The Restless Dead (1 of 2)

The Living Age, January 21, 1893, where it was taken from Blackwood's Magazine
..

THE RESTLESS DEAD.

"Ay! though lie's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh,
The world shall see his bones."
HOOD: The Dream of Eugene Aram.

[Five years before the date of this story, George Woodfall, a wealthy and
respected citizen of Sydney, beloved by all classes for his uprightness and
benevolence, suddenly vanished, leaving not the faintest trace his
disappearance caused the most profound sensation, and as his affairs were found
to be in perfect order, foul play was for a time suspected. No clue, however,
was forthcoming, and after two years a monument was raised to the man who had
earned the right to be called a public benefactor.]

My name is Power -- the Rev. Charles Power. I am the incumbent of the
parish church of St. Chrysostom, Redfern, Sydney; and, though a clergyman, I
have never so far been led to suspect myself of being in any way a weakling, or
given over to vain imaginings. I am forty years of age, and unmarried. My life
has been uniformly practical, and I cannot remember to have ever been the prey
of any morbid sentiment whatever. Hitherto I have utterly disbelieved in
apparitions of any description, regarding them as illusions presented to a
temporarily, though slightly, disordered brain; and I am free to confess that,
had I alone been the witness of the apparition herein described, I should have
felt bound to set aside my own impressions as unworthy of serious attention, on
the grounds already stated, nor should I have further investigated the matter;
and thus what is now known might never have come to light, and, for all we
know, rest and peace might have been denied to a long-tortured soul. Thus much
of myself.
Of my friend, William Rowley, I may say that he is of like mind unto
myself; that as a scientist -- famous throughout the world as the man who
planned and carried out the canal system of New South Wales -- his education
has not been such as to render him fanciful, even did his natural instincts
turn in that direction, which they do not. In a word, he is a hard-headed,
shrewd, and utterly unimaginative man. One thing must be stated at the outset.
Tje exact locality in which the events here recorded came to pass we have
concealed, fearing lest some too curious hand might disturb that lonely grave
among the mountains, where lies all that remains of a man who, if he sinned,
surely also suffered.

With what amazed horror the inhabitants of the city of Sydney will learn
the fate of George Woodfall we can well imagine. When a man respected and
beloved among us for twenty years departed suddenly from our midst, the whole
community mourned for him as for a father. And now, when the veil is rent, and
he whom we believed a saint stands revealed the opposite of all we once
conceived him to be, amazement is only natural. But, lest that feeling should
change in the minds of some to that of scorn, I would say by virtue of my
priestly office, "Judge him not; for you know not how he was tempted. Judge
him not, till you have been tempted even as he was; and then, if you resist,
still judge him not, because of the awfulness of his doom." The actual
narrative of our experiences I shall leave to William Rowley, whose powers of
description, as I find on comparing our two separately compiled statements,
considerably surpass my own.
* * * * * * * * * * *
In the month of September last year, my friend Power and I were shaking
the cobwebs from our brains, and enjoying a short holiday among the mountains
of the Great Dividing Range. I shall not, as Power says, indicate more nearly
the precise locality to any but those who may have a personal or public right
to the information. We had been out about a fortnight and Power, who is an
enthusiastic botanist, had already made several new discoveries among the
Australian flora, while I, gun in hand, contented myself with bringing down
that particular section of the fauna most directly concerned with our breakfast
and dinner. One evening -- it was the 20th -- the date is indelibly engraved on
my memory -- when we were in the very heart of the lofty ranges, we began to
cast about for a spot where we could camp for the night. Not far away we could
hear the thunder of a waterfall, and judging that we should find what we wanted
somewhere in its vicinity, we pressed on, descending deeper and deeper into a
long gully, the sides of which were thickly covered with tall trees and tangled
undergrowth. On reaching the bottom, we walked forward till we came upon a
pretty glade, formed by clumps of tall fern-trees, or rather tree-ferns,
fringing a deep pool, which was formed, in part at least, by the water which
poured incessantly from the heights, and which constituted the head of a small
creek, which flowed away, and was soon lost to sight among the dense foliage
through which it forced its way.
This was the very spot for us, and during our supper we found leisure to
observe the formation of the waterfall, exactly opposite to which we reclined.
It was very curious. From the top of the cliff the water, projected by some
force the nature of which we could not divine, sprang sheer out from the brink
of the precipice, and descending in a mighty and unbroken arc, poured with a
never-ceasing roar upon a great ledge of rock which jutted out some forty feet
below. Here after being collected, as it were, in a vast reservoir, it
continuously overflowed, and rushed down the black face of the rock in a
torrent of silver foam.
Scarcely had we finished our supper, and piling a few logs on the fire,
lit our pipes for a yarn, when, quite suddenly, as it seemed, the clear, starry
sky became overcast; a violent gust of wind rushed shrieking through the gully,
scattering our fire in all directions, ceased, and for a few moments all was
still. Then drip, drip, fell splashing a few heavy drops of rain, and, almost
before we could reach the shelter of the nearest clump of ferns, a tremendous
storm burst upon us with a fury which, notwithstanding my long experience of
tropical storms, I do not remember to have ever seen surpassed. The wind,
truly, had died away, but the thunder rolled and crashed and reverberated in a
perfectly awful manner, till it seemed as if, from the bowels of the mountains,
a number of giant Stentors were roaring in concert for their liberty. All the
time, writhing and coiling and darting with forked tongues about the topmost
summits, gleamed the electric fires, like a multitude of blazing serpents let
loose upon the blackness of the night.
From the shelter, such as it was, where we crouched, Power and I watched
the progress of the storm. So pitchy dark had it grown that, though touching,
we could not see one another, and though we heard its never-ceasing rush, even
above the fury of the storm, the great white mass of falling water immediately
in front of us had become invisible.
Suddenly a levin-streak flashed out of the gloom, struck, for one instant,
the face of the cliff with a broad blaze of light, then vanished, leaving all
once more in darkness. No, not all, for through the intense blackness there
arose, just in the position of the watery arc, a soft and luminous mist. Faint
and shadowy at first, it rapidly increased in density, becoming clearer to the
sight, till at length it hung, as it were, a great white pall, suspended
between heaven and earth. Crash! and another stunning, thunder-roll shook the
air, while again the forked flame darted its fiery shaft upon the face of the
cliff. Then darkness once more, save for the misty veil, now no longer white,
but suffused with a pale-pink glow, delicate and fleeting as the first faint
flush of dawn. Swiftly it deepened to an exquisite tint, while the thousands
upon thousands of rosy drops were flung hither and thither as the spray from
the ledge was splashed and dashed in all directions.
But, beautiful as this was, scant time was left us to admire it. Another
crash; another flash; a roaring, rumbling noise, as if an earthquake was upon
us, and once again the scene was changed. There was one brief interval of
perfect stillness; and then, in an instant, the pink glow went out. Darkness
while one might draw breath; and then- a blood-red glare, so intense, so lurid,
so absolute, that it required but little imagination to suppose a huge torrent
of blood descending on us where we sat. Out curved the great arc in a vast
sheet of crimson, and down the black face of the cliff poured the red stream in
all manner of fantastic shapes. But now the light was not confined to the water
alone, for the whole mountain glared and glowed as if wrapped in bloody flame,
and the giant trees, uprearing hundreds of feet, seemed to reel in desperate
conflict with a thousand encircling tongues of fire, which, leaping to the
topmost crag of the mountain, touched all the black boulders and massive rocks
in its course, till they glowed like red-hot iron. Then, as suddenly as it had
come, the glorious display vanished, and the thick pall of darkness settled
once more upon everything.
Hitherto we had watched what I supposed to be a series of unique and
exceptionally beautiful atmospheric effects in silence, too absorbed in the
exquisite loveliness and grandeur of what we saw for speech. But now I turned
to Power, with a light remark about our good fortune in having encountered a
phenomenon I could not remember to have seen described. As I spoke, I felt him
grasp my arm convulsively.
"My God!" he said, in a voice so unlike his own I scarcely knew it, "what
is that?"
"What?" I exclaimed, rather startled, I must confess, by the tone in which
he spoke. He did not answer, but his grasp tightened on my arm. I looked in
the direction of the waterfall. Heavens! what was it? Out of the murky gloom,
high up in the midst of the arc of water, appeared a human hand. A dead hand;
long and lean, with the blue, decaying flesh shrivelling on the fingers. And,
as it waved and beckoned, another hand, withered and gruesome like itself, grew
before our eyes, and the long, thin fingers twined themselves together as if in
supplication. Struggling, as it were, into material shape, followed the arms
and then, as I sat, my mouth agape with horror, and every nerve tingling with
keenest anticipation, there, in ghastly completeness, stood a man. But what a
man! A man who had been dead for years; a man on whose bones the flesh had
shrunk and dried, and in some parts rotted off; a man, and yet not a man; a
skeleton, and yet not a skeleton; a horrid corpse, endowed with life, or at
least with the semblance of life. And now the great blaze of crimson light
burst forth again, and all over the horrid figure, and about it, and around it,
seemed to flow streams of blood. Oh, how the awful thing writhed and rocked in
what seemed to be a deadly paroxysm of anguish! Now standing erect, and
flinging its weird arms above its head, as though invoking curses; now falling
on its withered knees in an agony of terror. I could bear no more, and hid my
face in my hands. When I looked again the apparition had vanished. "Power," I
said falteringly. There was no answer, he had fainted.
When he came to himself, the moon was again shining high in the heavens,
there was no trace of the recent storm, and the great cataract thundered on its
everlasting descent, a broad and gleaming sheet of silver, as though nothing
had ever happened to disturb it. Power stretched himself, rubbed his eyes, and
then sat up and looked about him in a bewildered way. At last he spoke.
"Rowley," he began hesitatingly, "I have had a very curious dream. I--"
I thought it best to cut him short. "It was no dream, Power," I said; "for
I saw it too."
He looked at me for a moment incredulously, then covered his face with his
hands.
"You saw it too!" he gasped. "Then, my God! what can it mean?"
Power, however, is a cool and remarkably self-possessed man, and before
very long his nerves recovered their accustomed balance, and he spoke to me
again.
"Of one thing I am firmly convinced," he said in his most impressive
tones, "so fearful and terrifying a spectacle would never have been permitted
to appear to us without some deep and significant reason. What do you suppose
it to be?"
"Really," I answered, "I have no idea, and I prefer not to imagine. We
must go up there, and endeavor to find out."
"My own thought," he said, rising to his feet. "Come."
"What, now!" I cried in astonishment. "Surely you will wait till morning.
There is nothing to be gained by such haste; there is nothing to be lost by so
slight a delay."
"That may or may not be," he replied firmly. "All I know is, I am going to
try to get behind that veil of water to-night. Could you sleep," he added, with
a faint smile, "while there is a possibility of that ghastly thing appearing to
us again? I could not."
"There is not much chance of that," I said regretfully. "To tell you the
truth, Power, I rather wish it would, for then we might arrive at some
scientific explanation of it. I was so taken by surprise when the gentleman
made his first appearance, that I -- "
"Rowley," he interrupted, "do not jest. We do not agree on all points, and
your belief in the unseen is, I regret to say, much weaker than I would have
it. But here, in the present instance, we have both of us objective evidence of
the most startling and convincing kind. My friend, believe me, there is a
meaning in all this, and it is our plain and bounden duty to discover it if we
can. Let us go now, while we have the moon to light us. Come!"
"All right," I said. "Go ahead!" And so we began the ascent together.
There is no need to set down all the details of that weary climb. It was
about half past nine when we began it, and eleven when we reached the level of
the ledge of rock on which the arc of water broke. A yawning chasm lay between
us and it, looking across which we could see a dry wall of rock receding away
from the water, and leaving a wide passage, along which we could see from one
end to the other.
"That looks like a cave of some sort," said Power. "Can't we reach it? "
"Not without jumping that chasm," I replied, "a feat I for one am not
going to attempt. Let us see what can be done from the top."
It took us another hour to reach the summit, and once there we seemed no
better off than before, for the water flung itself with a furious rush over the
brow of the cliff, while on each side the sheer face of the precipice precluded
any idea of descending that way.
"There must be an entrance somewhere," I said; "I am convinced of that.
Let us set to work and find it."
I then cut down a stout young sapling, and began to lay about me with a
will.
"What ever are you doing?" cried Power.
"Knocking down the brushwood and trying to find the entrance to that cave,
if there be one."
"Nonsense, man! if there were a hole you would have fallen through it long
ago. Depend upon it, if there be any entrance at all from above, it is much
farther away than this." And with that Power turned his back on me, and
disappeared among the trees and rocks which covered the summit.
Presently I heard him coo-ee. I answered him, and following the direction
of his voice, found him less than a hundred yards away, and almost in a
straight line from where we had been standing.
"Well," I said, "have you found anything?"
"Yes," he answered; "but I don't know how much it means." And he pointed
to a blaze on a fallen iron-bark tree, by which he stood, under which a broad
arrow pointed directly downwards.
"A government surveyor's mark, probably," I said. "However, we'll see."
And once again I set to work, beating down the brushwood with my sapling. It
took some time to clear away the bushes that had grown up under and over the
mighty arch of the fallen tree, but at last it was done, and, stooping down, I
began a thorough examination of the place. Beginning at one end of the tree I
went carefully towards the other, thrusting my pole in all directions as I
proceeded. When I had covered about two-thirds of the distance, a sharp
exclamation escaped me.
"Give me the lantern!" I cried.
"What is it!" said Power, his voice trembling with excitement, as he
hastily unslung and handed me a small bull's-eye lantern which he carried, and
for which, on account of the excessive brilliance of the moon, we had hitherto
found no use.
"I'll tell you when I know myself," I replied; and taking the lantern I
flashed the light into the month of a great hole my attack on the shrubs had
laid bare, Power leaning over me and trying to peer into the gloomy depths.
"That is the way down," he said.
"Not a doubt of it," I returned. "Come along."
He started back. "You're never going down there!" he gasped.
"I am though," I answered. "I am going to see this thing through, now that
we've got so far. Come, you don't mean to let me go down alone?"
"Of course not; of course not," replied Power, pulling himself together.
"But how are you going to get down? You don't know the depth of the hole."
"No, but I'll soon find out," I answered. "Look here." All the time I had
been talking, I had also been clearing the undergrowth from the mouth of the
hole, and thrusting my pole down, to ascertain, if possible, its depth. This
latter I could not do, but, being struck with the fact that something hard
projected at regular intervals from one side of the shaft, I came to the
conclusion that the descent must have been accomplished by means of a series of
stakes driven at regular intervals into the earth. I verified this by leaning
over the hole and thrusting my arm down to its full length, when my knuckles
came into violent contact with the first rung of the ladder, if it may be
called so. This I pointed out to Power.
"Ha!" he said, drawing a long breath. "Well, what are you going to do
now?"
For answer, I laid my sapling across the mouth of the hole, and swinging
myself into it, found, as I expected, that my feet rested on a second support
about half my own length lower down. Another step, another and another, and my
feet touched ground again so suddenly that I fell in a heap, with an
involuntary shout.
"Are you all right, Will ?" said Power in anxious tones from the top.
"Yes; at least I think so. But pass the light down, there's a good fellow
this darkness is horrible."
Power tied his handkerchief to the strap of the lantern, and lowered it
down to me, joining me himself a moment after.
"We're in for it now, Will," he said.
"Yes," I replied ; "we'll not go back now. But I must have that sapling;
it may be useful." And swinging myself up once more, I drew in the long staff,
and planting it on the ground below, sprang again to Power's side.
He flashed the light hither and thither, and by its aid we could see that
we stood at the beginning, or end, of a long and fairly broad passage, the
extent of which, of course, we could not guess.
"Listen!" said Power suddenly. "What's that?"
I am not a very nervous man, but Power's way of uttering these startled
ejaculations was somewhat trying under the circumstances, and so I told him.
"But I did hear something, Will," he said apologetically.
"Of course you did," I returned. "But it was only the waterfall." This was
true. Before us we could hear the thunder of the water, but between us and that
lay we knew not what. I was in advance with the lantern at this point, and it
suddenly struck me that something ought to be done to brace up Power's nerves,
so I suggested leaving him behind and going on alone.
"How do you feel, Charles?" I asked him. "If you wait here, I'll go on by
myself.
This had the effect I had expected.
"Thank you," he replied, "I don't feel very comfortable, I admit, but
anything is better than being left here by myself; we can't see anything worse
than we've seen already. Go on!"
We went forward, cautiously examining our position at every step, till
presently we were brought to a standstill by what seemed to be a solid wall of
rock, which barred our further progress. The check, however, was merely
temporary, for we soon saw that what appeared to be a complete wall was merely
a partition between the passage in which we stood and another passage, or
perhaps cave, beyond. The communication was established by means of a natural
archway, large enough, and more, to admit a man crawling on his hands and
knees.
Power went through first, while I guided his movements as well as I could
with the lantern. Presently he uttered an exclamation.
"Are you through?" I cried, almost immediately behind him.
"Yes,'' he answered ; '' and I've found something, too."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I don't know exactly. It feels like a bundle of sticks tied together."
As soon as I had crawled through, the lantern settled the question. What
Power had found was a bundle of torches.
"By Jove!" I exclaimed, drawing one out; "this decides the point."
"What point?" asked Power.
"Why, that we are not the first to visit this mysterious place. But let us
light one of these, and we shall see better where we are."
The first few torches refused to light, being damp and mouldy with age;
but at last I drew two from the centre of the bundle, which proved better.
Lighting them, Power took one and I the other, and we held them high above our
heads. For a moment the sudden transition from gloom to intense light dazzled
us, but presently we grew used to the change, and then a wonderful sight met
our eyes. We stood in a vast cavern, one of nature's most gorgeous palaces. In
front of us rose the grandest array of stalactites and stalagmites I ever saw,
stretching away, column after column, in innumerable aisles, as it were the
nave of some mighty cathedral. Here and there isolated columns rose, looking
like saints wrapped in robes of white, and standing in pious meditation; while
in the dim distance the formation was such that it required no great stretch of
imagination to picture a crowd of kneeling worshippers before an altar. From
the roof, between the great pillars, depended the most exquisite tracery of
quartz, caught up in loops, falling in folds, tangled into filigree work, as
delicate as Mechlin lace, and all as pure as alabaster, and white as driven
snow. From prisms, here and there, the light from the torches was flashed back
in many colored waves, while at times an entire column seemed to burst into the
radiance of a hundred rainbows blended into one.
For some time we stood silent, oppressed and awed by the sight of so much
beauty. At last Power said in subdued and reverent accents, "I feel as if I
were in a temple of God's own building. How glorious are the works of the
Almighty! Rowley, I feel I must praise him." And he began in his rich, flexible
voice to intone the Gloria. "Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritni Sancto," he
sang, and stopped. We both stared at one another in amazement. As though an
angelic chorus took up the strain, the words were repeated all round and above
us in a multitude of echoes. Treble, alto, tenor, and bass, all the notes were
there, perfectly rendered, and so softly musical, that the sound was thrilling
in its sweetness. It was the most wonderful and astonishing thing I have ever
heard, and there was nothing human in it; the notes were too pure and the
harmony too perfect for that. And how enduring it seemed! There is a library at
Naples, from the cupola of which echo repeats a sound no less than thirty-two
distinct times. But here, for quite five minutes, rolled and swelled the
majestic chorus, "Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto," dying away,
finally, in a whisper of intense sweetness. Power sank on his knees and prayed
aloud in an ecstasy of adoration; I, less spiritual, and recognizing only
material causes (certainly of a very exceptional kind, but quite capable of a
scientific explanation), remained standing, and as his voice ceased, I intoned
a deep Amen, which the marvellous echo again took up and chanted to its close,
in every variety of tone, but always in the most perfect harmony.
"Well," said Power, rising to his feet, "we shall never hear anything more
miraculous than this. It is indeed a declaration of the glory of God. Do you
notice," he continued, "that the echoes are silent during ordinary
conversations?"
"Yes," I replied; "they evidently respond to musical notes of a certain
pitch. The vibrations of sound
"Oh, I know," interrupted Power. "You are going to explain it
scientifically. Don't. I know it can be done, but I'd rather you didn't do it
- at least, not just now. 0, Rowley!" he went on, his voice trembling,
"suppose, only suppose, that at some time or other a crime, a murder, had been
committed here. Can you imagine what the murderer's feelings would be when his
victim's death-cry re-echoed a thousand times in his ears?" And, unstrung by
emotion, he uttered a sort of shriek of nervous laughter. Instantly the air
seemed alive with mocking demons. Peals of weird merriment rang in our ears,
and as the unholy sounds at last died away, it was as if a band of fiends were
chuckling over their victim.
"Yes," I said, "I can understand now what his feelings would be, even if I
could not before; and I must beg of you, Power, to remember that we do not know
what is before us, and to refrain from any more of these nerve-shattering
performances of yours. We have faced danger together, and I know you are a
brave man. Pull yourself together."
He apologized again, and asked for my flask. "Upon my word I needed that,
" he said "I really did feel as if my nerves were going to pieces. However,
you may depend upon me; I'll not give way again." And he kept his word.
"Well," I said, "let us each take another torch in case of accidents, and
go on."
"In which direction?" queried Power.
"All are alike," I answered, "in so far as we do not know where they may
lead; but we have the noise of the waterfall to guide us -- let us make towards
it."
"Very good," said Power; and picking up some fresh torches, we went on.