Gaslit Horror (17 page)

Through the forest we tore, reeling about on the slippery back of the thing, as though riding on a ploughshare, while trees clashed and tilted and fell from the enormous furrow on every side; then, suddenly out of the woods into the moonlight, far ahead of us we could see the grassy upland heave up, cake, break, and crumble above the burrowing course of the monster.

“It's making for the crater!” gasped Blythe; and horror spurred us on, and we scrambled and slipped and clawed the billowing sides of the furrow until we gained the heaving top of it.

As one runs in a bad dream, heavily, half-paralyzed, so ran Blythe and I, toiling over the undulating, tumbling upheaval until, half-fainting, we fell and rolled down the shifting slope onto solid and unvexed sod on the very edges of the crater.

Below us we saw, with sickened eyes, the entire circumference of the crater agitated, saw it rise and fall as avalanches of rock and earth slid into it, tons and thousands of tons rushing down the slope, blotting from our sight the flickering ring of flame, and extinguishing the last filmy jet of vapour.

Suddenly the entire crater caved in and filled up under my anguished eyes, quenching for all eternity the vapour wall, the fire, and burying the little denizens of the flames, and perhaps a billion dollars' worth of emeralds under as many billion tons of earth.

Quieter and quieter grew the earth as the gigantic worm bored straight down into depths immeasurable. And at last the moon shone upon a world that lay without a tremor in its milky lustre.

“I shall name it
Verma gigantica,
” said I, with a hysterical sob; “but nobody will ever believe me when I tell this story!”

Still terribly shaken, we turned towards the house. And, as we approached the lamplit veranda, I saw a horse standing there and a young man hastily dismounting.

And then a terrible thing occurred; for, before I could even shriek, Wilna had put both arms around that young man's neck, and both of his arms were clasping her waist.

Blythe was kind to me. He took me around the back way and put me to bed.

And there I lay through the most awful night I ever experienced, listening to the piano below, where Wilna and William Green were singing
Un Peu d'Amour.

T
he S.S.
Valda
was steaming slowly over the broad expanse of one of the largest of the Norwegian Fjords. So slow was her progress that the lazy parting of the water at her prow was almost invisible.

Dinner was just over. Her passengers were seated in small groups about her spacious deck. Some talked, their conversation punctuated by frequent laughter; others passed the time indulging in the various amusements available on such a trip. Two or three of the men were pacing the deck arm-in-arm, smoking.

The sun was setting, flooding the water with dazzling glory. On the horizon the hills lay low and black. Nearer were a few solitary islands, their every detail clearly visible in the departing blaze. Afar was a solitary, tiny sail—the only sign of life, except the graceful steamship
Valda,
whose masts and rigging shewed blackly-delicate against the golden sky.

The sun sank swiftly till its lower edge disappeared behind the hills, and the distant mountains glowed blood-red. The light crept stealthily over the water, enveloped the vessel, passed over it, and finally outlined the lonely islands with a band of liquid fire. Then there succeeded that mysterious, purple twilight peculiar to those latitudes.

As the sun disappeared, a young man, who had been leaning alone over the vessel's stern contemplating the scene, turned from the rail and walked along the deck into the smoking-room. He was tall, well-proportioned, had a well-knit, athletic figure, and handsome, debonair face.

During the few days he had been aboard the
Valda,
Gilbert Amyn had succeeded in making himself extremely popular. Of a sunny disposition, prone to see the ludicrous side of most things, he was an ideal shipmate. Ever willing to join in any amusement, he was in universal request, and his appearance was hailed with delight. Immediately half-a-dozen voices invited him to join in one or other of the various games in progress.

Soon, as the deck became deserted, cards were abandoned, and the men strolled out to seat themselves in the vacated deckchairs for a final smoke in the cool night air before going below.

As they smoked, the Captain joined the circle. Wishing his passengers “Good evening,” he sat down and lighted a cigar.

Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, Amyn addressed the company in general.

“As I was leaning over the stern about an hour ago,” he remarked, “a most extraordinary thing happened. I don't know whether it was what you would call an optical illusion or not. At any rate, it has puzzled me considerably. If it won't bore you, I will tell you what I saw. Perhaps between us we may evolve a solution of the mystery.”

It is curious how small a thing awakens interest aboard ship. The men gathered on the
Valda
's deck immediately evinced their eagerness to hear what Amyn had to say. The Doctor, acting as spokesman, and lighting a fresh cigar, replied for all:—

“Fire away, Amyn, by all means let us hear your experience.”

Thus adjured, Amyn told his story:—

“I was watching the sunset from the stern of the vessel. I confess to a weakness for sunsets, and this evening's was passing beautiful. Over yonder the hills were intensely black, presenting a vivid contrast to the luminous yellow radiance cast by the setting sun. Overhead the sky was a beautiful tinge midway between crimson and gold. The whole scene was lovely in the extreme. I was watching more particularly the long trail made by our propellor, noting the varied tints the foam assumed as it danced in the brilliant light, when suddenly, a short distance away, I saw a skiff. Now, I can swear that a moment before the Fjord was absolutely deserted, except for our own vessel and a solitary fishing-boat over by the distant mountains. Whence, then, came the skiff?

“As I watched it drew swiftly nearer, and I saw that it was occupied by a girl. She was quite alone, standing erect in the boat, her hands loosely clasped before her. The skiff moved rapidly towards me, though the girl had no oar, and did not appear, so far as I could see, to make any movement which would account for its progress. How it advanced, therefore, was as much a mystery as it coming.

“These questions, however, faded into insignificance beside the amazing beauty of the girl. I have seen many beautiful women, but never so lovely a face.

“Its colouring was fresh and delicate. The skin was tinged with a dainty rose-flush. The mouth was small; the eyes large and blue, their half-shy, half-tender, wholly trusting glance making them dangerously fascinating. But her hair was her crowning glory. It fell around her in rich, wavy masses, completely enveloping the upper part of her form. The colour of molten gold, it flamed about her like some gorgeous aureole as the waning sunlight kissed it.

“Clad in white from head to foot, her simple robe was exquisitely broidered, and was confined at her waist by a curiously wrought silver girdle. The skiff in which she stood was of ancient shape and very small.

“Such was the vision. To say that I was astonished is but feebly to express my feelings. Whither the girl and boat had come was beyond my power to fathom.

“As she approached I obtained a clearer view of her, but the nearer she came the more beautiful she seemed. It was the type of face for love of which men commit crimes; the dangerous beauty of a Circe; the witching countenance of a Siren.

“Soon she drew abreast of our vessel, but as she came within a stone's throw the skiff turned aside and shot away towards the mountains. As it receded I strained my eyes in my eagerness to catch the last glimpse of that lovely form. When some little distance away she turned her head and smiled at me; and, smiling, I think she looked more beautiful than before. Then, as I watched, though I am not conscious of having removed my eyes for a moment, she vanished. It was most mysterious.”

“A very curious occurrence altogether, Amyn. You are quite sure, old fellow, that you were not enjoying an afternoon siesta?” laughingly remarked the Doctor.

“Spare me your chaff, if you please, Doctor. I was most certainly not asleep, though I was almost tempted to think I was the victim of a waking dream.”

“I think I can give Mr. Amyn some explanation of the phenomenon,” interjected the Captain.

Every man settled himself to listen. Amyn's story had evidently excited their imaginations.

“First of all, are you superstitious?”

“Not the least,” replied Amyn, somewhat surprised.

“I only ask because if you are, what I am about to say may affect your nerves and considerably startle you. In short, are you a believer in omens or presentiments?”

“No, Captain, I'm not,” answered Amyn, emphatically.

“Good. Then I'll tell you as briefly as possible the story of the ‘Spirit of the Fjord.' ”

Clearing his throat, and flicking the ash from his cigar, the Captain related the following legend:—

“Many years ago there stood on the brow of a cliff over yonder,” pointing to the distant mountains, “a Castle. It was strongly fortified, and occupied a position practically impregnable.

“It was the home of a warrior Norseman, of whose life-history the legend does not speak. He does not seem to have been of the slightest importance to the story.

“He had a beautiful wife, but unfortunately, up to a certain point in their lives, children had been denied them. Sorely troubled, the woman prayed to the Norwegian Fates to give her a child. Pitying her, they promised that she should have a daughter. In process of time the child was born, and the mother's heart rejoiced.

“Norwa grew and throve as the years passed, ever increasing in beauty. Gradually, however, the mother forgot the kindness of the Norns. Her heart grew arrogant because of the loveliness which had been entrusted to her, till at last her pride became so great that it burst all bounds. She openly boasted to her kinsfolk concerning the exceeding beauty of her child, asserting that nothing could surpass it. In extravagant language she eulogized it, saying that to her, and to her only, had been born one so lovely. The Fates grew angry at the vain-glorious boasting of the woman, and one night, as she slept, they appeared to her in a dream to upbraid her for her folly.

“In fear, the mother prayed to be forgiven. Willingly the Norns extended their forgiveness, but as the penalty of her boasting they decreed that henceforth the child's beauty should be accursed and the death of many. Humbly the mother pleaded, but they would not relent, and as the morning broke they left her weeping.

“Years passed. Norwa's beauty increased exceedingly, till the fame of it spread throughout the length and breadth of Norway. From far and near came knights and warriors eager to win her hand. The mother's heart was heavy as she saw these things, for the words of the Fates echoed continually in her memory.

“Men of noble blood, of mighty deeds—the greatest the land could boast—sought Norwa's love. But the girl's heart seemed formed of ice. She laughed at their words, sending them away sorrowing or gnashing their teeth at the bitterness of her speech. Then came the fulfilment of the curse the Norns had laid upon her. Of all those who came, confident of success, few were heard of more. Many vanished as though the earth had opened and swallowed them. Others were found dead on the path leading to the Castle gate, a look of nameless terror on their faces. Others, missing their way in the darkness, fell over the precipice and were either drowned in the sea or dashed to pieces on the rocks below.

“Awesome tales began to be whispered concerning these things, and Frelda, Norwa's mother, sorrowed over the terrible thing her folly had brought to pass. As for the beautiful Norwa, she did but laugh, singing softly to herself as she stood by the edge of the cliff looking out over the sea. What were the lives of men to her? Of their own free will they sought her. If her beauty slew them, what mattered it?

“So time passed, till the Castle of Geiranger came to be regarded as a haunted place, and dark stories were recounted concerning Norwa, Maiden of the Ice Heart.

“Then came a noble knight. His manner was winsome, his words pleasing. He had come, he said, to woo and win the lady Norwa, and for many days he sojourned at the Castle.

“At this time, Frelda, Norwa's mother, wearied by much sorrow, died, and was buried by the edge of the cliff, in sight of the great Fjord, whose constant murmur sighed plaintively above her grave.

“At last the knight told his love to Norwa. With a radiant smile she listened to his impassioned words. As he ceased, she laughed in his face, a silvery, rippling laugh which maddened him. Fiercely he demanded if she loved him. Gaily the maiden answered “Nay,” and laughed again.

“In silence he turned on his heel and left her. His face was not good to see. He strode to the brow of the precipice, and descending a steep and dangerous path reached the shore. There he entered a boat and rowed out over the waters of the Fjord.

“Dark clouds gathered, lightning flashed, thunder rolled; great waves rose and threatened to engulf the slender craft in which he rode.

“Seeing from the Castle battlements the peril her knight endured, love came into the Ice Heart of the maiden. With a wild cry she dashed down the path to the shore and, entering her own tiny skiff, followed her lover out into the storm. Nearer, nearer she approached, till at last, when only a few boat-lengths separated them, a huge wave swept over his craft and he sank from sight. A blinding flash of lightning split the heavens; a deafening crash of thunder rent the air; darkness covered the sea. Again the lightning blazed forth. The maiden and her craft had also vanished. Afar on the cliff the Castle, struck by the electric fluid, was burning fiercely.

“Such gentlemen, is the legend of the ‘Spirit of the Fjord.' It is a typical Norwegian myth, but at the same time one little known. Now comes the most extraordinary part of the story. The spirit of Norwa is still supposed to haunt the Fjords, and so the legend runs, whoever sees her dies suddenly within a short time. Now, I hope what I have just said does not make you feel uneasy.”

“Not the least,” answered Amyn, nonchalantly, “it would require considerably more than an old legend of that description to affect me. Nevertheless, it is all very interesting. I am infinitely obliged to you. Of course I presume, after what I have just heard, that I have actually seen Norwa, ‘Spirit of the Fjord.' ”

“Don't you think, Captain, that it is most ludicrous to hear members of the civilization of the twentieth century gravely discussing the ghosts of people who lived so long ago?” asked one of the men present.

“It certainly does,” replied the Captain, “but I am a superstitious man, and must confess, though you may laugh, that I fully believe Amyn has seen the ‘Spirit of the Fjord.' ”

Silence fell on the group as the Captain ceased speaking. Presently he remarked:—

“I don't wish to appear a ‘croaker,' or in any way to alarm you, but I happen to have had aboard the
Valda
three other passengers who have, at various times and under similar circumstances to those Mr. Amyn has just described, seen the ‘Spirit of the Fjord.' One, going ashore, fell between the companion-ladder and the launch. Striking his head violently, he became unconscious, and never came to the surface again. The second was thrown from a
stolkjaerre
over a precipice and instantly killed. The third died suddenly in the smoking-room whilst playing cards. Of course, these may simply have been startling coincidences, but to a superstitious man like myself they appeal strongly.”

“It is, indeed, strange,” commented Amyn, “that such things should have happened at such times, but after all, one often hears of similar coincidences. You will pardon me saying so, but personally, I attach no importance whatever to facts like these.”

The Captain's other listeners seemed far more impressed than Amyn.

Two days afterwards a fellow-passenger was pacing the deck with him. The two men were smoking and chatting confidentially.