Uncanny Tales Read online

  VI

  THE GOTH

  Young Cargill smiled as Mrs. Lardner finished her account.

  "And do you really think that the fact that the poor chap was drownedhad anything to do with it?" he asked. "Why, you admit yourself that hewas known to have been drinking just before he fell out of his boat!"

  "You may say what you like," returned his hostess impressively, "butsince first we came to live at Tryn yr Wylfa only four people besidespoor Roberts have defied the Fates, and each of them was drowned withinthe year.

  "They were all tourists," she added with something suspiciously likesatisfaction.

  "I am not a superstitious man myself," supplemented the Major. "But youcan't get away from the facts, you know, Cargill."

  Cargill said no more. He perceived that they had lived long enough inretirement in the little Welsh village to have acquired a pride in itslegend.

  The legend and the mountains are the two attractions of Tryn yrWylfa--the official guidebook devotes an equal amount of space to each.It will tell you that the bay, across which the quarry's tramp steamersnow sail, was once dry land on which stood a village. Deep in the waterthe remains of this village can still be seen in clear weather. Butwhosoever dares to look upon them will be drowned within the year. Alocal publication gives full details of those who have looked--andperished.

  The legend had received an unexpected boom in the drowning of Roberts,which had just occurred. Roberts was a fisherman who had recently comefrom the South. One calm day in February he had rowed out into the bayin fulfilment of a drunken boast. He was drowned three days beforeMidsummer.

  After dinner young Cargill forgot about it. He forgot almost everythingexcept Betty Lardner. But, oddly enough, as he walked back to the hotelit was just Betty Lardner who made him think again of the legend. He wasin love, and, being very young, wanted to do something insanely heroic.To defy the Fates by looking on the sunken village was an obvious outletfor heroism.

  He must have thought a good deal about it before he fell asleep, for heremembered his resolution on the following morning.

  After breakfast he sauntered along the brief strip of asphalt which thevillagers believe to be a promenade. He was not actually thinking of thelegend; to be precise, he was thinking of Betty Lardner, but he wassuddenly reminded of it by a boatman pressing him for his custom.

  "Yes," he said abruptly. "I will hire your boat if you will row me outto the sunken village. I want to look at it."

  The Welshman eyed him suspiciously, perceived that he was not joking,and shook his head.

  "Come," persisted Cargill, "I will make it a sovereign if you care to doit."

  "Thank you, but indeed, no, sir," replied the Welshman. "Not if it wassa hundred sofereigns!"

  "Surely you are not afraid?"

  "It iss not fit," retorted the Welshman, turning on his heel.

  It was probably this opposition that made young Cargill decide that itwould be really worth while to defy the legend.

  He did not approach the only other boatman. He considered the questionof swimming. The knowledge that the distance there and back was nearlyfive miles did not render the feat impossible, for he was a championswimmer.

  But he soon thought of a better way. He went back to the hotel andsought out Bissett. Bissett was a fellow member of the Middle Temple, ascontentedly briefless as himself. And Bissett possessed a motor-boat.

  Bissett was not exactly keen on the prospect.

  "Don't you think it is rather a silly thing to do?" he reasoned. "Ofcourse it's all rot in a way--it must be. But isn't it just as well totreat that sort of thing with respect?"

  Eventually he agreed to take the motor-boat to within a few hundredyards of the spot. They would tow a dinghy, in which young Cargill couldfinish the journey.

  It took young Cargill half-an-hour to find the spot. But he did find it,and he did look upon, and actually see, all that remained of the sunkenvillage.

  He felt vaguely ashamed of himself when he returned to dry land. Henoticed that several of the villagers gave him unfriendly glances; andhe resolved that he would say nothing of the matter to the Lardners.

  They were having tea on the lawn when he dropped in. He thought thatMrs. Lardner's welcome was a trifle chilly. After tea Betty executed aquite deliberate man[oe]uvre to avoid having him for a partner attennis. But he ran her to earth later, when they were picking up theballs.

  "How _could_ you?" was all she said.

  "I--I didn't know you knew," he stammered weakly.

  "Of course everybody knows! It was all over the village before youreturned.

  "Can't you see what that legend meant to us?" she went on. "It was athing of beauty. And now you have spoilt it. It's like burning down thetrees of the Fairy Glen. You--you _Goth_!"

  "But suppose I am drowned before the year is out--like Roberts?" hesuggested jocularly.

  "Then I will forgive you," she said. And to Cargill it sounded exactlyas if she meant what she said.

  A few days later he returned to town. For six months he thought littleabout the legend. Then he was reminded of it.

  He had been spending a week-end at Brighton. On the return journey hehad a first-class smoker in the rear of the train to himself. Towardsthe end of the hour he dozed and dreamt of the day he had looked on thesunken village. He was awakened when the train made its usual stop onthe bridge outside Victoria.

  It had been a pleasant dream, and he was still trying to preserve theillusion when his eye fell lazily on the window, and he noticed thatthere was a dense fog.

  "Bit rough on the legend that I happened to be a Londoner!" he mused."It isn't easy to drown a man in town!"

  He stood up with the object of removing his dressing-case from the rack.But before he reached it there was the shriek of a whistle, a violentshock, and he was hurled heavily into the opposite seat.

  It was not a collision in the newspaper sense of the word. No one washurt. A local train, creeping along at four miles an hour, had simplymissed its signal in the fog and bumped the Brighton train.

  Young Cargill, in common with most other passengers put his head out ofthe window. He saw nothing--except the parapet of the bridge.

  "By God!" he muttered. "If that other train had been going a littlefaster----"

  He could just hear the river gurgling beneath him.

  He had got over his fright by the time he reached Victoria.

  "Just a common-place accident," he assured himself, as he drove in ataxi-cab to his chambers. "That's the worst of it! If I happened to bedrowned in the ordinary way they'd swear it was the legend. I suppose,for that reason, I had better not take any risks. Anyhow, I needn't gonear the sea until the year is out!"

  The superstitious would doubtless affirm that the Fates had sent him onewarning and, angered at his refusal to accept it, had determined todrive home the lesson of his own impotence. For when he arrived at hischambers he found a cablegram from Paris awaiting him.

  "Hullo, this must be from Uncle Peter!" he exclaimed, as he tore openthe envelope.

  "_Fear uncle dying. Come at once.--Machell._"

  Machell was the elder Cargill's secretary, and young Cargill was the oldman's heir.

  It was not until he was in the boat-train that he realised that he wasabout to cross the sea.

  It was a coincidence--an odd coincidence. When the ship tossed in anunusually rough crossing he was prepared to admit to himself that it wasan uncanny coincidence.

  He stayed a week in Paris for his uncle's funeral. When he made thereturn journey the Channel was like the proverbial mill pond. But it wasnot until the ship had actually put into Dover that he laughed at thefailure of the Fates to take the opportunity to drown him.

  He laughed, to be exact, as he was stepping down the gangway. At the endof the gangway the fold of the rug which he was carrying on his arm,caught in the railings. He turned sharply to free it and stepping back,cannoned into an officer of the dock. It threw him off his balance onthe edge of the dockside. />
  Even if the official had not grabbed him, it is highly probable that hecould have saved himself from falling into the water, because thegangway railing was in easy reach; and if you remember that he was achampion swimmer, you will agree that it is still more probable that hewould not have been drowned, even if he had fallen.

  But the incident made its impression. His thoughts reverted to itconstantly during the next few days. Then he told himself that hisattendance at the last rites of his uncle had made him morbid, and wasmore or less successful in dismissing the affair from his mind.

  He had many friends in common with the Lardners. Early in February hewas invited for a week's hunting to a house at which Betty Lardner wasalso a guest.

  She had not forgotten. She did her best to avoid him, and succeededremarkably well, in spite of the fact that their hostess, knowingsomething of young Cargill's feelings, made several efforts to throwthem together.

  One day at the end of the hunt he came alongside of her and they walkedtheir horses home together. When he was sure that they were out ofearshot he asked:

  "You haven't forgiven me yet?"

  "You know the conditions," she replied banteringly.

  "You leave me no alternative to suicide," he protested.

  "That would be cheating," she said. "You must be drowned honestly, orit's no good."

  Then he made a foolish reply. He thought her humour forced and itannoyed him. Remember that he was exasperated. He had looked forward tomeeting her, and now she was treating him with studied coldness overwhat still seemed to him a comparatively trifling matter.

  "I am afraid," he said, "that that is hardly likely to occur. The factof my being a townsman instead of a drunken boatman doesn't give yourlegend a fair chance!"

  Less than an hour afterwards he was having his bath before dressing fordinner. The water was deliciously hot, and the room was full of steam.As he lay in the bath a drowsiness stole over him. Enjoying the keenphysical pleasure of it, he thought what a wholly delightful thing was ahot bath after a day's hard hunting. His mind, bordering on sleep, dweltlazily on hot baths in general. And then with a startling suddennesscame the thought that, before now, men had been drowned in their baths!

  With a shock he realised that he had almost fallen asleep. He tried torouse himself, but a faintness had seized him. That steam--he could notbreathe! He was certain he was going to faint.

  With a desperate effort of the will he hurled himself out of the bathand threw open the window.

  It must have been the bath episode that first aroused the sensation ofpositive fear in Cargill. For it was almost a month later when hesurprised the secretary of that swimming club of which he was the mainpillar by his refusal to take part in any events for the coming season.

  He was beginning to take precautions.

  Late one night, when taxi-cabs were scarce, he found that his quickestway to reach home would be by means of one of the tubes. He was in thedescending lift when he suddenly remembered that that particular tuberan beneath the river. Suppose an accident should occur--a leakage!After all such a thing was within the bounds of possibility. Instantlythere rose before him the vision of a black torrent roaring through thetunnel.

  Without waiting for the lift to ascend he rushed to the staircase, andsweating with terror gained the street and bribed a loafer to find him acab.

  He made an effort to take himself seriously in hand after that. Morethan one acquaintance had lately told him that he was looking "nervy."In the last few weeks his sane and normal self seemed to have shrunkwithin him. But it was still capable of asserting itself underfavourable conditions. It would talk aloud to the rest of him as if to aseparate individual.

  "Look here, old man, this superstitious nonsense is becoming anobsession to you," it said one fine April morning. "Yes, I mean what Isay--an obsession! You must pull yourself together or you'll go starkmad, and then you'll probably go and throw yourself over the Embankment.That legend is all bosh! You're in the twentieth century, and you're nota drunken fisherman----"

  "Hullo, young Cargill!"

  The door burst open and Stranack, oozing health and sanity, glared athim.

  "Jove! What a wreck you look!" continued Stranack. "You've beenfrousting too much. I'm glad I came. The car's outside, and we'll rundown to Kingston, take a skiff and pull up to Molesey."

  The river! Young Cargill felt the blood singing in his ears.

  "I'm afraid I can't manage it. I--I've got an appointment thisafternoon," he stammered.

  Stranack perceived that he was lying, and wondered. For a few minuteshe gossiped, while young Cargill was repeating to himself:

  "You must pull yourself together. It's becoming an obsession. You mustpull yourself together."

  He was vaguely conscious that Stranack was about to depart. Stranack wasalready in the doorway. His chance of killing the obsession was slippingfrom him! A special effort and then:

  "Stop!" cried Cargill. "I--I'll come with you, Stranack."

  Oddly enough, he felt much better when they were actually on the river.He had never been afraid of water, as such. And the familiar scenery,together with the wholesome exercise of sculling, acted as a tonic tohis nerves.

  They pulled above Molesey lock. When they were returning, Stranack said:

  "You'll take her through the lock, won't you?"

  It was a needless remark, and if Stranack had not made it all might havebeen well. As a fact, it set Cargill asking himself why he should nottake her through the lock. He was admitted to be a much better boatmanthan Stranack, and everyone knew that it required a certain amount ofskill to manage a lock properly. Locks were dangerous if you played thefool. Before now people had been drowned in locks.

  The rest was inevitable. He lost his head as the lower gates swung open,and broke the rule of the river by pushing out in front of a launch. Thelaunch was already under way, and young Cargill trying to avoid itbetter, thrust with his boat-hook at the side of the lock. The thrustwas nervous and ill-calculated, and the next instant the skiff hadblundered under the bows of the launch.

  It happened very quickly. The skiff was forced, broadside on, againstthe lock gates, and was splintered like firewood. Cargill fellbackwards, struck his head heavily against the gates--and sank.

  He returned to consciousness in the lock-keeper's lodge. He had beenunder water a dangerously long time before Stranack, who had suffered nomore than a wetting, had found him. It had been touch and go for hislife, but artificial respiration had succeeded.

  He soon went to pieces after that.

  From one of the windows of his chambers the river was just visible. Onemorning he deliberately pulled the blind down. The action was important.It signified that he had definitely given up pretending that he had thepower of shaking off the obsession.

  But if he could not shake it off, he could at least keep it temporarilyat bay. He started a guerilla campaign against the obsession with theaid of the brandy bottle. He was rarely drunk, and as rarely sober.

  He was sober the day he was compelled to call on an aunt who lived inthe still prosperous outskirts of Paddington. It was one of his gooddays and, in spite of his sobriety, he had himself in very good controlwhen he left his aunt.

  In his search for a cab it became necessary for him to cross the canal.On the bridge he paused and, gripping the parapet, made a surpriseattack upon his enemy.

  Some children, playing on the tow path, helped him considerably. Theirdelightful sanity in the presence of the water was worth more to himthan the brandy. He was positively winning the battle, when one of thechildren fell into the water.

  For an instant he hesitated. Then, as on the night of the Tube episode,panic seized him. The next instant the man who was probably the bestamateur swimmer in England, was running with all his might away from thecanal.

  When he reached his chambers he waited, with the assistance of thebrandy, until his man brought him the last edition of the evening paper.A tiny paragraph on the back sheet told him of the tra
gedy.

  An hour later his man found him face downwards on the hearthrug and,wrongly attributing his condition wholly to the brandy, put him to bed.

  He was in bed about three weeks. The doctor, who was also a personalfriend, was shrewd enough to suspect that the brandy was the effect,rather than the cause of the nerve trouble.

  About the first week in June Cargill was allowed to get up.

  "You've got to go away," said the doctor one morning. "You are probablyaware that your nerves have gone to pieces. The sea is the place foryou!"

  The gasp that followed was scarcely audible, and the doctor missed it.

  "You went to Tryn yr Wylfa about this time last year," continued thedoctor. "Go there again! Go for long walks on the mountains, and put upat a temperance hotel."

  He went to Tryn yr Wylfa.

  The train journey of six hours knocked him up for another week. By thetime he was strong enough for the promenade it was the fourteenth ofJune. He noticed the date on the hotel calendar, and realised that theFates had another ten days in which to drown him.

  He did not call on the Lardners. He felt that he couldn't--after thecanal episode. Four of the ten days had passed before Betty Lardner ranacross him on the promenade.

  She noticed at once the change in him, and was kinder than she had everbeen before.

  "Next Saturday," he said, "is the anniversary!"

  For answer she smiled at him, and he might have smiled back if he hadnot remembered the canal.

  She met him each morning after that, so that she was with him on the daywhen he made his atonement.

  There had been a violent storm in the early morning. It had driven oneof the quarry steamers on to the long sand-bank that lies submergedbetween Tryn yr Wylfa and Puffin Island. The gale still lasted, and thesteamer was in momentary danger of becoming a complete wreck.

  There is no lifeboat service at Tryn yr Wylfa. It was impossible tolaunch an ordinary boat in such a sea.

  Colonel Denbigh, the owner of the quarry and local magnate, who had beensuperintending what feeble efforts had been made to effect a rescue,answered gloomily when Betty Lardner asked him if there were any hope.

  "It's a terrible thing," he jerked. "First time there has been a wreckhereabouts. It's hopeless trying to launch a boat----"

  "Suppose a fellow were to swim out to the wreck with a life-line intow?"

  It was young Cargill who spoke.

  The Colonel glared at him contemptuously.

  "He would need to be a pretty fine swimmer," he returned.

  "I don't want to blow my own trumpet, but I am considered to be one ofthe best amateur swimmers in the country," replied Cargill calmly. "Ifyou will tell your men to get the line ready, I will borrow a bathingsuit from somewhere."

  They both stared at him in amazement.

  "But you are still an invalid," cried Betty Lardner. "You----"

  She stopped short and regarded him with fresh wonder. Somehow he nolonger looked an invalid.

  Mechanically she walked by his side to the little bathing office.Suddenly she clutched his arm.

  "Jack," she said, "have you forgotten the--the legend?"

  "Betty," he replied, "have you forgotten the crew?"

  While he was undressing the attendant asked him some trivial question.He did not hear the man. His thoughts were far away. He was thinking ofa group of children playing on the bank of a canal.

  To the accompaniment of the Colonel's protests they fixed a belt on him,to which was attached the life-line.

  He walked along the sloping wooden projection that is used as a landingstage for pleasure skiffs, walked until the water splashed over him.Then he dived into the boiling surf.

  Thus it was that he earned Betty Lardner's forgiveness.