August Malmström, Portrait of the Eighty-Eight Fairies, 1865
IBy the light of a tallow candle, which had been placed on one end of arough table, a man was reading something written in a book. It was an oldaccount book, greatly worn; and the writing was not, apparently, verylegible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame of thecandle to get a stronger light upon it. The shadow of the book would thenthrow into obscurity a half of the room, darkening a number of faces andfigures; for besides the reader, eight other men were present. Seven ofthem sat against the rough log walls, silent and motionless, and, the roombeing small, not very far from the table. By extending an arm any one ofthem 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 seemedto be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was withoutexpectation. From the blank darkness outside came in, through the aperturethat served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in thewilderness--the long, nameless note of a distant coyote; the stilly pulsingthrill of tireless insects in the trees; strange cries of night birds, sodifferent from those of the birds of day; the drone of great blunderingbeetles and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds that seemed alwaysto have been but half heard when they have suddenly ceased, as if consciousof an indiscretion. But nothing of all this was noted in that company; itsmembers were not overmuch addicted to idle interest in matters of nopractical importance; that was obvious in every line of their ruggedfaces--obvious even in the dim light of the single candle. They wereevidently men of the vicinity--farmers and woodmen.The person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of him thathe was of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his attire whichattested a certain fellowship with the organisms of his environment. Hiscoat would hardly have passed muster in San Francisco: his footgear was notof urban origin, and the hat that lay by him on the floor (he was the onlyone uncovered) was such that if one had considered it as an article of merepersonal adornment he would have missed its meaning. In countenance the manwas rather prepossessing, with just a hint of sternness; though that he mayhave assumed or cultivated, as appropriate to one in authority. For he wasa coroner. It was by virtue of his office that he had possession of thebook in which he was reading; it had been found among the dead man'seffects--in his cabin, where the inquest was now taking place.When the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his breastpocket. 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 thosewho dwell in cities. His clothing was dusty, however, as from travel. Hehad, 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 donewith this business to-night."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 Isuppose I am called back to relate."The coroner smiled."The account that you posted to your newspaper," he said, "differs probablyfrom that which you will give here under oath.""That," replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is asyou choose. I used manifold paper and have a copy of what I sent. It wasnot written as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may go as apart 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 apparently not greatly affected by the young man's manifestresentment. He was silent for some moments, his eyes upon the floor. Themen about the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but seldom withdrewtheir gaze from the face of the corpse. Presently the coroner lifted hiseyes 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 his place to shoot and fish. A part of my purpose,however, was to study him, and his odd, solitary way of life. He seemed agood 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 humour shows highlights. Soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in thedeath chamber conquers by surprise."Relate the circumstances of this man's death," said the coroner. "You mayuse any notes or memoranda that you please."The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket he heldit near the candle, and turning the leaves until he found the passage thathe wanted, began to read.II"...The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking forquail, each with a shot-gun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said that ourbest ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we crossedit by trail through the chaparral. On the other side was comparativelylevel ground, thickly covered with wild oats. As we emerged from thechaparral, Morgan was but a few yards in advance. Suddenly, we heard, at alittle distance to our right, and partly in front, a noise as of someanimal thrashing about in the bushes, which we could see were violentlyagitated." We've started 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 inreadiness to aim. I thought him a trifle excited, which surprised me, forhe had a reputation for exceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden andimminent 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 itslightly toward me, I was struck by the pallor of it. Then I understoodthat we had serious business on hand, and my first conjecture was that wehad jumped' a grizzly. I advanced to Morgan's side, cocking my piece as Imoved."The bushes were now quiet, and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was asattentive 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 washusky and unnatural. He trembled visibly."I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near the placeof the disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way. I can hardlydescribe it. It seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, which not onlybent it, but pressed it down--crushed it so that it did not rise, and thismovement was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us."Nothing that I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as thisunfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon, yet I am unable to recall anysense of fear. I remember--and tell it here because, singularly enough, Irecollected it then--that once, in looking carelessly out of an open window,I momentarily mistook a small tree close at hand for one of a group oflarger trees at a little distance away. It looked the same size as theothers, but, being more distinctly and sharply defined in mass and details,seemed out of harmony with them. It was a mere falsification of the law ofaerial perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me. We so rely uponthe orderly operation of familar natural laws that any seeming suspensionof them is noted as a menace to our safety, a warning of unthinkablecalamity. So now the apparently causeless movement of the herbage, and theslow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbance were distinctlydisquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened, and I could hardlycredit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw his gun to his shoulders andfire both barrels at the agitated grass! Before the smoke of the dischargehad cleared away I heard a loud savage cry--a scream like that of a wildanimal--and, flinging his gun upon the ground, Morgan sprang away and ranswiftly from the spot. At the same instant I was thrown violently to theground by the impact of something unseen in the smoke--some soft, heavysubstance that seemed thrown against me with great force."Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which seemed to havebeen 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 hearsfrom fighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled to my feet andlooked in the direction of Morgan's retreat; and may heaven in mercy spareme from another sight like that! At a distance of less than thirty yardswas my friend, down upon one knee, his head thrown back at a frightfulangle, hatless, his long hair in disorder and his whole body in violentmovement from side to side, backward and forward. His right arm was liftedand seemed to lack the hand--at least, I could see none. The other arm wasinvisible. At times, as my memory now reports this extraordinary scene, Icould discern but a part of his body; it was as if he had been partlyblotted out--I can not otherwise express it--then a shifting of his positionwould bring it all into view again."All this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that time Morganassumed all the postures of a determined wrestler vanquished by superiorweight and strength. I saw nothing but him, and him not always distinctly.During the entire incident his shouts and curses were heard, as if throughan enveloping uproar of such sounds of rage and fury as I had never heardfrom the throat of man or brute!"For a moment only I stood irresolute, then throwing down my gun, I ranforward to my friend's assistance. I had a vague belief that he wassuffering from a fit or some form of convulsion. Before I could reach hisside he was down and quiet. All sounds had ceased, but, with a feeling ofsuch terror as even these awful events had not inspired, I now saw the samemysterious movement of the wild oats prolonging itself from the trampledarea about the prostrate man toward the edge of a wood. It was only when ithad reached the wood that I was able to withdraw my eyes and look at mycompanion. He was dead."IIIThe coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man. Lifting anedge of the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire body, altogethernaked and showing in the candle-light a clay-like yellow. It had, however,broad maculations of bluish-black, obviously caused by extravasated bloodfrom contusions. The chest and sides looked as if they had been beaten witha bludgeon. There were dreadful lacerations; the skin was torn in stripsand shreds.The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silkhandkerchief, which had been passed under the chin and knotted on the topof the head. When the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what had beenthe throat. Some of the jurors who had risen to get a better view repentedtheir curiosity, and turned away their faces. Witness Harker went to theopen window and leaned out across the sill, faint and sick. Dropping thehandkerchief upon the dead man's neck, the coroner stepped to an angle ofthe 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 stiffwith blood. The jurors did not make a closer inspection. They seemed ratheruninterested. They had, in truth, seen all this before; the only thing thatwas new to them being Harker's testimony."Gentlemen," the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Yourduty has been already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to askyou may go outside and consider your verdict."The foreman rose--a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad."I should like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner," he said. "What asylum didthis yer last witness escape from?""Mr. Harker," said the coroner, gravely and tranquilly, "from what asylumdid you last escape?"Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors roseand solemnly filed out of the cabin."If you have done insulting me, sir," said Harker, as soon as he and theofficer were left alone with the dead man, "I suppose I am at liberty togo?""Yes."Harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch. Thehabit of his profession was strong in him--stronger than his sense ofpersonal dignity. He turned about and said:"The book that you have there--I recognise it as Morgan's diary. You seemedgreatly interested in it; you read in it while I was testifying. May I seeit? 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 beforethe writer's death."As Harker passed out of the house the jury re-entered and stood about thetable, on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharpdefinition. The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced from hisbreast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper, and wrote rather laboriously thefollowing verdict, which with various degrees of effort all signed:"We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the hands ofa mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same, they had fits."IVIn the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain interesting entrieshaving, possibly, a scientific value as suggestions. At the inquest uponhis body the book was not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought itnot worth while to confuse the jury. The date of the first of the entriesmentioned cannot be ascertained; the upper part of the leaf is torn away;the part of the entry remaining is as follows:"... would run in a half circle, keeping his head turned always toward thecentre and again he would stand still, barking furiously. At last he ranaway into the brush as fast as he could go. I thought at first that he hadgone mad, but on returning to the house found no other alteration in hismanner than what was obviously due to fear of punishment."Can a dog see with his nose? Do odours impress some olfactory centre withimages of the thing emitting them?..."Sept. 2.--Looking at the stars last night as they rose above the crest ofthe ridge east of the house, I observed them successively disappear--fromleft to right. Each was eclipsed but an instant, and only a few at the sametime, but along the entire length of the ridge all that were within adegree or two of the crest were blotted out. It was as if something hadpassed along between me and them; but I could not see it, and the starswere not thick enough to define its outline. Ugh! I 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 presenceevery day. I watched again all of last night in the same cover, gun inhand, double-charged with buckshot. In the morning the fresh footprintswere 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 amazingexperiences 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 fewweeks with me--he has a level head. I can judge from his manner if he thinksme mad."Oct. 7.--I have the solution of the problem; it came to me lastnight--suddenly, as by revelation. How simple--how terribly simple!"There are sounds that we cannot hear. At either end of the scale are notesthat stir no chord of that imperfect instrument, the human ear. They aretoo high or too grave. I have observed a flock of blackbirds occupying anentire tree-top--the tops of several trees--and all in full song. Suddenly--ina moment--at absolutely the same instant--all spring into the air and flyaway. 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 asignal of warning or command, high and shrill above the din, but by meunheard. I have observed, too, the same simultaneous flight when all weresilent, 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 thesurface of the ocean, miles apart, with the convexity of the earth betweenthem, will sometimes dive at the same instant--all gone out of sight in amoment. The signal has been sounded--too grave for the ear of the sailor atthe masthead and his comrades on the deck--who nevertheless feel itsvibrations in the ship as the stones of a cathedral are stirred by the bassof the organ."As with sounds, so with colours. At each end of the solar spectrum thechemist can detect the presence of what are known as actinic' rays. Theyrepresent colours--integral colours in the composition of light--which we areunable to discern. The human eye is an imperfect instrument; its range isbut a few octaves of the real chromatic scale.' I am not mad; there arecolours that we cannot see."And, God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a colour!"
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