The Sorcerer
The Master of the Tower of Dago spoke the truth. It was really the
powers of Darkness that helped him to make the rocks and water into
bread and wine. He also stated a simple fact when he declared that the
agent in the transformation was the furnace in the observatory at the
summit of the tower. It was in the following manner that this work of
sorcery was accomplished.
On a day when the position of the barometer and the cries of the
sea-gulls announced the approach of a storm, the Apostle of Dago
assembled his companions in a subterranean chamber of his tower. This
vault was called the "chapel." It contained a pulpit, from which the
Master himself was in the habit of exhorting his flock. It was,
indeed, a strange chapel!
And what frightful exhortations were these! Exhortations to the
perpetration of all manner of misdeeds and cruelty; the ten
commandments of God reversed; perpetual enmity towards all mankind,
and especially towards their own land, their dearest friends, their
fathers and brothers; sin in its deepest depths of depravity raised
aloft as a virtue; faithlessness and treachery the highest duty; and
the malediction of the world the most perfect bliss! Such was the
gospel of Dago.
While the Master uttered these doctrines his little son sat on the
pulpit steps at his feet, so that he might early imbibe the frightful
precepts in all childish simplicity, and continue their propagation
when his father should have gone to his own place. The song of praise
was never raised in that chapel; only the sound of scornful, scoffing
laughter was ever heard.
"Overthrow the ten commandments! Be false; covet what is thy
neighbour's; kill, steal, dishonour thy father, thy father's father,
and the greatest father of all--the Tsar! Seek out for thyself a
lovely flower whose name is woman; pluck it--then crush it, and cast
it away when all its fragrance is fled!"
Doubtless the child understood but little as yet of such doctrines as
those to which he was compelled to listen.
"To-night or to-morrow we hold high festival!"
Upon this announcement being made the inmates hastened to bring their
small boats out of their concealment in the vault. These vessels were
constructed to hold three men each, and were made of light wood
covered with stout leather. They were then placed in readiness in a
narrow creek leading from the vault out into the open sea.
As the storm at length began to break, the men were certain to be
sitting ready in their boats, awaiting the expected "sacrifice."
And as certainly it came.
As night began to fall the Master ascended alone to the observatory.
He at once lighted the furnace, and heightened its brilliancy by means
of lime and oxygen. He then removed the wainscot from the three walls
opposite the large windows facing the sea. Behind the wainscot were
immense concave mirrors of burnished steel. These now reflected back
the dazzling light from the furnace in three directions away to the
distant horizon.
Before the exercises of the night it was customary to ring the
"chapel" bell. This was an enormous bell, which had once been taken as
booty. It was suspended in a secret chamber beneath the observatory,
and on being rung, its rumbling notes sounded through a semicircular
window of the tower far out into the night. The tower had no opening
on the land side, and the inhabitants of the island could neither see
the light of the furnace nor hear the tolling of the bell. Every ship
which appeared on the horizon in a stormy night must inevitably fall
a prey to this diabolical stratagem.
In the channel connecting the Baltic with the Gulf of Finland there
were two lighthouses--one on the Swedish coast at Gustavsvarn, and
another on the Finnish coast near Revel. Even on a stormy night seamen
might easily have steered their course by these two lights. But the
Devil's apostle in the Tower of Dago confused them with his light and
the sound of his bell. The mariners imagined that one of the two
lighthouses known to them lay before them. They felt sure that the
light beckoned them on to safety. So, with heartfelt thanks to God for
His mercy, they steered directly towards it, and about an hour later
were dashed against the rocks of Dago.
Then, as signals for help and cries of terror rose above the roar of
wind and sea, the small boats swarmed forth from their concealment and
boarded the stranded vessel. The crews killed all who were still alive
on board, and plundered everything of value to be found--money, bales
of goods, and provisions. They then carried everything ashore and
stored it in the lower vaults of the tower. Such an expedition would
often have to be repeated twice or thrice in a single night, for the
deceptive light enticed vessels from three different quarters, and all
went into the trap. The Master was careful to extinguish the light
about two hours before daybreak, in order that no vessel should make
towards his stronghold in broad daylight. Of his victims not one man
was ever left alive.
They had, indeed, leagued themselves with all the fiends of Darkness
and the Storm, in defiance of both Heaven and Earth.
This, then, was the sorcery by which they drew bread, meat, wine and
fruit from the rocks and the sea. It was the stranded vessels that
filled the chambers and vaults of the Tower of Dago with everything
dear to the heart of man, and covered the rocky shore beneath the
tower with that which was now dearest of all to its inmates'
hearts--the fleshless bones of their brother men.
[Illustration]