VERMUDYN’S FATE.
A TALE OF HALLOWEEN.
IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I.
A little knot of miners were gathered round the fire in Pat Murphy’s drinking-saloon, situated in that delightful locality known to diggers as Rattlesnake Gulch. They were listening eagerly to the details of a story related by Gentleman Jack, a member of their fraternity who had recently visited San Francisco. He had gone there with the twofold object of having what was facetiously termed a ‘fling,’ just to relieve the monotony of existence, and also with the intention of exchanging the gold he had accumulated during the past six months for notes and coin. He had likewise in some mysterious way contrived to get rid of the burden of his wealth, and now returned almost penniless to the bosom of his friends; but this fact in nowise diminished the cheerfulness with which the wanderer greeted his mates, or disturbed the equanimity with which he recounted his adventures since their last meeting. He had just ended his narration with the account of a curious discovery of which he had heard the details that morning on his way back to the Gulch.
‘A mighty queer story, anyhow,’ observed Pat, alias ‘Flash’ Murphy, as he emptied his glass.
‘Mighty queer!’ repeated the chorus, following suit.
‘Spin out that yarn again, mate!’ demanded a gentleman who rejoiced in the sobriquet of Old Grizzly. This personage had only entered the ‘bar’ in time to catch the concluding words of the narrative. ‘Let’s have it, Jack!’ he repeated impatiently.
Thus invited or encouraged, the young man rejoined carelessly: ‘It was nothing much, only the finding of a man—all that was left of him at least—in a place they call the Devil’s Panniken, when they were blasting the rock for the new railroad between Sandy Bar and ’Frisco’——
‘I know the place—travelled that road years afore they ever thought of running cars through it,’ interposed Old Grizzly. ‘But what about the man?’
‘Well, that’s the queer part of the story; not that they found a man, but that they should have found him where they did, and with so much gold on him too,’ answered Gentleman Jack with his slow languid drawl.
‘Say!’ ejaculated Old Grizzly, who was listening with a curiously eager excited face to the indifferent, careless utterances of the younger man. ‘Cut it short, mate, and tell us how they found him.’
‘Well, they were blasting a big rock, and as it broke, it disclosed a cave right in the heart of the limestone; but there must once have been an entrance to it, for the skeleton of a man lay there. All his clothes had fallen to dust; but there was a ring on one finger, and about seventeen ounces of gold lay in a little heap under him. It had evidently been in his pockets once; but the bag that held it, and the skeleton’s clothing, were alike a heap of dry light dust. There was nothing to identify him, nothing to show how long he had been there. The very ring he wore was of such a queer outlandish fashion that the fellows who found him could make nothing of it.’
‘Was that all?’ demanded the elder man.
‘All that I can recollect.—Stay! I think he had a rusty knife somewhere near him, but nothing more. It’s a queer story altogether. How he got there, if he died in the cave, and by what means it was afterwards closed up—these are all mysteries.’
Old Grizzly smoked in silence for some time; and the miners had resumed the usual occupations of their idle hours, drinking, smoking, playing poker, and quarrelling, which amiable amusements had been momentarily suspended in order to welcome the return of the ‘Wanderer’ with due empressement, when suddenly the deep voice of Old Grizzly was heard above the babel of tongues, saying: ‘This story of Jack’s about the Devil’s Panniken and the man they found there puts me in mind of what befell me and a mate of mine when we were riding through that same place one October night hard upon twenty years ago. His Satanic Majesty had a hand in that job, if ever he had in anything.’
‘Spin us your yarn, old chap!’ shouted a dozen voices; and passing the word for a fresh supply of whisky, they gathered closer round the log-fire, filled their pipes, and prepared to listen with the keen interest of men who lead an isolated and monotonous life far from the stir and life of big cities, and are therefore ever ready and eager to hail the smallest incident with pleasure; while a good story-teller is regarded with universal respect. Rattlesnake Gulch was at that period a comparatively new Claim, on the very outskirts of civilisation, and news from the cities was long in reaching the denizens of this locality.
‘What I am now going to tell you, boys, has never crossed my lips from that day to this, and most likely never would, if I hadn’t chanced to come along just now as Jack was speaking about the body those navvies found in the Devil’s Panniken.’
Being politely requested by his hearers to ‘Shell it out!’ Old Grizzly continued: ‘Whether you believe what I’m going to say is no matter now. I believe it, though I can’t understand how it all came about. Well, as I said before, the time was hard on twenty years ago, and the night was the last in October.’
‘Bedad, and it’s that same night now!’ put in Murphy.
‘So it is!’ acquiesced Old Grizzly; ‘but I never thought of it till this minute; and now the whole thing comes round again on All-Halloween, of all nights in the year. Those of you boys who’ve been raised in the old country will know what folks believe, in most villages and country places, of Halloween, and the strange things that happen then to men abroad at midnight, and to lads and lasses who try the Halloween spells for wives and husbands.’
‘Sure everybody knows them things,’ agreed Murphy, casting an uneasy glance over his shoulder as he spoke.
‘Well, true or false, I for one thought little enough of them when I was young; but as luck or fate would have it, I rode through the Devil’s Panniken on the 31st of October, that special night I’m going to tell you of. I wasn’t alone either; perhaps, if I had been, I shouldn’t have felt so jolly; for, not to speak of the loneliness of the place, with its great black rocks towering up on either side of you, and almost shutting out the sky, except for a narrow strip overhead, the place had an ill name both with the Injuns and with miners. Many a queer tale was told round camp-fires, and folks said the place was haunted; that miners had lost their way there many a time, and had never been seen or heard of again.
‘I’d been working all that season at a Claim—a new un then, but worked out and forgotten now—which we used to call Cherokee Dick’s, because a Cherokee Injun first showed us the place. There was perhaps a dozen of us all told; but I chummed and worked from the first along with a chap they called the “Flying Dutchman.” When we had been together a goodish bit, he told me his real name was Cornelius Vermudyn; and I acquainted him with mine and where I hailed from. He was a Dutchman, sure enough, but had travelled half over the world, I used to think from his talk; and he could speak as good English as you or me—or any here.’
A dubious smile hovered for an instant on Gentleman Jack’s lips at this naïve statement, but nobody observed him; they were all intent on Old Grizzly and his yarn, and that worthy continued: ‘We began to find our Claim about cleaned out, and we—that’s me and Vermudyn—reckoned to make tracks before the winter, and get down ’Frisco-way. Well, we each had a good horse and a nice bit of gold, and we was sworn mates—come what might—so we started, riding as far as we could by day and camping out at night, if we weren’t able to reach a settlement or diggings by nightfall.
‘On this night, it seemed as if we’d no luck from the beginning. We lost our way for a goodish bit, and were some time finding the track again; after that, night seemed to come on us suddenly like. We’d rode and rode that day without ever a sign of man or beast, and when we came to this place, Vermudyn says: “This must be the famous Devil’s Panniken, old boy.” I had been almost falling asleep on my horse’s neck; but I woke with a start, and answered all in a hurry: “Of course it is.” It seemed somehow as if I knew that place well, and I began to ride on quickly.
“Stop!” hollered Vermudyn, “unless you want to lame your horse or break his knees among those rocks.” As he came up with me, he put his hand on my arm, and I drew rein.
“Anyhow,” I said, “let’s get out of this, and then we’ll camp for the night. I’m as tired as a dog, and can hardly stick in my saddle.”
“Why not camp here?” says Vermudyn with a laugh. “Who’s afraid?”
“I’m not—if that’s what you mean,” I answered; “but I’d rather camp outside.”
“A good two miles of bad riding,” said he quietly. “Why shouldn’t we content ourselves with a snug corner of the rocks, where we can shelter from the wind? As far as I can make out, there’s brush and litter enough for a fire, and we’ve got a bait for our horses.”
‘While he talked and argued, I grew more and more tired, exactly as if I had ridden a hundred miles without drawing rein. It seemed then as if I didn’t care what came next, so long as I could roll myself up in my blanket and snooze, so I answered short enough: “Have your own way. The place is ours, I reckon, as much as it is other folk’s.”
“The pixies and demons, you mean,” laughed Vermudyn. “I know all the miners’ tales! Never fear. I dare wager we shall see nothing worse than ourselves, if we stop for a month of Sundays.—Did you ever hear,” he went on, “of the White Witch of the Panniken? She should meet us hereabouts, if all tales be true. She waits for lonely travellers, and shows them gold in the rock where gold never was in daylight; and if a man is tempted, for the gold’s sake or hers, to spend the night with her, he’s never seen or heard of in this world again. She feasts him with the sight of big nuggets and her own beauty, while she sucks his heart’s blood like the vampyre; and when his body is drained to the last drop, he is flung aside among the rocks or dropped in some dark gully; and she comes back to watch the road for a fresh prey.”
“I’ve heard of the White Witch many a time; but I never knew the rights of the story until to-night,” said I. “But witch or no witch, we’ll have to stop; the road grows harder, and my horse seems to stumble at every step. It’s so dark, too, I can hardly see my hand before my face; yet it seemed almost daylight when we rode into the gorge.”
“The pair of us will be too many for the White Witch, anyhow,” said Vermudyn. “Too much human society don’t agree with her ghostly constitution.”
‘We had stopped together, and I was just going to get off my horse, when Vermudyn sang out in a hurry: “I see a light!—there to the left. Let’s ride up. We may find a party forced to camp out like ourselves; or they may be Injuns; and any company is better than none to-night.”
“Right enough,” says I, rubbing my eyes. “There is a light, and a pretty strong one too; a steady light, mate, and not a Will-o’-the-wisp. I never heard before of white man or Injun daring to camp in the Devil’s Panniken.”
“Well, we must go up quietly till we can see our company,” said my mate. “We don’t want to drop on a gang of freebooters, who’ll ease us of the dust, and then leave us with a bullet through our heads, as a parting gift.”
‘After this, we rode forward in silence for what seemed a quarter of a mile; but we went at a foot’s pace, on account of picking our way among the rocks that lay thick in the road. Then, as we turned a sharp corner, we saw all at once that the light came not from a camp-fire, but from a house!
“Well,” says I, “in all the years I’ve worked in these parts, man and boy, and tramped from claim to claim, I’ve never heard that there was hut or shanty in this place.”
“Nor I neither,” returns Vermudyn; “but perhaps it’s a new spec; though what folks could want with a house where there’s neither gold to find nor land to farm is more than I can tell. We may thank our luck we’ve tumbled across it.”
‘He jumped off his horse as we drew rein at the door of the queerest old house I ever saw. It was a tumble-down sort of a place, half-stone, half-wood; and the woodwork was fast going to decay, though we could see plainly enough that time and money had once been spent over it. The stone was pretty rough; but the house was all pointed gable-ends and queer-shaped long windows. The high-peaked overhanging roof and the diamond panes reminded me of houses I’d seen in England when I was a young un. The pointed gables were faced with carved oak; and heavy oaken beams, black with age, formed the framework of the upper stories; while the spaces between were roughcast with shingle and plaster. The wickedest old faces were grinning and leering at us from the carvings above the windows; and we could see the whole place, every stick and stone about it, as plain as daylight. We had been riding in darkness through the Devil’s Panniken, a darkness that grew blacker as we went on; and the light from this house fairly dazed us at first. Every window flamed as though there were jolly fires in each room, and hundreds of candles. The place seemed all aflame inside and out; the walls were as bright as if the moon was shining her clearest and strongest full on the house; yet,’ said Old Grizzly, dropping his voice impressively, ‘there was no moon at all that night! We stopped and looked at one another in wonder, and then stared at the house again. We could hear sounds inside now quite plain, men’s voices, and women’s too. Ugly sounds besides, that I couldn’t understand; such howling and shrieking as though all Bedlam were let loose inside—wailing like some creature in pain, and roars of mocking laughter. I turned deadly cold, and shivered as if it were midwinter.
“For mercy’s sake, let’s get away from this madhouse—if it’s not something worse!” said I. “All’s not right here; and I’d go afoot all night before I’d rest in that place.”
“Nonsense!” returned Vermudyn in his impetuous way. “I’m going in, anyhow; and you’ll stop to see fair-play, I know.”
‘The upshot of it was he seized my arm and led me into the house; while a gipsy-looking fellow came out for our horses, after we’d unloaded our knapsacks and blankets. My gold was sewed in a belt round my body, and I determined to fight hard for dear life, if need be; whilst I was equally determined to see Vermudyn through the night’s adventure, as far as it lay in my power.
‘If the outside of the house was strange to us, the inside was still stranger. The furniture appeared to be hundreds of years old. The presses, chairs, and tables were all of polished black oak, which reflected the light of many candles; while a big fire roared in the open fireplace, near which a table was laid for supper, and everything on it matched all we’d already seen. There were drinking-horns mounted in silver; cups of the same; such a load of plate as I’d never seen in my life, and such as, I was pretty certain, belonged to no country inn in a wild district where the only travellers were miners, and the only natives Injuns. On the top of a carved press in one corner there was a fine show of bottles—long-necked, slender flasks, crusted over with age and cobwebs; and short squat bottles, that held hollands and Kirschwasser, Vermudyn told me.
‘Well, while we took stock of the room and its contents, there wasn’t a soul to be seen, yet the noise and hubbub continued still all around us; the clatter of a hundred voices rising and falling far and near like the wind. Laughter, screams, and low moans all together, or following each other quickly. The longer I listened, the less I liked it; yet, as I sat in a corner of the big chimney, I seemed to grow drowsy and stupid-like, as if I had no power of my limbs or my voice. I think I couldn’t have walked a dozen steps for a thousand pounds; yet I could still hear and see all, through a light mist that fell betwixt me and everything I looked at.
‘Vermudyn didn’t appear afraid or surprised in the least; and the spell—I can call it nothing else—that was over me had no effect on him. He stood in front of the fire, warming his hands, and looking round him quite gaily, and pleased with all he saw.
“Wake up, mate!” he called to me; “we’ve fallen in luck’s way this time, surely. You’ve no cause to fear. It seems to me that I must have been here a score of times before, I know the place so well; and yet”—he stopped for a minute and put his hand over his eyes—“and yet—it can’t be!—I know it. That press,” he went on, “should hold the green suit.” And stepping across the room, he opened a worm-eaten cupboard in the far corner, and took out a suit of faded green velvet, the cut of which reminded me of old pictures I’d seen at home; and when Vermudyn took them out and looked them over carefully, the whole thing struck me so absurdly, that I began to laugh like a maniac, though still I had no power to speak. I wanted to tell him he would look like a tumbling mountebank at a fair, if he rigged himself out in the velvet suit; but I only laughed and nodded at him silently from the chimney corner, like some drivelling old dotard.
‘However, he didn’t put it on, but, as if struck suddenly by another thought, threw it aside, and opened a cupboard near the fireplace. He smiled again. “I knew it was here,” he said softly, as he returned to the fire, and stooping down, held something to the light. It was a little box of carved ivory, yellow with age, and strangely shaped; but Vermudyn seemed as familiar with it as he was with the rest of the wonders in that house, for he pressed a spring, and the lid flew up, disclosing a sparkling chain made like a snake, with shining scales of beaten gold that glittered in the flickering firelight.
‘While Vermudyn was still looking at its twisted coils and muttering to himself, the door opened, and a troop of figures crowded into the room.’