“What’s that thing on the table in front of him?”
I held the lantern closer, to what appeared to be a curiously-shaped
box; it was tall, and narrow, and of an octagonal form.
Drawing it towards me I raised the lid, for it was not locked, and
discovered another small case within it. This I also opened, and within
I found a roll of parchment, on which was clearly written in a bold
black lettering, the following words--
“SOUTH ISLAND, SPITZBERGEN,
“_August 17, 1773_.
“_To whomsoever may find me._
“I, Doctor Angus Sinclair, of Arbroath, Scotland, am the discoverer
of a liquid which, injected into a vein, will suspend life for any
length of time. I have chosen this spot in which to carry out an
experiment to prove to the world that a person may sleep for any
period he chooses; and by the aid of an antidote (which I have also
discovered) may be awakened at any appointed time.
“I wish to remain dormant for one hundred years or more, and should
any one discover me before that time, let him kindly forbear to
awaken me.
“_Directions to restore Animation._
“Make an incision in a vein of my arm, and inject therein a few
drops of the liquor in the blue bottle; in a few minutes I shall
be restored to consciousness. A little hot drink of any kind will
greatly facilitate my revival.”
When I finished reading the strange document, we looked at each other,
then at the doctor, and then at each other again, not quite knowing
what to do; but I presently sufficiently recovered from my surprise to
hold the lantern close to the old fellow’s face, when we were startled
to find that the colour still remained in his cheeks, and that the
body, instead of being frozen hard, was quite soft and fleshlike.
We lifted the old man from his chair, and tried to lay him out on the
floor, but his joints were so set fast that we could not straighten
them, so replaced him in his seat.
“Hold on, mates, let us see what the bottles are like,” I said, for I
could see the necks of three projecting from the box.
“Ah! here’s the blue one, and on it a label. Let us see what it says.
‘Liquor to restore Animation. Make an incision in the left arm and pour
in about six or eight drops.’ That’s the one we want, mates, but let us
see what the others contain. Here is a red bottle, and the label says,
‘Aid to Restoration. Infuse a teaspoonful in a gill of warm water, and
give the patient to drink.’”
Old Matt Johnson set about finding some bits of driftwood to make a
fire, for there was a stove in the cabin; while another ran to the boat
to procure some water and a saucepan.
A fire was soon started, and the water made hot: then came the
momentous question--
“Who will be surgeon?”
We doubted very much that the specifics in the bottles would have any
effect upon the old fellow, who could scarcely be expected to awaken to
life again after a sleep of ninety years. The document intimated that
one hundred years was the time the doctor wished to slumber, but we
thought ninety years quite long enough for a first trial; it would be
a record for the world, and beat the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus and Rip
Van Winkle hollow.
Before commencing to operate on our patient, we examined the other
bottle, which was labelled “Sleeping Draught. A. S., 1773. Dose, ten
drops with sugar.” This we replaced in the box, none of us wishing just
then to try its effects.
Johnson at last agreed to make the incision, or as he called it, “the
slot,” and taking out his jack-knife he whetted it on a piece of stone,
giving it a few rubs on his boot to take off the roughness, and then
proceeded to rip up the doctor’s coat-sleeve. It was one of those
tight-fitting lappeted coats, in vogue during the second half of the
last century, and quite in keeping with the date on the parchment--1773.
By the way, on scrutinizing the document once more, we discovered these
words written on the back--
“At his own request I leave Dr. Sinclair on this island, and have
promised to inform the harbour masters at whaling ports on the Scotch
coast that he may be found on South Island if one of them will put in
for him. He wishes to carry out several experiments of a scientific
nature during the winter of 1772-73.
“(Signed), CAPTAIN PHIPPS,
“Naval Surveyor to H.M. King George III.”
“Now, Chipps,” said I to old Johnson, “are you ready?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said he, flourishing his knife, “ready and eager for
the fray. Where shall I stick him, sir?”
“Be careful, now,” I replied, “and make a little hole just there,” and
I pointed to a vein on the left forearm.
Johnson jabbed his knife in as if he were about to kill a pig: it made
a wound an inch long and an inch deep, but, strangely enough, no blood
flowed. With the aid of a piece off the stem of a tobacco pipe, I
injected a few drops of the liquid from the blue bottle, and with open
mouths and straining eyes we stood by to watch the result.
Several minutes went by without any apparent effect being noticeable
on the old doctor. We felt his pulse, or rather his wrist, for he was
as pulseless as the figurehead of a ship, and then tried his heart. We
endeavoured to open his mouth to pour in a few drops of the liquor from
the red bottle (which we had mixed with warm water), but his teeth were
so tightly clenched that we could not give him the “Aid to Restoration.”
As we gazed earnestly upon our patient we fancied we saw a movement of
his shaggy eyebrows, but put it down to the wind which found its way
into the cabin through the open door.
We watched again, and this time, to our great surprise, we saw a
twitching at the corners of the mouth, sufficient to cause a movement
of the heavy moustache.
I poured in three drops more from the blue bottle, and in a few minutes
saw the head of our patient slowly lift and fall back again on his
chest.
We tried his mouth again, and this time succeeded in opening his jaws
sufficiently wide to force a few drops of the warm liquid into his
throat.
Just then two of the men called out simultaneously that the wound in
his arm was bleeding. Sure enough such was the case, so, whipping
out my handkerchief, I bound up the gaping gash which our friend the
carpenter had made.
Slowly the old doctor regained his suspended animation and moved on his
chair, and when I raised his eyebrows, which hung down over his eyes
like the hair on the forehead of a Skye terrier, I found that his eyes
were partially open.
Quietly taking my knife from my pocket I gently cut off the long locks
of hair, so that the old man could see about him if he really did come
to, after his ninety years’ sleep.
He made me start as I shore off his second eyebrow, for he gave a
sudden shudder which caused him to tremble from top to toe.
Presently his eyes unclosed a little, and then a little more, till
they gradually opened to their widest extent; but no animation or
speculation was in them--they were the staring optics of a doll or a
corpse.
His hands next began to tremble, and we could see the life creeping
into his cramped limbs; and then his lips gave signs of movement. We
took the opportunity to give him the remainder of the liquid in the red
bottle mixed with water, and the effect was wonderful, for in about
half-a-minute the tall figure of Doctor Sinclair half rose, and like a
man suffering from delirium tremens, uttered the fierce exclamation of
“You rascal!” and fell back on the seat again.
We scuttled out of the cabin like a lot of frightened children,
jostling and falling over each other in our eagerness to escape from
the presence of the awful-looking being we had brought to life and
action.
After running some distance down the pathway or slope, we halted and
looked back, as if we expected the Ancient One to follow us, but as he
did not make his appearance we gradually and stealthily returned, and
emboldened by neither seeing nor hearing anything of the being within,
took courage to push the door of the cabin open.
We even went further and looked in, and there we saw the gaunt figure
of Doctor Sinclair with palzied hands trying to erect itself by the
friendly support of the massive oak table. His legs were so cramped,
and, as it were, rusty by his long trance, that he could not straighten
them properly, and so weak as to be nearly useless to support his
frame. He was a terrible-looking figure as he peered over the table
at us, with his grey beard and hair of unheard-of growth flowing down
before and behind him in unkempt profusion.
He moaned and mumbled; and then, with a great effort, tried to reach
us by concentrating his feeble energies and making a rush at us, but
his feet became entangled in his beard, his legs tottered, and down he
came, crash upon the hard floor, to all appearances dead.
Then our scattered senses returned to us, and being ashamed of
ourselves and our cowardice, we rushed to pick him up, and once more
to seat him upon his chair. A little brandy was administered, and
presently we had the satisfaction of seeing him regain consciousness.
The fire was replenished, and the doctor laid tenderly in his berth
and snugly covered up. We warmed some tinned soup, which refreshed him
marvellously; so much so that he found his voice, and quietly asked, to
our surprise--
“What year is it?”
“Eighteen hundred and sixty-two,” we replied.
“What king is reigning in England,” he asked.
“No king,” was my reply, “but a queen--Victoria.”
These answers seemed to satisfy him, for he smiled, and smiling fell
into a sound sleep.
“Well, here’s a rummy go,” quoth Chips.
To which we all replied that it was indeed a strange adventure, and
upon looking towards the old wooden cot one could hardly believe that
the tremendous mass of white seaweed-looking substance trailing from
the blanket to the floor, where it lay coiled like a heap of oakum, was
ever the growth of a human head; there it was, however, proof positive
before our astonished eyes.
Well, I must not spin my yarn out too long, or I may get it like the
old man’s hair--into a tangle.
We stayed at the hut two days, during which the old doctor appeared to
gather strength hourly; so much so that, with assistance, he could walk
several yards, and nearly straighten his legs and back.
We made him a comfortable couch in the sledge-boat, covering him with
the bear’s skin and a blanket, and all being in readiness we started
back northward to Swan Inlet, having abandoned all idea of completing
our survey of South Island, at least for the present.
We hoisted a large piece of red bunting at the prow of our sledge, and
when we had arrived within about four miles of our destination, we
could, with my binocular, discern little black figures leaving the
“Nest” and coming over the ice to assist us back.
We halted between two ice hummocks, got out our stoves, and prepared
a savoury meal of bear steaks and tinned soup, both of which, in such
intense cold, were exceedingly welcome.
By the time our repast was completed and we had again got under weigh,
the foremost of our comrades were nearly within hail. We soon rejoined
them, and were very glad of their assistance to help us to tug our
increased load over the rough hummocky ice.
We said not a word of our newly-found hairy man, for fear they might
want to see him, and thus cause him annoyance. We wished to drag the
sledge close to the shore, so that we could carry him right into the
cosy “Swan’s Nest” at once, and put him to bed.
As we proceeded over the frozen ice and neared home, other men kept
coming out to meet us, till all but about half-a-dozen of the whole
forty were tailing on to the ropes, and taking the sledge along at a
smart trot.
They could tell that there was some mystery attached to the
carefully-covered object in the stern, and it was useless for us to try
and put them off by saying it was only a heap of bear robes, for now
and again the object moved. They would have uncovered it to see what
was there, but I sternly forbade them to do so. Guesses of all kinds
were made as to what the mysterious heap consisted of, but although
many tried to unravel the secret not one succeeded. Some guessed young
bears, another a nest of foxes--others said seals, and one averred it
could be nothing but a young walrus, from its size and shape, but none
hit upon anything near the truth.
The inlet was reached at last, the sledge travelling over the smooth
ice of the haven at a great pace, but not before our gallant skipper
was ready on the beach to welcome me and my men back.
We shook hands, and I then told the men to stand back, as I had
something I wished to tell the captain. They stood away a few yards, in
a circle, so as to completely surround us and the sledge, as if they
were afraid it contained something that might escape. Hurriedly I told
the captain the principal points of our adventure. He was struck all of
a heap, as our American cousins say, and was at first disinclined to
credit my story of apparently superhuman return to life.
However, he quietly lifted the blanket, and looking at the uncanny
creature beneath, their eyes met. The captain started as if he had seen
a savage lion, but quickly regaining his equanimity, gave orders for
four hands to bring down a “barrow,” as the implement (which looks like
a bier) is called. Twenty hands started for the barrow, and in five
minutes the doctor was lying on it, while Chips and I walked behind
with his surplus beard and hair coiled in our hands, to prevent it from
trailing on the ground and throwing the bearers down.
The doctor was put to bed, well fed for two or three days, at the end
of which time he could stand, and even walk a short distance alone;
and within three weeks was able to form one of the members of our
shooting-parties, and although fifty-eight years of age, was as strong
and hearty a man as any of us.
* * * * *
Spring at last came, and by July we had a full cargo; consequently,
on the last of that month, we steered south-west, homeward bound for
bonny Scotland and the relatives we had been parted from so long.
The doctor, of whom we had grown fond, was a very cheery companion,
and looked a strange figure as he walked about the deck, with his
carefully-combed and brushed hair and beard coiled neatly round his
waist, and usually fastened off with a bit of scarlet bunting.
The wildness of his hilarity seemed at times to point to an unhinged
mind, and as the good ship _White Swan_ neared her destination, he
became so excited that pronounced symptoms of madness appeared. These
symptoms increased so rapidly, that when within about five hundred
miles of Aberdeen, the poor doctor had to be locked in the captain’s
cabin. He refused all food, and when it was placed inside the door
instantly flung it into the sea from the stern windows.
“Only one more night and part of a day,” said the skipper, “and we
shall be in Aberdeen, if this breeze holds, when we will immediately
have a doctor on board to see to our poor friend and companion,
Sinclair.”
But it was not to be so; for next morning, when the captain went to the
cabin to ask the doctor how he fared, as was his custom several times
during the day, although he only got abuse for his pains, and even
threats of violence, he received no answer.
He knocked and knocked again without obtaining a reply, and mounting
the companion peered into the cabin through the skylight; but not a
trace of Doctor Sinclair was to be seen.
Finally the cabin door was burst open, and to the regret of all it was
found that the doctor had disappeared. There was no mystery about it,
for it was a clear case of self-destruction while of unsound mind: he
had leaped out of one of the stern windows and drowned himself.
On reaching port our yarn was soon spread abroad, but of course laughed
at by every one, as we had no proof that Doctor Angus Sinclair had ever
existed, except in our imagination. True, we had the three bottles
and the parchment, and these were in due time sent to the College of
Physicians in London, where they were analyzed and commented upon in
the medical journals.
What little remained of the “Suspender of Animation” was given to
rabbits and dogs, and it really had such a soporific power that they
could not be awakened, and, as long as they were kept in an atmosphere
below 25°, they remained without signs of decay, even for years after.
Unfortunately, we had used, in restoring the old doctor to animation,
all the contents of the blue bottle--three drops excepted. The
contents of the red bottle proved, on analysis, to be a concentrated
quintessence of brandy, which accounts for the doctor requiring it to
be mixed with hot water before being administered.
His idea was that animation might often be usefully suspended in
the case of persons out of work, on a voyage, or in embarrassed
circumstances; that many, who wished to skip over, as it were, a
few years of life,--either for the purpose of evading creditors, or
escaping the nagging tongue of a contentious wife--would welcome his
discovery and hail it, indeed, as the greatest of all possible boons.
Certain it is that had the doctor lived to patent his idea, he would
have completely revolutionized the social world. If our skipper had
only clapped on the “darbies” when he put the doctor in his cabin, we
might now be living in strangely-altered times.
Just pause and deliberate on what wonders might have happened, but for
the untimely madness and death of Doctor Angus Sinclair.
You, gentle reader, will probably come to the conclusion that my yarn
is like Heathen mythology--very fair reading, but without much to
recommend it in the way of truth.
If, however, you should require further proof of the authenticity of my
story, you have only to fit out a suitable yacht, sail for Spitzbergen,
hunt about for South Island, and having found it, you will probably
also find the hut just as I have described it, perched half-way up the
cliffs, in a bay (on the south of the island, mind you); and if you
enter the said hut and search on the shelf over the wooden berth, you
will find all that remains of Doctor Angus Sinclair; a relic that we in
our hurry left behind; a relic that will prove my yarn to be strictly
true, for the memento consists of the grand old doctor’s wonderful
eyebrows.
* * * * *
Strange to say, amid the scores of stories which I heard in all parts
of England, but few of them were connected with ghosts, visions, or
apparitions, and from this paucity of tales of the supernatural, I have
come to the conclusion that the majority of such stories are somewhat
mythical and usually mere hearsay, not even second-hand versions of
something that has really happened, but stories told by the fireside
in the first place, and afterwards handed from mouth to mouth with
numerous additions and alterations to suit places and individuals,
until at length they become so changed and distorted that their
inventors would not recognize the offspring of their own imagination,
should they at any subsequent period listen to their recital.
Usually, after a story had been told, if I put the question, “Did you
see this?” the answer would be, “Oh, no; John Williams told me about
it, and I believe he heard it from Tom Smith.” A search for Tom Smith
would only result in the fact that he had heard it from Harry Jones,
etc., so that, strive as one might, the actual participator in the
gruesome adventure one wished to fathom could never be discovered.
One very cold December day I happened to be passing through North
Somersetshire, and whilst in the vicinity of Minehead, made the
acquaintance of a farmer who was also a blacksmith. My stove had broken
down, and one or two odd jobs of ironwork required to be done, so I
procured the services of my new acquaintance, and when the various
little repairs had been finished, invited him to share my evening meal,
and join me in a pipe and hand at cards.
He was nothing loath, and stayed. Of course my usual ghoulish thirst
for a story possessed me, and I endeavoured to obtain one from my
guest, but he affirmed that he could no more tell a story than I could
put him to sleep. Nothing memorable, he averred, had ever occurred
during his life, so how could he tell of what had never happened?
Then we fell to speaking of farming and crops, horses and fields, and
among other items he mentioned that his best crops were obtained from
the field in which my van was then located, called the Haunted Field.
“What,” thought I, “the haunted field! this must be seen into.”
And see into it I did, for five minutes later my guest was in a
hypnotic trance, and from his lips I gathered the following very
Christmassy story.