Part 19 (1/2)
”I'm evidently afloat with a lot of fine-spirited fellows,” said I; ”or, to put it in plain English, with a beautiful company of blackguards.”
”Why not say with a lot of devils--that would be more accurate? But you can't forget that you came to us unasked, and now you must stop.”
His leer at this sally was terribly expressive, and I showed all the contempt I felt for him, turning away to the sea fondly, as the hope of my liberty, since thence only should it come. He read my thoughts, perhaps, taking me by the arm with unsought pretence of kindness, and he said--
”Don't let's dissect each other's morals; we have the place to see, and you must be getting hungry. I will show you only one thing before we go--it is our cemetery.”
It was not a fascinating prospect, yet I followed him across the high plateau to the creek wherein the rock-house was, but to the side which was opposite to my bedroom window. There he descended the face of the cliff by rough steps; and entered one of the pa.s.sages which I had observed from my chamber. The pa.s.sage was long and low, lighted by s.h.i.+ps' lanterns at intervals, and I discovered that it led to a great cavern which opened to the face of one of the glaciers going down to the sea on the farther side. Nor have I entered a sepulchre which ever gave me such an infinite horror of death, or such a realisation of its terrors.
The end of the cavern was nothing but a wall of ice, clear as gla.s.s, admitting a soft light which illuminated the whole place with dim rays, making it a place of mystery and awe. Yet I had not noticed its more dreadful aspect at the first coming; and, when I did so, I gave a cry of horror and turned away my face, fearing to see again that most overwhelming spectacle. For blocks had been cut from the clear ice, and the dead seamen had been laid in the frozen ma.s.s just as they had died, without coffin or other covering than their clothes. There they lay, their faces upturned, many of them displaying all the placid peacefulness of death; but some grinned with horrible grimaces, and the eyes of some started from their heads, and there were teeth that seemed to be biting into the ice, and hands clenched as though the fierce activity of life pursued them beyond the veil. Yet the frightful mausoleum, the den of death, was pure in its atmosphere as a garden of snow, cool as gra.s.s after rain, silent as a tomb of the sea. Not a sound even of dripping water, not a motion of life without, not a sigh or dull echo disturbed its repose. Only the dead with hands uplifted, the dead in frozen rest, the dead with the smile of death, or the hate of death, or the terror of death written upon their faces, seemed to watch and to wait in the chamber of the sepulchre.
I have said that the sight terrified me; yet the whole of my fear I could not write, though the pen of Death himself were in my hands. So profoundly did the agony of it appeal to me that for many minutes together I dare not raise my eyes, could scarce restrain myself from flying, leaving the dreadful picture to those that should care to gaze upon it. Yet its spell was too terrible, the morbid magnetism of it too potent; and I looked again and again, and turned away, and looked yet once more; and went to the ice to gaze more closely at the dead faces, and was so carried away with the trance of it that I seemed to forget the dead men, and thought that they lived. When I recalled myself, I observed Doctor Osbart watching me intently.
”A strange place, isn't it?” he said. ”Observe it closely, for some day you will be here with the others.”
I shuddered at his thought, and muttered, ”G.o.d forbid!”
”Why?” he asked, hearing it. ”It's not a very fearful thing to contemplate. I would sooner lie in ice than in earth--and that ice is not part of the glacier; it never moves. It is bound by the rock there which cuts it off from the main ma.s.s.”
”It's a horrible sight!” I exclaimed, s.h.i.+vering.
”Not at all,” he said. ”These men have been our friends. I like to see them, and in a way one can talk to them. Who can be sure that they do not hear?”
It was almost the thought of a religious man, and it amazed me. I was even about to seek explanation, but a sudden excitement came upon him, and he raved incoherent words, crying--
”Yes, they hear, every one of them. d.i.c.k, you blackguard, do you hear me? Old Jack, wake up, you old gun! Thunder, you've killed many a one in your day. Move your pins, old Thunder! There's work to do--work to do--work to do!”
His voice rang out in the cavern, echoing from vault to vault. It was an awful contrast to hear his raving, and yet to see the rigid dead before him. My surmise that Doctor Osbart was a madman was undoubtedly too true; and, horrified at the desecration, I dragged him from the cavern into the light of the sun, and there I found myself trembling like a leaf, and as weak as a child. The cold crisp breeze brought the doctor to his senses; but he was absent and wandering, and he left me at the door of my room.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE MURDERS IN THE COVE.
For some days I saw no more of Doctor Osbart or of Captain Black. My existence in the rock house seemed to be forgotten by them, and where they were I knew not; but the negro waited on me every day, and I was provided with generous food and many books. I spent the hours wandering over the cliffs, or the gra.s.s plains; but I discovered that the place was quite surrounded by ice-capped mountains and by snowfields, and that any hope of escape by land was more than futile. Once or twice during these days I saw the man ”Four-Eyes,” and from him gained a few answers to my questions. He told me that Captain Black kept up communication with Europe by two small screw steamers disguised as whalers; that one of them, the one I saw, was shortly to be despatched to England for information; and that the other was then on the American coast gleaning all possible news of the pursuit; also charging herself with stores for the colony.
”Bedad, an' we're nading 'em,” he said in his best brogue, ”for, wanting the victuals, it's poor sort av order we'd be keepin', by the Saints. Ye see, young 'un, it's yerself as is at once the bottom an'
the top av it. 'Wot's he here for?' says half av 'em, while the other half, which is the majority, they says, 'When's the old 'un a-sending him to Europe to cut our throats?' they says; and there's the divil among 'em--more divil than I ever seed.”
”It must be dull work wintering here,” I said at hazard; and he took up the words mighty eagerly.
”Ay, an' ye've put yer finger on it; sure, it's just then that there's work to do combing ov 'em down, young 'un. If I was the skipper, I wudn't sit here with my feet in my pockets as it was, but I'd up an'
run for it. Why, look you, we're short av victuals already; and we turn fifty av the hands in the mine ash.o.r.e to-morrow!”
”Turn them ash.o.r.e--how's that?”
”Why, giv' 'em their liberty, I'm thinking: poor divils, they'll die in the snow, every one av them.”
I made some poor excuse for cutting short the conversation, and left him, excited beyond anything by the thought which his words gave me. If fifty men were to be turned free, then surely I could count on fifty allies; and fifty-one strong hands could at least make some show even against the ruffians of the rock-house. Give them arms, and a chance of surprise, and who knows? I said. But it was evident beyond doubt that the initiative must be with me, and that, if arms and a leader were to be found, I must find them.