,’ I said: ‘the red +devils will wait a week. William Shaw and George W. Kent, +draw and kneel.’</p> +<p>“They did so and I stood before them.</p> +<p>“‘Almighty God, our Father,’ said I.</p> +<p>“‘Almighty God, our Father,’ said William +Shaw.</p> +<p>“‘Almighty God, our Father,’ said George W. +Kent.</p> +<p>“‘Forgive us our sins,’ said I.</p> +<p>“‘Forgive us our sins,’ said they.</p> +<p>“‘And receive our souls.’</p> +<p>“‘And receive our souls.’</p> +<p>“‘Amen!’</p> +<p>“‘Amen!’</p> +<p>“I laid them beside Ramon Gallegos and covered their +faces.”</p> +<p>There was a quick commotion on the opposite side of the +campfire: one of our party had sprung to his feet, pistol in +hand.</p> +<p>“And you!” he shouted—“<i>you</i> +dared to escape?—you dare to be alive? You cowardly +hound, I’ll send you to join them if I hang for +it!”</p> +<p>But with the leap of a panther the captain was upon him, +grasping his wrist. “Hold it in, Sam Yountsey, hold +it in!”</p> +<p>We were now all upon our feet—except the stranger, who +sat motionless and apparently inattentive. Some one seized +Yountsey’s other arm.</p> +<p>“Captain,” I said, “there is something wrong +here. This fellow is either a lunatic or merely a +liar—just a plain, every-day liar whom Yountsey has no call +to kill. If this man was of that party it had five members, +one of whom—probably himself—he has not +named.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the captain, releasing the insurgent, +who sat down, “there is something—unusual. +Years ago four dead bodies of white men, scalped and shamefully +mutilated, were found about the mouth of that cave. They +are buried there; I have seen the graves—we shall all see +them to-morrow.”</p> +<p>The stranger rose, standing tall in the light of the expiring +fire, which in our breathless attention to his story we had +neglected to keep going.</p> +<p>“There were four,” he said—“Ramon +Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and Berry +Davis.”</p> +<p>With this reiterated roll-call of the dead he walked into the +darkness and we saw him no more.</p> +<p>At that moment one of our party, who had been on guard, strode +in among us, rifle in hand and somewhat excited.</p> +<p>“Captain,” he said, “for the last half-hour +three men have been standing out there on the +<i>mesa</i>.” He pointed in the direction taken by +the stranger. “I could see them distinctly, for the +moon is up, but as they had no guns and I had them covered with +mine I thought it was their move. They have made none, but, +damn it! they have got on to my nerves.”</p> +<p>“Go back to your post, and stay till you see them +again,” said the captain. “The rest of you lie +down again, or I’ll kick you all into the fire.”</p> +<p>The sentinel obediently withdrew, swearing, and did not +return. As we were arranging our blankets the fiery +Yountsey said: “I beg your pardon, Captain, but who the +devil do you take them to be?”</p> +<p>“Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw and George W. +Kent.”</p> +<p>“But how about Berry Davis? I ought to have shot +him.”</p> +<p>“Quite needless; you couldn’t have made him any +deader. Go to sleep.”</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote252"></a><a href="#citation252" +class="footnote">[252]</a> Rough notes of this tale were +found among the papers of the late Leigh Bierce. It is +printed here with such revision only as the author might himself +have made in transcription.</p> + + + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAN SUCH THINGS BE? ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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