Part 10

The keel dragged once upon sand in passing, but there was not enough to stop us. We passed so close to the rocks that I could see the green slime dripping off the black jaws, and some great pines, hanging forward at an angle that looked impossible, brushed upon the mast, and rained bunches of spines and small cones upon deck.

The broken-down captain refused to make any effort; Sandy had taken the wheel, and was doing his best to keep us off the visible dangers. When I came up, he jerked his head back, with the question:

“How’s she comin’?”

Afar along the white haunt of shadows, I saw the ghostly object, riding up and down, her single light twinkling, and a gust passed, bringing the deep sound of her panting.

“She’s not gaining,” I said.

“I guess,” said the mate gravely--“I guess we’re the first steamer what’s ever fooled over these waters, an’ she’s the second.”

“Where are we?” I asked, but the mate did not know. He gave his opinion that we were coming to territory never before visited by white men.

When I looked upon the silent shape of Redpath, I doubted the statement. Probably three men on board were visiting this mysterious region not for the first time, and my dead father had probably been here, with the old man, Joe Fagge, the gold-finder.

“She’s slowin’ all the time,” said the mate, with dreary triumph. “Maybe the fire’s gone out. Say! Listen below.”

Shouting and blasphemy had turned into yells of terror, and the battering upon the hatches became furious.

“The water’s worryin’ ’em,” muttered Sandy.

Then Redpath considered it his turn to play. A change had certainly come over the strong-minded man; he was frightened, and he could not altogether hide it; his hands worked uneasily, and he continually cast side glances towards me, as I thought, but I came to realise that I was standing on the line between his eye and the pursuing steamer. It was astonishing that he had not noticed her before.

“Captain Lennie,” he said loudly, “I appeal to you, in the cause of humanity, to unfasten the hatches.”

Lennie made no sign of hearing, but MacCaskill said gruffly:

“You was wantin’ ’em closed down yourself not such a while ago.”

“I considered the men might be dangerous,” said Redpath. “Now they are too frightened to do us any harm.”

“There’s Pete below,” muttered Lennie remorsefully. “Pete was allus a good pard.”

“And I guess you took him foul,” exclaimed MacCaskill boldly. “I guess you knocked him down, and then came up to tell captain he’s drunk.”

“As a gentleman, it is impossible for me to reply,” said Redpath.

“You give the boys that liquor, you and Olaffson,” went on the factor. “You set ’em around me, and started ’em to hustle me inter the cabin, ’cause you wanted me kept outer the racket.”

“Perhaps you believe these romantic charges?” suggested Redpath.

“I believe a pard,” muttered Lennie unhappily.

“You are the captain of this ship. I put myself in your hands. Release the men, and charge me before them.”

“He’s got the men on his side,” I called, backing up my partner, yet never daring to look towards my enemy.

I heard a soft, reproachful voice: “Petrie, I am surprised at you.”

Lennie stirred, and walked over to the stern hatch. Going upon his knees, he shouted, and his voice stopped pandemonium at that end.

“Captain,” whined one of the miserables, “open up, for mercy! The water’s a-runnin’ around, an’ ter’ble cold, an’ we’ll be drownded.”

“Where’s Dave?” shouted Lennie. “Tell him to back astern. Where’s Pete?”

“Some feller’s locked the door of the engine-room, and Pete’s tied up inside, they say, captain. Dave’s raddled. The water’s a-comin’ in dreadful.”

“Who gave ye the liquor?”

“Olaffson,” whined the voice.

“Revolting creature,” said Redpath.

“Most of us ain’t very drunk, captain.”

“Olaffson is, of course, Leblanc’s partner in this miserable undertaking,” continued Redpath.

A sharp gust came suddenly, and silt again jarred the keel.

“Mind out!” yelled Sandy, and we looked ahead.

A luxuriant screen of vegetation spread above and around, blotting out the light. As we entered the arch of gloom, a cold sensation thrilled me, and this outwardly beautiful, but treacherous, shore asserted its malignancy. A horrible odour enclosed us, and when we drifted nearer the silent trees, and could distinguish hundreds of naked poles springing out of a beach of putrid mud, the loathsome atmosphere became so dense that it was horrible to draw breath.

In helplessness and silence we awaited the end. The _Carillon_ drove fast into the mud, brought up among the trees, and there stayed, her screw feebly beating up the half-liquid filth. A faint gleam of light, just powerful enough to struggle through the dense roof of vegetation, lit, after a ghastly manner, the straight unvarying tree-stems, none greater in circumference than the _Carillon’s_ mast, the fearful stagnant mud-flat, and the gigantic crab-spiders, like the nameless things of a dreadful dream, scuttling on long bent legs noiselessly.

“It is the place where the devils dance,” said Akshelah, in horror.

The men between decks were being well punished for their intemperance. Pitiful were the supplications that ascended.

“Stinkin’ mud! Oh! come-a-help!” yelled one voice which sounded familiar.

“Lord-a-save! great awful bugs crawlin’ everlastingly.”

Then the little steamer danced over the black and white water, and touched the outer edge of the utterly black shadow. They must have seen us by the matches we kept striking to light our pipes, though the tobacco tasted of decayed matter, and the flames burnt blue.

Redpath was well and completely beaten. Perfect and polished gentleman to the end, he removed a clean white handkerchief from his mouth, and said:

“Captain Lennie. My dear sir,” with added warmth, “I will throw myself on your clemency, as a man grievously attacked by unjust suspicion. As a passenger upon your ship, and as a man who has done all the little possible for our common safety, I appeal to you to return good for good, and side with me now.”

“Pshaw!” muttered MacCaskill, and Lennie nodded approval at the factor’s exclamation.

A powerful voice rolled solemnly over the mud and water, and reached us through the poisoned atmosphere:

“_Carillon!_”

Sandy, whose lungs were strongest, returned the hail.

“Have you a man name of Tankerville?”

The shout went back in the negative.

“Have you a man disguised as a priest?”

“Persecution follows me,” Redpath remarked indifferently. “Petrie, your father was the better man, though I regret to say he was a murderer! I fear, gentlemen, I must bid you all good-bye!”

“There’s a reward,” rolled the menacing voice out of the fetid air.

“That,” said Redpath, more solemnly than I had ever heard him speak--“that is distinctly ironic. After looking for money all my life, I become a base article of commerce in my old age.”

“He can’t escape anyhow,” muttered MacCaskill, with a grin of satisfaction.

“Good-bye to you!” called Redpath, turning to make a gesture with his white hand. At the side of the ship he paused, and gravely adjusted the handkerchief round his mouth and nose.

A gasp of amazement and horror went up from the deck. The adventurer had gone!

We rushed across, sickening, and saw him below. He sank out of sight into the unutterable putrescence, dragged himself up, congealed with living filth, struggled on, half swimming, half dragging his body through the accumulated vegetable rot of centuries, pulling himself on by the smooth trunks of the trees, until he had lost all resemblance to any living thing, human or animal, and the great spider-like things, with the red stalk eyes and long crooked legs, darted at him noiselessly. Out of his heaving, reeking track ascended a miasma sufficient to poison a population. The ghost-light played once more faintly upon the unnatural object writhing itself away to liberty. Then it was gone, hidden in the outer stench and darkness.

MacCaskill spat violently, and pressed a hand to his aching forehead. Horror-struck, he muttered:

“That’s a man who’s wonderful fond of his life!”

IV

AN UNKNOWN LAND

WEIRD HOLLOW

The officers and crew of the _Carillon_, our three selves, with Inspector Hanafin and men of the _Firefly_, made a landing into the country of perpetual day.

It was severely cold, and rain fell, each drop stinging like ice, when we came upon a beach of vivid white sand, everywhere strangely marked with black fragments of petrified wood, which at a distance closely resembled rocks. Some ragged bush spread away to the north, and to the south dreary shallows, where large-leaved plants floated. Before us a razor-back succession of sand-hills, overhung by a clammy mist, hid all that was beyond.

“We must push along,” said Inspector Hanafin, gathering his fur-lined cloak about his uniform. “This is a malarial fever coast. Keep the mosquitos off as much as you can.”

The _Firefly_ was anchored in the natural harbour made by a long reef.

Upon landing from our boats, most of the men went down on their stomachs, and sucked up the unwholesome water. They were surly after their dissipation, and awed by the presence of the inspector and his two troopers, who had pursued Redpath across so many leagues of land and lake.

We had released the sailors directly the police had come aboard; and when we had taken some provisions, MacCaskill and I loading ourselves with our tools and our packs, we made haste to desert the poisonous mud-flats.

While we were making our way towards the sand-hills I looked for Olaffson, whom I had seen on the boat; but the Icelander had already disappeared, and I guessed he would work his way along the shore to satisfy himself that Redpath was dead. I made no comment, because I was glad to be rid of him.

We were on our way to find a camping-place outside the miasma of the shore. MacCaskill, who had been tramping beside Lennie, joined me, and whispered:

“Rupe, this is the beach Redpath was makin’ for.”

I ought to have been surprised, but somehow I wasn’t. I was tired and indifferent.

“All right,” I said wearily.

As we toiled up the loose sand, I saw the red tops of the willow bush peeping out of the “smoke.” We came over, descended through the curiously thick fog, and suddenly walked right out of it into a pure and clear atmosphere and a much warmer temperature. Beyond the sun was shining; below spread a large hollow, its carpet a startling green, its slopes covered with a luxuriant vine, which crossed and tangled confusedly. The shifting sand changed to firm ground, which produced a tall, stiff grass, the stems of darkest green, the points hard and sharp, and black as ebony. The slope we were on resembled the back of an immense porcupine.

We had not gone far before the men began to curse.

“Poison-grass,” said the inspector carelessly, as well he might, because his own legs were protected by riding-boots. “We shall soon be away from it. Walk straight, men, and tread it down firmly.”

“The devil of a country!” muttered MacCaskill.

“I don’t hold wi’ the bugs,” complained Pete, who was fairly capable, but still nervous after his knock-down. “I don’t worry over grass-bite, I don’t; but I hate to watch these yer black bugs.”

Long narrow insects writhed everywhere between the grass stems; they were so numerous that we could not walk without treading across one or more, and they were pulpy and unpleasant to crush.

“Never mind the bugs,” said Hanafin, who, I learnt, was a genuine specimen of an English gentleman. “See that speckled plant, hemlock? Everything seems more or less poisonous upon this bit of British territory. By Jove, look here!”

The ground fell away suddenly, and we arrived above a succession of pools, joined one to another by belts of swamp, the latter decorated by luxuriant white moss. The black water was absolutely stagnant and unreflecting; large bubbles rose continually, to burst, upon reaching the surface, with a perfectly audible report. Stranger than these bubbles were numerous solid-looking globes--a few opal-white, the majority a very dark blue, others a dirty grey, all curiously marked with shifting designs of every imaginable colour, though the blue tint always predominated. These globes bounded over the pools without marking the surface with the smallest ripple, just like rubber balls bounding over the ground. Immediately a jumping globe touched the moss it vanished; if it safely negotiated the morass, it bounded hilariously over the next pool; if it fell short in its next jump, it invariably paid the penalty of failure by becoming extinct.

“The hell of a country!” muttered MacCaskill.

“Not at all,” said Hanafin, who knew everything. “Nature discovered in her own laboratory. We are near the magnetic circle, and I suspect two of the earth’s currents meet at this hollow. Dip your hand into that pool,” he said, turning to me.

“Do not,” said Akshelah.

I did not like the look of the thick, unmoving water. The inspector drew aside his cloak, passed down before me, and dipped in his own hand. I saw his shoulders lift, and his arm jerked back, before he drew up smilingly, letting loose a long breath.

“This water ought to cure the sickest man on earth,” he said.

Curiosity tempted me, so I slid down and cautiously inserted my fingers. The water was glutinous and tepid, but nothing happened. The inspector looked at me with a faint smile.

“Keep your hand in, but come off the rock.”

I stepped off, and, when my feet touched the wet moss a strong shock thrilled through my system, forcing back my arm, and passed in and out of my body and across my shoulders, making me tingle all over.

“An electric pool,” said Hanafin, when I gave a gasp of relief to find that the water showed no inclination to imprison my hand. “To-night the little globes will resemble so many arc-lights, and the black pools will be like mirrors with the sun upon them.”

Coming down into the hollow, towards the fringe of bush where we intended to make our camp, we became stopped by a ridge of blood-red rock, which rose abruptly like a wall. We thought nothing of the obstacle, until we made the discovery that the barrier was not rock, but a kind of slimy clay, which melted in the warmth of the hand, and left the fingers stained scarlet. MacCaskill muttered yet another reference concerning the country, while Lennie, who was utterly played out, suggested camping where we were.

“When you can’t face your enemy, find a way round,” said the inspector. “Norman, go and explore.”

The trooper swung round, astounding me by his ready obedience. He was soon back to report that he had found the way round.

We reached the edge of the bush, made a clearing and a fire, and spread open our packs.

The inspector selected the best-sheltered spot, called, “Norman, wake me when breakfast is ready,” rolled up his fur-lined cloak for a pillow, spread a silk handkerchief over his face, and went to sleep.

Lennie and the inspector intended to return to the pestilential shore to drag the _Carillon_, if possible, off the poisonous mud-flat. The ship was owned jointly by the Northern Fishing, the Outside Limit Lumber, and the Hudson Bay Companies--all wealthy corporations.

Later on, I ventured to ask Hanafin what Redpath had done to deserve the vengeance of the law, but the inspector only looked at me smilingly over his cigarette, and propounded a question of his own:

“I suppose not even a young and agile man could hope to escape out of that quagmire?”

I expressed my doubts, and the soldier-policeman went on:

“In that case, we won’t discuss the man or his doings. We have a theory that it is ungenerous to speak evil of the dead, who can’t hear, and who don’t care. If the same sentiment were extended to the living, who can hear, and who generally do care, there would be less work for my profession.”

However, MacCaskill spoke differently.

“He ain’t dead, Rupe. Folks like him never do die. Anyhow, when you make dead sure such a one’s snuffed out, he always comes up again. If Redpath had got to work, and run off into clean bush, maybe he’d have fell some place, and bruke a leg, and starved, just ’cause no one would have ever looked for it. It don’t look possible for him to escape outer that mud before he chokes, and that’s just the reason why I look for him to turn up again. Now, where’s that little skunk of an Olaffson?”

“Gone to find Redpath,” I said; but MacCaskill laughed.

“He don’t give a darn about Redpath. He’s gone inland, in the direction we oughter be a-going now.”

“He doesn’t know the way.”

“Redpath told him, likely. If he ain’t, Olaffson will smell it out for himself. Say! You and me must get a move to-night, and slip away quiet when the boys are asleep.”

We had supper at the usual hour of six, and afterwards gathered round the fire, to smoke and talk before sleep.

Inspector Hanafin warned us to prepare for a local thunderstorm, with other electric manifestations in the hollow; but Sandy, who held himself weather-wise, asserted that the “night” would be clear. Said the inspector:

“You forget that this hollow is apparently directly influenced by the magnetic North Pole. The magnetic change occurs once every twenty-four hours, as a result of the free electric currents in the atmosphere above, and so, directly the aurora rises, we shall have some kind of an electric display. Wait until the sun pretends to set.”

The sun left us about one hour before midnight, and straightway the trouble began. There was, of course, no darkness, yet the ghastly effulgence down the hollow could not have been mistaken for honest light; the atmosphere became frequently flooded by a curious radiance, grading from the palest to the darkest shade of blue, sometimes cross-hatched by shadows, which I could not help thinking had no natural right to be present. The bush behind our camp was “naked,” that is to say, the foliage was all overhead; there was no undergrowth; the bare slim boles supporting the fungus-like masses made the bluff resemble a cave filled with stalactites; a lambent light quivered and played away into the distance, running softly about this nakedness, changing its direction, intensity, and tint many times in a minute, while a series of diminutive explosions cracked here and there above. The vines spread along the open side, and the long runners now appeared to be rising and falling, like the surface of the lake when ruffled by wind. A vibration passed periodically through the ground. When I stood up I could sometimes see the arc-globes, whenever they jumped higher than usual, in their mad, irresponsible dance over the pools.

The men were as frightened as they could be, and one of Hanafin’s troopers expressed his opinion that the mouth of the pit lay in the immediate neighbourhood. What he meant I could not tell; but Akshelah assured us that the Evil Spirit always chose such a spot to disport himself in with his associates. We should be safe, she said, so long as we kept away from the water, and if we sought shelter upon rock, directly we saw any unnatural shape. There were rocks hard by.

These rocks were of pure silica, and as it had been observed that the factor and myself carried mining implements, Lennie linked the circumstances, and questioned my partner. MacCaskill confessed that he had tired of an unremunerative employment, and decided to make a prospecting trip, “the boy spoilin’ to get away after the ole man hopped.” He would not own that we knew anything, but while he talked I made the discovery that Leblanc and Morrison had broken themselves from the circle, and were listening as closely as they dared. I caught also the inspector’s keen eyes fixed upon me, and I had the sense to know that the clever Englishman was forming his own deductions from my partner’s speech and my manner. But he asked no question.

“I always wonderful well wanted to look for the dirt,” admitted Lennie; “but minin’ luck’s too queer, an’ a man gen’rally quits poorer than he started. I used to read that Garden of Eden mines chapter outer me Bible when I was a younker--read it hundreds of times, I guess I did. Used to make me mouth run to read all about the gold and the diamonds a-lying around Eden; an’ I guess Adam just loafed around sorter careless, an’ let all the stuff lie.”

“Bet you Eve didn’t,” said the factor, having his own ideas concerning women. “She’d pick up a chunk o’ yaller, and set it against her arm, and hello to Adam, ‘Say! how’s that?’--”

He was knocked off by a mighty explosion. The air became dense and very hot, and permeated by a sour odour, while an intense blue light glared strongly out of the bluff, and made every face ghastly. Our camp fire blazed up as though a blast of wind acted under it. For a minute all was shouting and confusion.

“I’d just as soon be on the _Carillon_,” said Lennie. “I’m out of this.”

The cold-blooded inspector laughed. The light thrilled again, a darker blue. Hardly had it gone when Pete, whom we considered stupid after his late ill-treatment, wiped his mouth and exclaimed:

“Captain, there’s a ter’ble nasty sorter black beast on yon tree a-watchin’ of us.”

We looked, in the spirit of unbelief, and I suppose we all saw a dark object, something a little thicker and blacker than the shadows surrounding it, slide noiselessly down the smooth tree. I know we rushed at once for the rocks, and I confess that I was one of the first to reach the shelter which Akshelah believed to be infallible. It says a good deal for our credulity when I say that in less than a minute we were all clambering over the quartz, the men who could not obtain a first footing literally blubbering with fear, all except Hanafin, who never shifted a muscle, and his troopers, who were forbidden by their discipline to leave the officer. The shapeless black object lay at the bottom of the tree like a heap of mud.

“Say!” muttered one of the men; “think it’s _him_?”

“Course it is, you fool,” answered the chorus.

Hanafin got up, the lights flickering around him, and a warning cry was issued by the choir upon the rocks. The figure stirred, and hopped queerly over the ground, stopping by the fire, and there warmed itself. Hanafin held out a biscuit; the creature grabbed furiously, and finished it with gulps like a dog.

The inspector spoke, but received no reply.

“I saw it a-settin’ up above quite a time,” said Pete unhappily. “It was a-settin’ lonesome, a-lickin’ its paws an’ watchin’. ’Tis one o’ they pesky things what looks for men sleepin’ out, an’ sucks ’em dry.”

It was not easy to tell the creature’s exact size, because it remained bent, and its face and body were thickly covered with hair. When Hanafin called again the creature yapped, and put out a hand for more food. The inspector complied with the demand, then turned to us with the grave assurance that the visitor had once been a fellow-man.

“Lost, gone crazy, and become a beast,” he said.

Nobody believed him, and Akshelah scoffed openly when asked if she knew what he was.