eyes, and what followed was as a dream. I was conscious of a peculiar
sense of languor stealing over me that was far from unpleasant.
Presently I saw the woman snatch the burning torch from the niche in
the rock and extinguish it, and we were plunged in Cimmerian gloom. A
few minutes, as it seemed to me, passed, when a startling and peculiar
light permeated the cavern. It proceeded from the brazier, from which
rose a slender blue column of vapour that gave off apparently a
phosphorescent glow. Anita was still standing, the snake was hanging
from her neck, its head darting backwards and forwards viciously as
if it were attacking its prey, while the woman with her long skinny
arms described figures in the air. The blue, flowing column of smoke
or vapour rose slowly, for it was dense and spread out mushroom shape
until it filled every corner and crevice, and I seemed at last to be
gazing through the medium of blue glass at a rolling prairieland over
which the sun was shining brightly. The woman, the snake, the brazier,
had faded away now, and only that vast stretch of sun-scorched prairie
was visible. But presently, afar off, I saw two people on horseback.
They gradually came nearer, and I recognised my sweet wife and
Jocelino. Juliette was laughing merrily and seemed blithe and happy.
They halted in the shadow of a rock, and hobbling their horses partook
of their midday meal. That finished, and after a short siesta, they
mounted their steeds and rode at a gallop towards a belt of virgin
forest which they entered and were lost to my view. Presently they
emerged, each bearing a mass of a peculiar orchid with flowers of the
most brilliant colours. They dismounted again and knelt down on the
ground to arrange the flowers in a more convenient way for carrying.
From out of the forest, and all unobserved by them, a tall, powerful
Indian hunter stole, and crept stealthily towards them. I wanted to cry
out, to warn them, but I couldn’t; I was spellbound. The Indian reached
them, and with an extraordinarily rapid sweep of his arm he plunged a
long knife into my loved one’s bosom. Jocelino half started up, but
before he could offer resistance the arm swept round and the knife was
plunged into his breast. With a grim sardonic grin on his features,
the murderer wiped his dripping blade, and returned to the forest,
reappearing after some lapse of time grasping a writhing coral snake,
which he suddenly flung high into the air, and when it fell with a dull
thud at his feet he struck it on the head with the handle of his knife.
He next dropped upon his knees and seemed to go through some form of
incantation, throwing dirt upon his head, bowing his forehead to the
ground, and raising his hand to heaven alternately, until at last he
rose, laid the bodies side by side on their backs, and placed the snake
at full length between them. Then the whole scene faded, and there was
a blank.
Once more the same scene came before my eyes, but this time it was
moonlight. The soft silver light threw a mysterious sheen over the
landscape. I saw a man come out of the forest. It was the murderer.
His face was filled with a look of concentrated horror, and he began
to move slowly across the prairie, glancing about him in a nervous,
agitated way. I became conscious at last that he was coming towards me,
and I was filled with a fierce joy at the thought that when he came
within reach I could strangle him where he stood. The strangeness of it
all is I could not move; I appeared to be rooted to the spot, but the
Indian ever approached nearer to me, drawn by some power which he tried
to resist, but against which he was helpless. And so nearer and nearer
he came, and all the while that expression of concentrated horror was
on his face. Although I could not move from the spot where I seemed to
be rooted, fiercer and fiercer grew my joy, and I waved my hands about
in expectant eagerness at the thought of being able at last to crush
the worthless life out of the murderer of my sainted wife. On he came.
I got frantic, I tugged and strained, but could not break away from the
power that held me; my eyes ached with the strain put upon them, my
pulses beat with a loud, audible noise, so it seemed to me; there was
a burring and buzzing in my ears, an awful burning sensation was in my
brain. I felt as if I were going mad with the horror of suspense.
At length the murderer came within my reach. I flung out my hands to
seize him, when suddenly the moonlight faded, and there was total
darkness. How long this darkness lasted I know not, but gradually light
began to spread over the landscape again; the moon shone full once
more. At my feet the Indian lay on his back. One knee was drawn up;
one arm was bent under his body, the other was raised up as if he were
appealing to Heaven; his face was twisted and contorted with agony.
He made no motion; he was stark and dead. Some strange irresistible
fascination caused me to fix my gaze upon him, and as I watched I saw
the face wither, the eyes fall into the sockets. Then the flesh of the
arm turned green, and blue, and yellow, and gradually dropped rotten
from the bones. Next the rest of the body began to rot away leaving the
bones bare. Loathsome crawling things fed upon the decaying flesh, and
cobras twisted themselves round his legs and arms.
The maddening, ghastly, gruesome horror of the scene was more than
human brain could stand; and when a huge vulture suddenly descended
and tore out the entrails and began to gorge upon them the climax was
reached. With a mighty effort I burst the spell that enthralled me;
uttered a great cry, and fell prone upon the ground.
What happened after that I know not. What I do know is I seemed
suddenly to awake from a deep sleep. Above me the stars and moon were
shining. From somewhere, far below, came the sound of falling water.
The air was deliciously cool. I was covered with the skin of an animal,
and squatted near me was Anita waving a palm leaf to keep the insects
from my face. I glanced round and recognised that I was lying at the
entrance to the cave.
‘What does all this mean?’ I asked.
‘You have dreamed dreams,’ she answered. ‘You have seen that which is.
Seek to know no more. But sleep, sleep, sleep.’ She repeated the word
‘sleep’ with a sort of drowsy croon that seemed to lull and soothe me.
There was another blank. When I next awoke it was broad daylight and
the sun was already high. I was lying on a bed of skins at the entrance
to the cave. I sat up, and the sound of the falling water far below in
the ravine sounded pleasantly. I called ‘Anita, Anita!’ but there was
no response. Presently I saw a figure crawling from the cavern. It was
Torquato. He suddenly flung himself upon me, and wept and moaned like
one distraught.
‘Oh, master, master, what horrors!’ he cried.
‘Of what do you speak?’ I asked. ‘Tell me all.’
Gradually he regained control of himself. Then he recited to me all
he had witnessed. It was identical with what I had seen. The murder,
the mystery of the snake, the rotting corpse, the loathsome maggots,
the vulture gnawing the entrails. Again I called Anita, but there
was no response. I bade Torquato go into the cave and seek her, but
he flatly refused. I struggled to my feet. I felt strangely ill and
weak, and every now and then I shuddered as a remembrance of the
horror came back. Still I was anxious to see Anita again and question
her. I entered the cavern, but all was dark and silent. I groped my
way forward for some distance and called once more. Only the echoes
answered me. It was all so solemn, so awe-inspiring, so mysterious that
I was glad to return to the fresh air again and to hear the voice of
my companion. It was evident Anita did not intend to come to us, and
so we slowly made our way down the mountain and reached the station at
midday. And I had resolved by that time to make another visit to Anita.
For several days, however, I had to keep my bed as I was feverish and
ill. Then I summoned Torquato. He had also been ill, and when I asked
him if he would go with me to Anita once more, he said, ‘No, not for
a ton of gold’; so I sent to the little town for a notary. When he
came I requested Torquato to tell the notary his marvellous experience
and what he had seen. The notary wrote it down; Torquato signed it,
and I appended a note over my own signature to the effect that I had
witnessed the same scene. We next went before the Mayor of Paraúna
and testified on oath to the correctness of our narrative, and that
done, the strange document was deposited in the municipal archives of
the town, where no doubt it can still be seen by the curious. My next
step was to send out a party of trained hunters to the place where the
bodies had been found, with instructions to search for miles round for
any indications of a human skeleton. They returned after many days,
and reported that two leagues or so from the spot where the crime was
committed, in a sandy sun-smitten waste, where only a few cacti grew,
they came across the bleached skeleton of a man. The bones were falling
apart, but it seemed as if one leg had been drawn up, one arm bent
under the body, the other raised. Beside the body lay a long, rusty
knife. Who the man was we never discovered. Even the knife was unlike
those in use in that part of the country. That the skeleton was the
skeleton of my wife’s murderer I haven’t a shadow of a doubt. Why he
murdered her must remain a mystery until the secrets of all hearts be
known. Who Anita was, and by what marvellous power she was able to show
me the horrors she did, I have no knowledge. There are mysteries of the
earth which the human brain cannot comprehend. It is given to only a
few to see as I have seen and live.
For many years I have kept the awful secrets to myself, but the sands
of my life are running low, and I resolved to give to the world the
story of my strange experiences. To those who may be inclined to scoff
I would repeat, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are
dreamt of in your philosophy.’
* * * * *
NOTE TO ‘THE MYSTIC SPELL.’--Although Signor Roderick, who supplies the
material for the foregoing remarkable story, suggests no theory for the
murder of his wife and her attendant, anyone who has travelled in the
interior of Brazil will have no difficulty in doing so. The Indians
are exceedingly superstitious, resentful, and blood-thirsty, as they
are in many parts of Mexico. In the case of the Brazilians who inhabit
the wild parts of the country, they regard certain parts of the virgin
forests as their own special domains. As mentioned in the story, it is
very unusual for a lady of good social position to be seen abroad, and
the freedom which Juliette enjoyed in this respect was an innovation.
Now if the vision that Signor Roderick saw, and which was conjured up
by the mystic power of the witch-woman, was an accurate representation
of the crime, it is easy to understand that some savage Indian, who had
seen Juliette and Joceline enter the forest and carry off the orchid
bloom, resented it. Moreover, he may have regarded Juliette as an
unnatural being, for probably he had never seen a white woman before.
No women--save Indian women, and they but rarely--ever entered those
deadly forests, the haunts and homes of the most venomous reptiles and
the most savage animals, where there are plants exuding so virulent a
poison that if but one drop falls on the flesh gangrene ensues; where
loathsome insects fall upon the intruder from the trees and eat their
way into his body; where the very air is deadly to those who breathe
it, other than the native born. Juliette’s presence, therefore, in such
a place must have filled the Indian with dire alarm, and inflamed him
with a desire to slay her. To him, no doubt, the crime would appear as
a justifiable one. Anyway, with the stealth and cunning of his kind
he crept after her, and his cruel knife drank her blood, and having
killed her, it followed as a matter of course that he should kill her
companion.
Now these Indians worship strange gods and sacrifice to them, and snake
sacrifice is common, not only in the interior of Brazil, but in Mexico.
The slaying of the coral snake was therefore a sacrifice on the part
of the murderer. How he met his own death must ever remain a mystery.
Probably he himself perished from snake-bite, for though these Indians
show an extraordinary fearlessness of poisonous reptiles, and will
catch them and handle them in a way that makes a stranger shudder,
they are not proof against their bites, although they boast that they
possess infallible antidotes against the venom of the serpent. This,
however, may be regarded as no more than a boast. In the forests of
Brazil are to be found some of the most horrible snakes the world
produces. Apart from the Cobra coral, or to give it its scientific
name, _Elaps maregravii_, rattle snakes of the most virulent kind are
found, and then there is the hideous Cascavel. It is said that death
follows the bite of this snake almost immediately. The victim goes
suddenly blind, and the flesh commences to peel off his bones through
gangrene even before the breath is out of his body. The annual death
roll from snake-bite in all parts of South America is appalling; and,
as might be supposed, the Indians who roam the forests and prairies,
either as animal or orchid hunters, furnish a large percentage of the
victims. It is a feasible theory, therefore, that the cruel murderer of
Juliette and Joceline lost his life through snake-bite, probably the
bite of the Cascavel.
As regards Anita, one can only suppose that she was possessed of some
strange mesmeric or hypnotic power; but even if that were so, one is
puzzled to understand how she was able to show her subjects the scene
and incidents of the crime unless she herself knew them. The theory
that suggests itself here is that during the three days’ interval
between Signor Roderick consulting her and his second visit, she had
learned the story of the crime from some of the wandering Indians. She
herself was an Indian and would be regarded by her tribe as ‘a wise
woman.’ But whatever theory one likes to accept, it is a well-known
fact attested over and over again by travellers that some of the
Indian women of South America, especially in the neighbourhood of the
Amazon, are gifted with the power of second sight and of forecasting
the future. Such women are held in veneration by their own people, but
Christians believe that they have an unholy alliance with the common
enemy of mankind.
XV
THE DOOMED MAN
FROM THE PAPERS OF THE LATE MR. RICHARD JOHN GIBLING, MERCHANT, OF THE
CITY OF LONDON
As to whether this story shall or shall not see the light of publicity
I leave to the discretion of my executor. I am resolved that in my
time it shall remain my own secret. I am partly actuated to this
course by a peculiar and constitutional sensitiveness to anything like
ridicule; while for a man in my position, a sober, prosaic merchant,
engaged in trade in London, to confess to belief in the supernatural,
would not only subject me to a good deal of chaff, but might possibly,
indeed I think it is highly probable that it would, do me a good deal
of injury in my business. City life is a hard, stern struggle for
existence. The City man is governed by immutable conventional laws,
and woe betide anyone who transgresses them. Men engaged in business
generally become slaves to custom. You must don a tall hat and frock
coat; you must assume a smug respectability; you must go to church
on Sunday; your name must appear occasionally in charitable lists;
you must speak deferentially of your mayor and corporation; you must
conform to all the traditions and customs of the City, as prescribed
by the unwritten laws; you must periodically be seen at Guild dinners;
your holidays must be taken at a fixed time, and be of a specified
duration. In a word, ‘must’ may be said to be the text of your life.
You must do this and mustn’t do that. And if you have the hardihood
and boldness to set your face against the stern and fast rules to which
you tacitly bind yourself when you become a City man, well then, all
the worse for you. Now with a knowledge of these facts, which cannot
be gainsaid, it will be understood why I have been so reluctant to
make known the extraordinary incidents which I here note down for the
interest of those who are curious in such things. But extraordinary as
they are, I set them forth as matter of hard, solid, undeniable truth.
Throughout my life I have taken ‘Truth’ as my watchword, as my father
and grandfather did before me. It has been my proud boast, warranted by
facts, that my word has been as good as my bond. And in all my dealings
with men of many complexions of mind, no one could or would have
thought of impugning my honour, my _bona fides_, or my veracity. The
business in which I was brought up, after a course at a public school,
and to which I succeeded on the death of my esteemed father, was a very
old-established one, having been founded by my paternal grandfather and
his brother at the beginning of the seventeenth century.
It was in the year 1847, as our business and trade were spreading, that
I opened a branch of our London house in Cuba, and placed a trusted
and experienced manager in charge. Unfortunately this gentleman died
in 1850, after a few days’ illness, of yellow fever, and it became
imperatively necessary that I should proceed at once to Cuba to look
into matters, and appoint a successor to the deceased manager. A City
friend recommended me to take passage in a rather noted sailing vessel
called the _Pride of the Ocean_, belonging to a Liverpool firm, and
then loading in the Liverpool docks, being chartered to proceed direct
to Cuba. I thereupon applied to the owners, and being informed by them
that the ship would be ready to sail in a week at the latest, I engaged
my passage in her. She was a full-rigged ship of about a thousand tons,
and was reputed to be able to sail with a fair wind seventeen knots an
hour, being clipper built.
I arrived in Liverpool on the very day that the ship was advertised to
sail. I was informed that she would warp out of the dock at midnight,
when it would be high-water, and that two tugs would at once take hold
of her and tow her beyond Holyhead. I did not reach Liverpool until
the evening, and drove at once from the railway station to the vessel
and went on board. Of course, everything was in the wildest confusion,
and the noise and hubbub deafening; so, on receiving an assurance from
the mate that I still had three or four hours at my disposal, I drove
to the Adelphi Hotel, dined, played a game of billiards with a London
gentleman with whom I had a passing acquaintance, and at eleven o’clock
once more drove down to the docks and got on board the ship as the dock
gates were being opened. Being very tired I went straight to bed, and
the next morning, as the sea was very rough, I could not get up, as
I am a poor sailor, and generally ill for three or four days at the
commencement of a voyage. On this occasion I was a full week before I
found my sea legs and sea stomach, and one morning I took my place at
the breakfast table for the first time, and was welcomed and greeted by
the captain, whom I had not seen before. We were a very small party,
as there were only three passengers beside myself, one being a Spanish
lady who had been transacting some business in England on behalf of her
husband, who was a Cuban planter.
The captain’s name was Jubal Tredegar, a native of Cornwall, as I
gathered. He was about fifty years of age, and had been at sea for
over thirty. He had a swarthy sunburnt face, very dark hair, and black
eyes, with a full, rounded beard, but clean-shaven upper lip. In
every respect he was a typical sailor, save in one thing--he was the
most melancholy seaman I have ever come across. It is proverbial of
sailors that they are a rollicking, jovial set; but this man was the
exception to the rule, and he at once gave me the impression that he
had something on his mind. My sympathies were in consequence of this
aroused, and I mentally resolved that I would endeavour to win his
confidence, in the hope that I might be of use to him.
At first, however, I found that he was inclined to be taciturn, and
resent any attempt to draw him out; but I learnt from the mate that
Tredegar had commanded the ship for three voyages, and was highly
respected by the owners. He was a thoroughly experienced navigator, and
studied his owners’ interests. There was one thing I could not fail
to note; he showed a disposition to talk more to me than to anyone
else, and discovering that he played a good game at cribbage--a game I
was particularly partial to--I got into closer touch with him, as one
evening he accepted my invitation to a game, and after that we played
whenever opportunity offered. But still he became neither communicative
nor talkative, and no subject I could start appeared to have any
interest for him.
We were playing, as was now our wont, one night in the cuddy after
supper, when I noticed that he seemed more than usually depressed, and
kept examining the barometer and casting an anxious eye up through the
skylight.
‘What does the glass say, captain?’ I asked at last.
‘Well,’ he answered, ‘I think we are going to have a blow. There is
dirty weather about somewhere.’
When four bells (ten o’clock) struck we finished our game and he
went into his cabin, while I mounted the companion-way to the poop,
intending to smoke my usual cigar before turning in. I had run short
of cigars, and the captain had promised to let me have a box of good
Havanas, but not until I reached the deck did I remember that I had not
a single weed in my case, so I went below again, and to the skipper’s
room, intending to ask him for the cigars. Getting no response to my
knock I pushed the door open and was surprised to see him seated at his
table, so absorbed in gazing at the photograph of a lady that he had
not heard my knock. On perceiving me, he hastily thrust the photograph
into a drawer and jumped up. I noticed him pass his hands over his eyes
and turn away as if ashamed, pretending to search for something on the
top of a chest of drawers. I thought it was an opportunity not to be
lost so I said to him:
‘Pray excuse my intrusion; I knocked but you didn’t hear me. I would
also take the liberty of saying I respect your emotion. A man need not
be ashamed of moist eyes when he gazes on the face of some loved one
who is far away. It’s human. It shows a kindly heart, an impressionable
mind!’
He turned suddenly and, putting out his hand to me, said: ‘Thank
you, thank you, Mr. Gibling! You are a good sort. A little sympathy
sometimes is not a bad thing, and, hardened old shellback as I am, I
suppose I’ve got a soft spot somewhere. But, excuse me, I must go on
deck.’
I made known my errand, and having procured the box of cigars for me
from his locker, I carried them to my cabin, and he went on deck, and
when I had opened the box and taken two or three cigars out I followed
him. The night was very dark. Nearly all the sails were set. There was
an unpleasant, lumpy sea, and the wind was blowing in fitful gusts.
The captain ordered the watch to shorten sail, but before the order
was entirely carried out a squall struck us, and the vessel heeled
over tremendously and commenced to fly through the water, churning
the sea around her into white, flashing, phosphorescent froth. Anyone
who has ever made a voyage in a sailing ship knows the apparent, and
often real, confusion that ensues when a sudden squall strikes the
vessel. At such times the wind will frequently blow for a few minutes
with hurricane force, and it is no unusual thing for sails to be split
to ribbons--even for spars to be carried away. Given a dark night,
a heavy squall, a rough sea, rent sails, and the land lubber who is
unmoved must be made of very stern stuff. The rifle-like report and
cracking of the long shreds of the torn sail are alarming enough to
the inexperienced; but when you add to this the rattling of the ropes,
the banging of blocks, the groaning of the ship’s timbers, the harsh
creaking of the spars, the roar, swish and hiss of the waves, the
great masses of boiling white foam that spread around, and the hoarse
voices of men on deck to unseen men up above on the yard-arms in the
mysterious darkness, there is at once a scene which tests the nerves of
the landsman to a very considerable extent.