Complete Works of Bram Stoker (388 page)

The fear and restraint which brooded amongst the denizens of the air began to affect all life.  Not only did the birds cease song or chirp, but the lowing of the cattle ceased in the fields and the varied sounds of life died away.  In place of these things was only a soundless gloom, more dreadful, more disheartening, more soul-killing than any concourse of sounds, no matter how full of fear and dread.  Pious individuals put up constant prayers for relief from the intolerable solitude.  After a little there were signs of universal depression which those who ran might read.  One and all, the faces of men and women seemed bereft of vitality, of interest, of thought, and, most of all, of hope.  Men seemed to have lost the power of expression of their thoughts.  The soundless air seemed to have the same effect as the universal darkness when men gnawed their tongues with pain.

From this infliction of silence there was no relief.  Everything was affected; gloom was the predominant note.  Joy appeared to have passed away as a factor of life, and this creative impulse had nothing to take its place.  That giant spot in high air was a plague of evil influence.  It seemed like a new misanthropic belief which had fallen on human beings, carrying with it the negation of all hope.

After a few days, men began to grow desperate; their very words as well as their senses seemed to be in chains.  Edgar Caswall again tortured his brain to find any antidote or palliative of this greater evil than before.  He would gladly have destroyed the kite, or caused its flying to cease; but the instant it was pulled down, the birds rose up in even greater numbers; all those who depended in any way on agriculture sent pitiful protests to Castra Regis.

It was strange indeed what influence that weird kite seemed to exercise.  Even human beings were affected by it, as if both it and they were realities.  As for the people at Mercy Farm, it was like a taste of actual death.  Lilla felt it most.  If she had been indeed a real dove, with a real kite hanging over her in the air, she could not have been more frightened or more affected by the terror this created.

Of course, some of those already drawn into the vortex noticed the effect on individuals.  Those who were interested took care to compare their information.  Strangely enough, as it seemed to the others, the person who took the ghastly silence least to heart was the negro.  By nature he was not sensitive to, or afflicted by, nerves.  This alone would not have produced the seeming indifference, so they set their minds to discover the real cause.  Adam came quickly to the conclusion that there was for him some compensation that the others did not share; and he soon believed that that compensation was in one form or another the enjoyment of the sufferings of others.  Thus the black had a never-failing source of amusement.

Lady Arabella’s cold nature rendered her immune to anything in the way of pain or trouble concerning others.  Edgar Caswall was far too haughty a person, and too stern of nature, to concern himself about poor or helpless people, much less the lower order of mere animals.  Mr. Watford, Mr. Salton, and Sir Nathaniel were all concerned in the issue, partly from kindness of heart  —  for none of them could see suffering, even of wild birds, unmoved  —  and partly on account of their property, which had to be protected, or ruin would stare them in the face before long.

Lilla suffered acutely.  As time went on, her face became pinched, and her eyes dull with watching and crying.  Mimi suffered too on account of her cousin’s suffering.  But as she could do nothing, she resolutely made up her mind to self-restraint and patience.  Adam’s frequent visits comforted her.

CHAPTER XI  —  MESMER’S CHEST

After a couple of weeks had passed, the kite seemed to give Edgar Caswall a new zest for life.  He was never tired of looking at its movements.  He had a comfortable armchair put out on the tower, wherein he sat sometimes all day long, watching as though the kite was a new toy and he a child lately come into possession of it.  He did not seem to have lost interest in Lilla, for he still paid an occasional visit at Mercy Farm.

Indeed, his feeling towards her, whatever it had been at first, had now so far changed that it had become a distinct affection of a purely animal kind.  Indeed, it seemed as though the man’s nature had become corrupted, and that all the baser and more selfish and more reckless qualities had become more conspicuous.  There was not so much sternness apparent in his nature, because there was less self-restraint.  Determination had become indifference.

The visible change in Edgar was that he grew morbid, sad, silent; the neighbours thought he was going mad.  He became absorbed in the kite, and watched it not only by day, but often all night long.  It became an obsession to him.

Caswall took a personal interest in the keeping of the great kite flying.  He had a vast coil of cord efficient for the purpose, which worked on a roller fixed on the parapet of the tower.  There was a winch for the pulling in of the slack; the outgoing line being controlled by a racket.  There was invariably one man at least, day and night, on the tower to attend to it.  At such an elevation there was always a strong wind, and at times the kite rose to an enormous height, as well as travelling for great distances laterally.  In fact, the kite became, in a short time, one of the curiosities of Castra Regis and all around it.  Edgar began to attribute to it, in his own mind, almost human qualities.  It became to him a separate entity, with a mind and a soul of its own.  Being idle-handed all day, he began to apply to what he considered the service of the kite some of his spare time, and found a new pleasure  —  a new object in life  —  in the old schoolboy game of sending up “runners” to the kite.  The way this is done is to get round pieces of paper so cut that there is a hole in the centre, through which the string of the kite passes.  The natural action of the wind-pressure takes the paper along the string, and so up to the kite itself, no matter how high or how far it may have gone.

In the early days of this amusement Edgar Caswall spent hours.  Hundreds of such messengers flew along the string, until soon he bethought him of writing messages on these papers so that he could make known his ideas to the kite.  It may be that his brain gave way under the opportunities given by his illusion of the entity of the toy and its power of separate thought.  From sending messages he came to making direct speech to the kite  —  without, however, ceasing to send the runners.  Doubtless, the height of the tower, seated as it was on the hill-top, the rushing of the ceaseless wind, the hypnotic effect of the lofty altitude of the speck in the sky at which he gazed, and the rushing of the paper messengers up the string till sight of them was lost in distance, all helped to further affect his brain, undoubtedly giving way under the strain of beliefs and circumstances which were at once stimulating to the imagination, occupative of his mind, and absorbing.

The next step of intellectual decline was to bring to bear on the main idea of the conscious identity of the kite all sorts of subjects which had imaginative force or tendency of their own.  He had, in Castra Regis, a large collection of curious and interesting things formed in the past by his forebears, of similar tastes to his own.  There were all sorts of strange anthropological specimens, both old and new, which had been collected through various travels in strange places: ancient Egyptian relics from tombs and mummies; curios from Australia, New Zealand, and the South Seas; idols and images  —  from Tartar ikons to ancient Egyptian, Persian, and Indian objects of worship; objects of death and torture of American Indians; and, above all, a vast collection of lethal weapons of every kind and from every place  —  Chinese “high pinders,” double knives, Afghan double-edged scimitars made to cut a body in two, heavy knives from all the Eastern countries, ghost daggers from Thibet, the terrible kukri of the Ghourka and other hill tribes of India, assassins’ weapons from Italy and Spain, even the knife which was formerly carried by the slave-drivers of the Mississippi region.  Death and pain of every kind were fully represented in that gruesome collection.

That it had a fascination for Oolanga goes without saying.  He was never tired of visiting the museum in the tower, and spent endless hours in inspecting the exhibits, till he was thoroughly familiar with every detail of all of them.  He asked permission to clean and polish and sharpen them  —  a favour which was readily granted.  In addition to the above objects, there were many things of a kind to awaken human fear.  Stuffed serpents of the most objectionable and horrid kind; giant insects from the tropics, fearsome in every detail; fishes and crustaceans covered with weird spikes; dried octopuses of great size.  Other things, too, there were, not less deadly though seemingly innocuous  —  dried fungi, traps intended for birds, beasts, fishes, reptiles, and insects; machines which could produce pain of any kind and degree, and the only mercy of which was the power of producing speedy death.

Caswall, who had never before seen any of these things, except those which he had collected himself, found a constant amusement and interest in them.  He studied them, their uses, their mechanism  —  where there was such  —  and their places of origin, until he had an ample and real knowledge of all concerning them.  Many were secret and intricate, but he never rested till he found out all the secrets.  When once he had become interested in strange objects, and the way to use them, he began to explore various likely places for similar finds.  He began to inquire of his household where strange lumber was kept.  Several of the men spoke of old Simon Chester as one who knew everything in and about the house.  Accordingly, he sent for the old man, who came at once.  He was very old, nearly ninety years of age, and very infirm.  He had been born in the Castle, and had served its succession of masters  —  present or absent  —  ever since.  When Edgar began to question him on the subject regarding which he had sent for him, old Simon exhibited much perturbation.  In fact, he became so frightened that his master, fully believing that he was concealing something, ordered him to tell at once what remained unseen, and where it was hidden away.  Face to face with discovery of his secret, the old man, in a pitiable state of concern, spoke out even more fully than Mr. Caswall had expected.

“Indeed, indeed, sir, everything is here in the tower that has ever been put away in my time except  —  except  —  ” here he began to shake and tremble it  —  “except the chest which Mr. Edgar  —  he who was Mr. Edgar when I first took service  —  brought back from France, after he had been with Dr. Mesmer.  The trunk has been kept in my room for safety; but I shall send it down here now.”

“What is in it?” asked Edgar sharply.

“That I do not know.  Moreover, it is a peculiar trunk, without any visible means of opening.”

“Is there no lock?”

“I suppose so, sir; but I do not know.  There is no keyhole.”

“Send it here; and then come to me yourself.”

The trunk, a heavy one with steel bands round it, but no lock or keyhole, was carried in by two men.  Shortly afterwards old Simon attended his master.  When he came into the room, Mr. Caswall himself went and closed the door; then he asked:

“How do you open it?”

“I do not know, sir.”

“Do you mean to say that you never opened it?”

“Most certainly I say so, your honour.  How could I?  It was entrusted to me with the other things by my master.  To open it would have been a breach of trust.”

Caswall sneered.

“Quite remarkable!  Leave it with me.  Close the door behind you.  Stay  —  did no one ever tell you about it  —  say anything regarding it  —  make any remark?”

Old Simon turned pale, and put his trembling hands together.

“Oh, sir, I entreat you not to touch it.  That trunk probably contains secrets which Dr. Mesmer told my master.  Told them to his ruin!”

“How do you mean?  What ruin?”

“Sir, he it was who, men said, sold his soul to the Evil One; I had thought that that time and the evil of it had all passed away.”

“That will do.  Go away; but remain in your own room, or within call.  I may want you.”

The old man bowed deeply and went out trembling, but without speaking a word.

CHAPTER XII  —  THE CHEST OPENED

Left alone in the turret-room, Edgar Caswall carefully locked the door and hung a handkerchief over the keyhole.  Next, he inspected the windows, and saw that they were not overlooked from any angle of the main building.  Then he carefully examined the trunk, going over it with a magnifying glass.  He found it intact: the steel bands were flawless; the whole trunk was compact.  After sitting opposite to it for some time, and the shades of evening beginning to melt into darkness, he gave up the task and went to his bedroom, after locking the door of the turret-room behind him and taking away the key.

He woke in the morning at daylight, and resumed his patient but unavailing study of the metal trunk.  This he continued during the whole day with the same result  —  humiliating disappointment, which overwrought his nerves and made his head ache.  The result of the long strain was seen later in the afternoon, when he sat locked within the turret-room before the still baffling trunk, distrait, listless and yet agitated, sunk in a settled gloom.  As the dusk was falling he told the steward to send him two men, strong ones.  These he ordered to take the trunk to his bedroom.  In that room he then sat on into the night, without pausing even to take any food.  His mind was in a whirl, a fever of excitement.  The result was that when, late in the night, he locked himself in his room his brain was full of odd fancies; he was on the high road to mental disturbance.  He lay down on his bed in the dark, still brooding over the mystery of the closed trunk.

Gradually he yielded to the influences of silence and darkness.  After lying there quietly for some time, his mind became active again.  But this time there were round him no disturbing influences; his brain was active and able to work freely and to deal with memory.  A thousand forgotten  —  or only half-known  —  incidents, fragments of conversations or theories long ago guessed at and long forgotten, crowded on his mind.  He seemed to hear again around him the legions of whirring wings to which he had been so lately accustomed.  Even to himself he knew that that was an effort of imagination founded on imperfect memory.  But he was content that imagination should work, for out of it might come some solution of the mystery which surrounded him.  And in this frame of mind, sleep made another and more successful essay.  This time he enjoyed peaceful slumber, restful alike to his wearied body and his overwrought brain.