CONTAINS THE SECOND PART OF MY FATHER'S JOURNAL: SETTING FORTH HIS
ADVENTURES IN THE ISLAND OF CEYLON.
"Sept. 29th, 1848.--It is a strange thing that on the very next day
after reading my father's message I should have been struck down and
reduced to my present condition. But so it is, and now, four months
after my first entry in this Journal, I am barely able to use the pen
to add to my account. As far as I remember--for my head wanders
sadly at times--it happened thus: On the 23rd of May last, after
spending the greater part of the day in writing my Journal, and also
my first letter to my dear wife, I walked down in the cool of the
evening to the city, intending to post the latter; which I did, and
was returning to Mr. Sanderson's house, when I stopped to watch the
sun setting in this glorious Bay of Bengal. I was leaning over a low
wall, looking out on the open sea with its palm-fringed shores, when
suddenly the sun shot out a jagged flame; the sky heaved and turned
to blood--and I knew no more. I had been murderously struck from
behind. That I was found, lying to all appearance dead, with a
hideous zig-zag wound upon the scalp; that my pockets had been to all
appearance rifled (whether by the assassin or the natives that found
me is uncertain); that I was finally claimed and carried home by Mr.
Sanderson, who, growing uneasy at my absence, had set out to look for
me; that for more than a month, and then again for almost two months,
my life hung in the balance; and that I owe my recovery to Mr.
Sanderson's unceasing kindness--all this I have learnt but lately.
I can write no more at present.
"Oct. 3rd.--I am slightly better. My mental powers are slowly coming
back after the fever that followed the wound. I pass my days mostly
in speculating on the reason of this murderous attack, but am still
unable to account for it. It cannot have been for plunder, for I do
not look like a rich man. Mr. Sanderson has his theory, but I cannot
agree with him, for nobody but ourselves knew of my father's
manuscript. At any rate, it is fortunate that I left it in my chest,
together with this Journal, before I went down to Bombay. Margery
must have had my letter by this time; Mr. Sanderson very wisely
decided to wait the result of my illness before troubling her. As it
is she need know nothing about it until we meet.
"Oct. 14th.--Mr. Sanderson is everything that is good; indeed, had I
been a brother he could not have shown me more solicitude. But he is
obstinate in connecting my attack with the Great Ruby of Ceylon; it
is certainly a curious coincidence that this dark chapter of my life
should immediately follow my father's warning, but that is all one
can say. I shall give up trying to convince him.
"Oct. 31st.--I am now considerably better. My strength is slowly
returning, and with it, I am glad to say, my memory. At first it
seemed as though I could remember nothing of my past life, but now my
recollection is good on every point up to the moment of my attack.
Since then, for at least the space of three months, I can recall
nothing. I am able to creep about a little, and Mr. Sanderson has
taken me for one or two excursions. Curiously enough, I thought I
saw John Railton yesterday upon the Apollo Bund. I was probably
mistaken, but at the time it caused me no surprise that he should
still be here, since I forgot the interval of three months in my
memory. If it were really Railton, he has, I suppose, found
employment of some kind in Bombay; but it seems a cruel shame for him
to desert his poor wife at home. I, alas! am doing little better,
but God knows I am anxious to be gone; however, Mr. Sanderson will
not hear a word on the subject at present. He has promised to find a
ship for me as soon as he thinks I am able to continue my travels.
"Nov. 4th.--I was not mistaken. It was John Railton that I saw on
the Apollo Bund. I met him hovering about the same spot to-day, and
spoke to him; but apparently he did not hear me. I intended to ask
him some news of my friend Colliver, but I daresay he knows as little
of his doings as I do. Mr. Sanderson says that in a week's time I
shall be recovered sufficiently to start. I hope so, indeed, for
this delay is chafing me sorely.
"Nov. 21st.--Mr. Sanderson has found a ship for me at last. I am to
sail in five days for Colombo in the schooner _Campaspe_, whose
captain is a friend--a business friend, that is--of my host. I shall
be the only passenger, and Mr. Sanderson has given Captain Dodge full
instructions to take care of me. But I am feeling strong enough now,
and fit for anything.
"Nov. 23rd.--I have been down to look at the vessel, and find that a
most comfortable little cabin has been set apart for me. But the
strangest thing is that I met Colliver also inspecting the ship.
He was most surprised at seeing me, and evidently imagined me home in
England by this time. I told him of my meeting with John Railton,
and he replied--
"'Oh, yes; I have taken him into my service. We are going together
to Ceylon, as I have travelled about India enough for the present.
I went to visit my brother at Trichinopoly, and have only just
returned to Bombay. Unfortunately the captain of the _Campaspe_
declares he is unable to take me, so I shall have to wait.'
"I explained the reasons of the captain's reluctance, and offered him
a share of my cabin if Captain Dodge would consent to be burdened
with Railton's company.
"'Oh, for that matter,' replied he, 'Railton can follow; but he's a
handy fellow, and I daresay would make himself useful without
payment.'
"We consulted Captain Dodge, who admitted himself ready to take
another passenger, and even to accommodate Railton, if that were my
wish. Only, he explained, Mr. Sanderson had especially told him that
I should wish to be alone, being an invalid. So the bargain was
struck.
"Mr. Sanderson did not seem altogether pleased when I informed him
that I intended to take a companion. He asked many questions about
Colliver, and was especially anxious to know if I had confided
anything of my plans to him. So far was this from being the case
that Colliver, as I informed my host, had never betrayed the least
interest in my movements. At this Mr. Sanderson merely grunted, and
asked me when I intended to learn prudence, adding that one crack in
the head was enough for most men, but he supposed I wanted more.
I admit that, pleasant companion as Colliver is, I should prefer to
be entirely alone upon this adventure. But I could not deny the
invitation without appearing unnecessarily rude, and I owe him much
gratitude for having made the outward voyage so pleasant. Besides,
we shall part at Colombo.
"Nov. 25th.--I make this entry (my last upon Indian soil) just before
retiring to rest. To-morrow I sail for Colombo in the _Campaspe_.
But I cannot leave Bombay without dwelling once more on Mr.
Sanderson's great kindness. To-night, as we sat together for the
last time upon the balcony of Craigie Cottage, I declare that my
heart was too full for words. My host apparently was revolving other
thoughts, for when he spoke it was to say--
"'Visited his brother in Trichinopoly, eh? Only just returned, too--
h'm! What I want to know is, why the devil he returned at all?
There are plenty of vessels at Madras.'
"'But Colliver is not the man who cares to follow the shortest
distance between two points,' I answered. 'Why should he not return
to Bombay?'
"'I'll beg ye to observe,' said Mr. Sanderson, 'that the question is
not 'why shouldn't he?' but 'why should he?''
"'At any rate,' said I, 'I'll be on my guard.'
"This suspicion on my behalf has become quite a mania with my host.
I thought it best to let him grumble his fill, and then endeavoured
to thank him for his great kindness.
"'Don't say another word,' he interrupted. 'I owe ye some reparation
for being mixed up in this at all. It's a serious matter, mark ye,
for a respectable clerk like myself to be aiding and abetting in this
mad chase; and, to tell the truth, Trenoweth, I took a fancy to ye
when first I set eyes on your face, and--Don't say another word, I'll
ask ye.'
"My friend's eyes were full of tears. I arose, shook him silently by
the hand, and went to my room.
"Nov. 26th.--I am off. I write this in my cabin, alone--Colliver
having had another assigned to him by Mr. Sanderson's express wish.
He saw Colliver for the first time to-day on the quay, and drew me
aside at the last moment to warn me against 'that fellow with the
devilish eyes.' As I stood on deck and watched his stiff little
figure waving me farewell until it melted into the crowd, and Bombay
sank behind me as the city of a dream, I wondered with sadness on the
little chance we had of ever meeting on this earth again. Colliver's
voice at my elbow aroused me.
"'Odd man, that friend of yours--made up of emotion, and afraid of
his life to show it. Has he done you a favour?'
"'He has,' I replied, 'as great a favour as one man can do for
another.'
"'Ah,' said he, 'I thought as much. That's why he is so full of
gratitude.'
"Dec. 6th.--Never shall I forget the dawn out of which Ceylon, the
land of my promise, arose into view. I was early on deck to catch
the first sight of land. Very slowly, as I stood gazing into the
east, the pitch-black darkness turned to a pale grey, and discovered
a long, narrow streak, shaped like the shields one sees in Bible
prints, and rising to a point in the centre. Then, as it seemed to
me, in a moment, the sun was up and as if by magic the shield had
changed into a coast fringed with palms and swelling upwards in green
and gradual slopes to a chain of mighty hills. Around these some
light, fleecy clouds had gathered, but sea and coast were radiant
with summer. So clear was the air that I could distinguish the red
sand of the beaches and the white trunks of the palms that crowded to
the shore; and then before us arose Colombo, its white houses
gleaming out one by one.
"The sun was high by the time our pilot came on board, and as we
entered the harbour the town lay deep in the stillness of the
afternoon. We had cast anchor, and I was reflecting on my next
course of action when I heard my name called from under the ship's
side. Looking down, I spied a tall, grave gentleman seated in a
boat. I replied as well as I could for the noise, and presently the
stranger clambered up on deck and announced himself as Mr.
Eversleigh, to whom Mr. Sanderson had recommended me. I had no
notion until this moment--and I state it in proof of Mr. Sanderson's
kindness--that any arrangement had been made for entertaining me at
Colombo. It is true that Mr. Sanderson had told me, on the night
when our acquaintance began, to send this gentleman's address to
Margery, that her letter might safely reach me; but beyond this I
knew nothing. Mr. Eversleigh shook me by the hand, and, to my
unspeakable joy, handed me my dear wife's letter.
"I say to my unspeakable joy, for no words can tell, dear wife, with
what feelings I read your letter as the little boat carried me up to
the quay. How often during the idle days of my recovery have I lain
wondering how you and Jasper were passing this weary time, and cried
out on the weakness that kept me so long dallying. Patience, dear
heart, it is but a little time now.
"I have forgotten to speak of Colliver. He has been as delightful
and indifferent as ever throughout the voyage. Certainly I can find
no reason for crediting Mr. Sanderson's suspicions. In the hurry of
landing I missed him, not even having opportunity to ask about his
plans. Doubtless I shall see him in a day or two.
"Dec. 10th.--What an entrancing country is this Ceylon! The monsoon
is upon us, and hinders my journey: indeed, Mr. Eversleigh advises me
not to start for some weeks. He promises to accompany me to the Peak
if I can wait, but the suspense is hard to bear. Meantime I am
drinking in the marvels of Colombo. The quaint names over the shops,
the bright dresses of white and red, the priests with their robes of
flaming yellow--all these are diverting enough, but words cannot tell
of the beauty of the country here. The roads are all of some strange
red soil, and run for miles beneath the most beautiful trees
imaginable--bamboos, palms, and others unknown to me, but covered
with crimson and yellow blossom. Then the long stretches of rice
fields, and again more avenues of palms, with here and there a lovely
pool by the wayside--all this I cannot here describe. But most
wonderful of all is the monsoon which rages over the country,
wrapping the earth sometimes in sheets of lightning which turn sea,
sky and earth to one vivid world of flame. The wind is dry and
parching, so that all windows are kept carefully closed at night;
but, indeed, the mosquitoes are sufficient excuse for that. I have
seen nothing of Colliver and Railton.
"Dec. 31st.--New Year's Eve, and, as I hope, the dawn of brighter
days for us, dear wife. Mr. Eversleigh has to-night, been describing
Adam's Peak to me. Truly this is a most marvellous mountain, and its
effect upon me I find hard to put into words. To-day I watched it
standing solitary and royal from the low hills that surround it.
At its feet waved a very sea of green forest, around its summit were
gathered black clouds charged with lightning. Mr. Eversleigh tells
me of the worship here paid to it, and the thousands of pilgrims that
wear its crags with their patient feet. Can I hope to succeed when
so many with prayers so much more holy have failed? Even as I write,
its unmoved face is mocking the fire of heaven. I dream of the
mountain; night and day it has come to fill my life with dark terror.
I am not by nature timid or despondent, but it is hard to have to
wait here day after day and watch this goal of my hopes--so near, yet
seemingly so forbidding of access.
"On looking back I find I have said nothing about the house where I
am now staying. It lies in the Kolpetty suburb, in the midst of most
lovely gardens, and is called Blue Bungalow, from the colour in which
it is painted. I have made many excursions with Mr. Eversleigh on
the lagoon; but for me the only object in this land of beauty is the
great Peak. I cannot endure this idleness much longer. Colliver
seems to have vanished: at least, I have not seen him.
"Jan. 25th, 1849.--I have been in no mood lately to make any fresh
entry in my Journal. But to-morrow I start for Adam's Peak. At the
last moment my host finds himself unable to go with me, much as he
protests he desires it; but two of his servants will act as my
guides. It is about sixty miles from Colombo to the foot of the
Peak, so that in four days from this time I hope to lay my hand upon
the secret. The two natives (their real names I do not know, but Mr.
Eversleigh has christened them Peter and Paul, which I shall
doubtless find more easy of mastery than their true outlandish
titles) are, as I am assured, trusty, and have visited the mountain
before. We take little baggage beyond the necessary food and one of
my host's guns. I cannot tell how impatient I am feeling.
"Feb. 1st.--My journey to the Peak is over. Whether from fatigue or
excitement I am feeling strangely light-headed to-day; but let me
attempt to describe as briefly as I can my adventure. We set out
from Colombo in the early morning of Jan. 26th. For about two-thirds
of our journey the road lies along the coast, stretching through
swampy rice-fields and interminable cocoanut avenues until Ratnapoora
is reached. So far the scenery does not greatly differ from that of
Colombo. But it was after we left Ratnapoora that I first realised
the true wonders of this land. Our road rose almost continuously by
narrow tracks, which in some places, owing to the late heavy rains,
were almost impassable; but Peter and Paul worked hard, and so
reduced the delay. We had not left Ratnapoora far behind when we
plunged into a tangled forest, so dense as almost to blot out the
light of day. On either hand deep ravines plunged precipitately
down, or giant trees enclosed us in black shadow. Where the sun's
rays penetrated, myriads of brilliant insects flashed like jewels;
yellow butterflies, beetles with wings of ruby-red or gold, and
dragonflies that picked out the undergrowth with fire. In the shadow
overhead flew and chattered crowds of green paroquets and glossy
crows, while here and there we could see a Bird of Paradise drooping
its smart tail-feathers amid the foliage. A little further, and deep
in the forest the ear caught the busy tap-tap of the woodpecker, the
snap of the toucan's beak, or far away the deep trumpeting of the
elephant. Once we startled a leopard that gazed a moment at us with
flaming eyes, and then was gone with a wild bound into the thicket.
From tree to tree trailed hosts of gorgeous creepers, blossoming in
orange, white and crimson, or wreathing round some hapless monarch of
the forest and strangling it with their rank growth. Still we
climbed.
"The bridle-track now skirted a torrent, now wound dizzily round
the edge of a stupendous cliff, and again plunged into obscurity.
Here and there the ruins of some ancient and abandoned shrine
confronted us, its graceful columns entwined and matted with
vegetation; or, again, where the forest broke off and allowed our
eyes to sweep over the far prospect, the guides would point to the
place where stood, hardly to be descried, the relics of some dead
city, desolate and shrined in desolation. Even I, who knew nothing
of the past glories of Ceylon, could not help being possessed with
melancholy thoughts as I passed now a mass of deserted masonry, now a
broken column, the sole witnesses of generations gone for ever.
Some were very richly carved, but Nature's tracery was rapidly
blotting out the handiwork of man, the twining convolvulus usurping
the glories of the patient chisel. Still up we climbed, where hosts
of chattering monkeys swung from branch to branch, or poised
screaming overhead, or a frightened serpent rose with hissing mouth,
and then glided in a flash back through the undergrowth. One, that
seemed to me of a pure silver-white, started almost from under my
feet, and darted away before I could recover myself. We hardly
spoke; the vastness of Nature hushed our tongues. It seemed
presumption to raise my gun against any of the inhabitants of this
spot where man seemed so mean, so strangely out of place. Once I
paused to cut back with my knife the creepers that hid in
inextricable tangle a solitary and exquisitely carved archway.
But the archway led nowhere, its god and temple alike had perished,
and already the plants have begun their tireless work again.
"Between the stretches of wilderness our road often led us across
rushing streams, difficult to ford at this season, or up rocky
ravines, that shut in with their towering walls all but a patch of
blue overhead. Emerging from these we would find ourselves on naked
ledges where the sun's rays beat until the air seemed that of an
oven. At such spots the plain below spread itself out as a crumpled
chart, whilst always above us, domed in the blue of a sapphire-stone,
towered the goal of our hopes, serene and relentless. But such
places were not many. More often a threatening cliff faced us, or an
endless slope closed in the view, only to give way to another and yet
another as we climbed their weary length.
"Yet our speed was not trifling. We had passed a train of
white-clothed pilgrims in the morning soon after leaving Ratnapoora.
Since then we had seen no man except one poor old priest at the
ruined resting-house where we ate our mid-day meal. The shadow of
the forest allowed us to travel through the heat of the day, and the
thirst of discovery would have hurried me on even had the guides
protested. But they were both sturdy, well-built men, and suffered
from the heat far less than I did. So we hardly paused until, in the
first swift gloom of sunset, we emerged on the grassy lawn of
Diabetne, beneath the very face of the cone.
"We had to rest for the night in the ruined _Ambulam_, as it is
called; and here, thoroughly tired but sleepless, I lay for some
hours and watched the innumerable stars creep out and crown that
sublime head which rose at first into a fathomless blue that was
almost black, and then as the moon swept up, flashed into unutterable
radiance. Nothing, I am told, can compare with the moonlight of
Ceylon, and I can well believe it. That night I read clearly once
again by the light of its rays my father's manuscript, that no point
in it should escape my memory; then sank down upon my rugs and slept
an uneasy sleep.
"In an hour or two, as it seemed, I was awakened by Peter, who shook
me and proclaimed it time to be stirring if we meant to see the
sunrise from the summit. The moon was still resplendent as we
started across the three miles or 'league of heaven' that still lay
between us and the actual cone. This league traversed, we plunged
down a gully and crossed a stream whose waters danced in the silver
moonlight until the eyes were dazzled, then swept in a pearly shower
down numberless ledges of rock. After this the climb began in good
earnest. After a stretch of black forest, we issued on a narrow
track that grew steeper at every step. The moon presently ceased to
help us here, so that my guides lit torches, which flared and cast
long shadows on the rocky wall. By degrees the track became a mere
watercourse, up which we could only scramble one by one. So narrow
was it that two men could scarcely pass, yet so richly clothed in
vegetation that our torches scorched the overhanging ferns.
Peter led the way, and I followed close at his heels, for fear of
loose stones; but every now and then a crash and a startled cry from
Paul behind us told us that we had sent a boulder flying down into
the depths. Beyond this and the noise of our footsteps there was no
sound. We went but slowly, for the labour of the day before had
nearly exhausted us, but at length we scrambled out into the
moonlight again upon a rocky ledge half-way up the mountainside.
"Here a strong breeze was blowing, that made our heated bodies
shiver until we were fain to go on. Casting one look into the gulf
below, deepened without limit in the moonlight, we lit fresh torches
and again took to the path. Before we had scrambled, now we
climbed. We had left vegetation behind us, and were face to face
with the naked rock that forms the actual Peak. At the foot of this
Peter called a halt, and pointed out the first set of chains.
Without these, in my weak state I could never have attempted the
ascent. Even as it was, my eye was dazed and my head swam and reeled
as I hung like a fly upon the dizzy side. But clutching with
desperation the chains riveted in the living rock, I hauled myself up
after Peter, and sank down thoroughly worn out upon the brink.
"It now wanted but little before daybreak would be upon us. As I
gathered myself up for a last effort, I remembered that amid the
growth into which we were now to plunge, stood the tree of seven
trunks which was to be my mark. But my chance was small of noting it
by the light of these flaring torches that distorted every object,
and wreathed each tree into a thousand fantastic shapes. Plainly I
must stake my hopes on the descent next day; at any rate, I would
scale the summit before I began my search.
"We had plunged into the thicket of rhododendrons, whose crimson
flowers showed oddly against the torches' gleam, and I was busy with
these thoughts, when suddenly my ankle gave way, and I fell heavily
forward. My two guides were beside me in an instant, and had me on
my feet again.
"'All's good,' said Peter, 'but lucky it not happen otherwhere.
Only take care for last chain. But what bad with him?'
"He might well ask; for there, full in front of my eyes that strained
and doubted, glimmered a huge trunk cleft into seven--yes, seven--
branches that met again and disappeared in a mass of black foliage.
It was my father's tree.
"So far then the parchment had not lied. Here was the tree,
'noticeable and not to be missed,' and barely thirty-two paces from
the spot where I was standing lay the key to the treasure which I had
travelled this weary distance to seek. But the time for search had
not yet come. By the clear light of day and alone I must explore the
secret. It would keep for a few hours longer.
"Dismissing my pre-occupied manner which had caused no small
astonishment to Peter and Paul, I fixed the position of the tree as
firmly as I could in my mind, and gave the word to advance.
"We then continued in the same order as before, whilst, to make
matters sure, I counted our steps. I had reached six hundred and
twenty-though when I considered the darkness and the rough path I
reflected that this was but little help--when we arrived at the
second set of chains. My foot was already beginning to give me pain,
but under any circumstances this would have been by far the worst of
the ascent. All around us stretched darkness void and horrible,
leading, for all that we could see, down through veils of curling
mist into illimitable depths. In front the rock was almost
perpendicular. The fascination of gazing down was wellnigh
resistless, but Peter ahead continually cried 'Hurry!' and the voice
of Paul behind repeated 'Hurry!' so that panting, gasping, and fit to
faint, with fingers clinging to the chain until the skin was
blistered, with every nerve throbbing and every muscle strained to
its utmost tension, I clambered, clambered, until with one supreme
effort I swung myself up to the brink, staggered rather than ran up
the last few feet of rock, and as my guides bent and with
outstretched palms raised the cry '_Saadoo! Saadoo!_' I fell
exhausted before the very steps of Buddha's shrine.
"When I recovered, I saw just above me the open shrine perched on a
tiny terrace and surrounded by low walls of stone; a yard or two from
me the tiny hut in which its guardians live; and all around the
expanse of sky. Dawn was stealing on; already its pale light was
creeping up the east, and a bar or two of vivid fire proclaimed the
coming of the sun. The priests were astir to receive the early
pilgrims, and as Paul led me to the edge of the parapet I could see
far away below the torches of the new-comers dotted in thin lines of
fire down the mountain-side. Some pilgrims had arrived before us,
and stood shivering in their thin white garments about the summit.
"Presently the distant sound of measured chanting came floating up on
the tranquil air, sank and died away, and rose again more loudly.
Paler and paler grew the heavens, nearer and nearer swept the
chanting; and now the first pilgrim swung himself up into our view,
quenched his torch and bowed in homage. Others following did the
same, all adoring, until the terrace was crowded with worshippers
gazing eager and breathless into the far east, where brighter and
brighter the crimson bars of morning were widening.
"Then with a leap flashed up the sun, the dazzling centre of a flood
of golden light. Godlike and resplendent he rode up on wreaths of
twirling-mist, and with one stroke sent the shadows quivering back to
the very corners of heaven. As the blazing orb topped the horizon,
every head bent in worship, every hand arose in welcome, every voice
broke out in trembling adoration, '_Saadoo! Saadoo!_' Even I, the
only European there, could not forbear from bowing my head and
lifting up my hands, so carried away was I with the aching fervour of
this crowd. There they stood and bent until the whole fiery ball was
clear, then turning, paced to the sound of chanting up the rough
steps and laid their offerings on the shrine. Thrice at each new
offering rang out a clattering gong, and the worshipper stepped
reverently back to make way for another; while all the time the
newly-risen sun blazed aslant on their robes of dazzling whiteness.
"As I stood watching this strange scene, Peter plucked me by the
sleeve and pointed westward. I looked, and all the wonders I had yet
viewed became as nothing. For there, disregarded by the crowd, but
plain and manifest, rose another Peak, graven in shadow upon the
western sky. Bold and confronting, it soared into heaven and, whilst
I gazed in silent awe, came striding nearer through the void air,
until it seemed to sweep down upon me--and was gone! For many a day
had the shadow of this mighty cone lain upon my soul; here, on the
very summit, that shadow took visible form and shape, then paled into
the clear blue. Has its invisible horror left me now at last?
I doubt it.
"But by this time the sun was high, and the last pilgrim with a
lingering cry of '_Saadoo!_' was leaving the summit. So, although
my ankle was now beginning to give me exquisite pain, I gave the
order to return. Before leaving, however, I looked for a moment at
the sacred footprint, to my mind the least of the wonders of the
Peak, and resembling no foot that ever I saw. We had gone but a few
steps when I plainly guessed from the state of my ankle that our
descent would be full of danger, but the guides assured me of their
carefulness; so once more we attacked the chains.
"How we got down I shall never fully know; but at last and after
infinite pain we stood at the foot of the cliff and entered the
forest of rhododendrons. And here, to the wild astonishment of my
guides who plainly thought me mad, I bade them leave me and proceed
ahead, remaining within call. They were full of protestations and
dismay, but I was firm. Trusty they might be, but it was well in
this matter to distrust everything and everybody. Finally,
therefore, they obeyed, and I sat watching until their white-clad
forms disappeared in the thicket.
"As soon as I judged them to have gone a sufficient distance, I arose
and followed, cautiously counting my footsteps. But this was
needless; my father had described the tree as 'noticeable and not to
be missed,' nor was he wrong. Barely had I counted five hundred
paces when it rose into view, uncouth and monstrous. All around it
spread the crimson blossoms of huge rhododendrons; but this strange
tree was at once unlike any of its fellows and of a kind altogether
unknown to me. Its roots were partly bare, and writhed in fantastic
coils across the track. Above these rose and spread its seven trunks
matted with creepers, and then united about four feet below the point
where the branches began. Its foliage was of a dark, glossy green,
particularly dense, and its height, as I should judge, some sixty
feet.
"Taking out my compass, I started from the left-hand side of the
narrow track, and at a right angle to it. The undergrowth gave me
much trouble, and once I had to make a circuit round a huge
rhododendron; but I fought my way through, and after going, as I
reckoned, thirty-two paces, pulled up full in front of--another
rhododendron.
"There must be some mistake. My father had spoken of a 'stone shaped
like a man's head,' but said nothing of a rhododendron tree, and
indeed this particular tree was in nowise different from its
companions. I looked around; took a few steps to the right, then to
the left; went round the tree; walked back a few paces; returned to
the tree to see if it concealed anything; then sought the track to
begin my measurement afresh.
"I was just starting again in a very discomposed mood, when a thought
struck me. I had been behaving like a fool. The parchment said
'at a right angle to the left-hand edge of the track.' I had started
from my left hand, but I was descending the mountain, whereas the
directions of course supposed the explorer to be ascending.
Almost ready to laugh at my stupidity, I tried again.
"Facing round, I got the needle at an angle of ninety degrees, and
once more began counting. My heart was beginning to beat quickly by
this time, and I felt myself trembling with excitement. The course
was now more easily followed. True, the growth was as thick as ever,
but no rhododendrons blocked my passage. Beating down the creepers
that swung across my face, twined around my legs, and caught at my
cap, I measured thirty-two paces as nearly as I could, and then
stopped.
"Before me was a patch of velvet grass, some twelve feet square and
bare of the undergrowth that crowded elsewhere; but not a trace of a
stone. I looked right and left, crossed the tiny lawn, peered all
about, but still saw nothing at all resembling what I sought.
"As it began to dawn on me that all my hopes had been duped, my
journey vain, and my father's words an empty cheat, a sickening
despair got hold of me. My knees shook together, and big drops of
sweat gathered on my forehead. I roused myself and searched again;
again I was baffled. Distractedly I beat the bushes round and round
the tiny lawn, then flung myself down on the turf and gave way to my
despair. To this, then, it had all come; this was the end for which
I had abandoned my wife and child; this the treasure that had dangled
so long before my eyes. Fool that I had been! I cursed my madness
and the hour when I was born; never before had I heartily despised
myself, never until now did I know how the lust for this treasure had
eaten into my soul. The secret, if secret indeed there were, and all
were not a lie, was in the keeping of the silent Peak.
"I almost wept with wrath. I tore the turf in my frenzy, and felt as
one who would fain curse God and die. But after a while my passion
spent itself. I sat up and reflected that after all my first
direction might have been the right one; at any rate, I would try it
again and explore it thoroughly. The instructions were precise, and
had been confirmed in the matter of the tree. Evidently the person
that wrote them had been upon the Peak, and what, if they were lies,
was to be gained by the cheat?
"I pulled out the parchment again and read it through; then started
to my feet with fresh energy. I was just leaving the little lawn and
returning down my path, when it struck me that the bush on my left
hand was of a curious shape. It seemed a mere tangled knot of
creepers covered with large white blossom, and rose to about my own
height. Carelessly I thrust my stick into the mass, when its point
jarred upon--stone!
"Yes, stone! In a moment my knife was out and I was down on hands
and knees cutting and tearing at the tendrils. Some of them were
full three inches thick, but I slashed and tugged, with breath that
came and went immoderately fast, with bleeding hands and thumping
heart, until little by little the stone was bared and its outlines
revealed themselves.
"But as they grew distinct and I saw what I had uncovered, I fell
back in terror. The stone was about five feet ten inches in height,
and was roughly shaped to represent a human head and neck. But the
face it was that froze my heated blood in horror. Never until I die
shall I forget that hellish expression. It was the smoothly-shaven
face of a man of about fifty years of age, roughly carved after the
fashion of many of the ruins on this mountain. But whoever fashioned
it, the artist must have been a fiend. If ever malignant hate was
expressed in form, it stood before me. Even the blank pupils made
the malevolence seem but the more undying. Every feature, every line
was horrible, every touch of the chisel had added a fresh grace of
devilish spite. It was simply Evil petrified.
"As this awful face, bared of the innocent creeper that for years had
shrouded its ugliness from the light of day, confronted me, a feeling
of such repulsion overcame me that for several minutes I could not
touch it. The neck was loosely set in a sort of socket fixed in the
earth; this was all the monster's pedestal. I saw that it barely
needed a man's strength to send it toppling over. Yet for a moment I
could summon up none. At length I put my hands to it and with an
effort sent it crashing over amid the brushwood.
"The trough in which this colossal head had rested was about four
feet in depth, and narrowed towards the bottom. I put down my hand
and drew out--a human thigh-bone. The touch of this would have
turned me sick again, had not the statue's face already surfeited me
with horror. As it was, I was nerved for any sight. The passion of
my discovery was upon me, and I tossed the mouldering bones out to
right and left.
"But stay. There seemed a great many in the trough. Surely this was
the third thigh-bone that I held now in my hand. Yes, and below,
close to the bottom of the trough, lay two skulls side by side.
There were two, then, buried here. The parchment had only spoken of
one. But I had no time to consider about this. What I sought now
was the Secret, and as I took up the second skull I caught the gleam
of metal underneath it. I put in my hand and drew out a Buckle of
Gold.
"This buckle is formed of two pieces, bound to either end of a thin
belt of rotten linen, and united by hook and socket. Its whole
dimensions are but 3 inches by 2 inches, but inside its curiously
carved border it is entirely covered with writing in rude English
character. The narrowing funnel of the trough had kept it from being
crushed by the statue, which fitted into a rim running round the
interior. Beyond the buckle and the two skeletons there was nothing
in the trough; but I looked for nothing else. Here, in my hands, lay
the secret of the Great Ruby of Ceylon; my fingers clutched the
wealth of princes. My journey had ended and the riches of the earth
were in my grasp.
"Forgetful of my guides, forgetful of the flight of time, mindful of
nothing but the Golden Buckle, I sat down by the rim of the trough
and began to decipher the writing. The inscription, as far as I
could gather, ran right across the clasp. It could be read easily
enough and contained accurate directions for searching in some spot,
but where that spot was it did not reveal. It might be close to the
statue; and I was about to start up and make the attempt when I
thought again of the parchment. Pulling it from my pocket, I read:
'_ . . . beneath this stone lies the secret of the Great Ruby; and
yet not all, for the rest is graven on the Key which shall be already
entrusted to you. These precautions have I taken that none may
surprise this Secret but its right possessor. . . ._'
"Now my father's Will had expressly enjoined, on pain of his dying
curse, that this key should not be moved from its place until the
Trenoweth who went to seek the treasure should have returned and
crossed the threshold of Lantrig. Consequently the ruby was not
buried on Adam's Peak, or to return for the key would have been so
much labour wasted. Consequently, also, the Golden Buckle was
valueless to anybody but him who knew the rest of my father's
injunctions. Although not yet in my hand, the Great Ruby was mine.
I was folding up the buckle with the parchment before rejoining the
guides, when a curious thing happened.
"The sun had climbed high into heaven whilst I was absorbed in my
search, and was now flooding the little lawn with light. In my
excitement I had heard and seen nothing, nor noted that the heat was
growing unbearable beneath the vertical rays. But as I was folding
up the parchment a black shadow suddenly fell across the page.
I started and looked up.
"Above me stood Simon Colliver.
"He was standing in the broad light of the sun and watching me
intently, with a curious smile which grew as our eyes met. How long
he had been there I could not guess, but the strangeness of meeting
him on this spot, and the occupation in which I was surprised,
discomposed me not a little. Hastily thrusting back the buckle and
the parchment into my pocket, I scrambled to my feet and stood facing
him. Even as I did so, all Mr. Sanderson's warnings came flashing
into my mind.
"For full a minute we stood confronting each other without a word.
He was still standing in the full blaze of the sunlight, with the
same odd smile upon his face, and a peculiar light in his dark eyes
that never swerved for a moment. Finally he gave a low laugh and
nodding lightly, said--
"'Odd thing our meeting like this, eh? Hand of Fate or some such
thing might be mixed up in it from the way we run across each other's
path.'
"I assented.
"'Queer too, you'll allow, that we should both be struck with the
fancy for ascending this mountain. Very few Europeans do it, so I'm
told. I'm on my way up, are you? No? Coming down and taking things
easily, to judge by the way I found you occupied.'
"Was the man mocking me? Or had he, after all, no suspicions?
His voice was soft and pleasant as ever, nor could I detect a trace
of irony in its tone. But I was on my guard.
"'This Peak seems strewn with the handiwork of the heathen,' he
continued. 'But really you seem to be in luck's way. I congratulate
you. What's this? Skeletons, eh? Upon my word, Trenoweth, you've
unearthed a treasure. And this? A statue? Well, it's a queer place
to come hunting for statues, but you've picked up an ugly-looking
beggar in all conscience!'
"He had advanced to the head, which lay in the rank herbage staring
up in hideous spite to heaven. Presently he turned to me and said--
"'Well, this is very remarkable. The fellow who carved this seems to
have borrowed my features--not very complimentary of him, I must say.
Don't you see the likeness?'
"It was solemn truth. Feature by feature that atrocious face was
simply a reproduction of Colliver's. As I stared in amazement, it
seemed more and more marvellous that I had not noticed the
resemblance before. True, each feature was distorted and exaggerated
to produce the utter malignity of its expression. But the face was
the face of Colliver. Nobody could have called him a handsome man,
but before this I had found Colliver not unpleasant to look upon.
Now the hate of the statue's face seemed to have reflected itself
upon him. I leant against a tree for support and passed my hand
across my brow as if to banish a fearful dream. But it was no dream,
and when he turned to speak again I could see lurking beneath the
assumed expression of the man all the evil passions and foul
wickedness engraved upon the stone.
"'Well,' he remarked, 'stranger things than this have happened, but
not much. You seem distressed, Trenoweth. Surely I, if any one,
have the right to be annoyed. But you let your antiquarian zeal
carry you too far. It's hardly fair to dig these poor remains from
their sepulchre and leave them to bleach beneath this tropical sun,
even in the interest of science.'
"With this he knelt down and began to gather--very reverently, as I
thought--the bones into a heap, and replace them in their tomb.
This done, he kicked up a lump or two of turf from the little lawn
and pressed it down upon them, humming to himself all the while.
Finally he rose and turned again towards me--
"'You'll excuse me, Trenoweth. It's sentimental, no doubt, but I
have conceived a kind of respect for these remains. Suppose, for
example, this face was really a portrait of one of this buried pair.
Why, then the deceased was very like me. I forgive him for
caricaturing my features now; were he alive, it might be different.
But this place is sufficiently out of the way to prevent the
resemblance being noted by many. By the way, I forgot to ask how you
chanced on this spot. For my part, I thought that I heard something
moving in the thicket, so I followed the sound out of pure curiosity,
and came upon you. Well, well! it's a strange world; and it's a
wonderful thought too, that this may be the grave of some primaeval
ancestor of mine who roamed this Peak for his daily food--an ancestor
of some importance too, in his day, to judge by the magnificence of
his tomb. A poet might make something out of this: to-day face to
face with the day before yesterday. But that's the beauty of
archaeology. I did not know it was a pursuit of yours, and am glad
to see you are sufficiently recovered of your illness to take it up
again. Good-bye for the present. I am obliged to be cautious in
taking farewell of you, for we have such a habit of meeting
unexpectedly. So, as I have to be up and moving for the summit, I'll
say 'Good-bye for the present.' We may as well leave this image
where it is; the dead won't miss it, and it's handy by, at any rate.
_Addio_, Trenoweth, and best of luck to your future researches.'
"He was gone. I could hear him singing as he went a strange song
which he had often sung on the outward voyage--
"'Sing hey! for the dead man's lips, my lads;
Sing ho! for the dead man's soul.
At his red, red lips. . . .'
"The song died away in the distance before I moved. I had hardly
opened my lips during the interview, and now had much ado to believe
it a reality. But the newly-turfed grave was voucher enough for
this. A horror of the place seized me; I cast one shuddering look at
the giant face and rushed from the spot, leaving the silent creepers
to veil once more that awful likeness from the eyes of day.
"As I emerged upon the track again I came upon Peter and Paul, who
were seeking me high and low, with dismay written upon their faces.
Excusing my absence as best I could, I declared myself ready, in
spite of my ankle, to make all haste in the descent. Of our journey
down the Peak I need say little, except that, lame as I was, I
surprised and exhausted my guides in my hurry. Of the dangers and
difficulties which had embarrassed our ascent I seemed to feel
nothing. Except in the cool of the forest, the heat was almost
insufferable; but I would hear of no delay until we reached
Ratnapoora. Here, instead of returning as we had come, we took a
boat down the Kalu-ganga river to Cattura, and thence travelled along
the coast by Pantura to Colombo.
"The object of my journey is now accomplished: and it only remains to
hasten home with all speed. But I am feeling strangely unwell as I
write this. My head has never fully recovered that blow at Bombay,
and I think the hours during which I remained exposed to the sun's
rays, by the side of that awful image, must have affected it.
Or perhaps the fatigue of the journey has worn me out. If I am going
to sicken I must hide my secret. It would be safer to bury it with
the Journal, at any rate for the time, somewhere in the garden here.
I have a tin box that will just answer the purpose. My head is
giving me agony. I can write no more."