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diff --git a/old/canbe10h.htm b/old/canbe10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d0aef7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/canbe10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6966 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII"> +<title>Can Such Things Be?</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Can Such Things Be?, by Ambrose Bierce</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Can Such Things Be? +by Ambrose Bierce +(#7 in our series by Ambrose Bierce) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* +</pre> +<p> +<a name="startoftext"></a> +CAN SUCH THINGS BE?<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Contents:<br> +<br> +The death of Halpin Frayser<br> +The secret of Macarger’s Gulch<br> +One summer night<br> +The moonlit road<br> +A diagnosis of death<br> +Moxon’s master<br> +A tough tussle<br> +One of twins<br> +The haunted valley<br> +A jug of sirup<br> +Staley Fleming’s hallucination<br> +A resumed identity<br> +Hazen’s brigade<br> +A baby tramp<br> +The night-doings at “Deadman’s”<br> +A story that is untrue<br> +Beyond the wall<br> +A psychological shipwreck<br> +The middle toe of the right foot<br> +John Mortonson’s funeral<br> +The realm of the unreal<br> +John Bartine’s watch<br> +A story by a physician<br> +The damned thing<br> +Haïta the shepherd<br> +An inhabitant of Carcosa<br> +The Stranger<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE DEATH OF HALPIN FRAYSER<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>One 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +II<br> +<br> +In 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Would you greatly mind, Katy, if I were called away to California +for a few weeks?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +III<br> +<br> +The 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +IV<br> +<br> +A warm, 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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“How far is it?” inquired Holker, as they strode along, +their feet stirring white the dust beneath the damp surface of the road.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You remember Branscom?” said Jaralson, treating his companion’s +wit with the inattention that it deserved.<br> +<br> +“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 - ”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“The devil! That’s where they buried his wife.”<br> +<br> +“Well, you fellows might have had sense enough to suspect that +he would return to her grave some time.”<br> +<br> +“The very last place that anyone would have expected him to return +to.”<br> +<br> +“But you had exhausted all the other places. Learning your +failure at them, I ‘laid for him’ there.”<br> +<br> +“And you found him?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +Holker laughed good humoredly, and explained that his creditors were +never more importunate.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“What is?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Naturally.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I will show you where he held me up,” he said. “This +is the graveyard.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +All this the two men observed without speaking - almost at a glance. +Then Holker said:<br> +<br> +“Poor devil! he had a rough deal.”<br> +<br> +Jaralson was making a vigilant circumspection of the forest, his shotgun +held in both hands and at full cock, his finger upon the trigger.<br> +<br> +“The work of a maniac,” he said, without withdrawing his +eyes from the inclosing wood. “It was done by Branscom - +Pardee.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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!<br> +<br> +“At last the viewless - ”<br> +<br> +<br> +Holker ceased reading; there was no more to read. The manuscript +broke off in the middle of a line.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Who’s Bayne?” Holker asked rather incuriously.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“It is cold,” said Holker; “let us leave here; we +must have up the coroner from Napa.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +“There is some rascally mystery here,” said Detective Jaralson. +“I hate anything of that kind.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE SECRET OF MACARGER’S GULCH<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +North Westwardly 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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<br> +<br> +<br> + a more familiar face<br> +Than that of man -<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Mr. Morgan,” I asked abruptly, “do you know a place +up there called Macarger’s Gulch?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I had not heard of it; the accounts had been published, it appeared, +while I was absent in the East.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +That was hardly accurate - I had simply dropped it, glass and all.<br> +<br> +“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 débris 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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I thought he seemed rather glad to go on with his story.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +I had deposited a chicken bone in my finger bowl.<br> +<br> +“In a little cupboard I found a photograph of MacGregor, but it +did not lead to his capture.”<br> +<br> +“Will you let me see it?” I said.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“By the way, Mr. Elderson,” said my affable host, “may +I know why you asked about ‘Macarger’s Gulch’?”<br> +<br> +“I lost a mule near there once,” I replied, “and the +mischance has - has quite - upset me.”<br> +<br> +“My dear,” said Mr. Morgan, with the mechanical intonation +of an interpreter translating, “the loss of Mr. Elderson’s +mule has peppered his coffee.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +ONE SUMMER NIGHT<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Outside the wall, at the part of the grounds farthest from the public +road, were a horse and a light wagon, waiting.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“You saw it?” cried one.<br> +<br> +“God! yes - what are we to do?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I’m waiting for my pay,” he said.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE MOONLIT ROAD<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I - STATEMENT OF JOEL HETMAN, JR.<br> +<br> +I am 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“God! God! what is that?”<br> +<br> +“I hear nothing,” I replied.<br> +<br> +“But see - see!” he said, pointing along the road, directly +ahead.<br> +<br> +I said: “Nothing is there. Come, father, let us go in - +you are ill.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +II - STATEMENT OF CASPAR GRATTAN<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +<br> +Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.<br> +<br> +<br> +Ah, the poet’s prophecy of Me - how admirable, how dreadfully +admirable!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“She is below,” I thought, “and terrified by my entrance +has evaded me in the darkness of the hall.”<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 +-<br> +<br> +Now I am calm, but truly there is no more to tell: the incident ends +where it began - in darkness and in doubt.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +To each and all, the peace that was not mine.<br> +<br> +III - STATEMENT OF THE LATE JULIA HETMAN, THROUGH THE MEDIUM BAYROLLES<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A DIAGNOSIS OF DEATH<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Yes, the right kind of eyes, conveying sensations to the wrong +kind of brain,” said Dr. Frayley, smiling.<br> +<br> +“Thank you; one likes to have an expectation gratified; that is +about the reply that I supposed you would have the civility to make.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You will call it an hallucination,” Hawver said, “but +that does not matter.” And he told the story.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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!<br> +<br> +“‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, somewhat coldly, ‘but +if you knocked I did not hear.’<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +Hawver had finished his story and both men were silent. Dr. Frayley +absently drummed on the table with his fingers.<br> +<br> +“Did he say anything to-day?” he asked - “anything +from which you inferred that he was not dead?”<br> +<br> +Hawver stared and did not reply.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Yes, he did - just as his apparition had done. But, good +God! did you ever know him?”<br> +<br> +Hawver was apparently growing nervous.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +MOXON’S MASTER<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +“Are you serious? - do you really believe that a machine thinks?”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +Presently he said:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“And what, pray, does it think with - in the absence of a brain?”<br> +<br> +The reply, coming with less than his customary delay, took his favorite +form of counter-interrogation:<br> +<br> +“With what does a plant think - in the absence of a brain?”<br> +<br> +“Ah, plants also belong to the philosopher class! I should +be pleased to know some of their conclusions; you may omit the premises.”<br> +<br> +“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 manoeuvre +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And all this?”<br> +<br> +“Can you miss the significance of it? It shows the consciousness +of plants. It proves that they think.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“How else do you explain the phenomena, for example, of crystallization?”<br> +<br> +“I do not explain them.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Pardon me for leaving you so abruptly. I have a machine +in there that lost its temper and cut up rough.”<br> +<br> +Fixing my eyes steadily upon his left cheek, which was traversed by +four parallel excoriations showing blood, I said:<br> +<br> +“How would it do to trim its nails?”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“‘Life,’ he says, ‘is a definite combination +of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous and successive, in correspondence +with external coexistences and sequences.’”<br> +<br> +“That defines the phenomenon,” I said, “but gives +no hint of its cause.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Moxon, whom have you in there?”<br> +<br> +Somewhat to my surprise he laughed lightly and answered without hesitation:<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +Without waiting to observe the effect of my shot I left the house.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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<i> </i>might serve my friend by remaining. With a +scarcely conscious rebellion against the indelicacy of the act I remained.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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<i> </i>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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Tell me about it,” I managed to say, faintly - “all +about it.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And Moxon?”<br> +<br> +“Buried yesterday - what was left of him.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Who rescued me?”<br> +<br> +“Well, if that interests you - I did.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +The man was silent a long time, looking away from me. Presently +he turned and gravely said:<br> +<br> +“Do you know that?”<br> +<br> +“I do,” I replied; “I saw it done.”<br> +<br> +That was many years ago. If asked to-day I should answer less +confidently.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A TOUGH TUSSLE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +One 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Damn the thing!” he muttered. “What does it +want?”<br> +<br> +It did not appear to be in need of anything but a soul.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Bah!” he exclaimed; “he was an actor - he knows how +to be dead.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Gad!” said the captain - “It is Byring!” - +adding, with a glance at the other, “They had a tough tussle.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +The surgeon looked at the captain. The captain looked at the surgeon.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +ONE OF TWINS<br> +A LETTER FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE MORTIMER BARR<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +You 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“You, too, Miss Margovan, have a double: I saw her last Tuesday +afternoon in Union square.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Was she very like me?” she asked, with an indifference +which I thought a little overdone.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +She was now pale, but entirely calm. She again raised her eyes +to mine, with a look that did not falter.<br> +<br> +“What do you wish me to do?” she asked. “You +need not fear to name your terms. I accept them.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +She shook her head, sadly and hopelessly, and I continued, with agitation:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +John decided to go with me. In the street he asked if I had observed +anything singular in Julia’s manner.<br> +<br> +“I thought her ill,” I replied; “that is why I left.” +Nothing more was said.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE HAUNTED VALLEY<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I - HOW TREES ARE FELLED IN CHINA<br> +<br> +A half-mile 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“They’re a flight of devouring locusts, and they’re +going for everything green in this God blest land, if you want to know.”<br> +<br> +Here he pushed his reserve into the breach and when his gabble-gear +was again disengaged resumed his uplifting discourse.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +Jo.’s gladness, which somehow did not impress me, was duly and +ostentatiously celebrated at the bottle.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +<br> +AH WEE - CHINAMAN.<br> +<br> +Age unknown. Worked for Jo. Dunfer.<br> +This monument is erected by him to keep the Chink’s memory green. +Likewise as a warning to Celestials not to take on airs. Devil +take ‘em!<br> +She Was a Good Egg.<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +II - WHO DRIVES SANE OXEN SHOULD HIMSELF BE SANE<br> +<br> +<br> +“Gee-up, there, old Fuddy-Duddy!”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +<br> +JO. DUNFER. DONE FOR.<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“My friend,” I said, pointing to the smaller grave, “did +Jo. Dunfer murder that Chinaman?”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“No, sir; he justifiably homicided him.”<br> +<br> +“Then he really did kill him.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“But did Jo. do that because the Chinaman did not, or would n’ot, +learn to cut down trees like a white man?”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Jealous of <i>you</i>!” I repeated with ill-mannered astonishment.<br> +<br> +“That’s what I said. Why not? - don’t I look +all right?”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 persone </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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“But why did you hold your tongue afterward?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“It’s that kind of tongue,” he replied, and not another +word would he say about it.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“When did Jo. die?” I asked rather absently. The answer +took my breath:<br> +<br> +“Pretty soon after I looked at him through that knot-hole, w’en +you had put something in his w’isky, you derned Borgia!”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Meet him? Why, Gopher, my poor fellow, he is dead!”<br> +<br> +“That’s why I’m afraid of ‘im.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Gee-up, there, you derned old Geranium.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A JUG OF SIRUP<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +This 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Why! - what the devil,” he said, “has become of that +jug?”<br> +<br> +“What jug, Alvan?” his wife inquired, not very sympathetically.<br> +<br> +“A jug of maple sirup - I brought it along from the store and +set it down here to open the door. What the - ”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Are you quite sure, Alvan?”<br> +<br> +“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 - ”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Mrs. Creede stood by her husband, regarding him with surprise and anxiety.<br> +<br> +“For Heaven’s sake,” she said, “what ails you?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +This monologue gave the woman time to collect what faculties she had.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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</i> <i>bloc</i>. The rooms above were vacant as well, for +the widow and daughters had gone to another town.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +STALEY FLEMING’S HALLUCINATION<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Of two men who were talking one was a physician.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You look all right,” the physician said.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You say you wake; are you sure about that? ‘Hallucinations’ +are sometimes only dreams.”<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +“‘M, ‘m - what is the beast’s expression?”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Really, my diagnosis would have no value: I am not going to treat +the dog.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“It was first to find the body. It died of starvation on +his grave.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“Yes, there is an electric bell.”<br> +<br> +“Good. If anything disturbs you push the button without +sitting up. Good night.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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 - ”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +When the man was dead an examination disclosed the unmistakable marks +of an animal’s fangs deeply sunken into the jugular vein.<br> +<br> +But there was no animal.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A RESUMED IDENTITY<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I - THE REVIEW AS A FORM OF WELCOME<br> +<br> +One 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I must get away from here,” he thought, “or I shall +be discovered and taken.”<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +II - WHEN YOU HAVE LOST YOUR LIFE CONSULT A PHYSICIAN<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Sir,” said the stranger, “although a civilian, you +are perhaps an enemy.”<br> +<br> +“I am a physician,” was the non-committal reply.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +The physician merely nodded.<br> +<br> +“Kindly tell me,” continued the other, “what has happened +here. Where are the armies? Which has won the battle?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Not seriously - it seems.”<br> +<br> +The man removed the unmilitary hat, put his hand to his head, passed +it through his hair and, withdrawing it, attentively considered the +palm.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Lieutenant, you are not wearing the uniform of your rank and +service.”<br> +<br> +At this the man glanced down at his civilian attire, lifted his eyes, +and said with hesitation:<br> +<br> +“That is true. I - I don’t quite understand.”<br> +<br> +Still regarding him sharply but not unsympathetically the man of science +bluntly inquired:<br> +<br> +“How old are you?”<br> +<br> +“Twenty-three - if that has anything to do with it.”<br> +<br> +“You don’t look it; I should hardly have guessed you to +be just that.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“You are quite sure that you saw them?”<br> +<br> +“Sure? My God, sir, I could have counted them!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +III - THE DANGER OF LOOKING INTO A POOL OF WATER<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +<br> +HAZEN’S BRIGADE<br> +to<br> +The Memory of Its Soldiers<br> +who fell at<br> +Stone River, Dec. 31, 1862.<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A BABY TRAMP<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +If 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Jo did not.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE NIGHT-DOINGS AT “DEADMAN’S”<br> +A STORY THAT IS UNTRUE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +It 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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“You bet your life I am!”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“But <i>I </i>think you’d better skedaddle.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +The old man nodded emphatically, as intimating not merely that he did, +but that he did indeed.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +The visitor nodded gravely. He appeared to be a man of few words, +if any. Mr. Beeson continued:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“He did not get it.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“You say you do not see much in that, and I must confess I do +not myself.<br> +<br> +“But he keeps coming!”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Do you play me for a Modoc?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“They are swiping my dust!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Bang!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +BEYOND THE WALL<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Many years ago, on my way from Hongkong to New York, I assed 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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>.”<br> +<br> +I hardly knew what to reply, but managed to say: “Why, really, +I don’t know: your Latin is about the same.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Please be seated,” he said; “it is nothing - no one +is there.”<br> +<br> +But the tapping was repeated, and with the same gentle, slow insistence +as before.<br> +<br> +“Pardon me,” I said, “it is late. May I call +to-morrow?”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Dampier closed the window and signing me to my seat resumed his own.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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?<br> +<br> +“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?<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Late the next morning, as I was leaving the house, I met my landlady, +entering.<br> +<br> +“‘Good morning, Mr. Dampier,’ she said. ‘Have +you heard the news?’<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“‘About the sick young lady next door,’ she babbled +on. ‘What! you did not know? Why, she has been ill +for weeks. And now - ’<br> +<br> +“I almost sprang upon her. ‘And now,’ I cried, +‘now what?’<br> +<br> +“‘She is dead.’<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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?<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A PSYCHOLOGICAL SHIPWRECK<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +In 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Doyle,” I repeated, “did they save <i>her</i>?”<br> +<br> +He now deigned to look at me and smiled as if amused. He evidently +thought me but half awake.<br> +<br> +“Her? Whom do you mean?”<br> +<br> +“Janette Harford.”<br> +<br> +His amusement turned to amazement; he stared at me fixedly, saying nothing.<br> +<br> +“You will tell me after a while,” I continued; “I +suppose you will tell me after a while.”<br> +<br> +A moment later I asked: “What ship is this?”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +I sat bolt upright. “Do you mean to say that I have been +for three weeks a passenger on this steamer?”<br> +<br> +“Yes, pretty nearly; this is the 3d of July.”<br> +<br> +“Have I been ill?”<br> +<br> +“Right as a trivet all the time, and punctual at your meals.”<br> +<br> +“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>?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“First tell me what <i>you </i>know of her?”<br> +<br> +Mr. Doyle gazed at me for some moments as if thinking what to do, then +seating himself again on the couch, said:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Doyle, what book are you reading?”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +He tossed me the volume, which opened as it fell. On one of the +exposed pages was a marked passage:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“She had - she has - a singular taste in reading,” I managed +to say, mastering my agitation.<br> +<br> +“Yes. And now perhaps you will have the kindness to explain +how you knew her name and that of the ship she sailed in.”<br> +<br> +“You talked of her in your sleep,” I said.<br> +<br> +A week later we were towed into the port of New York. But the +<i>Morrow </i>was never heard from.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE MIDDLE TOE OF THE RIGHT FOOT<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I<br> +<br> +It 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“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 - ”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Gentlemen,” said the man holding the candle and keys, “I +believe everything is right. Are you ready, Mr. Rosser?”<br> +<br> +The man standing apart from the group bowed and smiled.<br> +<br> +“And you, Mr. Grossmith?”<br> +<br> +The heavy man bowed and scowled.<br> +<br> +“You will be pleased to remove your outer clothing.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“If it is agreeable to you, Mr. Grossmith,” said the man +holding the light, “you will place yourself in that corner.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +II<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Whereas,” said Sancher, with a light laugh, “by marrying +a gentleman of more liberal views she escaped with a parted throat.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Look at that chap!” said Rosser in a low voice, his eyes +fixed upon the stranger.<br> +<br> +That chap was obviously listening intently to the conversation.<br> +<br> +“Damn his impudence!” muttered King - “what ought +we to do?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“You are hasty and unjust,” he said to Rosser; “this +gentleman has done nothing to deserve such language.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +III<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +Gertrude was the late Mrs. Manton, sister to Mr. Brewer.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +JOHN MORTONSON’S FUNERAL <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +John Mortonson was dead: his lines in “the tragedy ‘Man’” +had all been spoken and he had left the stage.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE REALM OF THE UNREAL<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +For 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.<br> +<br> +“I beg your pardon,” I said; “I did not see you, sir.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“You are Dr. Dorrimore, I think,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Which I extend with all my heart.”<br> +<br> +That was not altogether true.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +II<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“For example, how?” asked another, lighting a cigar.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Nonsense!” I said, rather uncivilly, I fear. “You +surely do not believe such things?”<br> +<br> +“Certainly not: I have seen them too often.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Mr. Manrich,” he said, “I am going your way.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“You do not believe what is told of the Hindu jugglers,” +he said abruptly.<br> +<br> +“How do you know that?” I asked.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“What is all this nonsense, you devil?” I demanded, fiercely +enough, though weak and trembling in every limb.<br> +<br> +“It is what some are pleased to call jugglery,” he answered, +with a light, hard laugh.<br> +<br> +He turned down Dupont street and I saw him no more until we met in the +Auburn ravine.<br> +<br> +III<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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<br> +<br> +<br> + veils her sacred fires,<br> +And, unaware, Morality expires,<br> +<br> +<br> +famished upon the sifted meal and distilled water of a prudish purveyance.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +IV<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Are Mrs. Corray and her daughter still here?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“What name did you say?”<br> +<br> +“Corray.”<br> +<br> +“Nobody of that name has been here.”<br> +<br> +“I beg you will not trifle with me,” I said petulantly. +“You see that I am all right now; tell me the truth.”<br> +<br> +“I give you my word,” he replied with evident sincerity, +“we have had no guests of that name.”<br> +<br> +His words stupefied me. I lay for a few moments in silence; then +I asked: “Where is Dr. Dorrimore?”<br> +<br> +“He left on the morning of your fight and has not been heard of +since. It was a rough deal he gave you.”<br> +<br> +V<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +JOHN BARTINE’S WATCH<br> +A STORY BY A PHYSICIAN<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +“The 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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +Something in Bartine’s manner that was not in his words - I hardly +knew what it was - prompted me to ask:<br> +<br> +“What is your view of the matter - of the justice of it?”<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +For some minutes nothing was said: Bartine was recovering his temper, +and I waited. Then I said:<br> +<br> +“Was that all?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Damn you! it is two minutes to eleven!”<br> +<br> +I was not unprepared for some such outbreak, and without rising replied, +calmly enough:<br> +<br> +“I beg your pardon; I must have misread your watch in setting +my own by it.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE DAMNED THING<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I - ONE DOES NOT ALWAYS EAT WHAT IS ON THE TABLE<br> +<br> +By 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +The coroner nodded; no one else greeted him.<br> +<br> +“We have waited for you,” said the coroner. “It +is necessary to have done with this business to-night.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +The coroner smiled.<br> +<br> +“The account that you posted to your newspaper,” he said, +“differs, probably, from that which you will give here under oath.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“But you say it is incredible.”<br> +<br> +“That is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear that it is true.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +The men removed their hats. The witness was sworn.<br> +<br> +“What is your name?” the coroner asked.<br> +<br> +“William Harker.”<br> +<br> +“Age?”<br> +<br> +“Twenty-seven.”<br> +<br> +“You knew the deceased, Hugh Morgan?”<br> +<br> +“Yes.”<br> +<br> +“You were with him when he died?”<br> +<br> +“Near him.”<br> +<br> +“How did that happen - your presence, I mean?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I sometimes read them.”<br> +<br> +“Thank you.”<br> +<br> +“Stories in general - not yours.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Relate the circumstances of this man’s death,” said +the coroner. “You may use any notes or memoranda that you +please.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +II - WHAT MAY HAPPEN IN A FIELD OF WILD OATS<br> +<br> +“ . . . 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.<br> +<br> +“‘We’ve started a deer,’ I said. ‘I +wish we had brought a rifle.’<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“‘O, come,’ I said. ‘You are not going +to fill up a deer with quail-shot, are you?’<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“The bushes were now quiet and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan +was as attentive to the place as before.<br> +<br> +“‘What is it? What the devil is it?’ I asked.<br> +<br> +“‘That Damned Thing!’ he replied, without turning +his head. His voice was husky and unnatural. He trembled +visibly.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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 aerial 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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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!<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +III - A MAN THOUGH NAKED MAY BE IN RAGS<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +The foreman rose - a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad.<br> +<br> +“I should like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner,” he said. +“What asylum did this yer last witness escape from?”<br> +<br> +“Mr. Harker,” said the coroner, gravely and tranquilly, +“from what asylum did you last escape?”<br> +<br> +Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors +rose and solemnly filed out of the cabin.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Yes.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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 - +”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +IV - AN EXPLANATION FROM THE TOMB<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“ . . . 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.<br> +<br> +“Can a dog see with his nose? Do odors impress some cerebral +centre with images of the thing that emitted them? . . .<br> +<br> +“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.” . . .<br> +<br> +Several weeks’ entries are missing, three leaves being torn from +the book.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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 +. . .<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Oct. 7. - I have the solution of the mystery; it came to me last +night - suddenly, as by revelation. How simple - how terribly +simple!<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“And, God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a color!”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +HAÏTA THE SHEPHERD<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +In 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +And Hastur, knowing that Haïta was a youth who kept his word, spared +the cities and turned the waters into the sea.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Haïta was entranced. Rising, he knelt before her in adoration, +and she laid her hand upon his head.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Who would not have thee forever?” replied Haïta. +“Oh! never again leave me until - until I - change and become +silent and motionless.”<br> +<br> +Haïta had no word for death.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +As he spoke, the maiden, clad in glittering garments, met him in the +path with a smile that took away his breath.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“Only a single instant,” answered Haïta, blushing with +shame at the confession. “Each time I drove her away in +one moment.”<br> +<br> +“Unfortunate youth!” said the holy hermit, “but for +thine indiscretion thou mightst have had her for two.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +AN INHABITANT OF CARCOSA<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Pondering 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +He gave no heed, nor did he arrest his pace.<br> +<br> +“Good stranger,” I continued, “I am ill and lost. +Direct me, I beseech you, to Carcosa.”<br> +<br> +The man broke into a barbarous chant in an unknown tongue, passing on +and away.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +Such are the facts imparted to the medium Bayrolles by the spirit Hoseib +Alar Robardin.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE STRANGER<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A man stepped out of the darkness into the little illuminated circle +about our failing campfire and seated himself upon a rock.<br> +<br> +“You are not the first to explore this region,” he said, +gravely.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Nobody having broken silence the visitor went on to say:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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:<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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:<br> +<br> +“‘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.’<br> +<br> +“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.’<br> +<br> +“And so he left us - William Shaw, George W. Kent and Berry Davis.<br> +<br> +“I was the leader: it was for me to speak.<br> +<br> +“‘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.’<br> +<br> +“‘That is right,’ said William Shaw.<br> +<br> +“‘That is right,’ said George W. Kent.<br> +<br> +“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.’<br> +<br> +“And George W. Kent said that he felt that way, too.<br> +<br> +“‘It shall be so,’ I said: ‘the red devils will +wait a week. William Shaw and George W. Kent, draw and kneel.’<br> +<br> +“They did so and I stood before them.<br> +<br> +“‘Almighty God, our Father,’ said I.<br> +<br> +“‘Almighty God, our Father,’ said William Shaw.<br> +<br> +“‘Almighty God, our Father,’ said George W. Kent.<br> +<br> +“‘Forgive us our sins,’ said I.<br> +<br> +“‘Forgive us our sins,’ said they.<br> +<br> +“‘And receive our souls.’<br> +<br> +“‘And receive our souls.’<br> +<br> +“‘Amen!’<br> +<br> +“‘Amen!’<br> +<br> +“I laid them beside Ramon Gallegos and covered their faces.”<br> +<br> +There was a quick commotion on the opposite side of the campfire: one +of our party had sprung to his feet, pistol in hand.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +But with the leap of a panther the captain was upon him, grasping his +wrist. “Hold it in, Sam Yountsey, hold it in!”<br> +<br> +We were now all upon our feet - except the stranger, who sat motionless +and apparently inattentive. Some one seized Yountsey’s other +arm.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“There were four,” he said - “Ramon Gallegos, William +Shaw, George W. Kent and Berry Davis.”<br> +<br> +With this reiterated roll-call of the dead he walked into the darkness +and we saw him no more.<br> +<br> +At that moment one of our party, who had been on guard, strode in among +us, rifle in hand and somewhat excited.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw and George W. Kent.”<br> +<br> +“But how about Berry Davis? I ought to have shot him.”<br> +<br> +“Quite needless; you couldn’t have made him any deader. +Go to sleep.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Footnotes:<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +End of the Project Gutenberg eText Can Such Things Be?<br> +by Ambrose Bierce<br> +</body> +</html> |