I. One Does Not Always Eat What is on the Table
By the light
of a tallow candle which had been placed on one end of a rough table a man was
reading something written in a book. It was an old legible, for the man
sometimes held the page close to the flame of the candle to get a stronger
light on it. The shadow of the book would then throw into obscurity a half of
the moon, darkening a number of faces and figures; for besides the reader,
eight other men were present. Seven of them sat against the rough log walls,
silent, motionless, and the room being small, not very far from the table. By
extending an arm any one of them could have touched the eighth man, who lay on
the table, face upward, partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. He
was dead.
The
man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke; all seemed to be
waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was without expectation. From
the blank darkness outside came in, through the aperture that served for a
window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in the wilderness - the long
nameless note of a distant coyote; the still pulsing thrill of tireless insects
in trees; strange cries of night birds, so different from those of the birds of
day; the drone of great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of
small sounds that seem always to have been but half heard when they have
suddenly ceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion. But nothing of all this
was noted in that company; its members were not overmuch addicted to idle
interest in matters of no practical importance; that was obvious in every line
of their faces - obvious even in the dim light of the single candle. There were
evidently men of the vicinity - farmers and woodsmen.
The
person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of him that he was
of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his attire which attested a
certain fellowship with the organisms of his environment. His coat would hardly
have passed muster in San Francisco; his foot-gear was not of urban origin, and
the hat that lay by him on the floor (he was the only one uncovered) was such
that if one had considered it as an article of mere personal adornment he would
have missed its meaning. In countenance the man was rather prepossessing, with
just a hint of sternness; though that he may have assumed or cultivated, as
appropriate to one in authority. For he was a coroner. It was by virtue of his
office that he had possession of the book in which he was reading; it had been
found among the dead man's effects - in his cabin, where the inquest was now
taking place.
When
the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his breast pocket. At
that moment the door was pushed open and a young man entered. He, clearly, was
not of mountain birth and breeding: he was clad as those who dwell in cities.
His clothing was dusty, however, as from travel. He had, in fact, been riding
hard to attend the inquest.
The
coroner nodded; no one else greeted him.
"We
have waited for you," said the coroner "It is necessary to have to
have done with this business tonight."
The
young man smiled. "I am sorry to have kept you," he said. "I
went away, not to evade your summons, but to post to my newspaper an account of
what I suppose I am called back to relate."
The
coroner smiled.
"The
account that you posted to your newspaper," he said, "differs,
probably, from that which you will give here under oath."
"That,"
replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as you
please. I used manifold paper and have a copy of what I sent. It was not
written as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may go as a part of
my testimony under oath."
"But
you say it is incredible."
"That
is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear that it is true."
The
coroner was silent for a time, his eyes upon the floor. The men about the sides
of the cabin talked in whispers, but seldom withdrew their gaze from the face
of the corpse. Presently the coroner lifted his eyes and said: "We will
resume the inquest."
The
men removed their hats. The witness was sworn.
"What
is your name?" the coroner asked.
"William
Harker."
"Age?"
"Twenty-seven."
"You
knew the deceased, Hugh Morgan?"
"Yes."
"You
were with him when he died?"
"Near
him."
"How
did that happen - your presence, I mean?"
"I
was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. A part of my purpose,
however, was to study him and his odd, solitary way of life. He seemed like a
good model for a character in fiction. I sometimes write stories."
"I
sometimes read them."
"Thank
you."
"Stories
in general - not yours."
Some
of the jurors laughed. Against a sombre background humor shows highlights.
Soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in the death
chamber conquers by surprise.
"Relate
the circumstances of this man's death," said the coroner. "You may
use any notes or memoranda that you please."
The
witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket he held it near
the candle and turning the leaves until he found the passage that he wanted,
began to read.
II. What May Happen in a Field of Wild Oats
"...The
sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking for quail, each
with a shotgun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said that our best ground was
beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we crossed it by a trail
through the chaparral. On the other side was comparatively level ground,
thickly covered with wild oats. As we emerged from the chaparral Morgan was but
a few yards in advance. Suddenly we heard, at a little distance to our right
and partly in front, a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes,
which we could see were violently agitated.
"'We've
startled a deer,' I said. 'I wish we had brought a rifle'
"Morgan,
who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated chaparral, said nothing,
but had cocked both barrels of his gun and was holding it in readiness to aim.
I thought him a trifle excited, which surprised me, for he had a reputation for
exceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden and imminent peril.
"'O,
come,' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deer with quail-shot, are you?'
"Still
he did not reply; but catching a sight of his face as he turned it slightly
towards me I was struck by the intensity of his look. Then I understood that we
had serious business in hand and my first conjecture was that we had 'jumped' a
grizzly. I advanced to Morgan's side, cocking my piece as I moved.
"The
bushes were now quiet and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was as attentive to
the place as before.
"'What
is it? What the devil is it?' I asked.
"'That
Damned Thing!' he replied, without turning his head. His voice was husky and
unnatural. He trembled visibly.
"I
was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near the place of the
disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way. I can hardly describe it. It
seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, which not only bent it, but pressed
it down - crushed it so that it did not rise; and this movement was slowly
prolonging itself directly towards us.
"Nothing
that I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as this unfamiliar and
unaccountable phenomenon, yet I am unable to recall any sense of fear. I
remember - and tell it here because, singularly enough I recollected it then -
that once in looking out of an open window I momentarily mistook a small tree
close at hand for one of a group of larger trees at a little distance away. It
looked the same size as the others, but being more distinctly and sharply
defined in mass and detail seemed out of harmony with them. it was a mere
falsification of the law of aerial perspective, but it startled, almost
terrified me. We so rely upon the orderly operation of familiar natural laws
that any seeming suspension of them is noted as a menace to our safety, a warning
of unthinkable calamity. So now the apparently causeless movement of the
herbage and the slow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbance were
distinctly disquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened, and I could
hardly credit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw his gun to his shoulder
and fire both barrels at the agitated grain! Before the smoke of the discharge
had cleared away I heard a loud savage cry - a scream like that of a wild
animal - and flinging his gun upon the ground Morgan sprang away and ran
swiftly from the spot. At the same instant I was thrown violently to the ground
by the impact of something unseen in the smoke - some soft, heavy substance
that seemed thrown against me with great force.
"Before
I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which seemed to have been struck
from my hands, I heard Morgan crying out as if in mortal agony, and mingling
with his cries were such hoarse, savage sounds as one hears from fighting dogs.
Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled to my feet and looked in the direction of
Morgan's retreat; and may Heaven in its mercy spare me from another sight like
that! At a distance of less than thirty yards was my friend, down upon one
knee, his head thrown back at a frightful angle, hatless, his long hair in
disorder and his whole body in violent movement from side to side, backward and
forward. His right arm was lifted and seemed to lack the hand - at least, I
could see none. The other arm was invisible. At times, as my memory now reports
this extraordinary scene, I could discern but a part of his body; it was as if
he had been partly blotted out - I cannot otherwise express it - then a
shifting of his position would bring it all into view again.
"All
this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that time Morgan assumed
all the postures of a determined wrestler vanquished by superior weight and
strength. I saw nothing but him, and him not always distinctly. During the
entire incident his shouts and curses were heard, as if through an enveloping
uproar of such sounds of rage and fury as I had never heard from the throat of
man or brute!
"For
a moment only I stood irresolute, then throwing down my gun I ran forward to my
friend's assistance. I had a vague belief that he was suffering from a fit, or
some form of convulsion. Before I could reach his side he was down and quiet.
All sounds had ceased, but with a feeling of such terror as even these awful
events had not inspired I now saw again the mysterious movement of the wild
oats, prolonging itself from the trampled area about the prostrate man towards
the edge of a wood. It was only when it had reached the wood that I was able to
withdraw my eyes to look at my companion. He was dead."
III. A Man Though Naked May Be in
Rags
The
coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man. Lifting an edge of
the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire body, altogether naked and
showing in the candle-light a claylike yellow. It had, however, broad
maculations of bluish black, obviously caused by extravasated blood from
contusions. The chest and sides looked as if they had been beaten with a
bludgeon. There were dreadful lacerations; the skin was torn in strips and
shreds.
The
coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silk handkerchief which
had been passed under the chin and knotted on the top of the head. When the
handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what had been the throat. Some of the
jurors who had risen to get a better view repented their curiosity and turned
away their faces. Witness Harker went to the open window and leaned out across
the sill, faint and sick. Dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck
the coroner stepped to an angle of the room and from a pile of clothing
produced one garment after another, each of which he held up a moment for
inspection. All were torn, and stiff with blood. The jurors did not make a
closed inspection. The seemed rather uninterested. The had, in truth, seen all
this before; the only thing that was new to them being Harker's testimony.
"Gentlemen,"
the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Your duty has been
already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to ask you may go
outside and consider your verdict."
The
foreman rose — a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad.
"I
shall like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner," he said. "What asylum
did this yer last witness escape from?"
"Mr.
Harker," said the coroner gravely and tranquilly, "from what asylum
did you last escape?"
Harker
flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors rose and solemnly
filed out of the cabin.
"If
you have done insulting me, sir," said Harker, as soon as he and the
officer were left alone with the dead man, "I suppose I am at liberty to
go?"
"Yes."
Harker
started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch. The habit of his
profession was strong in him — stronger than his sense of personal dignity. He
turned about and said:
"The
book you have there — I recognize it as Morgan's diary. You seemed greatly
interested in it; you read in it while I was testifying. May I see it? The
public would like — "
"The
book will cut no figure in this matter," replied the official, slipping it
into his coat pocket; "all the entries in it were made before the writer's
death."
As
Harker passed out of the house the jury re-entered and stood about the table,
on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharp definition.
The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced from his breast pocket a
pencil and scrap of paper and wrote rather laboriously the following verdict,
which with various degrees of effort all signed:
"We,
the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the hands of a
mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same, they had fits."
IV. An Explanation from the Tomb
In
the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain interesting entries having,
possibly, a scientific value as suggestions. At the inquest upon his body the
book was not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought it not worth while
to confuse the jury. The date of the first of the entries mentioned cannot be
ascertained; the upper part of the leaf is torn away; the part of the entry
remaining follows:
"...would
run in a half-circle, keeping his head turned always toward the centre, and
again he would stand still, barking furiously. At last he ran away into the
brush as fast as he could go. I thought at first that he had gone mad, but on
returning to the house found no other alteration in his manner than what was
obviously due to fear of punishment.
"Can
a dog see with his nose? Do odours impress some cerebral centre with images of
the thing that emitted them? ...
"Sept. 2. — Looking at the stars last night as they rose above
the crest of the ridge east of the house, I observed them successively
disappear — from left to right. Each was eclipsed but an instant, and only a
few at a time, but along the entire length of the ridge all that were within a
degree or two of the crest were blotted out. It was as if something had passed
along between me and them; but I could not see it, and the stars were not thick
enough to define its outline. Ugh! don't like this."
Several
weeks' entries are missing, three leaves being torn from the book.
"Sept. 27. — It has been about here again — I find evidences
of its presence every day. I watched again all last night in the same cover,
gun in hand, double-charged with buckshot. In the morning the fresh footprints
were there, as before. Yet I would have sworn that I did not sleep — indeed, I
hardly sleep at all. It is terrible, insupportable! If these amazing
experiences are real I shall go mad; if they are fanciful I am mad already.
"Oct. 3. — I shall not go — it shall not drive me away. No,
this is my house, my land. God hates a coward....
"Oct. 5. — I can stand it no longer; I have invited Harker to
pass a few weeks with me — he has a level head. I can judge from his manner if
he thinks me mad.
"Oct. 7. — I have the solution of the mystery; it came to me
last night — suddenly, as by revelation. How simple — how terribly simple!
"There are
sounds we cannot hear. At either end of the scale are notes that stir no chord
of that imperfect instrument, the human ear. They are too high or too grave. I
have observed a flock of blackbirds occupying an entire tree-top — the tops of
several trees — and all in full song. Suddenly — in a moment — at absolutely
the same instant — all spring into the air and fly away. How? They could not
all see one another — whole tree-tops intervened. At no point could a leader
have been visible to all. There must have been a signal of warning or command,
high and shrill above the din, but by me unheard. I have observed, too, the
same simultaneous flight when all were silent, among not only blackbirds, but
other birds — quail, for example, widely separated by bushes — even on opposite
sides of a hill.
"It
is known to seamen that a school of whales basking or sporting on the surface
of the ocean, miles apart, with the convexity of the earth between, will
sometimes dive at the same instant — all gone out of sight in a moment. The
signal has been sounded — too grave for the ear of the sailor at the masthead
and his comrades on the deck — who nevertheless feel its vibrations in the ship
as the stones of a cathedral are stirred by the bass of the organ.
"As
with sounds, so with colours. At each end of the solar spectrum the chemist can
detect the presence of what are known as 'actinic' rays. They represent colours
— integral colours in the composition of light — which we are unable to
discern. The human eye is an imperfect instrument; its range is but a few
octaves of the real 'chromatic scale.' I am not mad; there are colours that we
cannot see.
"And,
God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a colour!"
