 Section 4 of Love, Crafts, Influences, and Favorites. Somebody asked for the cigars. We had talked long and the conversation was beginning to languish. The tobacco smoke had got into the heavy curtains. The wine had got into those brains which were liable to become heavy, and it was already perfectly evident that unless somebody did something to rouse our oppressed spirits, the meeting would soon come to its natural conclusion, and we, the guests, would speedily go home to bed and most certainly to sleep. No one had said anything very remarkable. It may be that no one had anything very remarkable to say. Jones had given us every particular of his last hunting adventure in Yorkshire. Mr. Tompkins, a Boston, had explained at elaborate length those working principles by the due and careful maintenance of which the Atosin, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad not only extended its territory, increased its departmental influence, and transported livestock without starving them to death before the day of actual delivery, but also had for years succeeded in deceiving those passengers who bought its tickets into the fallacious belief that the corporation of horse said was really able to transport human life without destroying it. Senior Tombola had endeavored to persuade us by arguments, which we took no trouble to oppose, that the unity of his country in no way resembled the average modern torpedo carefully planned, instructed with all the skill of the greatest European arsenals, but when constructed, destined to be directed by feeble hands into a region where it would undoubtedly explode unseen, unfeared, and unheard, into the illimitable wastes of political chaos. It is unnecessary to go into further details. The conversation had assumed proportions which would have bored Prometheus on his rock, which would have driven Tantalus to distraction, and which would have impelled Ixion to seek relaxation in the simple but instructive dialogues of Herr Ohlendorf, rather than submit to the greater evil of listening to our talk. We had set a table for hours, we were bored, we were tired, and nobody showed signs of moving. Somebody called for cigars. We all instinctively looked towards the speaker. Brisbane was a man of five and thirty years of age, and remarkable for those gifts which chiefly attract the attention of men. He was a strong man. The external proportions of his figure presented nothing extraordinary to the common eye, though his size was about the average. He was a little over six feet in height and moderately broad in the shoulder, and he did not appear to be stout, but on the other hand he was certainly not thin. His small head was supported by a strong and sinewy neck. His broad muscular hands appeared to possess a peculiar skill in breaking walnuts without the assistance of the ordinary cracker, and seeing him in profile, one could not help or marking, the extraordinary breadth of his sleeves and the unusual thickness of his chest. He was one of those men who are commonly spoken of among men as deceptive. That is to say that though he looked exceedingly strong he was in reality very much stronger than he looked. Of his features I need say little. His head is small. His hair is thin. His eyes are blue. His nose is large. He has a small mustache and a square jaw. Everybody knows Brisbane, and when he asked for a cigar everybody looked at him. It is a very singular thing, said Brisbane. Everybody stopped talking, Brisbane's voice was not loud, but possessed a peculiar quality of penetrating general conversation, and cutting it like a knife. Everybody listened. Brisbane, perceiving that he had attracted their general attention, lent his cigar with great equanimity. It is very singular, he continued, that thing about ghosts. People are always asking whether anybody has seen a ghost. I have. Bosh. What, you? You don't mean to say Brisbane, well, for a man of his intelligence. A course of exclamations greeted Brisbane's remarkable statement. They called for cigars and stubs. The butler suddenly appeared from the depths of nowhere, with a fresh bottle of dry champagne. The situation was saved, Brisbane was going to tell a story. I am an old sailor, said Brisbane, and as I have to cross the Atlantic pretty often I have my favorites. Most men have their favorites. I have seen a man wait in a Broadway bar for three-quarters an hour for a particular car which he liked. I believe the barkeeper made at least one-third of his living by that man's preference. I have a habit of waiting for certain ships when I have obliged to cross that duck pond. It may be a prejudice, but I was never cheated out of a good passage but once in my life. I remember it very well. It was a warm morning in June and the Custom House officials, who were hanging about waiting for a steamer already on her way up from the quarantine, presented a peculiarly hazy and thoughtful appearance. I had not much luggage. I never have. I mingled with a crowd of passengers, porters, and officious individuals in blue coats and brass buttons, who seemed to spring up like mushrooms from the deck of a moored steamer to obtrude their unnecessary services upon the independent passenger. I have often noticed with a certain interest the spontaneous evolution of these fellows. They are not there when you arrive five minutes after the pilot is called, go ahead. They are at least their blue coats and brass buttons have disappeared from deck and gangway as completely, as though they had been consigned to that locker which traditionally unanimously ascribes to Davy Jones. But at the moment of starting they are there, clean-shaved, blue-coated, and ravenous for fees. I hastened on board. The Kamchatka was one of my favorite ships. I say was because she emphatically no longer is. I cannot conceive of any inducement which would entice me to make another voyage in her. Yes, I know what you are going to say. She is uncommonly clean in the run aft. She has enough bluffing off in the boughs to keep her dry, and the lower berths are most of them double. But I won't cross in her again. Excuse the digression. I got on board. I hailed a steward whose red nose and redder whiskers were equally familiar to me. 105 lower berths said I, in the business-like tone, of men who think no more of crossing the Atlantic than taking a whiskey cocktail at downtown Delmonico's. The steward took my portmanteau, greatcoat, and rug. I shall never forget the expression of his face. Not that he turned pale. It is maintained by the most imminent divines that even miracles cannot change the course of nature. I have no hesitation in saying that he did not turn pale, but from his expression I judged that he was either about to shed tears, to sneeze, or to drop my portmanteau. As the latter contained two bottles of particularly fine sherry presented to me for my voyage by my old friend Snigginson Van Pickens, I felt extremely nervous. But the steward did none of these things. Well, I'm damned, said he in a low voice, and led the way. I suppose my Hermes, as he led me to the lower regions, had had a little grog. But I said nothing and followed him. 105 was on the port side, well laughed. There was nothing remarkable about the state room. The lower berth, like most of those upon the Kemchaka, was double. There was plenty of room. There was the usual washing apparatus, calculated to convey an idea of luxury to the mind of a North American Indian. There were the usual inefficient racks of brown wood in which it is more easy to hang a large-sized umbrella than the common toothbrush of commerce. Upon the uninviting mattresses were carefully folded together, those blankets which a great modern humorist had aptly compared to cold buckwheat cakes. The question of towels was left entirely to the imagination. The glass to canters were filled with a transparent liquid faintly tinged with brown, from which an odor less faint, but not more pleasing, ascended to the nostrils, like a far-off seasick reminiscence of oily machinery. Sad-colored curtains half closed the upper berth. The hazy June daylight shed a faint illumination upon the desolate little scene. Ugh! How I hate that state room! The steward had posited my traps and looked at me as though he wanted to get away, probably in search of more passengers and more fees. It is always a good plan to start in favor with those functionaries, and I accordingly gave him certain coins there and then. I'll try and make you're comfortable all I can, he remarked, as he put the coins in his pocket. Nevertheless there was a doubtful intonation in his voice which surprised me. Possibly his scale of fees had gone up, and he was not satisfied. But on the whole I was inclined to think that, as he himself would have expressed it, he was the better for a glass. I was wrong, however, and did the man injustice. CHAPTER II Nothing especially worthy of mention occurred during that day. We left the pier punctually, and was very pleasant to be fairly underway for the weather was warm and sultry, and the motion of the steamer produced a refreshing breeze. Everybody knows what the first day at sea is like. People paced the decks and stared at each other and occasionally made acquaintances whom they did not know to be on board. There is the usual uncertainty as to whether the food will be good, bad, or indifferent, until the first two meals have put the matter beyond a doubt. There is the usual uncertainty about the weather, until the ship is fairly off Fire Island. The tables are crowded at first, and then suddenly thinned. Pale faced people spring from their seats and precipitate themselves towards the door, and each old sailor breathes more freely as his seasick neighbor rushes from his side, leaving him plenty of elbow room and an unlimited command over the mustard. One passage across the Atlantic is very much like another, and we who cross very often do not make the voyage for the sake of novelty. Whales and icebergs are indeed always objects of interest, but after all one whale is very much like another whale, and one rarely sees an iceberg at close quarters. To the majority of us, the most delightful moment of the day on board an ocean steamer is when we have taken our last turn on deck, have smoked our last cigar, and having succeeded in tiring ourselves feel it liberty to turn in with a clear conscience. On that first night of the voyage I felt particularly lazy, and went to bed in 105 rather earlier than I usually do. As I turned in I was amazed to see that I was to have a companion, and in the upper berth had been deposited a neatly folded rug with a stick and umbrella. I had hoped to be alone, and I was disappointed, but I wondered who my roommate was to be, and I determined to have a look at him. Before I had been long in bed he entered. He was, as far as I could see, a very tall man, very thin, very pale, with sandy hair and whiskers and colorless gray eyes. He had about him, I thought, an heir of rather dubious fashion, the sort of man you might see in Wall Street, without being able precisely to say what he was doing there. The sort of man who frequents the café Anglais, who always seems to be alone and who drinks champagne. You might meet him on a race course, but he would never appear to be doing anything there either. A little overdressed, a little odd. There are three or four of his kind on every ocean steamer. I made up my mind that I did not care to make his acquaintance, and I went to sleep saying to myself that I would study his habits in order to avoid him. If he rose early I would rise late, if he went to bed late I would go to bed early. I did not care to know him. If you once know people of that kind they are always turning up. Poor fellow. I need not have taken the trouble to come to so many decisions about him, for I never saw him again after that first night in 105. I was sleeping soundly when I was suddenly waked by a loud noise. To judge from the sound my roommate must have sprung with a single leap from the upper berth to the floor. I heard him fumbling with the latch and bolt to the door, which opened almost immediately, and then I heard his footsteps as he ran at full speed down the passage, leaving the door open behind him. The ship was rolling a little and I expected to hear him stumble or fall, but he ran as though he were running for his life. The door swung on its hinges with the motion of the vessel and the sound annoyed me. I got up and shut it and groped my way back to my berth in the darkness. I went to sleep again, but I have no idea how long I slept. When I woke it was still quite dark, but I felt a disagreeable sensation of cold and it seemed to me that the air was damp. You know the peculiar smell of a cabin which has been wet with seawater. I covered myself up as well as I could and dozed off again, framing complaints to be made the next day, and selecting those powerful epithets in the language. I could hear my roommate turn over in the upper berth. He had probably returned while I was asleep. Once I thought I heard him groan, and I argued that he was seasick. This is particularly unpleasant when one is below, nevertheless I dozed off and slept to early daylight. The ship was rolling heavily, much more than on the previous evening, and the grey light which came in through the porthole changed intent with every movement, according as the angle of the vessel's side, turned the glass seawards or skywards. It was very cold, unaccountably so for the month of June. I turned my head and looked at the porthole, and saw to my surprise that it was wide open and hooked back. I believe I swore audibly that I got up and shut it. As I turned back I glanced at the upper berth. The curtain was drawn close together. My companion had probably felt cold as well as I. It struck me that I had slept enough. The stateroom was uncomfortable, though, strange to say. I could not smell the dampness which had annoyed me in the night. My roommate was still asleep. Excellent opportunity for avoiding him, so I dressed at once and went on deck. The day was warm and cloudy with an oily smell on the water. It was seven o'clock as I came out, much later than I had imagined. I came across the doctor who was taking his first sniff of the morning air. He was a young man from the west of Ireland, a tremendous fellow with black hair and blue eyes, already inclined to be stout. He had a happy-go-lucky healthy look about him, which was rather attractive. "'Find morning,' I remarked by way of introduction. "'Well,' said he, eyeing me with an air of ready interest, "'It's a fine morning, and it's not a fine morning. I don't think it's much of a morning.' "'Well, no, it is not so very fine,' said I. "'It's just what I call fuggly weather,' replied the doctor. "'It was very cold last night,' I thought, I remarked. However, when I looked about, I found that the porthole was wide open. I had not noticed it when I went to bed, and the stateroom was damp, too. "'Damp?' said he. "'Whereabouts are you?' "'105.' "'To my surprise, the doctor started visibly and stared at me. "'What is the matter?' I asked. "'Oh, nothing,' he answered. Only everybody has complained of that stateroom for the last three trips. "'I shall complain, too,' I said. "'It has certainly not been properly aired. It is a shame. "'I don't believe it can be helped,' answered the doctor. "'I believe there is something. Well, it's not my business to frighten passengers.' "'You need not be afraid of frightening me,' I replied. "'I can stand any amount of damp. "'If I should get a bad cold, I will come to you.' "'I offered the doctor a cigar, which he took and examined very critically. "'Here's not so much the damp,' he remarked. "'However, I dare say you will get on very well. Have you a roommate?' "'Yes, a deuce of a fellow who bolts out in the middle of the night and leaves the door open.' "'Again,' the doctor glanced curiously at me. Then he lit the cigar and looked grave. "'Did he come back?' he asked presently. "'Yes, I was asleep, but I waked up and I heard him moving. Then I felt cold and went to sleep again. This morning I found the porthole open. "'Look here,' said the doctor quietly. "'I don't care much for this ship. I don't care a wrap for her reputation. "'I tell you what I will do. I have a good-sized place up here. I will share it with you, though I don't know you from Adam. I was very much surprised at the proposition. I could not imagine why you should take such a sudden interest in my welfare. However, his manner, as he spoke of the ship, was peculiar. "'You are a very good doctor,' I said, but really, I believe even now the cabin could be aired or cleaned out or something. Why do you not care for the ship?' "'We are not superstitious in our profession, sir,' replied the doctor. But the sea makes people so. I don't want to prejudice you, and I don't want to frighten you. But if you will take my advice, you will move in here.' "'I would as soon see you overboard,' he said earnestly, as know that you or any other man was to sleep in 105.' "'Good gracious, why?' I asked. Just because on the three last trips the people who have slept there actually have gone overboard,' he answered gravely. The intelligence was startling and exceedingly unpleasant, I confess. I looked hard at the doctor to see whether he was making game of me, but he looked perfectly serious. I thanked him warmly for his offer, but told him I intended to be the exception to the rule by which everyone who slept in that particular stateroom went overboard. He did not say much, but looked as grave as ever, and hinted that. Before we got across, I should probably reconsider his proposal. In the course of time we went to breakfast, at which only an inconsiderable number of passengers assembled. I noticed that one or two of the officers who breakfasted with us looked grave. After breakfast I went into my stateroom in order to get a book. The curtains of the upper berth were still closely drawn. Not a sound was to be heard. My roommate was probably still asleep. As I came out I met the steward whose business it was to look after me. He whispered that the captain wanted to see me, and then scuttled away down the passage, as if very anxious to avoid any questions. I went toward the captain's cabin, found him waiting for me. Sir, said he, I want to ask a favor of you. I answered that I would do anything to oblige him. Your roommate has disappeared, he said. He is known to have turned in early last night. Did you notice anything extraordinary in his manner? The question, coming as it did an exact confirmation of the fears the doctor had expressed half an hour earlier, staggered me. You don't mean to say he has gone overboard, I asked. I fear he has answered the captain. This is the most extraordinary thing, I began. Why? he asked. He is the fourth, then, I explained. In answer to another question from the captain, I explained without mentioning the doctor that I had heard the story concerning 105. He seemed very much annoyed at hearing that I knew of it. I told him what had occurred in the night. What you say, he replied, coincides almost exactly with what was told me by the roommates of two of the other three. They bolt out of bed and run down the passage. Two of them were seen to go overboard by the watch. We stopped and lowered boats, but they were not found. Nobody, however, saw or heard the man who was lost last night, if he is really lost. The steward, who is a superstitious fellow, perhaps, and expected something to go wrong, went to look for him this morning and found his birth empty, but his clothes lying about just as he had left them. The steward was the only man on board who knew him by sight, and he has been searching everywhere for him. He has disappeared. Now, sir, I want to beg you not to mention the circumstance to any of the passengers. I don't want the ship to get a bad name, and nothing hangs about an ocean gore like stories of suicides. You shall have your choice of any one of the officer's cabins you like, including my own, for the rest of the passage. Is that a fair bargain? Very, said I, and I am much obliged to you. But since I am alone and have the state room to myself, I would rather not move. If the steward would take out that unfortunate man's things, I would as least stay where I am. I will not say anything about the matter, and I think I can promise you that I will not follow my roommate. The captain tried to dissuade me from my intention, but I preferred having a state room alone to being the chum of any officer on board. I did not know whether I acted foolishly, but if I had taken his advice, I should have had nothing more to tell. There would have remained the disagreeable coincidence of several suicides occurring among men who had slept in the same cabin, but that would have been all. That was not the end of the matter, however, by any means. I obstinately made up my mind that I would not be disturbed by such tales, and I even went so far as to argue the question with the captain. There was something wrong about the state room, I said. It was rather damp. The porthole had been left open last night. My roommate might have been ill when he came on board, and he might have become delirious after he went to bed. He might even now be hiding somewhere on board and might be found later. The place ought to be aired, and the fastening of the port looked to. If the captain would give me leave, I would see that what I thought necessary were done immediately. Of course you have a right to stay where you are if you please, he replied, rather petulantly, but I wish you would turn out and let me lock the place up and be done with it. I did not see it in the same light and let the captain, after promising to be silent concerning the disappearance of my companion, the latter had had no acquaintances on board and was not missed in the course of the day. Towards evening I met the doctor again and he asked me whether I had changed my mind. I told him I had not. Then you will before long, he said, very gravely. Chapter 3 We played wist in the evening and I went to bed late. I will confess now that I felt a disagreeable sensation when I entered my state room. I could not help thinking of the tall man I had seen on the previous night who was now dead, drowned, tossing about in the long swell, two or three hundred miles of stern. His face rose very distinctly before me as I undressed, and I even went so far as to draw back the curtains of the upper berth, as though to persuade myself that he was actually gone. I also bolted the door of the state room. Suddenly I became aware that the porthole was open, fastened back. This was more than I could stand. I hastily threw on my dressing gown and went in search of Robert, the steward of my passage. I was very angry, I remember, and when I found him I dragged him roughly to the door of 105 and pushed him towards the open porthole. What the deuce do you mean you scoundrel by leaving that port open every night? Don't you know it is against the regulations? Don't you know that if the sea healed and the water began to come in, ten men could not shut it? I will report you to the captain, you blaggard, for endangering the ship. I was exceedingly wroth. The man trembled and turned pale and then began to shut the round glass plate with the heavy brass fittings. Why don't you answer me, I said, roughly. If you please, sir, faltered Robert, there's nobody on board as can keep this ear port shut at night. You can try it yourself, sir. I ain't gonna stop any longer on board of this vessel, sir. I ain't indeed. But if I was you, sir, I'd just clear out and go sleep with the surgeon or something I would. Look here, sir. Is that fastened what you might call securely or not, sir? Try it, sir, see if it will move hinge. I tried the port and found it perfectly tight. Well, sir, continued Robert triumphantly. I wager my reputation as an A-1 steward, then in an hour and an hour it will be open again. Fastened back, too, sir. That's the horrible thing. Fastened back. I examined the great screw and the loop nut that ran on it. If I find this open the night, Robert, I will give you a sovereign. It is not possible. You may go. Sovereign, did you say, sir? Very good, sir. Thank you, sir. Good night, sir. Pleasant repose, sir. An all manner of hinchent and dream, sir. Robert scuttled away, delighted at being released. Of course, I thought he was trying to account for his negligence by a silly story intended to frighten me, and I disbelieved him. The consequence was that he got his sovereign, and I spent a very peculiarly unpleasant night. I went to bed, and five minutes after I had rolled myself up in my blankets, the inexorable Robert, extinguished the light that burned steadily behind the ground glass pane of the door. I lay quite still in the dark trying to go to sleep, but I soon found that impossible. It had been some satisfaction to be angry with the steward, and the diversion had vanished that unpleasant sensation I had at first experienced when I thought of the drowned man who had been my chum. But I was no longer sleepy, and I lay awake for some time, occasionally glancing at the porthole, which I could just see from where I lay, and which, in the darkness, looked like a faintly luminous soup plate suspended in blackness. I believe I must have lain there for an hour, and, as I remember, I was just dozing into sleep when I was roused by a draft of cold air, and by distinctly feeling the spray of the sea blown upon my face. I started to my feet, and not having allowed in the dark for the motion of the ship, I was instantly thrown violently across the stateroom upon the couch, which was placed beneath the porthole. I recovered myself immediately, however, and climbed upon my knees. The porthole was again wide open and fastened back. Now these things are facts. I was wide awake when I got up, and I should certainly have been waked by the fall, had I still been dozing. Moreover, I bruised my elbows and knees badly, and the bruises were there on the following morning to testify to the fact, if I myself had doubted it. The porthole was wide open and fastened back, a thing so unaccountable that I remember very well feeling astonishment rather than fear when I discovered it. I had once closed the plate again and screwed down the loop nut with all my strength. It was very dark in the stateroom. I reflected that the port had certainly been opened within an hour after Robert had at first shut it in my presence, and I determined to watch it and see whether it would open again. Those brass fittings are very heavy, and by no means easy to move. I could not believe that the clump had been turned by the shaking of the screw. I stood peering out through the thick glass at the alternate white and grey streaks of the sea that foam beneath the ship's side. I must have remained there a quarter of an hour. Suddenly, as I stood, I distinctly heard something moving behind me in one of the berths. And a moment afterwards, just as I turned instinctively to look, though I could, of course, see nothing in the darkness, I heard a very faint groan. I sprang across the stateroom and tore the curtains of the upper berth aside, thrusting in my hands, to discover if there was anyone there. There was someone. I remember that the sensation as I put my hands forward was as though I was plunging them into the air of a damp cellar. And from behind the curtains came a gust of wind that smelled horribly of stagnant seawater. I laid hold of something that was the shape of a man's arm, but was smooth and wet and icy cold. But suddenly, as I pulled, the creature sprang violently forward against me, a clammy, oozy mass, and it seemed to me, heavy and wet, yet endowed with a sort of supernatural strength. I reeled across the stateroom, and in an instant, the door opened and the thing rushed out. I had not had time to be frightened, and quickly recovering myself, I sprang through the door and gave chase at the top of my speed, but I was too late. Ten yards before me I could see, I am sure I saw it, a dark shadow moving in the dimly lighted passage, quickly as the shadow of a fast horse thrown before a dog cart by the lamp on a dark night. But in a moment it had disappeared, and I found myself holding on to the polished rail that ran along the bulkhead where the passage turned towards the companion. My hair stood on end, and the cold perspiration rolled down my face. I am not ashamed of it in the least, I was very badly frightened. Still, I doubted my senses, and pulled myself together. It was absurd, I thought. The Welsh rarebread I had eaten had disagreed with me. I had been in a nightmare. I made my way back to the stateroom and entered it with an effort. The whole place smelled of stagnant sea water, as it had when I had waked on the previous evening. It required my utmost strength to go in and grow up among my things for a box of waxed lights. As I lighted a railway reading lantern which I always carry in case I want to read after the lamps are out, I perceived that the porthole was again open, and a sort of creeping horror began to take possession of me, which I had never felt before, nor wished to feel again. But I got alight and proceeded to examine the upper earth expecting to find it drenched with seawater. But I was disappointed. The bed had been slept in and the smell of the sea was strong, but the bedding was as dry as bone. I fancied that Robert had not had the courage to make the bed after the accident of the previous night. It had all been a hideous dream. I drew the curtains back as far as I could and examined the place very carefully. It was perfectly dry, but the porthole was open again. With a sort of dull bewilderment of horror I closed it and screwed it down and thrusting my heavy stick through the brass loop, wrenched it with all of my might till a thick metal began to bend under the pressure. Then I hooked my reading lantern into the red velvet, at the end of the couch and sat down to recover my senses, if I could. I sat there all night unable to think of rest, hardly able to think at all. But the porthole remained closed and I did not believe it would now open again without the application of considerable force. The morning dawned at last and I dressed myself slowly, thinking over all that had happened in the night. It was a beautiful day and I went on deck, glad to get out into the early, pure sunshine and to smell the breeze from the blue water, so different from the noisome, stagnant odor of my stateroom. Instinctively I turned aft towards the surgeon's cabin. There he stood with a pipe in his mouth, taking his morning airing precisely as on the preceding day. Good morning, said he quietly, but looking at me with evident curiosity. Doctor, you are quite right, said I. There is something wrong about that place. I thought you would change your mind, he answered, rather triumphantly. You have had a bad night, eh? Shall I make you a pick-me-up? I have a capital recipe. No thanks, I cried, but I would like to tell you what happened. I then tried to explain as clearly as possible precisely what had occurred, not omitting to state that I had been scared as I had never been scared in my whole life before. I dwelt particularly on the phenomenon of the porthole, which was a fact to which I could testify, even if the rest had been an illusion. I had closed it twice in the night, and the second time I had actually bent the brass and wrenching it with my stick. I believe I insisted a good deal on this point. You seem to think I am likely to doubt the story, said the doctor, smiling at the detailed account of the state of the porthole. I do not doubt it in the least. I renew my invitation to you, bring your traps here, and take half my cabin. Come and take half of mine for one night, I said. Help me get to the bottom of this thing. You will get to the bottom of something else if you try, answered the doctor. What, I asked, the bottom of the sea. I am going to leave this ship. It is not canny. Then you will not help me to find out? Not I, said the doctor quickly. It is my business to keep my wits about me, not to go fiddling about with ghosts and things. Do you really believe it is a ghost, I inquired, rather contemptuously? But as I spoke I remembered very well the horrible sensation of the supernatural which had got possession of me during the night. The doctor turned sharply on me. Have you any reasonable explanation of these things to offer, he asked? No, you have not. Well, you say you will find an explanation. I say that you won't, sir, simply because there is not any. But, my dear sir, I retorted, do you, a man of science, mean to tell me that such things cannot be explained? I do, he answered stoutly, and if they could, I would not be concerned in the explanation. I did not care to spend another night alone in the state room, and yet I was obstinately determined to get at the root of the disturbances. I do not believe there are many men who would have slept there alone after passing two such nights. But I made up my mind to try it. If I could not get anyone to share a watch with me. The doctor was evidently not inclined for such an experiment. He said he was a surgeon, and that in case any accident occurred on board, he must be always in readiness. He could not afford to have his nerves unsettled. Perhaps he was quite right, but I am inclined to think that his precaution was prompted by his inclination. On inquiry he informed me that there was no one on board who would be likely to join me in my investigations, and after a little more conversation I left him. A little later I met the captain and told him my story. I said that if no one would spend the night with me, I would ask Lee to have the light burning all night, and would try it alone. Look here, said he. I will tell you what I will do. I will share your watch myself. And we will see what happens. It is my belief that we can find out between us. There may be some fellow skulking on board who steals a passage by frightening the passengers. It is just possible that there may be something queer in the carpentering of that birth. I suggested taking the ship's carpenter below and examining the place, but I was overjoyed at the captain's offer to spend the night with me. He accordingly sent for the workman and ordered him to do anything I required. We went below at once. I had all the bedding cleared out of the upper birth and we examined the place thoroughly to see if there was a boardloose anywhere or a panel which could be opened or pushed aside. We tried the planks everywhere, tapped the flooring, unscrewed the fittings of the lower birth, and took it to pieces. In short, there was not a square inch of that stateroom which was not searched and tested. Everything was in perfect order, and we put everything back in its place. As we were finishing our work, Robert came to the door and looked in. Well, sir? Find anything, sir? He asked with a ghastly grin. You were right about the porthole, Robert, I said, and I gave him the promised sovereign. The carpenter did his work silently and skillfully following my directions. When he had done, he spoke. I'm a plain man, sir, he said. But it's my belief you had better just turn out your things, and let me run half a dozen four-inch screws through the door of this cabin. There's no good never came out of this cabin yet, sir, and that's all about it. There's been four lives lost out of here to my own remembrance, and that in four trips. Better give it up, sir, better give it up. I will try it for one night more, I said. Better give it up, sir, better give it up. It's a precious bad job, repeated the workman, putting his tools in his bag and leaving the cabin. But my spirits had risen considerably at the prospect of having the captain's company, and I made up my mind not to be prevented from going to the end of the strange business. I abstained from Welsh rare bits and grog that evening, and did not even join in the customary game of whist. I wanted to be quite sure of my nerves, and my vanity made me anxious to make a good figure in the captain's eyes. Chapter 4 The captain was one of those splendidly tough and cheerful specimens of seafaring humanity, whose combined courage, hardy-hood, and calmness and difficulty leads them naturally into high positions of trust. He was not demand to be led away by an idle tale, and the mere fact that he was willing to join me in the investigation was proof that he thought there was something seriously wrong. Which could not be accounted for on ordinary theories, nor laugh down as a common superstition. To some extent too, his reputation was at stake, as well as the reputation of the ship. It is no light thing to lose passengers overboard, and he knew it. About ten o'clock that evening, as I was smoking a last cigar, he came up to me and drew me aside from the beat of the other passengers who were patrolling the deck in the warm darkness. This is a serious matter, Mr. Brisbane, he said. We must make up our minds either way to be disappointed or to have a pretty rough time of it. You see, I cannot afford to laugh at the affair, and I ask you to sign your name to a statement of whatever occurs. If nothing happens tonight, we will try it again tomorrow, and next day. Are you ready? So we went below and entered the stateroom. As we went in, I could see Robert the Steward, who stood a little further down the passage, watching us with his usual grin, as though certain that something dreadful was about to happen. The captain closed the door behind us and bolted it. Suppose we put your portmanteau before the door he suggested. One of us can sit on it, nothing can get out then. Is the port screwed down? I found it as I had left it in the morning, indeed, without using a lever as I had done, no one could have opened it. I drew back the curtains of the upper berth so that I could see well into it. By the captain's advice I had lighted my reading lantern and placed it so that it shone upon the white sheets above. He insisted upon sitting on the portmanteau, declaring that he wished to be able to swear that he had sat before the door. Then he requested me to search the stateroom thoroughly, an operation very soon accomplished as it consisted merely in looking beneath the lower berth and under the couch below the porthole. The spaces were quite empty. It is impossible for any human being to get in, I said, or for any human being to open the port. Very good, said the captain calmly. If we see anything now, it must be either imagination or something supernatural. I sat down on the edge of the lower berth. The first time it happened, said the captain, crossing his legs and leaning back against the door was in march. The passengers slept here in the upper berth, turned out to have been a lunatic. At all events he was known to have been a little touched, and he had taken his passage without the knowledge of his friends. He rushed out in the middle of the night and threw himself overboard before the officer who had the watch could stop him. We stopped and lowered a boat. It was a quiet night just before that heavy weather came on, and we could not find him. Of course his suicide was afterwards accounted for on the ground of his insanity. I suppose that often happens, I remarked rather absently. Not often, no, said the captain. Never before in my experience, though I have heard of it happening on board of other ships, well as I was saying that occurred in march, on the very next trip. What are you looking at, he asked, stopping suddenly in his narration. I believe I gave no answer. My eyes were riveted upon the porthole. It seemed to me that the brass loop-nut was beginning to turn very slowly upon the screw. So slowly, however, that I was not sure it moved at all. I watched it intently, fixing its position in my mind and trying to ascertain whether it changed. Seeing where I was looking, the captain looked too. It moves, he exclaimed in a tone of conviction. No, it does not, he added, after a minute. If it were the jarring of the screw, said I, it would have opened during the day. But I found that this evening jammed tight as I left it this morning. I rose and tried the nut. It was certainly loosened, for by an effort I could move it with my hands. The queer thing, said the captain, is that the second man who was lost is supposed to have gone through that very port. We had a terrible time over it. It was in the middle of the night and the weather was very heavy. There was an alarm that one of the ports was open and the sea running in. I came below and found everything flooded, the water pouring in every time she rolled and the whole port swinging from the top ports, not the porthole in the middle. Well, we managed to shut it. But the water did some damage. Ever since that, the place smells of sea water from time to time. We supposed the passenger had thrown himself out, though the Lord only knows how he did it. The steward kept telling me that he cannot keep anything shut here. Upon my word I could smell it now, cannot you? He inquired sniffing the air suspiciously. Yes, distinctly I said, and I shuttered, as that same odor of stagnant sea water grew stronger in the cabin. Now, to smell like this, the place must be damp, I continued. And yet, when I examined it with the carpenter this morning, everything was perfectly dry. It is most extraordinary. Hello? My reading-landard, which had been placed in the upper berth, was suddenly extinguished. There was still a good deal of light from the pain of ground glass near the door, behind which loomed the regulation lamp. The ship rolled heavily, and the curtain of the upper berth swung far out into the stateroom and back again. I rose quickly from my seat on the edge of the bed, and the captain at the same moment started to his feet with a loud cry of surprise. I had turned with the intention of taking down the lantern to examine it. When I heard his exclamation, and immediately afterwards his call for help, I sprang towards him. He was wrestling with all his might with the brass loop of the port. It seemed to turn against his hands in spite of all his efforts. I caught up my cane, a heavy oak stick I always used to carry, and thrust it through the ring and bore on it with all my strength. But the strong wood snapped suddenly, and I fell upon the couch. When I rose again the port was wide open, and the captain was standing with his back against the door, pale to the lips. There is something in that berth, he cried in a strange voice, his eyes almost starting from his head. Hold the door while I look. It shall not escape us, whatever it is. But instead of taking his place, I sprang upon the lower bed and seized something which lay in the upper berth. It was something ghostly, horrible beyond words, and it moved in my grip. It was like the body of a man long-drowned, and yet it moved, and had the strength of ten men living. But I gripped it with all my might, the slippery, oozy, horrible thing. The dead white eyes seemed to stare at me out of the dusk. The putrid odor of rank seawater was about it, and its shiny hair hung in foul wet curls over its dead face. I wrestled with the dead thing. It thrust itself upon me and forced me back and nearly broke my arms. It wound its corpse's arms around my neck, the living death, and overpowered me, so that I at last cried aloud and fell, and left my hold. As I fell, the thing sprang across me, and seemed to throw itself upon the captain. When I last saw him on his feet, his face was white and his lips set. It seemed to me that he struck a violent blow at the dead being, and then he too fell forward upon his face with an inarticulate cry of horror. The thing paused an instant, seeming to hover over his prostrate body, and I could have screamed again for very fright. But I had no voice left. The thing vanished suddenly, and it seemed to my disturbed senses that it made its exit through the open port. Though how that was possible, considering the smallness of the aperture, is more than anyone can tell. I lay a long time upon the floor, and the captain lay beside me. At last I partially recovered my senses and moved, and instantly I knew that my arm was broken, the small bone of the left forearm near the wrist. I got upon my feet somehow, and with my remaining hand I tried to raise the captain. He groaned and moved, but at last came to himself. He was not hurt, but he seemed badly stunned. Well, do you want to hear any more? There is nothing more. That is the end of the story. The carpenter carried out his scheme of running half a dozen four-inch screws through the door of 105, and if ever you take a passage in the Kamchatka, you may ask for a birth in that state room. You will be told that it is engaged. Yes, it is engaged by that dead thing. I finished the trip in the surgeon's cabin. He doctored my broken arm and advised me not to fiddle about with ghosts and things any more. The captain was very silent, and never sailed again in that ship, though it is still running. And I will not sail in her either. It was a very disagreeable experience, and I was very badly frightened, which is the thing I do not like. That is all. That is how I saw a ghost. If it was a ghost, it was dead anyhow. End of The Upper Birth by F. Marion Crawford Recording by Chris Pyle Section 5 of Lovecraft's Influences and Favorites This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Oogie's Ragdoll The Death of Hulpin Frasier by Ambrose Bierce For by death has 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 at 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 is raised up hath no natural affection nor remembrance thereof, but only hate. Also it is known that some spirits which in life were benign became by death evil altogether. Holly One night in mid-summer 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. This man was Hulpin Frasier. 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 Frasier 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, so 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 further shore. However, it is not certain that Hulpin Frasier came to his death by exposure. He had been all day in the hills west of the Napa Valley, looking for doves and a small game as was in season. Lately afternoon it had come 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 on the darkness to penetrate the thickets of Manzanita and other undergrowth, Urlipa-Widlun overcome with fatigue, he had lain down near the root of a large mantuino and fallen into a dreamless sleep. He was hours later, in the very middle of the night, that one of God's mysterious messengers, gliding ahead in the uncopiable host of his companion 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. Hulpin Frasier was not much a philosopher nor a scientist. The circumstance that, waking from a deep sleep night in the midst of a forest, he had spoken aloud a name that he had not in memory and hardly had in mind not aroused an enlightened curiosity to investigate the phenomenon. He thought it odd and with a little frunctory 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. He thought he was walking along a dusty road that showed white in the gathering darkness of a summer night. Winston Wither 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 seas from troubling, and the judgment is at rest. Soon he came to a parting of the ways. Leading from the highway was a roadless travel, 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. 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 fragmentarily utterances of a monstrous conspiracy against his body and soul. It was now long after nightfall, yet the inderminal forest through which he journeyed was lit with a wan glimmer, having no point of diffusion, for in its mysterious illumination 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 pledged 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 wheel waves 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. All this he observed with a terror which seemed not incomparable with the fulfillment of a natural expectation. It seemed to him that it was all an expectation 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 sins. Scenes and incidents came crowded termitiously into his mind. One picture, F, seeing another, are commonly with it in confusion of obscurity. But nowhere could he catch a glimpse of what he sought. The failure augmented his terror. He felt as one who was 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 baneful character, so openly in his sight conspired against his peace. From overhead and all about came so audible and startling whispers and the size 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 facilities to silence and in action, he shouted with the full strength of his lungs. His voice broken, it seemed, into an infinite multitude of unfamiliar sounds, went babbling and standpointing 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, 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. Hope and Frazier was a poet only as he was a penitent in his dream. Taking from his clothing a small red leather pocket book, one half of which was leave from Memadourna, he discovered that he was without a pencil. He broke a twig from a brush, 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 peel of laughter broke out at a measureless distance away, and growing even louder seemed approaching even nearer, a soulless, heartless, and unjoyous laugh. Like that of the loon, solitary by the lakeside at midnight, a laugh which accumulated in an earnestly shout close at hand, then died away by slow graduations, 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 nearby, and had not moved. 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 as consciousness, a mysterious mental assurance of some overpowering presence, some supernatural benevolence different in kind from the invisible existences that squirmed 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, dare not conjure. 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, transversing the haunted wood, might sometime rescue him if he should be denied the blessing of annihilation. He wrote with terrible reptility, the twig in his fingers riling blood without renewal, and 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. In his youth, Halpin Frazier had lived with his parents in Nashville, Tennessee. The Frazier's were well to do, having a good position in such societies that 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 astudity and a father's neglect. Frazier was what no other man of means is not, a politician. His country, or rather his section and state, main 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. Young Halpin was of a dreamy, indolent, and a 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 were well understood that in him was the character of the late Myron Bain, a maternal great-grandfather, had revisited the glimpses of the moon, by which Orr Bain 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 Frazier who was not the proud processor of a sumptuous copy of the astral poetical works printed at the family expense and a long ago withdrawn from the inhospitable market was a rare Frazier indeed. There was an illogical indisposition to honor the great deceased in the person of his spiritual successor. Halpin was pretty generally debated as an intellectual black sheep who was likely at any moment to disgrace the flock by bleeding in meter. The Tennessee Frazier's were a practical folk, not practical in the popular sense of devotion to a sorrid pursuits, but having a robust contempt for any qualities unfitting a man for the wholesome vocation of politics. 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, the famous colonial bard, his succession to the gift and faculty divine were purely infertional. 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 liar. 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 discipline of the late and great Myron Bain, though with the tax so generally and justly admired in her sex. Despite the hardy commonerals 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 Hopon's youth his mother had spoiled him, he had assertively done his part toward being spoiled. As he grew to such manhood as intainable by a southerner who does not care which way elections go, the attachment between him and his beautiful mother, who from early childhood he had called Katie. Became a yearly stronger and more tender. In these two romantic natures was manifest in a single way that neglected phenomenon, the dominance of the sexual elements in all the relations of life, strengthening, softening, and beautifying, even those of Kant's continuity. The two were nearly inseparable, and by strangers observing their manner were not infruiting mistake in of her lovers. Entering his mother's boudoir one day, Halpern Fraser 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, Would you greatly mind, Katie, if I were called away to California for a few weeks? It was hardly needful for Katie to answer with her lips a question to which her telltale cheeks had made an instant reply. Evidently she would greatly mind, and the tears too sprang into her large brown eyes as corroborative testimony. 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 Bain 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 at it, 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. It must be confessed that this ingenious interpretation of the dream, in the light of a 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 Hulp and Frazier's impression that he was to be guaranteed on his native health. Are there not medical springs in California, Mrs. Frazier resumed, before he had time to give her the true reading of the dream? Places where one recovers from rheumatism and miraculous? Look, my fingers feel so stiff, and I am almost sure they have been giving me great pain while I slept. She held her hands for his inspection. What diagnosis of her case the young men 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. The outcome of it was that of those 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. While in San Francisco Halpin Frazier was walking one dark night along the waterfront of the city wind, with a suddenness that surprised and disconcerted him, he became a sailor. He was in fact shanghai'd aboard a gallant ship and sailed for a far country. Nor did his misfortunes end with the voyage, for the ship was cast ashore on an island in the South Pacific and it was six years afterward when the survivors were taken off by a venture of some trading schooner and brought back to San Francisco. Though poor and purse, Frazier had 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 been he had gone gunning and dreaming. 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 the 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 list his feet from the ground. His arms hung helpless at its sides. Of his eyes only he retained control and these he dared not remove from the lustless 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 the cigar might light up a tomb. 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 cumulation 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 benevolence of a wild brute. Then thrust his 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 insensitive 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 a dream. Then he regained his identity almost as if by leap forward into his body and the straining automation had a directing will as alert and fierce as that of its hideous antagonist. But what mortal can cope with the creature of his dream? The imagination created 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 and avoid he felt the cold fingers close upon his throat. Born backward to the earth he saw above him the dead and drawn face within a hand's breath of his own and then all was black. A sound as if the beating of distant drums a murmur of swarming voices a sharp far cry signing all of the silence and hope and phrase or dream that he was dead. 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. Helen a way up along the barren altitudes near the summit. It was so thin so defenceless so like a fancy made visible that one could have said look quickly in a moment it will be gone. In a moment it was visibly larger and denser while with one edge it clung to the mountain with the other reached further and further 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 Cali Stoga which lies near the head of the valley and at the foot of the mountain there was a starless night and a sunless morning the fog sinking into the valley had reached southwards swelling 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 adrift with moisture birds set silent in their covets the morning light was when and ghastly with neither color nor fire two men left the town of St. Helena at the first glimmer of dawn and walked along the road northward up the valley toward Cali Stoga 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 hulker and garlesson respectively their business was manhunting how far is it inquired hulker as he strode along their feet stirring white the dust beneath the damp surface of the road the white church only a half mile further the other answered by the way he added it is neither white nor a church it is an abandoned schoolhouse gray with asian neglect religious services were once held in it when it was white and there was a graveyard that would delight a poet can you guess why I sent for you and told you to come healed 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 you remember Branscombe asked garlesson treating his companions wit with the inattention that it deserved the chap who cut his wife's throat I ought I waste 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 yes I do he has been under the noses of you fellas all the time he comes by night to the old graveyard at the white church the devil that's where they buried his wife well you fellows might have had sense enough to suspect that he would return to her grave sometime the very last place that anyone would have expected him to return to but you had exhausted all the other places learning your failure at them I laid for him there and you found him damn it he found me the rascal got the drop on me regularly held me up and made me travel it's God's mercy he didn't go through me oh and he's a good one and I fancy the half of that reward is enough for me if you're needy Hulker laughed good humordly and explained that his creditors were never more impromptu I wanted merely to show you the ground and arrange a plan with you the detective explained I thought it is well for us to be healed even in daylight 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 Mr. Hulker was so profoundly affected by that possible failure of justice that he involuntarily stopped the middle of the road that resumed his walk with a baited zeal while he looks at asserted Garrelson I'm bound to admit that a more unshaven unshorn unkept and uneverything wrench I never saw outside the ancient onbro 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 all right Hulker 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 Branskin ever gets tired of you and your impertinent intrusion by the way I heard the other day that Branskin was not his real name what is I can't recall it I lost all interest in the wretch and it did not fix itself in my memory something like party 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 naturally but not knowing the right name by what happy inspiration did you find the right grave the man who told me that the name was said it had been cut into the headboard I don't know the right grave girl said it was apparently a trifle reluctant to admit his ignorance of so important a point of his plan I've been watching about the place generally a part of our work this morning will be identify that grave here is the white church 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 metharones 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 hulkers saw nothing of the building but as they turned into the woods it revealed itself in faint gray outlined 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 ink significant 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 when both glass and shafts had long departed it was ruined but not a ruin a typical california substitute for what are known to guidebookers abroad as monuments of the past with scarcely a glance at this uninteresting structure garlison moved on into the dripping undergrowth beyond i will show you where he held me up he said this is the graveyard here and there among the bushes were small enclosures 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 prostate 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 the 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 enclosing fences overall was that air of abandonment and decay which seems nowhere so fit and significant as in a village of the forgotten dead as the two men garlison 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 through seeing nothing imitated the posture and so stood prepared for what might ensue a moment later garlison moved cautiously forward the other following under the branches of an enormous bruce lay the dead body of a man standing silent above it they noted some particulars as first strike the attention the face the attitude the clothing whatever most promptly and plainly answers the unspoken question of sympathetic curiosity the body lay upon its back the legs wide apart one arm was thrust upward the other outward but the ladder 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? nearby lay a shotgun in 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 poise note had been 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 the nature of the struggle was made clear by a glance at the dead man's throat and face while breasts 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 breasts, throat, face were wet the clothing was saturated drops of water, condensed from the fog studded the hair and mustache all this the two men observed without speaking almost at a glance then Holker said poor devil, he had a rough deal Charleston was making a vigilant circumspection of the forest his shot gun held in both hands and had full cock his finger upon the trigger the work of a maniac, he said without drawing his eyes from the enclosing wood it was done by Branson, Pardee 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 memordea and upon the first leaf was the name Hulpin Frazier written in red on several succeeding leaves scrawled as if in haste and barely legible for the following lines was 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 burden branch enthralled by some mysterious spell I stood in the lit gloom of an enchanted wood the cypress there immortal twine their bows significant in baleful brotherhood the brooding willow whisper to the you beneath the deadly nightshade and the room with immortalist self-woven into strange funeral shapes and horrid nettles grew no song of bird no any drone of bees nor light leaf lifted by the wholesome breeze the air was stagnant all and silence was a living thing that breathed among the trees conspiring spirits whispered in the gloom half heard the steely secrets of the tomb with blood the trees were all the drip the leaves shown in the witch light with a broody bloom I cried aloud the spell unbroken still rested upon my spirit and my will unsold unheartened hopeless and forlorn I strove with monstrous presages of ill at last the viewless hoker ceased reading there was no more to read the manuscript broke off in the middle of a line that sounds like bane said garlson who was something of a scholar in his way he had abated his vigilance and stood looking down at the body who's bane hoker asked rather incuriously myron bane 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 it is cold said hoker let us leave here we must have up the corner from nappa garlson 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 for his 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 kathlyn larue larue larue exclaimed hoker was sudden animation why that was the real name of bronskin not party and blessed my soul how it all comes to me the murdered woman's name had been frazier there is some rascally mystery here said detective garlson I hate anything of that kind 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 accumulating shout which had seemed almost in their ears it chewed itself away into the distance until its failing notes joyless and mechanical to the last sank to silence at a measureless remove end of the death of hulp and frazier section six of lovecraft's influences and favorites this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Wraith Ball the mark of the beast by Rudyard Kipling your gods and my gods do you or I know which are the stronger native proverb East of Suez some hold the direct control of Providence ceases man being there handed over to the power of the gods and devils of Asia and the Church of England Providence only exercising an occasional and modified supervision in the case of Englishman this theory accounts for some of the more unnecessary horrors of life in India it may be stretched to explain my story my friend Strickland of the police who knows as much of natives of India as is good for any man can bear witness to the facts of the case Dumois our doctor also saw what Strickland and I saw the inference which he drew from the evidence was entirely incorrect he is dead now he died in a rather curious manner which has been elsewhere described when fleet came to India he owned a little money and some land in the Himalayas near a place called Dharmsala both properties had been left him by an uncle and he came out to finance them he was a big heavy genial and inoffensive man his knowledge of natives was of course limited and he complained of the difficulties of the language he rode in from his place in the hills to spend new year in the station and he stayed with Strickland on New Year's Eve there was a big dinner at the club and the night was excusably wet when men for gather from the uttermost ends of the empire they have a right to be riotous the frontier had sent down a contingent of kachamalivos who had not seen 20 white faces for a year and were used to ride 15 miles to dinner at the next fort at the risk of a cabaret bullet where their drinks should lie they profited by their new security for they tried to play pool with a curled up hedgehog found in the garden and one of them carried the mark around the room in his teeth half a dozen planters had come in from the south and were talking hoarse to the biggest liar in Asia who was trying to cap all their stories at once everybody was there and there was a general closing up of ranks and taking stock of our losses in dead or disabled that had fallen during the past year it was a very wet night and I remember that we sang old lang syne with our feet in the polo championship cup and our heads among the stars and swore that we were all dear friends then some of us went away and annexed Burma and some tried to open up the Sudan and were opened up by the fuzzies in that cruel scrub outside Swakim and some found stars and medals and some were married which was bad and some did other things which were worse and the others of us stayed in our chains and strove to make money on insufficient experiences fleet began the night with sherry and bitters drank champagne steadily up to dessert then raw rasping capri with all the strength of whiskey took benedictine with his coffee four or five whiskies and sodas to improve his pool strokes beer and bones at half past two winding up with old brandy consequently when he came out at half past three in the morning into 14 degrees of frost he was very angry with his horse for coughing and tried to leapfrog into the saddle the horse broke away and went to his stables so Strickland and I formed a guard of dishonour to take fleet home our road lay through the bazaar close to a little temple of hanuman the monkey god who is a leading divinity worthy of respect all gods have good points just as have all priests personally I attach much importance to hanuman and I'm kind to his people the great great apes of the hills one never knows when one may want a friend there was a light in the temple and as we passed we could hear voices of men chanting hymns in a native temple the priests rise at all hours of the night to do honor to their god before we could stop him fleet dashed up the steps patted two priests on the back and was gravely grinding the ashes of his cigar butt into the forehead of the redstone image of hanuman Strickland tried to drag him out but he sat down and said solemnly she that mark of the beast I made it isn't it fine in half a minute the temple was alive and noisy and Strickland who knew what came of polluting gods said that things might occur he by virtue of his official position long residents in the country and weakness for going among the natives was known to the priests and he felt unhappy fleet sat on the ground and refused to move he said that good old hanuman made a very soft pillow then without any warning a silver man came out of a recess behind the image of the god he was perfectly naked in that bitter bitter cold and his body shone like frosted silver for he was what the bible calls a leper as white as snow also he had no face because he was a leper of some years standing and his disease was heavy upon him we too stooped to haul fleet up and the temple was filling and filling with folk who seemed to string from the earth when the silver man ran in under our arms making a noise exactly like the mewing of an otter caught fleet round the body and dropped his head on fleet's breast before we could wrench him away then he retired to a corner and sat mewing while the crowd blocked all the doors the priests were very angry until the silver man touched fleet that nuzzling seemed to sober them at the end of a few minutes silence one of the priests came to Strickland and said in perfect English take your friend away he has done with hanuman but hanuman is not done with him the crowd gave room and we carried fleet into the road Strickland was very angry he said that we might all three have been knifed and that fleet should thank his stars that he had escaped without injury fleet thanked no one he said that he wanted to go to bed he was gorgeously drunk we moved on Strickland silent and wrathful until fleet was taken with violent shivering fits and sweating he said the smells of the bazaar were overpowering and he wondered why slaughterhouses were permitted so near English residences can't you smell the blood said fleet we put him to bed at last just as the dawn was breaking and Strickland invited me to have another whiskey and soda while we were drinking he talked of the trouble in the temple and admitted that it baffled him completely Strickland hates being mystified by natives because his business in life is to overmatch them with their own weapons he has not yet succeeded in doing this but in 15 or 20 years he will have made some small progress they should have mauled us he said instead of mewing at us I wonder what they meant I don't like it one little bit I said that the managing committee of the temple would in all probability bring a criminal action against us for insulting their religion there was a section of the Indian penal code which exactly met fleet's offense Strickland said that he only hoped and prayed that they would do this before I left I looked into fleet's room and saw him lying on his right side scratching his left breast then I went to bed cold depressed and unhappy at seven o'clock in the morning at one o'clock I rode over to Strickland's house to inquire after fleet's head I imagined that it would be a sore one fleet was breakfasting and seemed unwell his temper was gone for he was abusing the cook for not supplying him with an underdone chop a man who can eat raw meat after a wet night is a curiosity I told fleet this and he laughed you breed queer mosquitoes in these parts he said I've been bitten to pieces but only in one place let's have a look at the bite said Strickland it may have gone down since this morning while the chops were being cooked fleet opened his shirt and showed us just over his left breast a mark the perfect double of the black rosettes the five or six irregular blotches arranged in a circle on a leopard's hide Strickland looked and said it was only pink this morning it's grown black now fleet ran to a glass by jove he said this is nasty what is it we could not answer here the chops came in all red and juicy and fleet bolted three in a most offensive manner he ate on his right grinders only and threw his head over his right shoulder as he snapped at the meat when he had finished it struck him that he had been behaving strangely if he said apologetically I don't think I ever felt so hungry in my life I've bolted like an ostrich after breakfast Strickland said to me don't go stay here and stay for the night seeing that my house was not three miles from Strickland's this request was absurd but Strickland insisted and was going to say something when fleet interrupted by declaring in a shame-faced way that he felt hungry again Strickland sent a man to my house to fetch over my bedding and a horse and we three went down to Strickland's stables to pass the hours until it was time to go out for a ride the man who has a weakness for horses never worries of inspecting them and when two men are killing time in this way they gather knowledge and lies the one from the other there were five horses in the stables and I shall never forget the scene as we tried to look them over they seem to have gone mad they reared and screamed and nearly tore up their pickets they sweated and shivered and lathered and were distraught with fear Strickland's horses used to know him as well as his dogs which made the matter more curious we left the stable for fear of the brutes throwing themselves in their panic then Strickland turned back and called me the horses were still frightened but they let us gentle and make much of them and put their heads in our bosoms they aren't afraid of us said Strickland do you know I'd give three months pay if outrage here could talk but outrage was dumb and could only cuddle up to his master and blow out his nostrils as is the custom of horses when they wish to explain things but can't fleet came up when we were in the stools and as soon as the horses saw him their fright broke out afresh it was all that we could do to escape from the place unkicked Strickland said they don't seem to love you fleet nonsense said fleet my mare will follow me like a dog he went to her she was in a loose box but as he slipped the bars she plunged knocked him down and broke away into the garden I laughed but Strickland was not amused he took his moustache in both fists and pulled at it till it nearly came out fleet instead of going off to chase his property yawned saying that he felt sleepy he went to the house to lie down which was a foolish way of spending new year's day Strickland sat with me in the stables and asked if I had noticed anything peculiar in fleet's manner I said that he ate his food like a beast but that this might have been the result of living alone in the hills out of reach of society as refined and elevating as ours for instance Strickland was not amused I do not think that he listened to me for his next sentence referred to the mark on fleet's breast and I said that it might have been caused by blisterflies or that it was possibly a birthmark newly born and now visible for the first time we both agreed that it was unpleasant to look at and Strickland found occasion to say that I was a fool I can't tell you what I think now said he because you would call me a madman but you must stay with me for the next few days if you can I want you to watch fleet but don't tell me what you think till I have made up my mind but I am dining out tonight I said so am I said Strickland and so is fleet at least if he doesn't change his mind we walked about the garden smoking but saying nothing because we were friends and talking spoils good tobacco till our pipes were out then we went to wake up fleet he was wide awake and fidgeting about his room I say I want some more chops he said when can I get them we laughed and said go and change the ponies will be round in a minute all right said fleet I'll go when I get the chops under done one's mind he seemed to be quite in earnest it was four o'clock and we had had breakfast at one still for a long time he demanded those under done chops then he changed into riding clothes and went out into the veranda his pony the mayor had not been caught would not let him come near all three horses were unmanageable mad with fear and finally fleet said that he would stay at home and get something to eat Strickland and I rode out wondering as we passed the temple of hanuman the silver man came out and muted us he is not one of the regular priests of the temple said Strickland I think I should peculiarly like to lay my hands on him there was no spring in our gallop on the race course that evening the horses were stale and moved as though they had been ridden out the fright after breakfast has been too much for them said Strickland that was the only remark he made through the remainder of the ride once or twice I think he swore to himself but that did not count we came back in the dark at seven o'clock and saw that there were no lights in the bungalow careless ruffians my servants are said Strickland my horse reared at something on the carriage drive and fleet stood up under its nose what are you doing groveling about the garden said Strickland but both horses bolted and nearly threw us we dismounted by the stables and returned to fleet who was on his hands and knees under the orange bushes what the devil's wrong with you said Strickland nothing nothing in the world said fleet speaking very quickly and thickly I've been gardening botanizing you know the smell of the earth is delightful I think I'm going for a walk a long walk all night then I saw that there was something excessively out of order somewhere and I said to Strickland I am not dining out bless you said Strickland here fleet get up you'll catch fever there come into dinner and let's have the lamps lit we'll all dine at home fleet stood up unwillingly and said no lamps no lamps it's much nicer here let's dine outside and have some more chops lots of them and underdone bloody ones with gristle now a December evening in northern India is bitterly cold and fleet suggestion was that of a maniac come in said Strickland sternly come in at once fleet came and when the lamps were brought we saw that he was literally plastered with dirt from head to foot he must have been rolling in the garden he shrank from the light and went to his room his eyes were horrible to look at there was a green light behind them not in them if you understand and the man's lower lip hung down Strickland said there is going to be trouble big trouble tonight don't you change your riding things we waited and waited for fleet's reappearance and ordered dinner in the meantime we could hear him moving about his own room but there was no light there presently from the room came the long drawn howl of a wolf people write and talk likely of blood running cold and hair standing up and things of that kind both sensations are too horrible to be trifled with my heart stopped as though a knife had been driven through it and Strickland turned as white as the tablecloth the howl was repeated and was answered by another howl far across the fields that set the gilded roof on the horror Strickland dashed into fleet's room I followed and we saw fleet getting out of the window he made beast noises in the back of his throat he could not answer us when we shouted at him he spat I don't quite remember what followed but I think that Strickland must have stunned him with the long boot jack or else I should never have been able to sit on his chest fleet could not speak he could only snarl and his snarls were those of a wolf not of a man the human spirit must have been giving way all day and have died out with the twilight we were dealing with a beast that had once been fleet the affair was beyond any human and rational experience I tried to say hydrophobia but the word wouldn't come because I knew that I was lying we bound this beast with leather thongs of the punkarope and tied its thumbs and big toes together and gagged it with a shoehorn which makes a very efficient gag if you know how to arrange it then we carried it into the dining room and sent a man to Dumois the doctor telling him to come over at once after we had dispatched the messenger and were drawing breath Strickland said it's no good this isn't any doctor's work I also knew that he spoke the truth the beast's head was free and it threw it about from side to side anyone entering the room would have believed that we were curing a wolf's pelt that was the most loathsome accessory of all Strickland sat with his chin in the heel of his fist watching the beast as it wriggled on the ground but saying nothing the shirt had been torn open in the scuffle and showed the black rosette mark on the left breast it stood out like a blister in the silence of the watching we heard something without mewing like a sheota we both rose to our feet and I answer for myself not Strickland felt sick actually and physically sick we told each other as did the men in Pinafore that it was the cat Dumois arrived and I never saw a little man so unprofessionally shocked he said that it was a heart-rending case of hydrophobia and that nothing could be done at least any palliative measures would only prolong the agony the beast was foaming at the mouth fleet as we told Dumois had been bitten by dogs once or twice any man who kept half a dozen terriers must expect a nip now and again Dumois could offer no help he could only certify that fleet was dying of hydrophobia the beast was then howling Frit had managed to spit out the shoehorn Dumois said that he would be ready to certify to the cause of death and that the end was certain he was a good little man and he offered to remain with us but Strickland refused the kindness he did not wish to poison Dumois's new year he would only ask him not to give the real cause of fleet's death to the public so Dumois left deeply agitated and as soon as the noise of the cartwheels had died away Strickland told me in a whisper his suspicions they were so wildly improbable that he dared not say them out loud and I who entertained all Strickland's beliefs was so ashamed of owning to them that I pretended to disbelieve even if the silver man had bewitched fleet for polluting the image of hanuman the punishment could not have fallen so quickly as I was whispering this the cry outside the house rose again and the beast fell into a fresh paroxysm of struggling till we were afraid the thongs that held it would give way watch said Strickland if this happened six times I shall take the law into my own hands I order you to help me he went into his room and came out in a few minutes with the barrels of an old shotgun a piece of fishing line some thick cord and his heavy wooden bedstead I reported that the convulsions had followed the cry by two seconds in each case and the beast seemed perceptibly weaker Strickland muttered but he can't take away the life he can't take away the life I said though I knew I was arguing against myself it may be a cat it must be a cat if the silver man is responsible why does he dare to come here Strickland arranged the wood on the half put the gun barrels into the glow of the fire spread the twine on the table and broke a walking stick in two there was one yard of fishing line gut lapped with wire such as is used for marcia fishing and he tied the two ends together in a loop then he said how can we catch him he must be taken alive and unhurt I said that we must trust in providence and go out softly with polo sticks into the shrubbery at the front of the house the man or animal that made the cry was evidently moving round the house as regularly as a night watchman we could wait in the bushes till he came by and knock him over Strickland accepted this suggestion and we slipped out from a bathroom window into the front veranda and then across the carriage drive into the bushes in the moonlight we could see the leper coming round the corner of the house he was perfectly naked and from time to time he mewed and stopped to dance with his shadow it was an unattractive sight and thinking of poor fleet brought to such degradation by so foul a creature I put away all my doubts and resolved to help Strickland from the heated gun barrels to the loop of twine from the loins to the head and back again with all tortures that might be needful the leper halted in the front porch for a moment and we jumped out on him with the sticks he was wonderfully strong and we were afraid that he might escape or be fatally injured before we caught him we had an idea that lepers were frail creatures but this proved to be incorrect Strickland knocked his legs from under him and I put my foot on his neck he mewed hideously and even through my riding boots I could feel that his flesh was not the flesh of a clean man he struck at us with his hands and feet stumps we looped the lash of a dog whip round him under the armpits and dragged him backwards into the hall and so into the dining room where the beast lay there we tied him with trunk straps he made no attempt to escape but mewed when we confronted him with the beast the scene was beyond description the beast doubled backwards into a bow as though he had been poisoned with strictening and moaned in the most pitiable fashion several other things happened also but they cannot be put down here I think I was right said Strickland now we will ask him to cure this case but the leper only mewed Strickland wrapped a towel around his hand and took the gun barrels out of the fire I put the half of the broken walking stick through the loop of fishing line and buckled the leper comfortably to Strickland's bedstead I understood then how men and women and little children can endure to see a witch burnt alive for the beast was moaning on the floor and though silver man had no face you could see horrible feelings passing through the slab that took its place exactly as waves of heat play across red hot iron gun barrels for instance Strickland shaded his eyes with his hands for a moment and we got to work this part is not to be printed the dawn was beginning to break when the leper spoke his mewings had not been satisfactory up to that point the beast had fainted from exhaustion and the house was very still we unstrapped to the leper and told him to take away the evil spirit he crawled to the beast and laid his hand upon the left breast that was all then he fell face down and wind drawing in his breath as he did so we watched the face of the beast and saw the soul of fleet coming back into the eyes then a sweat broke out on the forehead and the eyes they were human eyes closed we waited for an hour but fleet still slept we carried him to his room and bade the leper go giving him the bedstead and the sheet on the bedstead to cover his nakedness the gloves and the towels with which we had touched him and the whip that had been hooked around his body he put the sheet about him and went out into the early morning without speaking or mewing Strickland wiped his face and sat down a nightgong far away in the city made seven o'clock exactly four and twenty hours said Strickland and I've done enough to ensure my dismissal from the service besides permanent quarters in a lunatic asylum do you believe that we are awake the red hot gun barrel had fallen on the floor and were singeing the carpet the smell was entirely real that morning at eleven we two together went to wake up fleet we looked and saw that the black leopard rosette on his chest had disappeared he was very drowsy and tired but as soon as he saw us he said oh confound you fellows happy new year to you never make your liquors I'm nearly dead thanks for your kindness but you're over time said Strickland today is the morning of the second you slept the clock round with a vengeance the door opened and little Dumois put his head in he had come on foot and fancied that we were laying out fleet I've bought a nurse said Dumois I suppose that she can come in for what is necessary by all means said fleet cheerily sitting up in bed bring on your nurses Dumois was dumb Strickland led him out and explained there must have been a mistake in the diagnosis Dumois remained dumb and left the house hastily he considered that his professional reputation had been injured and was inclined to make a personal matter of the recovery Strickland went out to when he came back he said that he had been to call on the temple of hanuman to offer a dress for the pollution of the god and had been solemnly assured that no white man had ever touched the idol and that he was an incarnation of all the virtues laboring under a delusion what do you think said Strickland I said there are more things but Strickland hates that quotation he says that I have worn it threadbare one other curious thing happened which frightened me as much as anything in all the night's work when fleet was dressed he came into the dining room and sniffed he had a quaint trick of moving his nose when he sniffed horrid doggie smell here said he he really should keep those terrors of yours in better order try sulfur strict but Strickland did not answer he caught hold of the back of a chair and without warning went into an amazing fit of hysterics it is terrible to see a strong man overtaken with hysteria then it struck me that we had fought for fleet's soul with the silver man in that room and had disgraced ourselves as Englishmen forever and I laughed and gasped and gurgled just as shamefully as Strickland while fleet thought that we had both gone mad we never told him what we had done some years later when Strickland had married and was a church-going member of society for his wife's sake we reviewed the incident dispassionately and Strickland suggested that I should put it before the public I cannot myself see that this step is likely to clear up the mystery because in the first place no one will believe a rather unpleasant story and in the second it is well known to every right-minded man that the gods of the heathen are stone and brass and any attempt to deal with them otherwise is justly condemned end of the mark of the beast recording by Rafe Ball