Complete Works of Bram Stoker (351 page)

For myself, I have seen such mysteries that I am open to conviction regarding things not yet explained.  These have been, of course, amongst savages or those old-world people who have brought unchecked traditions and beliefs  —  ay, and powers too  —  down the ages from the dim days when the world was young; when forces were elemental, and Nature’s handiwork was experimental rather than completed.  Some of these wonders may have been older still than the accepted period of our own period of creation.  May we not have to-day other wonders, different only in method, but not more susceptible of belief?  Obi-ism and Fantee-ism have been exercised in my own presence, and their results proved by the evidence of my own eyes and other senses.  So, too, have stranger rites, with the same object and the same success, in the far Pacific Islands.  So, too, in India and China, in Thibet and in the Golden Chersonese.  On all and each of these occasions there was, on my own part, enough belief to set in motion the powers of understanding; and there were no moral scruples to stand in the way of realization.  Those whose lives are so spent that they achieve the reputation of not fearing man or God or devil are not deterred in their doing or thwarted from a set purpose by things which might deter others not so equipped for adventure.  Whatever may be before them  —  pleasant or painful, bitter or sweet, arduous or facile, enjoyable or terrible, humorous or full of awe and horror  —  they must accept, taking them in the onward course as a good athlete takes hurdles in his stride.  And there must be no hesitating, no looking back.  If the explorer or the adventurer has scruples, he had better give up that special branch of effort and come himself to a more level walk in life.  Neither must there be regrets.  There is no need for such; savage life has this advantage: it begets a certain toleration not to be found in conventional existence.

RUPERT’S JOURNAL  — 
Continued
.

May
2, 1907.

I had heard long ago that Second Sight is a terrible gift, even to its possessor.  I am now inclined not only to believe, but to understand it.  Aunt Janet has made such a practice of it of late that I go in constant dread of discovery of my secret.  She seems to parallel me all the time, whatever I may do.  It is like a sort of dual existence to her; for she is her dear old self all the time, and yet some other person with a sort of intellectual kit of telescope and notebook, which are eternally used on me.  I know they are
for
me, too  —  for what she considers my good.  But all the same it makes an embarrassment.  Happily Second Sight cannot speak as clearly as it sees, or, rather, as it understands.  For the translation of the vague beliefs which it inculcates is both nebulous and uncertain  —  a sort of Delphic oracle which always says things which no one can make out at the time, but which can be afterwards read in any one of several ways.  This is all right, for in my case it is a kind of safety; but, then, Aunt Janet is a very clever woman, and some time she herself may be able to understand.  Then she may begin to put two and two together.  When she does that, it will not be long before she knows more than I do of the facts of the whole affair.  And her reading of them and of the Lady of the Shroud, round whom they circle, may not be the same as mine.  Well, that will be all right too.  Aunt Janet loves me  —  God knows I have good reason to know that all through these years  —  and whatever view she may take, her acts will be all I could wish.  But I shall come in for a good lot of scolding, I am sure.  By the way, I ought to think of that; if Aunt Janet scolds me, it is a pretty good proof that I ought to be scolded.  I wonder if I dare tell her all.  No!  It is too strange.  She is only a woman, after all: and if she knew I loved . . . I wish I knew her name, and thought  —  as I might myself do, only that I resist it  —  that she is not alive at all.  Well, what she would either think or do beats me.  I suppose she would want to slipper me as she used to do when I was a wee kiddie  —  in a different way, of course.

May
3, 1907.

I really could not go on seriously last night.  The idea of Aunt Janet giving me a licking as in the dear old days made me laugh so much that nothing in the world seemed serious then.  Oh, Aunt Janet is all right whatever comes.  That I am sure of, so I needn’t worry over it.  A good thing too; there will be plenty to worry about without that.  I shall not check her telling me of her visions, however; I may learn something from them.

For the last four-and-twenty hours I have, whilst awake, been looking over Aunt Janet’s books, of which I brought a wheen down here.  Gee whizz!  No wonder the old dear is superstitious, when she is filled up to the back teeth with that sort of stuff!  There may be some truth in some of those yarns; those who wrote them may believe in them, or some of them, at all events.  But as to coherence or logic, or any sort of reasonable or instructive deduction, they might as well have been written by so many hens!  These occult book-makers seem to gather only a lot of bare, bald facts, which they put down in the most uninteresting way possible.  They go by quantity only.  One story of the kind, well examined and with logical comments, would be more convincing to a third party than a whole hecatomb of them.

RUPERT’S JOURNAL  — 
Continued
.

May
4, 1907.

There is evidently something up in the country.  The mountaineers are more uneasy than they have been as yet.  There is constant going to and fro amongst them, mostly at night and in the grey of the morning.  I spend many hours in my room in the eastern tower, from which I can watch the woods, and gather from signs the passing to and fro.  But with all this activity no one has said to me a word on the subject.  It is undoubtedly a disappointment to me.  I had hoped that the mountaineers had come to trust me; that gathering at which they wanted to fire their guns for me gave me strong hopes.  But now it is apparent that they do not trust me in full  —  as yet, at all events.  Well, I must not complain.  It is all only right and just.  As yet I have done nothing to prove to them the love and devotion that I feel to the country.  I know that such individuals as I have met trust me, and I believe like me.  But the trust of a nation is different.  That has to be won and tested; he who would win it must justify, and in a way that only troublous times can allow.  No nation will  —  can  —  give full meed of honour to a stranger in times of peace.  Why should it?  I must not forget that I am here a stranger in the land, and that to the great mass of people even my name is unknown.  Perhaps they will know me better when Rooke comes back with that store of arms and ammunition that he has bought, and the little warship he has got from South America.  When they see that I hand over the whole lot to the nation without a string on them, they may begin to believe.  In the meantime all I can do is to wait.  It will all come right in time, I have no doubt.  And if it doesn’t come right, well, we can only die once!

Is that so?  What about my Lady of the Shroud?  I must not think of that or of her in this gallery.  Love and war are separate, and may not mix  —  cannot mix, if it comes to that.  I must be wise in the matter; and if I have got the hump in any degree whatever, must not show it.

But one thing is certain: something is up, and it must be the Turks.  From what the Vladika said at that meeting they have some intention of an attack on the Blue Mountains.  If that be so, we must be ready; and perhaps I can help there.  The forces must be organised; we must have some method of communication.  In this country, where are neither roads nor railways nor telegraphs, we must establish a signalling system of some sort. 
That
I can begin at once.  I can make a code, or adapt one that I have used elsewhere already.  I shall rig up a semaphore on the top of the Castle which can be seen for an enormous distance around.  I shall train a number of men to be facile in signalling.  And then, should need come, I may be able to show the mountaineers that I am fit to live in their hearts . . .

And all this work may prove an anodyne to pain of another kind.  It will help, at any rate, to keep my mind occupied whilst I am waiting for another visit from my Lady of the Shroud.

RUPERT’S JOURNAL  — 
Continued
.

May
18, 1907.

The two weeks that have passed have been busy, and may, as time goes on, prove eventful.  I really think they have placed me in a different position with the Blue Mountaineers  —  certainly so far as those in this part of the country are concerned.  They are no longer suspicious of me  —  which is much; though they have not yet received me into their confidence.  I suppose this will come in time, but I must not try to hustle them.  Already they are willing, so far as I can see, to use me to their own ends.  They accepted the signalling idea very readily, and are quite willing to drill as much as I like.  This can be (and I think is, in its way) a pleasure to them.  They are born soldiers, every man of them; and practice together is only a realization of their own wishes and a further development of their powers.  I think I can understand the trend of their thoughts, and what ideas of public policy lie behind them.  In all that we have attempted together as yet they are themselves in absolute power.  It rests with them to carry out any ideas I may suggest, so they do not fear any assumption of power or governance on my part.  Thus, so long as they keep secret from me both their ideas of high policy and their immediate intentions, I am powerless to do them ill, and I
may
be of service should occasion arise.  Well, all told, this is much.  Already they accept me as an individual, not merely one of the mass.  I am pretty sure that they are satisfied of my personal
bona fides
.  It is policy and not mistrust that hedges me in.  Well, policy is a matter of time.  They are a splendid people, but if they knew a little more than they do they would understand that the wisest of all policies is trust  —  when it can be given.  I must hold myself in check, and never be betrayed into a harsh thought towards them.  Poor souls! with a thousand years behind them of Turkish aggression, strenuously attempted by both force and fraud, no wonder they are suspicious.  Likewise every other nation with whom they have ever come in contact  —  except one, my own  —  has deceived or betrayed them.  Anyhow, they are fine soldiers, and before long we shall have an army that cannot be ignored.  If I can get so that they trust me, I shall ask Sir Colin to come out here.  He would be a splendid head for their army.  His great military knowledge and tactical skill would come in well.  It makes me glow to think of what an army he would turn out of this splendid material, and one especially adapted for the style of fighting which would be necessary in this country.

If a mere amateur like myself, who has only had experience of organising the wildest kind of savages, has been able to advance or compact their individual style of fighting into systematic effort, a great soldier like MacKelpie will bring them to perfection as a fighting machine.  Our Highlanders, when they come out, will foregather with them, as mountaineers always do with each other.  Then we shall have a force which can hold its own against any odds.  I only hope that Rooke will be returning soon.  I want to see those Ingis-Malbron rifles either safely stored in the Castle or, what is better, divided up amongst the mountaineers  —  a thing which will be done at the very earliest moment that I can accomplish it.  I have a conviction that when these men have received their arms and ammunition from me they will understand me better, and not keep any secrets from me.

All this fortnight when I was not drilling or going about amongst the mountaineers, and teaching them the code which I have now got perfected, I was exploring the side of the mountain nearest to here.  I could not bear to be still.  It is torture to me to be idle in my present condition of mind regarding my Lady of the Shroud . . . Strange I do not mind mentioning the word to myself now.  I used to at first; but that bitterness has all gone away.

RUPERT’S JOURNAL  —  Continued.

May
19, 1907.

I was so restless early this morning that before daylight I was out exploring on the mountain-side.  By chance I came across a secret place just as the day was breaking.  Indeed, it was by the change of light as the first sun-rays seemed to fall down the mountain-side that my attention was called to an opening shown by a light behind it.  It was, indeed, a secret place  —  so secret that I thought at first I should keep it to myself.  In such a place as this either to hide in or to be able to prevent anyone else hiding in might on occasion be an asset of safety.

When, however, I saw indications rather than traces that someone had already used it to camp in, I changed my mind, and thought that whenever I should get an opportunity I would tell the Vladika of it, as he is a man on whose discretion I can rely.  If we ever have a war here or any sort of invasion, it is just such places that may be dangerous.  Even in my own case it is much too near the Castle to be neglected.

The indications were meagre  —  only where a fire had been on a little shelf of rock; and it was not possible, through the results of burning vegetation or scorched grass, to tell how long before the fire had been alight.  I could only guess.  Perhaps the mountaineers might be able to tell or even to guess better than I could.  But I am not so sure of this.  I am a mountaineer myself, and with larger and more varied experience than any of them.  For myself, though I could not be certain, I came to the conclusion that whoever had used the place had done so not many days before.  It could not have been quite recently; but it may not have been very long ago.  Whoever had used it had covered up his tracks well.  Even the ashes had been carefully removed, and the place where they had lain was cleaned or swept in some way, so that there was no trace on the spot.  I applied some of my West African experience, and looked on the rough bark of the trees to leeward, to where the agitated air, however directed, must have come, unless it was wanted to call attention to the place by the scattered wood-ashes, however fine.  I found traces of it, but they were faint.  There had not been rain for several days; so the dust must have been blown there since the rain had fallen, for it was still dry.