portal of the temple, flanked by huge and staring figures, confronted
us, opening on to a black unillumined interior like the entrance to
a tomb. Weeds grew between the flags of the threshold. An atmosphere
of indefinable evil, as though the very stones held the memory of
some awful calamity, pervaded the silence. I shuddered in a sudden
sense of the sinister in this abandonment, and glanced involuntarily
at my companion as if from his face I might divine the cause. It was
impossible to guess his thoughts. His jaw was locked hard, his face
expressionless.
“Then I perceived that we were not alone. Slinking round the outer wall
came a wretched-looking native. His long robe was torn and dirty. His
yellow face, lit by two slanting beady eyes, was emaciated and sunken.
His shaven crown was wrinkled to the top. The limbs which protruded
from his gown were as thin as sticks. In his hand he held a beggar’s
bowl. Remarking us, he stopped dead, watching us with his horribly
bright, fever-like eyes. Instinctively, I don’t know why, I put him
down as the last of the priests still haunting this once prosperous and
now deserted temple.
“Captain Strong took no notice of him and advanced toward the
portal. Somewhat apprehensively, I followed him and peered in, but
the darkness, by comparison with the intense light outside, was so
complete that I could see nothing. My curiosity getting the better of
my nervousness, I stepped inside though, I confess, rather gingerly.
After a minute or two, my eyes accustoming themselves to the gloom,
I could see the great bronze figure of the Buddha towering above me,
facing the door. Its placid face, uplifted far above the passions of
men, looked as though it were patiently awaiting the day when this
abandonment should cease and its worshippers return to adoration of
its serenity. No precious stone now reflected the light from the door
and the huge candlesticks on either side of it were empty, the days of
their scintillating illumination long past.
“Captain Strong, I noticed, remained on the threshold, silhouetted
black against the sunshine, but, emboldened by my impunity, I took
another step forward or two. I recoiled quickly. Something stirred
in the lap of the Buddha and a snake erected its head in a sudden
movement. Its eyes gleamed at me from the shadow like two green
precious stones.
“I swung round to shout a warning to Captain Strong. If there was one
there were probably others of these deadly guardians of the divine
image. There were. To my horror, I saw another snake uncoil itself from
a crevice in the doorway, on a level with his neck, and draw its head
back in the poise for the fatal dart. I don’t know whether he heard
my inarticulate cry. His perception of the danger was simultaneous
with mine. But he made no blundering movement of confusion. Swift as
lightning his hand shot out and grasped the snake firmly close under
the head, where its fangs could not touch him. Then with a quick jerk
he flung it into the courtyard. The snake writhed away in a flash.
“Such a display of cool, swift courage I have never seen before or
since. I ran out to him where he stood in the courtyard gazing after
the vanished snake, and excitedly expressed my admiration. He turned
round on me with a grim smile and shrugged his shoulders. The wretched
priest, if priest he was, had approached and he smiled also, a foolish,
exasperating, inscrutable smile, like an idiot enjoying an imbecile
esoteric meaning which is a meaning for him alone. Yet at the same time
I thought there was a suggestion of sly menace in that cringing grin.
“‘Come back into Saigon,’ said Captain Strong, ignoring him. ‘We’ll
have a drink before we go on board.’ There was nothing in his manner to
remind you that he had just escaped death by a fraction.
“I was not at all sorry to quit this unpleasant place, and I descended
that rough path with considerably more alacrity than I had mounted it.
Captain Strong was as coolly self-possessed as though walking down the
main street of San Francisco.
“‘I must congratulate you on your luck, sir,’ I ventured, when we had
gone a little distance. ‘Had that snake struck a second before----’
“‘Bah!’ he replied, shrugging his shoulders. ‘One can get tired of
luck!’
“There was a violence, a sombre bitterness, in his tone which impressed
me. I thought of all the miraculous good-fortune which men attributed
to him--a specimen of which I had just seen--and wondered whether he
were really wearied of it. I could conceive it possible that a man of
his type would find life very dull if assured beforehand of success and
safety. It would be the struggle, the peril, which would appeal to him.
“He relapsed into a gloomy silence which I did not dare to break.
“We returned to Saigon on the steam-tram and shortly afterward we
found ourselves seated on the deserted terrace of a café, trickling
water through the sugar into our absinthe, for all the world as though
we were in some bankrupt quarter of Marseilles. Natives thronged
around us pestering us to buy all sorts of worthless trifles in their
horrible pidgin-French--_petit négre_ they call it. Their ‘_Mossieu
acheter--mossieu acheter_’ at every moment thoroughly exasperated me.
But Captain Strong sat lost in a brooding reverie where he did not even
hear them. His eyes looked, unseeing, down the wide street.
“Suddenly an insinuating voice whined into my ear some native words I
could not understand, and repeated them with a wheedling insistence
which compelled my attention. I looked round into an ugly yellow face
whose malicious narrow-slitted eyes glittered unprepossessingly above
his fawning smile. There was something in the face that seemed familiar
to me and yet I could not place it. Under the conical bamboo hat all
these Annamites looked alike to me. I waved him away, but he was not
to be shaken off, reiterating over and over again his incomprehensible
phrase.
“I glanced enquiringly at Captain Strong, whom I knew to understand
many Chinese dialects.
“‘He’s a conjurer and wants to show you a trick,’ he explained,
contemptuously, adding a curt word and nod of assent to the native.
“The Annamite beamed idiotically and stretched out his skinny hands
over the little table.
“‘_Vous--regarder_,’ he said, evidently making the most of his French,
and grinned insinuatingly at me.
“With a slow, snaky motion of his skeleton-like hands he commenced
to make passes in the air about six inches above my glass. I watched
him, at first idly, but gradually more and more fascinated as my
eyes followed the sinuous movements of his hands. Presently, to my
astonishment, I saw the glass, tall and fairly heavy--a typical
absinthe glass, commence to rock slightly on its base. The direction of
the passes altered to a vertical, up and down, as though his hands were
encouraging the glass to rise. And sure enough, it detached itself from
the table and, swaying a little unsteadily, rose into the air under the
hands still some distance above it. It ascended slowly, as though he
were drawing it up by a magnetic attraction, to an appreciable height
from the table, say three or four inches. Then, as he changed the
character of the passes again so that they seemed to press it down, it
sank slowly once more to the table. The native, childishly pleased with
this successful exhibition of his powers, grinned ingratiatingly at us
both.
“Captain Strong threw a coin upon the marble top of the table.
The fawning smile still upon his ugly face, the conjurer looked
straight into the skipper’s eyes as he gabbled some native words of
thanks. Then, instead of picking up the coin, he suddenly seized
his benefactor’s hand in his skinny grasp and, using the captain’s
forefinger like a pen, traced upon the table-top a large ellipse
which commenced and finished at the coin. The action was performed so
unexpectedly, and with such swift strength, that Captain Strong had no
time to resist. The ellipse completed, he flung aside the captain’s
finger and held both his hands outstretched above the invisible
tracing. If I was astonished before, I was amazed now. Where the finger
had passed over that marble glowed a flexible reddish-gold snake
holding in its mouth, like a pendant on a chain, not the coin--but a
brilliantly flashing jewel of precious stones fashioned into a curious
pattern. I heard a startled exclamation break from my companion, but
before either of us could utter an articulate word, the conjurer’s hand
had descended swiftly upon the table. A second later both jewel--or
coin--and the conjurer had disappeared into the throng of watching
Annamites.
“I glanced at Captain Strong. He was deathly pale and one hand was
feeling nervously over the breast of his silk shirt. Then, after a long
breath, he turned and smiled at me.
“‘Clever trick that!’ he said.
“The assumption of personal unconcern was so marked that I felt any
remark of mine would have been an impertinence. But I could not help
wondering what Captain Strong wore underneath his shirt.
“He paid the native waiter for our drinks and rose from the table
without another word. We turned our steps toward the quay. The skipper
was absorbed in thoughts I could not penetrate, but I noticed that the
muscles of his jaw stood out upon his face and the heavy brows frowned
over his eyes. Evidently the tone of his meditations was combative.
“Whatever they were, there was no hint of their purport in his voice as
he turned to me.
“‘Come and have supper aft with me to-night, Mr. Williamson,’ he said,
carelessly. ‘I meant to have invited you to dinner in town but that
restaurant was really too depressing.’
“I thanked him, secretly astonished at the invitation. Captain Strong
never compromised his dignity by sitting at table with his officers.
He ate alone, in the beautifully fitted saloon under the poop. At the
time, I wondered whether he had some reason for preferring my company
to his customary solitude. But his manner expressed merely the courtesy
of a superior wishing to give pleasure to a young officer.
“We had arrived on the quay and I was looking over the crowd of
vociferating boatmen with a view to selecting a sampan for our return
to the ship, when a sudden cry from the captain startled me.
“‘Look! Good heavens! look!--Don’t you see?’ With one hand he gripped
me tightly by the shoulder, with the other he pointed to the _Mary
Gleeson_ anchored in mid-stream. ‘Look! _The yellow jack!_’
“I gazed with him across to the ship and to my horrified astonishment
saw that dreaded yellow flag which denotes the presence of yellow fever
fluttering in the evening breeze. Shocked and alarmed, I asked myself
who was the victim. There was no sickness among the ship’s company when
we went ashore. But I knew well enough the swiftness of death in these
latitudes.
“‘Quick! Get a sampan!’ ordered the captain.
“Privately, I doubted whether any boatman would venture into the
tainted neighbourhood of a ship with yellow fever on board, and I was
agreeably surprised to find that my only difficulty was to choose among
the swarm that offered themselves. I could only conclude that they did
not understand the meaning of the emblem. A moment or two later we were
being propelled swiftly across the stream, our eyes fixed upon that
fatal flag. The second officer stood at the top of the ladder to greet
us as we climbed on board.
“‘All well, sir,’ I heard him report in a perfectly normal voice.
“‘What?’ ejaculated the captain in astonishment above me.
“‘All well, sir,’ he repeated.
“By that time I had joined the captain on the deck and we exchanged a
puzzled glance. Then we looked around us. To our utter bewilderment,
of the yellow jack there was no sign at all. There was not a rag of
bunting about the ship.
“The captain bit his lip and wrinkled his brow. I could comprehend his
perplexity. He turned sharply to the second officer.
“‘Svendson! Has any one been monkeying with the signal-flags?’
“‘No, sir!’ The prompt denial was both surprised and emphatic. ‘I have
been on deck myself ever since you went ashore, sir.’
“‘H’m! All right!’ The captain shrugged his shoulders and turned to me.
‘You saw it, didn’t you?’ he asked.
“‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, confidently.
“‘A most extraordinary hallucination!’ he said. ‘But don’t let it worry
you. Come and have supper with me at six bells.’
“I could see plainly that he was much perturbed, and I myself felt
very uneasy as I went below. Following upon the shock of the captain’s
narrow escape from the snake in the deserted temple, the strange trick
of the conjurer at the café and this hallucination, shared by both
of us, of the most dreaded flag a sailor knows, combined to awake a
primitive superstitious fear in me. My nerves were in a state of acute
tension, and I found myself starting at the most ordinary sounds.
“The captain was normal and cheerful enough, however, when at seven
o’clock I joined him in the beautiful saloon which he had had fitted
regardless of expense with everything that could minister to his
comfort. It was his one luxury. Despite the damp, stifling heat which
makes Saigon one of the most uncomfortable places in the East, the
cabin was pleasantly cool. Electric fans whirred at the open ports and
underneath the large skylight hanging plants provided a refreshing mass
of greenery. The Chinese steward stood by the side of the elegantly
laid table, ready to serve his master. It was, as I said, the first
time I had eaten with Captain Strong and I was rather impressed with
the refinement of his private tastes.
“The meal, an excellent one, passed without incident. My host was
agreeably conversational, but his talk was confined to those impersonal
subjects which he preferred. Not once did he refer to the happenings
of the day, and I felt that it would be discretion on my part equally
to refrain from mention of them. The silent-footed Chang-Fu cleared the
table, pulled the awnings across the open, mosquito-netted skylight,
switched on the electric lamps, and left us to our coffee and cigars.
“The centre table folded down so as to leave a clear space which
made the saloon appear larger than it really was, and we sat upon a
comfortable leather-upholstered settee at one end, with our coffee on a
little Chinese table between us.
“A tap on the door interrupted our talk, and Chang-Fu, the steward,
glided into the saloon and made a respectful obeisance to the captain.
“‘Master--Chinese conjulor in sampan ’long-side--want speak master. Him
number-one top-hole conjulor makee plenty-heap big tlick--me talkee
with him--him velly gleat conjulor.’ The steward’s wheedling voice
had a note of genuine, awed admiration in it. ‘Master see him?’ he
finished, insinuatingly, rubbing his hands together under his cringing,
wrath-disarming smile.
“I glanced at the captain.
“‘I wonder if it is the fellow we saw at the café, sir?’ I ventured,
and then immediately regretted my words. Like the young fellow that I
was, I was eager to see more of the skill of these Oriental magicians,
but doubtless the captain would not wish again to come into contact
with the man whose strange trick of converting the coin into a jewel
had so perturbed him.
“Possibly he read my thoughts and resented the suspicion of moral
cowardice. His tone was curt as he replied.
“‘Very likely.--Bring him down, Chang-Fu.’
“Once more the muscle stood out along his jaw and his face set
doggedly. It was as though he prepared to confront an adversary.
Fascinated by the mystery which I felt underlay all this, I thrilled
with a sense of high adventure as I saw the captain go to a drawer
in a locker and get out a heavy revolver which he slipped into his
coat-pocket. He returned to his seat by my side.
“A moment later, Chang-Fu ushered in the conjurer, and discreetly
vanished. It was indeed the man we had seen at the café--more than
that, I recognized him suddenly, being now without his hat, as the man
hanging round that deserted temple. The ingratiating leer which twisted
up his emaciated face did not render it less ugly. With a profound bow
he advanced fawningly toward us, bowed again and then withdrew, after
a word or two in dialect which I did not understand but to which the
captain replied in a monosyllable, to a little distance across the
saloon floor.
“He performed one or two clever but not particularly remarkable tricks,
all of them harmless enough, and my vague suspicions of mischief were
lulled gradually in the interest with which I watched him. Captain
Strong remained silent, expressionless. I noticed that it was toward
him that the conjurer directed his smiles, and his attention that he
endeavoured more especially to hold. His complete immobility made
it impossible to guess the effect of the conjurer’s manœuvres;
certainly he did not take his eyes from him for a single moment and his
right hand remained in the pocket where I knew the revolver to be.
“Presently the conjurer produced a large bronze bowl--apparently from
nowhere--and made the usual mystic passes in the air above it. Smoke
began to issue from the bowl, a thick dark smoke which filled the
saloon with a pervasive and subtly pleasant aromatic scent. The smoke
rose from the bowl in ever denser volumes, curling into the air under
the saloon roof in such masses as to obscure our vision of the farther
walls. The electric lamps glowed redly as through a fog. The sweet,
cloying smell of incense permeated the atmosphere, made it oppressive,
dulled the brain as I drew it with every breath into my lungs. An
insidious paralysis stole over me. I felt that I had no power over my
limbs, could not move a muscle. I could only stare fascinated at that
grotesquely ugly Oriental half-seen in the dim light amid the wreathing
fumes, his skeleton-like hands still sweeping in slow and regular
passes over the bowl. I heard the deep breathing of Captain Strong at
my side as of a person whose individuality was remote from mine, hardly
to be identified. My drugged brain registered only that he was as
motionless as I.
“Suddenly the electric lights were extinguished--I did not see how,
in that fog of smoke, but the magician must have had the switch
explained to him by the steward. The darkness was only momentary. On
the instant almost, a dull red glow kindled itself in the depths of the
bowl, illumined luridly the dense masses of smoke which still welled
up from it. Behind them I caught a glimpse of the conjurer’s face
smiling evilly, inscrutably, his eyes glittering in the red glow, his
finger-tips sweeping round and round in the fumes. Then--I missed the
exact moment--he disappeared. A melancholy, sing-song chant commenced
from somewhere, haunting the brain with its barbaric reiteration of
meaningless words in a minor key. It was like the dreary lament of
savage worshippers before an idol that remains obstinately mute, I
remember thinking vaguely as I listened and watched with fascinated
eyes that curling, red-tinted smoke rising from the hidden flame of the
bowl, expecting I knew not what of marvellous appearance.
“Suddenly the smoke rolled away on either hand. I found myself looking
down a vista--not at the darkened cabin walls--but into the bright
sunshine of the tropics--at a pagoda-like temple where two huge,
carved, staring figures guarded the entrance to an interior where
lights glimmered. I recognized it with a peculiar thrill--the temple
above Cho-lon!
“Not now was the courtyard deserted and overgrown with weeds. A throng
of natives, gesticulating and chattering, though I could not hear them,
filled it--pressed back on either side as though to make way for a
procession. In that throng was a European in a white suit. He stood
out conspicuous in the front rank of the Oriental crowd. What was
there so familiar about that figure? My drugged brain puzzled vaguely
for a moment or two--and then he turned his face toward me. _Captain
Strong!_--a younger, slighter Captain Strong--but undoubtedly he. I
saw the flash of his eyes under the heavy brows, the living man! My
consciousness checked for a moment at this phenomenon of duplication,
and then accepted it. It seemed another part of me that was listening
to the deep breathing of the man at my side--I felt myself mingling
with what I saw almost as with actual reality--let myself drift as in a
dream where the fantastic ceases to be strange.
“The procession filled the open space between the pressed-back ranks
of the throng, a procession of priests with shaven heads, and gorgeous
robes, filing into the great doorway of the temple. After them came
a group of young girls, singing evidently, dancing as they went, and
flinging flowers on either hand--the young Annamite girls who are so
strikingly more attractive than their male relatives. I saw one of
them throw a flower at the foot of the white-clad European--saw her
provocative smile--saw him pick up the flower and fling it playfully
back into her face--saw him follow the throng and press into the
temple with the crowd. What was that peculiar gasp which came from the
darkness at my side? A part of me groped with numbed faculties for its
connection with the bright scene at which I gazed fascinated.
“The picture changed with the suddenness of a cinematograph film. I
found myself staring at the great image of the Buddha, looming up
above its prostrate worshippers from amid a blaze of torches. On its
breast glowed and sparkled the sacred jewel--_the jewel into which the
conjurer had transmuted Captain Strong’s coin upon the marble-topped
table of the café!_--the jewel suspended on a snake of gold.
“There, conspicuously erect, stood the white-clad figure among the
worshippers, staring up fixedly at the serene immensity of the image.
The jewel upon its breast glowed with a throbbing light like a living
thing. There was a sudden commotion among the crowd. A group of priests
came up to the white-clad man and pushed him gently but firmly out of
the temple.
“Again the scene changed. It was night. The moon shone down upon a
garden on a hillside. Far below, obliterated and revealed from instant
to instant by the foliage moving in the breeze, glittered the clustered
points of yellow light of a large town. In the shadow of the trees
lurked a vague white figure. Toward it, across the moonlit open space,
came another--a native girl. I could see her clearly. She was so
daintily beautiful that I could not but suspect foreign blood in her.
The best-looking Annamite girl I had seen was gross compared with her
delicate charm. For all that, she was genuinely Oriental in type. Her
lithe little figure, clad in a simple twisted robe, approached swiftly,
her head turning from side to side in bird-like enquiry, peeping behind
each bush she passed. It was not difficult to guess for whom she was
looking. The white-clad figure stepped from its shadow, and in another
moment she was in his arms.
“Then, with a sudden movement, she wriggled out of the impulsive
embrace and prostrated herself quaintly in a humble little obeisance.
The white-clad figure stooped to lift her up, folded her again in his
arms. Their lips met in a long, passionate kiss. From the darkness at
my side, but as it were from immeasurable distance, came again the
peculiar little gasp, a sound as of teeth clenching upon each other in
the enormous silence which seemed not to be of this world.
“My attention was fixed upon the mysterious scene before me, so real
that I forgot the ship’s cabin and the conjurer with his volumes of
smoke. The vision at which I gazed was to me actuality. What was
happening? The man was speaking, gesticulating, pointing away with one
hand--the girl was shrinking from him in horror, gesturing a desperate
negative, and then letting herself be drawn tightly to his breast
again to lavish her caresses upon him--and finally, as he still spoke
with the same gesticulation, withdrawing herself once more, her hands
up in agonized protest. What was being demanded of her? I held my
breath as I watched the little drama. What was the request which was
thus convulsing her to the bottom of her soul? Whatever it was, it was
despairfully refused. In savage exasperation, the man flung her from
him to the ground, turned his back upon her and strode away.