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<h2> CHAPTER XVI. AT THE HOLE OF CREE </h2>
<p>It was dark enough when we started to make it no easy matter to find our
way across the moors, but as we advanced it grew lighter and lighter,
until by the time we reached Fullarton's cabin it was broad daylight.</p>
<p>Early as it was, he was up and about, for the Wigtown peasants are an
early rising race. We explained our mission to him in as few words as
possible, and having made his bargain—what Scot ever neglected that
preliminary?—he agreed not only to let us have the use of his dog
but to come with us himself.</p>
<p>Mordaunt, in his desire for privacy, would have demurred at this
arrangement, but I pointed out to him that we had no idea what was in
store for us, and the addition of a strong, able-bodied man to our party
might prove to be of the utmost consequence.</p>
<p>Again, the dog was less likely to give us trouble if we had its master to
control it. My arguments carried the day, and the biped accompanied us as
well as his four-footed companion.</p>
<p>There was some little similarity between the two, for the man was a
towsy-headed fellow with a great mop of yellow hair and a straggling
beard, while the dog was of the long-haired, unkempt breed looking like an
animated bundle of oakum.</p>
<p>All our way to the Hall its owner kept retailing instances of the
creature's sagacity and powers of scent, which, according to his account,
were little less than miraculous. His anecdotes had a poor audience, I
fear, for my mind was filled with the strange story which I had been
reading, while Mordaunt strode on with wild eyes and feverish cheeks,
without a thought for anything but the problem which we had to solve.</p>
<p>Again and again as we topped an eminence I saw him look eagerly round him
in the faint hope of seeing some trace of the absentee, but over the whole
expanse of moorland there was no sign of movement or of life. All was dead
and silent and deserted.</p>
<p>Our visit to the Hall was a very brief one, for every minute now was of
importance. Mordaunt rushed in and emerged with an old coat of his
father's, which he handed to Fullarton, who held it out to the dog.</p>
<p>The intelligent brute sniffed at it all over, then ran whining a little
way down the avenue, came back to sniff the coat again, and finally
elevating its stump of a tail in triumph, uttered a succession of sharp
yelps to show that it was satisfied that it had struck the trail. Its
owner tied a long cord to its collar to prevent it from going too fast for
us, and we all set off upon our search, the dog tugging and training at
its leash in its excitement as it followed in the general's footsteps.</p>
<p>Our way lay for a couple of hundred yards along the high road, and then
passed through a gap In the hedge and on to the moor, across which we were
led in a bee-line to the northward.</p>
<p>The sun had by this time risen above the horizon, and the whole
countryside looked so fresh and sweet, from the blue, sparkling sea to the
purple mountains, that it was difficult to realise how weird and uncanny
was the enterprise upon which we were engaged.</p>
<p>The scent must have lain strongly upon the ground, for the dog never
hesitated nor stopped, dragging its master along at a pace which rendered
conversation impossible.</p>
<p>At one place, in crossing a small stream, we seemed to get off the trail
for a few minutes, but our keen-nosed ally soon picked it up on the other
side and followed it over the trackless moor, whining and yelping all the
time in its eagerness. Had we not all three been fleet of foot and long of
wind, we could not have persisted in the continuous, rapid journey over
the roughest of ground, with the heather often well-nigh up to our waists.</p>
<p>For my own part, I have no idea now, looking back, what goal it was which
I expected to reach at the end of our pursuit. I can remember that my mind
was full of the vaguest and most varying speculations.</p>
<p>Could it be that the three Buddhists had had a craft in readiness off the
coast, and had embarked with their prisoners for the East? The direction
of their track seemed at first to favour this supposition, for it lay in
the line of the upper end of the bay, but it ended by branching off and
striking directly inland. Clearly the ocean was not to be our terminus.</p>
<p>By ten o'clock we had walked close upon twelve miles, and were compelled
to call a halt for a few minutes to recover our breath, for the last mile
or two we had been breasting the long, wearying slope of the Wigtown
hills.</p>
<p>From the summit of this range, which is nowhere more than a thousand feet
in height, we could see, looking northward, such a scene of bleakness and
desolation as can hardly be matched in any country.</p>
<p>Right away to the horizon stretched the broad expanse of mud and of water,
mingled and mixed together in the wildest chaos, like a portion of some
world in the process of formation. Here and there on the dun-coloured
surface of this great marsh there had burst out patches of sickly yellow
reeds and of livid, greenish scum, which only served to heighten and
intensify the gloomy effect of the dull, melancholy expanse.</p>
<p>On the side nearest to us some abandoned peat-cuttings showed that
ubiquitous man had been at work there, but beyond these few petty scars
there was no sign anywhere of human life. Not even a crow nor a seagull
flapped its way over that hideous desert.</p>
<p>This is the great Bog of Cree. It is a salt-water marsh formed by an
inroad of the sea, and so intersected is it with dangerous swamps and
treacherous pitfalls of liquid mud, that no man would venture through it
unless he had the guidance of one of the few peasants who retain the
secret of its paths.</p>
<p>As we approached the fringe of rushes which marked its border, a foul,
dank smell rose up from the stagnant wilderness, as from impure water and
decaying vegetation—an earthy, noisome smell which poisoned the
fresh upland air.</p>
<p>So forbidding and gloomy was the aspect of the place that our stout
crofter hesitated, and it was all that we could do to persuade him to
proceed. Our lurcher, however, not being subject to the delicate
impressions of our higher organisation, still ran yelping along with its
nose on the ground and every fibre of its body quivering with excitement
and eagerness.</p>
<p>There was no difficulty about picking our way through the morass, for
wherever the five could go we three could follow.</p>
<p>If we could have had any doubts as to our dog's guidance they would all
have been removed now, for in the soft, black, oozing soil we could
distinctly trace the tracks of the whole party. From these we could see
that they had walked abreast, and, furthermore, that each was about
equidistant from the other. Clearly, then, no physical force had been used
in taking the general and his companion along. The compulsion had been
psychical and not material.</p>
<p>Once within the swamp, we had to be careful not to deviate from the narrow
track, which offered a firm foothold.</p>
<p>On each side lay shallow sheets of stagnant water overlying a treacherous
bottom of semi-fluid mud, which rose above the surface here and there in
moist, sweltering banks, mottled over with occasional patches of unhealthy
vegetation. Great purple and yellow fungi had broken out in a dense
eruption, as though Nature were afflicted with a foul disease, which
manifested itself by this crop of plague spots.</p>
<p>Here and there dark, crab-like creatures scuttled across our path, and
hideous, flesh-coloured worms wriggled and writhed amid the sickly reeds.
Swarms of buzzing, piping insects rose up at every step and formed a dense
cloud around our heads, settling on our hands and faces and inoculating us
with their filthy venom. Never had I ventured into so pestilent and
forbidding a place.</p>
<p>Mordaunt Heatherstone strode on, however, with a set purpose upon his
swarthy brow, and we could but follow him, determined to stand by him to
the end of the adventure. As we advanced, the path grew narrower and
narrower until, as we saw by the tracks, our predecessors had been
compelled to walk in single file. Fullarton was leading us with the dog,
Mordaunt behind him, while I brought up the rear. The peasant had been
sulky and surly for a little time back, hardly answering when spoken to,
but he now stopped short and positively refused to go a step farther.</p>
<p>"It's no' canny," he said, "besides I ken where it will lead us tae'"</p>
<p>"Where, then?" I asked.</p>
<p>"Tae the Hole o' Cree," he answered. "It's no far frae here, I'm
thinking."</p>
<p>"The Hole of Cree! What is that, then?"</p>
<p>"It's a great, muckle hole in the ground that gangs awa' doon so deep that
naebody could ever reach the bottom. Indeed there are folk wha says that
it's just a door leadin' intae the bottomless pit itsel'."</p>
<p>"You have been there, then?" I asked.</p>
<p>"Been there!" he cried. "What would I be doin' at the Hole o' Cree? No,
I've never been there, nor any other man in his senses."</p>
<p>"How do you know about it, then?"</p>
<p>"My great-grandfeyther had been there, and that's how I ken," Fullarton
answered. "He was fou' one Saturday nicht and he went for a bet. He didna
like tae talk aboot it afterwards, and he wouldna tell a' what befell him,
but he was aye feared o' the very name. He's the first Fullarton that's
been at the Hole o' Cree, and he'll be the last for me. If ye'll tak' my
advice ye'll just gie the matter up and gang name again, for there's na
guid tae be got oot o' this place."</p>
<p>"We shall go on with you or without you," Mordaunt answered. "Let us have
your dog and we can pick you up on our way back."</p>
<p>"Na, na," he cried, "I'll no' hae my dog scaret wi' bogles, and running
down Auld Nick as if he were a hare. The dog shall bide wi' me."</p>
<p>"The dog shall go with us," said my companion, with his eyes blazing. "We
have no time to argue with you. Here's a five-pound note. Let us have the
dog, or, by Heaven, I shall take it by force and throw you in the bog if
you hinder us."</p>
<p>I could realise the Heatherstone of forty years ago when I saw the fierce
and sudden wrath which lit up the features of his son.</p>
<p>Either the bribe or the threat had the desired effect, for the fellow
grabbed at the money with one hand while with the other he surrendered the
leash which held the lurcher. Leaving him to retrace his steps, we
continued to make our way into the utmost recesses of the great swamp.</p>
<p>The tortuous path grew less and less defined as we proceeded, and was even
covered in places with water, but the increasing excitement of the hound
and the sight of the deep footmarks in the mud stimulated us to push on.
At last, after struggling through a grove of high bulrushes, we came on a
spot the gloomy horror of which might have furnished Dante with a fresh
terror for his "Inferno."</p>
<p>The whole bog in this part appeared to have sunk in, forming a great,
funnel-shaped depression, which terminated in the centre in a circular
rift or opening about forty feet in diameter. It was a whirlpool—a
perfect maelstrom of mud, sloping down on every side to this silent and
awful chasm.</p>
<p>Clearly this was the spot which, under the name of the Hole of Cree, bore
such a sinister reputation among the rustics. I could not wonder at its
impressing their imagination, for a more weird or gloomy scene, or one
more worthy of the avenue which led to it, could not be conceived.</p>
<p>The steps passed down the declivity which surrounded the abyss, and we
followed them with a sinking feeling in our hearts, as we realised that
this was the end of our search.</p>
<p>A little way from the downward path was the return trail made by the feet
of those who had come back from the chasm's edge. Our eyes fell upon these
tracks at the same moment, and we each gave a cry of horror, and stood
gazing speechlessly at them. For there, in those blurred footmarks, the
whole drama was revealed.</p>
<p><i>Five had gone down, but only three had returned</i>.</p>
<p>None shall ever know the details of that strange tragedy. There was no
mark of struggle nor sign of attempt at escape. We knelt at the edge of
the Hole and endeavoured to pierce the unfathomable gloom which shrouded
it. A faint, sickly exhalation seemed to rise from its depths, and there
was a distant hurrying, clattering sound as of waters in the bowels of the
earth.</p>
<p>A great stone lay embedded in the mud, and this I hurled over, but we
never heard thud or splash to show that it had reached the bottom.</p>
<p>As we hung over the noisome chasm a sound did at last rise to our ears out
of its murky depths. High, clear, and throbbing, it tinkled for an instant
out of the abyss, to be succeeded by the same deadly stillness which had
preceded it.</p>
<p>I did not wish to appear superstitious, or to put down to extraordinary
causes that which may have a natural explanation. That one keen note may
have been some strange water sound produced far down in the bowels of the
earth. It may have been that or it may have been that sinister bell of
which I had heard so much. Be this as it may, it was the only sign that
rose to us from the last terrible resting-place of the two who had paid
the debt which had so long been owing.</p>
<p>We joined our voices in a call with the unreasoning obstinacy with which
men will cling to hope, but no answer came back to us save a hollow
moaning from the depths beneath. Footsore and heart-sick, we retraced our
steps and climbed the slimy slope once more.</p>
<p>"What shall we do, Mordaunt?" I asked, in a subdued voice. "We can but
pray that their souls may rest in peace."</p>
<p>Young Heatherstone looked at me with flashing eyes.</p>
<p>"This may be all according to occult laws," he cried, "but we shall see
what the laws of England have to say upon it. I suppose a <i>chela</i> may
be hanged as well as any other man. It may not be too late yet to run them
down. Here, good dog, good dog-here!"</p>
<p>He pulled the hound over and set it on the track of the three men. The
creature sniffed at it once or twice, and then, falling upon its stomach,
with bristling hair and protruding tongue, it lay shivering and trembling,
a very embodiment of canine terror.</p>
<p>"You see," I said, "it is no use contending against those who have powers
at their command to which we cannot even give a name. There is nothing for
it but to accept the inevitable, and to hope that these poor men may meet
with some compensation in another world for all that they have suffered in
this."</p>
<p>"And be free from all devilish religions and their murderous worshippers!"
Mordaunt cried furiously.</p>
<p>Justice compelled me to acknowledge in my own heart that the murderous
spirit had been set on foot by the Christian before it was taken up by the
Buddhists, but I forbore to remark upon it, for fear of irritating my
companion.</p>
<p>For a long time I could not draw him away from the scene of his father's
death, but at last, by repeated arguments and reasonings, I succeeded in
making him realise how useless and unprofitable any further efforts on our
part must necessarily prove, and in inducing him to return with me to
Cloomber.</p>
<p>Oh, the wearisome, tedious journey! It had seemed long enough when we had
some slight flicker of hope, or at least of expectation, before us, but
now that our worst fears were fulfilled it appeared interminable.</p>
<p>We picked up our peasant guide at the outskirts of the marsh, and having
restored his dog we let him find his own way home, without telling him
anything of the results of our expedition. We ourselves plodded all day
over the moors with heavy feet and heavier hearts until we saw the
ill-omened tower of Cloomber, and at last, as the sun was setting, found
ourselves once more beneath its roof.</p>
<p>There is no need for me to enter into further details, nor to describe the
grief which our tidings conveyed to mother and to daughter. Their long
expectation of some calamity was not sufficient to prepare them for the
terrible reality.</p>
<p>For weeks my poor Gabriel hovered between life and death, and though she
came round al last, thanks to the nursing of my sister and the
professional skill of Dr. John Easterling, she has never to this day
entirely recovered her former vigour. Mordaunt, too, suffered much for
some time, and it was only after our removal to Edinburgh that he rallied
from the shock which he had undergone.</p>
<p>As to poor Mrs. Heatherstone, neither medical attention nor change of air
can ever have a permanent effect upon her. Slowly and surely, but very
placidly, she has declined in health and strength, until it is evident
that in a very few weeks at the most she will have rejoined her husband
and restored to him the one thing which he must have grudged to leave
behind.</p>
<p>The Laird of Branksome came home from Italy restored in health, with the
result that we were compelled to return once more to Edinburgh.</p>
<p>The change was agreeable to us, for recent events had cast a cloud over
our country life and had surrounded us with unpleasant associations.
Besides, a highly honourable and remunerative appointment in connection
with the University library had become vacant, and had, through the
kindness of the late Sir Alexander Grant, been offered to my father, who,
as may be imagined, lost no time in accepting so congenial a post.</p>
<p>In this way we came back to Edinburgh very much more important people than
we left it, and with no further reason to be uneasy about the details of
housekeeping. But, in truth, the whole household has been dissolved, for I
have been married for some months to my dear Gabriel, and Esther is to
become Mrs. Heatherstone upon the 23rd of the month. If she makes him as
good a wife as his sister has made me, we may both set ourselves down as
fortunate men.</p>
<p>These mere domestic episodes are, as I have already explained, introduced
only because I cannot avoid alluding to them.</p>
<p>My object in drawing up this statement and publishing the evidence which
corroborates it, was certainly not to parade my private affairs before the
public, but to leave on record an authentic narrative of a most remarkable
series of events. This I have endeavoured to do in as methodical a manner
as possible, exaggerating nothing and suppressing nothing.</p>
<p>The reader has now the evidence before him, and can form his own opinions
unaided by me as to the causes of the disappearance and death of Rufus
Smith and of John Berthier Heatherstone, V.C., C.B.</p>
<p>There is only one point which is still dark to me. Why the <i>chelas</i>
of Ghoolab Shah should have removed their victims to the desolate Hole of
Cree instead of taking their lives at Cloomber, is, I confess, a mystery
to me.</p>
<p>In dealing with occult laws, however, we must allow for our own complete
ignorance of the subject. Did we know more we might see that there was
some analogy between that foul bog and the sacrilege which had been
committed, and that their ritual and customs demanded that just such a
death was the one appropriate to the crime.</p>
<p>On this point I should be sorry to be dogmatic, but at least we must allow
that the Buddhist priests must have had some very good cause for the
course of action which they so deliberately carried out.</p>
<p>Months afterwards I saw a short paragraph in the <i>Star of India</i>
announcing that three eminent Buddhists—Lal Hoomi, Mowdar Khan, and
Ram Singh—had just returned in the steamship <i>Deccan</i> from a
short trip to Europe. The very next item was devoted to an account of the
life and services of Major-General Heatherstone, "who has lately
disappeared from his country house in Wigtownshire, and who, there is too
much reason to fear, has been drowned."</p>
<p>I wonder if by chance there was any other human eye but mine which traced
a connection between these paragraphs. I never showed them to my wife or
to Mordaunt, and they will only know of their existence when they read
these pages.</p>
<p>I don't know that there is any other point which needs clearing up. The
intelligent reader will have already seen the reasons for the general's
fear of dark faces, of wandering men (not knowing how his pursuers might
come after him), and of visitors (from the same cause and because his
hateful bell was liable to sound at all times).</p>
<p>His broken sleep led him to wander about the house at night, and the lamps
which he burnt in every room were no doubt to prevent his imagination from
peopling the darkness with terrors. Lastly, his elaborate precautions
were, as he has himself explained, rather the result of a feverish desire
to do something than in the expectation that he could really ward off his
fate.</p>
<p>Science will tell you that there are no such powers as those claimed by
the Eastern mystics. I, John Fothergill West, can confidently answer that
science is wrong.</p>
<p>For what is science? Science is the consensus of opinion of scientific
men, and history has shown that it is slow to accept a truth. Science
sneered at Newton for twenty years. Science proved mathematically that an
iron ship could not swim, and science declared that a steamship could not
cross the Atlantic.</p>
<p>Like Goethe's Mephistopheles, our wise professor's forte is "stets
verneinen." Thomas Didymus is, to use his own jargon, his prototype. Let
him learn that if he will but cease to believe in the infallibility of his
own methods, and will look to the East, from which all great movements
come, he will find there a school of philosophers and of savants who,
working on different lines from his own, are many thousand years ahead of
him in all the essentials of knowledge.</p>
<p>THE END <br/><br/><br/><br/></p>
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