“Meyer always said that he did not believe in spirits,” remarked Mr.
Clifford reflectively.
“Well, he believes in them now,” answered Benita with a little laugh.
“But, father, the poor man is mad, that is the fact of it, and we must
pay no attention to what he says.”
“The old Molimo and some of his people--Tamas, for instance--declared
that they have seen the ghost of Benita da Ferreira. Are they mad also,
Benita?”
“I don’t know, father. Who can say? All these things are a mystery.
All I do know is that I have never seen a ghost, and I doubt if I ever
shall.”
“No, but when you were in that trance something that was not you spoke
out of your mouth, which something said that it was your namesake, the
other Benita. Well, as you say, we can’t fathom these things, especially
in a haunted kind of place like this, but the upshot of it is that I
don’t think we have much more to fear from Jacob.”
“I am not so sure, father. Mad people change their moods very suddenly.”
As it happened Benita was quite right. Towards suppertime Jacob Meyer
reappeared, looking pale and shaken, but otherwise much as usual.
“I had a kind of fit this morning,” he explained, “the result of an
hallucination which seized me when my light went out in that cave. I
remember that I thought I had seen a ghost, whereas I know very
well that no such thing exists. I was the victim of disappointment,
anxieties, and other still stronger emotions,” and he looked at Benita.
“Therefore, please forget anything I said or did, and--would you give me
some supper?”
Benita did so, and he ate in silence, with some heartiness. When he had
finished his food, and swallowed two or three tots of squareface, he
spoke again:
“I have come here, where I know I am not welcome, upon business,” he
said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. “I am tired of this place, and
I think it is time that we attained the object of our journey here,
namely, to find the hidden gold. That, as we all know, can only be done
in a certain way, through the clairvoyant powers of one of us and the
hypnotic powers of another. Miss Clifford, I request that you will allow
me to throw you into a state of trance. You have told us everything
else, but you have not yet told us where the treasure is hidden, and
this it is necessary that we should know.”
“And if I refuse, Mr. Meyer?”
“Then I am sorry, but I must take means to compel your obedience. Under
those circumstances, much against my will, I shall be obliged”--here
his eye blazed out wildly--“to execute your father, whose obstinacy
and influence stand between us and splendid fortunes. No, Clifford,” he
added, “don’t stretch out your hand towards that rifle, for I am already
covering you with the pistol in my pocket, and the moment your hand
touches it I shall fire. You poor old man, do you imagine for a single
second that, sick as you are, and with your stiff limbs, you can hope to
match yourself against my agility, intellect, and strength? Why, I could
kill you in a dozen ways before you could lift a finger against me, and
by the God I do not believe in, unless your daughter is more compliant,
kill you I will!”
“That remains to be seen, my friend,” said Mr. Clifford with a laugh,
for he was a brave old man. “I am not certain that the God--whom you do
not believe in--will not kill you first.”
Now Benita, who had been taking counsel with herself, looked up and said
suddenly:
“Very well, Mr. Meyer, I consent--because I must. To-morrow morning you
shall try to mesmerize me, if you can, in the same place, before the
crucifix in the cave.”
“No,” he answered quickly. “It was not there, it was here, and here it
shall be again. The spot you mention is unpropitious to me; the attempt
would fail.”
“It is the spot that I have chosen,” answered Benita stubbornly.
“And this is the spot that I have chosen, Miss Clifford, and my will
must prevail over yours.”
“Because you who do not believe in spirits are afraid to re-enter the
cave, Mr. Meyer, lest you should chance----”
“Never mind what I am or am not afraid of,” he replied with fury. “Make
your choice between doing my will and your father’s life. To-morrow
morning I shall come for your answer, and if you are still obstinate,
within half an hour he will be dead, leaving you and me alone together.
Oh! you may call me wicked and a villain, but it is you who are wicked,
you, you, _you_ who force me to this deed of justice.”
Then without another word he sprang up and walked away from them
backwards, as he went covering Mr. Clifford with the pistol which he
had drawn from his pocket. The last that they saw of him were his eyes,
which glowered at them through the darkness like those of a lion.
“Father,” said Benita, when she was sure that he had gone, “that madman
really means to murder you; there is no doubt of it.”
“None whatever, dear; if I am alive to-morrow night I shall be lucky,
unless I can kill him first or get out of his way.”
“Well,” she said hurriedly, “I think you can. I have an idea. He is
afraid to go into that cave, I am sure. Let us hide ourselves there.
We can take food and shall have plenty of water, whereas, unless rain
falls, he can get nothing to drink.”
“But what then, Benita? We can’t stop in the dark for ever.”
“No, but we can wait there until something happens. Something must and
will happen. His disease won’t stand still. He may go raving mad and
kill himself. Or he may attempt to attack us, though that is not likely,
and then we must do what we can in self defence. Or help may reach us
from somewhere. At the worst we shall only die as we should have died
outside. Come, let us be quick, lest he should change his mind, and
creep back upon us.”
So Mr. Clifford gave way, knowing that even if he could steel himself
to do the deed of attempting to kill Jacob, he would have little chance
against that strong and agile man. Such a struggle would only end in his
own death, and Benita must then be left alone with Meyer and his insane
passions.
Hurriedly they carried their few belongings into the cave. First
they took most of the little store of food that remained, the three
hand-lamps and all the paraffin; there was but one tin. Then returning
they fetched the bucket, the ammunition, and their clothes. Afterwards,
as there was still no sign of Meyer, they even dared to drag in the
waggon tent to make a shelter for Benita, and all the wood that they
had collected for firing. This proved a wearisome business, for the logs
were heavy, and in his crippled state Mr. Clifford could carry no great
burden. Indeed, towards the end Benita was forced to complete the task
alone, while he limped beside her with his rifle, lest Jacob should
surprise them.
When at length everything was done it was long past midnight, and so
exhausted were they that, notwithstanding their danger, they flung
themselves down upon the canvas tent, which lay in a heap at the end of
the cave near the crucifix, and fell asleep.
When Benita woke the lamp had gone out, and it was pitch dark.
Fortunately, however, she remembered where she had put the matches and
the lantern with a candle in it. She lit the candle and looked at her
watch. It was nearly six o’clock. The dawn must be breaking outside,
within an hour or two Jacob Meyer would find that they had gone. Suppose
that his rage should overcome his fear and that he should creep upon
them. They would know nothing of it until his face appeared in the faint
ring of light. Or he might even shoot her father out of the darkness.
What could she do that would give them warning? A thought came to her.
Taking one of the tent ropes and the lantern, for her father still slept
heavily, she went down to the entrance of the cave, and at the end of
the last zigzag where once a door had been, managed to make it fast to a
stone hinge about eighteen inches above the floor, and on the other side
to an eye opposite that was cut in the solid rock to receive a bolt of
wood or iron. Meyer, she knew, had no lamps or oil, only matches and
perhaps a few candles. Therefore if he tried to enter the cave it was
probable that he would trip over the rope and thus give them warning.
Then she went back, washed her face and hands with some water that they
had drawn on the previous night to satisfy their thirst, and tidied
herself as best she could. This done, as her father still slept, she
filled the lamps, lit one of them, and looked about her, for she was
loth to wake him.
Truly it was an awful place in which to dwell. There above them towered
the great white crucifix; there in the corner were piled the remains of
the Portuguese. A skull with long hair still hanging to it grinned at
her, a withered hand was thrust forward as though to clutch her. Oh, no
wonder that in such a spot Jacob Meyer had seen ghosts! In front, too,
was the yawning grave where they had found the monk; indeed, his bones
wrapped in dark robes still lay within, for Jacob had tumbled them back
again. Then beyond and all around deep, dark, and utter silence.
At last her father woke, and glad enough was she of his human company.
They breakfasted upon some biscuits and water, and afterwards, while Mr.
Clifford watched near the entrance with his rifle, Benita set to work
to arrange their belongings. The tent she managed to prop up against the
wall of the cave by help of some of the wood which they had carried in.
Beneath it she spread their blankets, that it might serve as a sleeping
place for them both, and outside placed the food and other things.
While she was thus engaged she heard a sound at the mouth of the
cave--Jacob Meyer was entering and had fallen over her rope. Down it
she ran, lantern in hand, to her father, who, with his rifle raised, was
shouting:
“If you come in here, I put a bullet through you!”
Then came the answer in Jacob’s voice, which rang hollow in that vaulted
place:
“I do not want to come in; I shall wait for you to come out. You cannot
live long in there; the horror of the dark will kill you. I have only to
sit in the sunlight and wait.”
Then he laughed, and they heard the sound of his footsteps retreating
down the passage.
“What are we to do?” asked Mr. Clifford despairingly. “We cannot live
without light, and if we have light he will certainly creep to the
entrance and shoot us. He is quite mad now; I am sure of it from his
voice.”
Benita thought a minute, then she answered:
“We must build up the passage. Look,” and she pointed to the lumps of
rock that the explosion of their mine had shaken down from the roof,
and the slabs of cement that they had broken from the floor with the
crowbar. “At once, at once,” she went on; “he will not come back for
some hours, probably not till night.”
So they set to work, and never did Benita labour as it was her lot to do
that day. Such of the fragments as they could lift they carried between
them, others they rolled along by help of the crowbar. For hour after
hour they toiled at their task. Luckily for them, the passage was not
more than three feet wide by six feet six high, and their material was
ample. Before the evening they had blocked it completely with a wall
several feet in thickness, which wall they supported on the inside with
lengths of the firewood lashed across to the old hinges and bolt-holes,
or set obliquely against its face.
It was done, and they regarded their work with pride, although it seemed
probable that they were building up their own tomb. Because of its
position at an angle of the passage, they knew that Meyer could not get
to it with a pole to batter it down. Also, there was no loose powder
left, so his only chance would be to pull it to pieces with his hands,
and this, they thought, might be beyond his power. At least, should he
attempt it, they would have ample warning. Yet that day was not to pass
without another trouble.
Just as they had rolled up and levered into place a long fragment of
rock designed to prevent the ends of their supporting pieces of wood
from slipping on the cement floor, Mr. Clifford uttered an exclamation,
then said:
“I have wrung my back badly. Help me to the tent. I must lie down.”
Slowly and with great pain they staggered up the cave, Mr. Clifford
leaning on Benita and a stick, till, reaching the tent at last, he
almost fell on to the blankets and remained there practically crippled.
Now began Benita’s terrible time, the worst of all her life. Every hour
her father became more ill. Even before they took refuge in the cave
he was completely broken down, and now after this accident he began to
suffer very much. His rheumatism or sciatica, or whatever it was, seemed
to settle upon the hurt muscles of his back, causing him so much pain
that he could scarcely sleep for ten minutes at a stretch. Moreover, he
would swallow but little of the rough food which was all Benita was
able to prepare for him; nothing, indeed, except biscuit soaked in black
coffee, which she boiled over a small fire made of wood that they had
brought with them, and occasionally a little broth, tasteless stuff
enough, for it was only the essence of biltong, or sun-dried flesh,
flavoured with some salt.
Then there were two other terrors against she must fight, the darkness
and the dread of Jacob Meyer. Perhaps the darkness was the worse of
them. To live in that hideous gloom in which their single lamp, for she
dared burn no more lest the oil should give out, seemed but as one star
to the whole night, ah! who that had not endured it could know what it
meant? There the sick man, yonder the grinning skeletons, around the
blackness and the silence, and beyond these again a miserable death,
or Jacob Meyer. But of him Benita saw nothing, though once or twice she
thought that she heard his voice raving outside the wall which they had
built. If so, either he did not try to pull it down, or he failed in
the attempt, or perhaps he feared that should he succeed, he would be
greeted by a bullet. So at last she gave up thinking about him. Should
he force his way into the cave she must deal with the situation as best
she could. Meanwhile, her father’s strength was sinking fast.
Three awful days went by in this fashion, and the end drew near.
Although she tried to force herself to it, Benita could not swallow
enough food to keep up her strength. Now that the passage was closed the
atmosphere of this old vault, for it was nothing more, thickened by
the smoke of the fire which she was obliged to burn, grew poisonous and
choked her. Want of sleep exhausted her, dread of what the morrow might
bring forth crushed her strong spirit. She began to break down, knowing
that the hour was near when she and her father must die together.
Once, as she slept awhile at his side, being wakened by his groaning,
Benita looked at her watch. It was midnight. She rose, and going to the
embers of the little fire, warmed up some of her biltong broth which she
poured into a tin pannikin. With difficulty she forced him to swallow
a few mouthfuls of it, then, feeling a sudden weakness, drank the rest
herself. It gave her power to think, and her father dozed off into an
uneasy sleep.
Alas! thinking was of no use, nothing could be done. There was no hope
save in prayer. Restlessness seized Benita, and taking the lantern she
wandered round the cave. The wall that they had built remained intact,
and oh! to think that beyond it flowed the free air and shone the
blessed stars! Back she came again, skirting the pits that Jacob Meyer
had dug, and the grave of the old monk, till she reached the steps of
the crucifix, and holding up her candle, looked at the thorn-crowned
brow of the Christ above.
It was wonderfully carved; that dying face was full of pity. Would not
He Whom it represented pity her? She knelt down on the topmost step, and
clasping the pierced feet with her arms, began to pray earnestly, not
for herself but that she might save her father. She prayed as she had
never prayed before, and so praying, sank into a torpor or a swoon.
It seemed to Benita that this sleep of hers suddenly became alive; in it
she saw many things. For instance, she saw herself seated in a state of
trance upon that very step where now she knelt, while before her stood
her father and Jacob Meyer. Moreover, something spoke in her; she could
not hear a voice, but she seemed to see the words written in the air
before her. These were the words:--
“_Clasp the feet of the Christ and draw them to the left. The passage
beneath leads to the chamber where the gold is hid, and thence to the
river bank. That is the secret which ere I depart, I the dead Benita,
pass on to you, the living Benita, as I am commanded. In life and death
peace be to your soul._”
Thrice did this message appear to repeat itself in the consciousness
of Benita. Then, suddenly as she had slept, she woke again with every
letter of it imprinted on her mind. Doubtless it was a dream, nothing
but a dream bred by the fact that her arms were clasping the feet of the
crucifix. What did it say? “Draw them to the left.”
She did so, but nothing stirred. Again she tried, and still nothing
stirred. Of course it was a dream. Why had such been sent to mock her?
In a kind of mad irritation she put out all her remaining strength and
wrestled with those stony feet. _They moved a little_--then of a sudden,
without any further effort on her part, swung round as high as the knees
where drapery hung, concealing the join in them. Yes, they swung round,
revealing the head of a stair, up which blew a cold wind that it was
sweet to breathe.
Benita rose, gasping. Then she seized her lantern and ran to the little
tent where her father lay.