DEAR SEATON,—
“It may interest, and perhaps pain you, to know that the incredulity with which you met my story has prevented me from ever opening my mouth upon the subject again. I leave this record after my death, and perhaps strangers may be found to have more confidence in me than my friend.”
Inquiry3 has failed to elicit4 who this Seaton may have been. I may add that the visit of the deceased to Allerton’s Farm, and the general nature of the alarm there, apart from his particular explanation, have been absolutely established. With this foreword I append his account exactly as he left it. It is in the form of a diary, some entries in which have been expanded, while a few have been erased5.
April 17.— Already I feel the benefit of this wonderful upland air. The farm of the Allertons lies fourteen hundred and twenty feet above sea-level, so it may well be a bracing6 climate. Beyond the usual morning cough I have very little discomfort8, and, what with the fresh milk and the home-grown mutton, I have every chance of putting on weight. I think Saunderson will be pleased.
The two Miss Allertons are charmingly quaint9 and kind, two dear little hard-working old maids, who are ready to lavish10 all the heart which might have gone out to husband and to children upon an invalid11 stranger. Truly, the old maid is a most useful person, one of the reserve forces of the community. They talk of the superfluous12 woman, but what would the poor superfluous man do without her kindly13 presence? By the way, in their simplicity14 they very quickly let out the reason why Saunderson recommended their farm. The Professor rose from the ranks himself, and I believe that in his youth he was not above scaring crows in these very fields.
It is a most lonely spot, and the walks are picturesque15 in the extreme. The farm consists of grazing land lying at the bottom of an irregular valley. On each side are the fantastic limestone16 hills, formed of rock so soft that you can break it away with your hands. All this country is hollow. Could you strike it with some gigantic hammer it would boom like a drum, or possibly cave in altogether and expose some huge subterranean17 sea. A great sea there must surely be, for on all sides the streams run into the mountain itself, never to reappear. There are gaps everywhere amid the rocks, and when you pass through them you find yourself in great caverns19, which wind down into the bowels20 of the earth. I have a small bicycle lamp, and it is a perpetual joy to me to carry it into these weird21 solitudes22, and to see the wonderful silver and black effect when I throw its light upon the stalactites which drape the lofty roofs. Shut off the lamp, and you are in the blackest darkness. Turn it on, and it is a scene from the Arabian Nights.
But there is one of these strange openings in the earth which has a special interest, for it is the handiwork, not of nature, but of man. I had never heard of Blue John when I came to these parts. It is the name given to a peculiar23 mineral of a beautiful purple shade, which is only found at one or two places in the world. It is so rare that an ordinary vase of Blue John would be valued at a great price. The Romans, with that extraordinary instinct of theirs, discovered that it was to be found in this valley, and sank a horizontal shaft24 deep into the mountain side. The opening of their mine has been called Blue John Gap, a clean-cut arch in the rock, the mouth all overgrown with bushes. It is a goodly passage which the Roman miners have cut, and it intersects some of the great water-worn caves, so that if you enter Blue John Gap you would do well to mark your steps and to have a good store of candles, or you may never make your way back to the daylight again. I have not yet gone deeply into it, but this very day I stood at the mouth of the arched tunnel, and peering down into the black recesses25 beyond, I vowed26 that when my health returned I would devote some holiday to exploring those mysterious depths and finding out for myself how far the Roman had penetrated27 into the Derbyshire hills.
Strange how superstitious28 these countrymen are! I should have thought better of young Armitage, for he is a man of some education and character, and a very fine fellow for his station in life. I was standing29 at the Blue John Gap when he came across the field to me.
“Well, doctor,” said he, “you’re not afraid, anyhow.”
“Afraid!” I answered. “Afraid of what?”
“Of it,” said he, with a jerk of his thumb towards the black vault30, “of the Terror that lives in the Blue John Cave.”
How absurdly easy it is for a legend to arise in a lonely countryside! I examined him as to the reasons for his weird belief. It seems that from time to time sheep have been missing from the fields, carried bodily away, according to Armitage. That they could have wandered away of their own accord and disappeared among the mountains was an explanation to which he would not listen. On one occasion a pool of blood had been found, and some tufts of wool. That also, I pointed31 out, could be explained in a perfectly32 natural way. Further, the nights upon which sheep disappeared were invariably very dark, cloudy nights with no moon. This I met with the obvious retort that those were the nights which a commonplace sheep-stealer would naturally choose for his work. On one occasion a gap had been made in a wall, and some of the stones scattered33 for a considerable distance. Human agency again, in my opinion. Finally, Armitage clinched34 all his arguments by telling me that he had actually heard the Creature — indeed, that anyone could hear it who remained long enough at the Gap. It was a distant roaring of an immense volume. I could not but smile at this, knowing, as I do, the strange reverberations which come out of an underground water system running amid the chasms36 of a limestone formation. My incredulity annoyed Armitage so that he turned and left me with some abruptness37.
And now comes the queer point about the whole business. I was still standing near the mouth of the cave turning over in my mind the various statements of Armitage, and reflecting how readily they could be explained away, when suddenly, from the depth of the tunnel beside me, there issued a most extraordinary sound. How shall I describe it? First of all, it seemed to be a great distance away, far down in the bowels of the earth. Secondly38, in spite of this suggestion of distance, it was very loud. Lastly, it was not a boom, nor a crash, such as one would associate with falling water or tumbling rock, but it was a high whine39, tremulous and vibrating, almost like the whinnying of a horse. It was certainly a most remarkable40 experience, and one which for a moment, I must admit, gave a new significance to Armitage’s words. I waited by the Blue John Gap for half an hour or more, but there was no return of the sound, so at last I wandered back to the farmhouse41, rather mystified by what had occurred. Decidedly I shall explore that cavern18 when my strength is restored. Of course, Armitage’s explanation is too absurd for discussion, and yet that sound was certainly very strange. It still rings in my ears as I write.
April 20.— In the last three days I have made several expeditions to the Blue John Gap, and have even penetrated some short distance, but my bicycle lantern is so small and weak that I dare not trust myself very far. I shall do the thing more systematically42. I have heard no sound at all, and could almost believe that I had been the victim of some hallucination suggested, perhaps, by Armitage’s conversation. Of course, the whole idea is absurd, and yet I must confess that those bushes at the entrance of the cave do present an appearance as if some heavy creature had forced its way through them. I begin to be keenly interested. I have said nothing to the Miss Allertons, for they are quite superstitious enough already, but I have bought some candles, and mean to investigate for myself.
I observed this morning that among the numerous tufts of sheep’s wool which lay among the bushes near the cavern there was one which was smeared43 with blood. Of course, my reason tells me that if sheep wander into such rocky places they are likely to injure themselves, and yet somehow that splash of crimson44 gave me a sudden shock, and for a moment I found myself shrinking back in horror from the old Roman arch. A fetid breath seemed to ooze45 from the black depths into which I peered. Could it indeed be possible that some nameless thing, some dreadful presence, was lurking46 down yonder? I should have been incapable47 of such feelings in the days of my strength, but one grows more nervous and fanciful when one’s health is shaken.
For the moment I weakened in my resolution, and was ready to leave the secret of the old mine, if one exists, for ever unsolved. But tonight my interest has returned and my nerves grown more steady. Tomorrow I trust that I shall have gone more deeply into this matter.
April 22.— Let me try and set down as accurately48 as I can my extraordinary experience of yesterday. I started in the afternoon, and made my way to the Blue John Gap. I confess that my misgivings50 returned as I gazed into its depths, and I wished that I had brought a companion to share my exploration. Finally, with a return of resolution, I lit my candle, pushed my way through the briars, and descended51 into the rocky shaft.
It went down at an acute angle for some fifty feet, the floor being covered with broken stone. Thence there extended a long, straight passage cut in the solid rock. I am no geologist53, but the lining54 of this corridor was certainly of some harder material than limestone, for there were points where I could actually see the tool-marks which the old miners had left in their excavation55, as fresh as if they had been done yesterday. Down this strange, old-world corridor I stumbled, my feeble flame throwing a dim circle of light around me, which made the shadows beyond the more threatening and obscure. Finally, I came to a spot where the Roman tunnel opened into a water-worn cavern — a huge hall, hung with long white icicles of lime deposit. From this central chamber56 I could dimly perceive that a number of passages worn by the subterranean streams wound away into the depths of the earth. I was standing there wondering whether I had better return, or whether I dare venture farther into this dangerous labyrinth57, when my eyes fell upon something at my feet which strongly arrested my attention.
The greater part of the floor of the cavern was covered with boulders59 of rock or with hard incrustations of lime, but at this particular point there had been a drip from the distant roof, which had left a patch of soft mud. In the very centre of this there was a huge mark — an ill-defined blotch60, deep, broad and irregular, as if a great boulder58 had fallen upon it. No loose stone lay near, however, nor was there anything to account for the impression. It was far too large to be caused by any possible animal, and besides, there was only the one, and the patch of mud was of such a size that no reasonable stride could have covered it. As I rose from the examination of that singular mark and then looked round into the black shadows which hemmed61 me in, I must confess that I felt for a moment a most unpleasant sinking of my heart, and that, do what I could, the candle trembled in my outstretched hand.
I soon recovered my nerve, however, when I reflected how absurd it was to associate so huge and shapeless a mark with the track of any known animal. Even an elephant could not have produced it. I determined62, therefore, that I would not be scared by vague and senseless fears from carrying out my exploration. Before proceeding63, I took good note of a curious rock formation in the wall by which I could recognize the entrance of the Roman tunnel. The precaution was very necessary, for the great cave, so far as I could see it, was intersected by passages. Having made sure of my position, and reassured64 myself by examining my spare candles and my matches, I advanced slowly over the rocky and uneven66 surface of the cavern.
And now I come to the point where I met with such sudden and desperate disaster. A stream, some twenty feet broad, ran across my path, and I walked for some little distance along the bank to find a spot where I could cross dry-shod. Finally, I came to a place where a single flat boulder lay near the centre, which I could reach in a stride. As it chanced, however, the rock had been cut away and made top-heavy by the rush of the stream, so that it tilted67 over as I landed on it and shot me into the ice-cold water. My candle went out, and I found myself floundering about in utter and absolute darkness.
I staggered to my feet again, more amused than alarmed by my adventure. The candle had fallen from my hand, and was lost in the stream, but I had two others in my pocket, so that it was of no importance. I got one of them ready, and drew out my box of matches to light it. Only then did I realize my position. The box had been soaked in my fall into the river. It was impossible to strike the matches.
A cold hand seemed to close round my heart as I realized my position. The darkness was opaque68 and horrible. It was so utter one put one’s hand up to one’s face as if to press off something solid. I stood still, and by an effort I steadied myself. I tried to reconstruct in my mind a map of the floor of the cavern as I had last seen it. Alas69! the bearings which had impressed themselves upon my mind were high on the wall, and not to be found by touch. Still, I remembered in a general way how the sides were situated70, and I hoped that by groping my way along them I should at last come to the opening of the Roman tunnel. Moving very slowly, and continually striking against the rocks, I set out on this desperate quest.
But I very soon realized how impossible it was. In that black, velvety71 darkness one lost all one’s bearings in an instant. Before I had made a dozen paces, I was utterly72 bewildered as to my whereabouts. The rippling73 of the stream, which was the one sound audible, showed me where it lay, but the moment that I left its bank I was utterly lost. The idea of finding my way back in absolute darkness through that limestone labyrinth was clearly an impossible one.
I sat down upon a boulder and reflected upon my unfortunate plight74. I had not told anyone that I proposed to come to the Blue John mine, and it was unlikely that a search party would come after me. Therefore I must trust to my own resources to get clear of the danger. There was only one hope, and that was that the matches might dry. When I fell into the river, only half of me had got thoroughly75 wet. My left shoulder had remained above the water. I took the box of matches, therefore, and put it into my left armpit. The moist air of the cavern might possibly be counteracted76 by the heat of my body, but even so, I knew that I could not hope to get a light for many hours. Meanwhile there was nothing for it but to wait.
By good luck I had slipped several biscuits into my pocket before I left the farm-house. These I now devoured77, and washed them down with a draught78 from that wretched stream which had been the cause of all my misfortunes. Then I felt about for a comfortable seat among the rocks, and, having discovered a place where I could get a support for my back, I stretched out my legs and settled myself down to wait. I was wretchedly damp and cold, but I tried to cheer myself with the reflection that modern science prescribed open windows and walks in all weather for my disease. Gradually, lulled79 by the monotonous80 gurgle of the stream, and by the absolute darkness, I sank into an uneasy slumber81.
How long this lasted I cannot say. It may have been for an hour, it may have been for several. Suddenly I sat up on my rock couch, with every nerve thrilling and every sense acutely on the alert. Beyond all doubt I had heard a sound — some sound very distinct from the gurgling of the waters. It had passed, but the reverberation35 of it still lingered in my ear. Was it a search party? They would most certainly have shouted, and vague as this sound was which had wakened me, it was very distinct from the human voice. I sat palpitating and hardly daring to breathe. There it was again! And again! Now it had become continuous. It was a tread — yes, surely it was the tread of some living creature. But what a tread it was! It gave one the impression of enormous weight carried upon sponge-like feet, which gave forth82 a muffled83 but ear-filling sound. The darkness was as complete as ever, but the tread was regular and decisive. And it was coming beyond all question in my direction.
My skin grew cold, and my hair stood on end as I listened to that steady and ponderous84 footfall. There was some creature there, and surely by the speed of its advance, it was one which could see in the dark. I crouched85 low on my rock and tried to blend myself into it. The steps grew nearer still, then stopped, and presently I was aware of a loud lapping and gurgling. The creature was drinking at the stream. Then again there was silence, broken by a succession of long sniffs86 and snorts of tremendous volume and energy. Had it caught the scent87 of me? My own nostrils88 were filled by a low fetid odour, mephitic and abominable89. Then I heard the steps again. They were on my side of the stream now. The stones rattled91 within a few yards of where I lay. Hardly daring to breathe, I crouched upon my rock. Then the steps drew away. I heard the splash as it returned across the river, and the sound died away into the distance in the direction from which it had come.
For a long time I lay upon the rock, too much horrified92 to move. I thought of the sound which I had heard coming from the depths of the cave, of Armitage’s fears, of the strange impression in the mud, and now came this final and absolute proof that there was indeed some inconceivable monster, something utterly unearthly and dreadful, which lurked93 in the hollow of the mountain. Of its nature or form I could frame no conception, save that it was both light-footed and gigantic. The combat between my reason, which told me that such things could not be, and my senses, which told me that they were, raged within me as I lay. Finally, I was almost ready to persuade myself that this experience had been part of some evil dream, and that my abnormal condition might have conjured94 up an hallucination. But there remained one final experience which removed the last possibility of doubt from my mind.
I had taken my matches from my armpit and felt them. They seemed perfectly hard and dry. Stooping down into a crevice95 of the rocks, I tried one of them. To my delight it took fire at once. I lit the candle, and, with a terrified backward glance into the obscure depths of the cavern, I hurried in the direction of the Roman passage. As I did so I passed the patch of mud on which I had seen the huge imprint96. Now I stood astonished before it, for there were three similar imprints97 upon its surface, enormous in size, irregular in outline, of a depth which indicated the ponderous weight which had left them. Then a great terror surged over me. Stooping and shading my candle with my hand, I ran in a frenzy98 of fear to the rocky archway, hastened up it, and never stopped until, with weary feet and panting lungs, I rushed up the final slope of stones, broke through the tangle99 of briars, and flung myself exhausted100 upon the soft grass under the peaceful light of the stars. It was three in the morning when I reached the farm-house, and today I am all unstrung and quivering after my terrific adventure. As yet I have told no one. I must move warily101 in the matter. What would the poor lonely women, or the uneducated yokels102 here think of it if I were to tell them my experience? Let me go to someone who can understand and advise.
April 25.— I was laid up in bed for two days after my incredible adventure in the cavern. I use the adjective with a very definite meaning, for I have had an experience since which has shocked me almost as much as the other. I have said that I was looking round for someone who could advise me. There is a Dr. Mark Johnson who practices some few miles away, to whom I had a note of recommendation from Professor Saunderson. To him I drove, when I was strong enough to get about, and I recounted to him my whole strange experience. He listened intently, and then carefully examined me, paying special attention to my reflexes and to the pupils of my eyes. When he had finished, he refused to discuss my adventure, saying that it was entirely103 beyond him, but he gave me the card of a Mr. Picton at Castleton, with the advice that I should instantly go to him and tell him the story exactly as I had done to himself. He was, according to my adviser104, the very man who was preeminently suited to help me. I went on to the station, therefore, and made my way to the little town, which is some ten miles away. Mr. Picton appeared to be a man of importance, as his brass105 plate was displayed upon the door of a considerable building on the outskirts106 of the town. I was about to ring his bell, when some misgiving49 came into my mind, and, crossing to a neighbouring shop, I asked the man behind the counter if he could tell me anything of Mr. Picton. “Why,” said he, “he is the best mad doctor in Derbyshire, and yonder is his asylum108.” You can imagine that it was not long before I had shaken the dust of Castleton from my feet and returned to the farm, cursing all unimaginative pedants109 who cannot conceive that there may be things in creation which have never yet chanced to come across their mole’s vision. After all, now that I am cooler, I can afford to admit that I have been no more sympathetic to Armitage than Dr. Johnson has been to me.
April 27. When I was a student I had the reputation of being a man of courage and enterprise. I remember that when there was a ghost-hunt at Coltbridge it was I who sat up in the haunted house. Is it advancing years (after all, I am only thirty-five), or is it this physical malady110 which has caused degeneration? Certainly my heart quails111 when I think of that horrible cavern in the hill, and the certainty that it has some monstrous112 occupant. What shall I do? There is not an hour in the day that I do not debate the question. If I say nothing, then the mystery remains113 unsolved. If I do say anything, then I have the alternative of mad alarm over the whole countryside, or of absolute incredulity which may end in consigning114 me to an asylum. On the whole, I think that my best course is to wait, and to prepare for some expedition which shall be more deliberate and better thought out than the last. As a first step I have been to Castleton and obtained a few essentials — a large acetylene lantern for one thing, and a good double-barrelled sporting rifle for another. The latter I have hired, but I have bought a dozen heavy game cartridges115, which would bring down a rhinoceros116. Now I am ready for my troglodyte117 friend. Give me better health and a little spate118 of energy, and I shall try conclusions with him yet. But who and what is he? Ah! there is the question which stands between me and my sleep. How many theories do I form, only to discard each in turn! It is all so utterly unthinkable. And yet the cry, the footmark, the tread in the cavern — no reasoning can get past these I think of the old-world legends of dragons and of other monsters. Were they, perhaps, not such fairy-tales as we have thought? Can it be that there is some fact which underlies119 them, and am I, of all mortals, the one who is chosen to expose it?
May 3.— For several days I have been laid up by the vagaries120 of an English spring, and during those days there have been developments, the true and sinister121 meaning of which no one can appreciate save myself. I may say that we have had cloudy and moonless nights of late, which according to my information were the seasons upon which sheep disappeared. Well, sheep have disappeared. Two of Miss Allerton’s, one of old Pearson’s of the Cat Walk, and one of Mrs. Moulton’s. Four in all during three nights. No trace is left of them at all, and the countryside is buzzing with rumours122 of gipsies and of sheep-stealers.
But there is something more serious than that. Young Armitage has disappeared also. He left his moorland cottage early on Wednesday night and has never been heard of since. He was an unattached man, so there is less sensation than would otherwise be the case. The popular explanation is that he owes money, and has found a situation in some other part of the country, whence he will presently write for his belongings123. But I have grave misgivings. Is it not much more likely that the recent tragedy of the sheep has caused him to take some steps which may have ended in his own destruction? He may, for example, have lain in wait for the creature and been carried off by it into the recesses of the mountains. What an inconceivable fate for a civilized124 Englishman of the twentieth century! And yet I feel that it is possible and even probable. But in that case, how far am I answerable both for his death and for any other mishap125 which may occur? Surely with the knowledge I already possess it must be my duty to see that something is done, or if necessary to do it myself. It must be the latter, for this morning I went down to the local police-station and told my story. The inspector126 entered it all in a large book and bowed me out with commendable127 gravity, but I heard a burst of laughter before I had got down his garden path. No doubt he was recounting my adventure to his family.
June 10.— I am writing this, propped128 up in bed, six weeks after my last entry in this journal. I have gone through a terrible shock both to mind and body, arising from such an experience as has seldom befallen a human being before. But I have attained129 my end. The danger from the Terror which dwells in the Blue John Gap has passed never to return. Thus much at least I, a broken invalid, have done for the common good. Let me now recount what occurred as clearly as I may.
The night of Friday, May 3rd, was dark and cloudy — the very night for the monster to walk. About eleven o’clock I went from the farm-house with my lantern and my rifle, having first left a note upon the table of my bedroom in which I said that, if I were missing, search should be made for me in the direction of the Gap. I made my way to the mouth of the Roman shaft, and, having perched myself among the rocks close to the opening, I shut off my lantern and waited patiently with my loaded rifle ready to my hand.
It was a melancholy130 vigil. All down the winding131 valley I could see the scattered lights of the farm-houses, and the church clock of Chapel-le-Dale tolling132 the hours came faintly to my ears. These tokens of my fellow-men served only to make my own position seem the more lonely, and to call for a greater effort to overcome the terror which tempted133 me continually to get back to the farm, and abandon for ever this dangerous quest. And yet there lies deep in every man a rooted self-respect which makes it hard for him to turn back from that which he has once undertaken. This feeling of personal pride was my salvation134 now, and it was that alone which held me fast when every instinct of my nature was dragging me away. I am glad now that I had the strength. In spite of all that is has cost me, my manhood is at least above reproach.
Twelve o’clock struck in the distant church, then one, then two. It was the darkest hour of the night. The clouds were drifting low, and there was not a star in the sky. An owl65 was hooting136 somewhere among the rocks, but no other sound, save the gentle sough of the wind, came to my ears. And then suddenly I heard it! From far away down the tunnel came those muffled steps, so soft and yet so ponderous. I heard also the rattle90 of stones as they gave way under that giant tread. They drew nearer. They were close upon me. I heard the crashing of the bushes round the entrance, and then dimly through the darkness I was conscious of the loom137 of some enormous shape, some monstrous inchoate138 creature, passing swiftly and very silently out from the tunnel. I was paralysed with fear and amazement139. Long as I had waited, now that it had actually come I was unprepared for the shock. I lay motionless and breathless, whilst the great dark mass whisked by me and was swallowed up in the night.
But now I nerved myself for its return. No sound came from the sleeping countryside to tell of the horror which was loose. In no way could I judge how far off it was, what it was doing, or when it might be back. But not a second time should my nerve fail me, not a second time should it pass unchallenged. I swore it between my clenched140 teeth as I laid my cocked rifle across the rock.
And yet it nearly happened. There was no warning of approach now as the creature passed over the grass. Suddenly, like a dark, drifting shadow, the huge bulk loomed141 up once more before me, making for the entrance of the cave. Again came that paralysis142 of volition143 which held my crooked144 forefinger145 impotent upon the trigger. But with a desperate effort I shook it off. Even as the brushwood rustled146, and the monstrous beast blended with the shadow of the Gap, I fired at the retreating form. In the blaze of the gun I caught a glimpse of a great shaggy mass, something with rough and bristling147 hair of a withered148 grey colour, fading away to white in its lower parts, the huge body supported upon short, thick, curving legs. I had just that glance, and then I heard the rattle of the stones as the creature tore down into its burrow149. In an instant, with a triumphant150 revulsion of feeling, I had cast my fears to the wind, and uncovering my powerful lantern, with my rifle in my hand, I sprang down from my rock and rushed after the monster down the old Roman shaft.
My splendid lamp cast a brilliant flood of vivid light in front of me, very different from the yellow glimmer151 which had aided me down the same passage only twelve days before. As I ran, I saw the great beast lurching along before me, its huge bulk filling up the whole space from wall to wall. Its hair looked like coarse faded oakum, and hung down in long, dense152 masses which swayed as it moved. It was like an enormous unclipped sheep in its fleece, but in size it was far larger than the largest elephant, and its breadth seemed to be nearly as great as its height. It fills me with amazement now to think that I should have dared to follow such a horror into the bowels of the earth, but when one’s blood is up, and when one’s quarry153 seems to be flying, the old primeval hunting-spirit awakes and prudence154 is cast to the wind. Rifle in hand, I ran at the top of my speed upon the trail of the monster.
I had seen that the creature was swift. Now I was to find out to my cost that it was also very cunning. I had imagined that it was in panic flight, and that I had only to pursue it. The idea that it might turn upon me never entered my excited brain. I have already explained that the passage down which I was racing7 opened into a great central cave. Into this I rushed, fearful lest I should lose all trace of the beast. But he had turned upon his own traces, and in a moment we were face to face.
That picture, seen in the brilliant white light of the lantern, is etched for ever upon my brain. He had reared up on his hind107 legs as a bear would do, and stood above me, enormous, menacing — such a creature as no nightmare had ever brought to my imagination. I have said that he reared like a bear, and there was something bear-like — if one could conceive a bear which was ten-fold the bulk of any bear seen upon earth — in his whole pose and attitude, in his great crooked forelegs with their ivory-white claws, in his rugged155 skin, and in his red, gaping156 mouth, fringed with monstrous fangs157. Only in one point did he differ from the bear, or from any other creature which walks the earth, and even at that supreme158 moment a shudder159 of horror passed over me as I observed that the eyes which glistened160 in the glow of my lantern were huge, projecting bulbs, white and sightless. For a moment his great paws swung over my head. The next he fell forward upon me, I and my broken lantern crashed to the earth, and I remember no more.
When I came to myself I was back in the farm-house of the Allertons. Two days had passed since my terrible adventure in the Blue John Gap. It seems that I had lain all night in the cave insensible from concussion161 of the brain, with my left arm and two ribs162 badly fractured. In the morning my note had been found, a search party of a dozen farmers assembled, and I had been tracked down and carried back to my bedroom, where I had lain in high delirium163 ever since. There was, it seems, no sign of the creature, and no bloodstain which would show that my bullet had found him as he passed. Save for my own plight and the marks upon the mud, there was nothing to prove that what I said was true.
Six weeks have now elapsed, and I am able to sit out once more in the sunshine. Just opposite me is the steep hillside, grey with shaly164 rock, and yonder on its flank is the dark cleft165 which marks the opening of the Blue John Gap. But it is no longer a source of terror. Never again through that ill-omened tunnel shall any strange shape flit out into the world of men. The educated and the scientific, the Dr. Johnsons and the like, may smile at my narrative, but the poorer folk of the countryside had never a doubt as to its truth. On the day after my recovering consciousness they assembled in their hundreds round the Blue John Gap. As the Castleton Courier said:
“It was useless for our correspondent, or for any of the adventurous166 gentlemen who had come from Matlock, Buxton, and other parts, to offer to descend52, to explore the cave to the end, and to finally test the extraordinary narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle. The country people had taken the matter into their own hands, and from an early hour of the morning they had worked hard in stopping up the entrance of the tunnel. There is a sharp slope where the shaft begins, and great boulders, rolled along by many willing hands, were thrust down it until the Gap was absolutely sealed. So ends the episode which has caused such excitement throughout the country. Local opinion is fiercely divided upon the subject. On the one hand are those who point to Dr. Hardcastle’s impaired167 health, and to the possibility of cerebral168 lesions of tubercular origin giving rise to strange hallucinations. Some idee fixe, according to these gentlemen, caused the doctor to wander down the tunnel, and a fall among the rocks was sufficient to account for his injuries. On the other hand, a legend of a strange creature in the Gap has existed for some months back, and the farmers look upon Dr. Hardcastle’s narrative and his personal injuries as a final corroboration169. So the matter stands, and so the matter will continue to stand, for no definite solution seems to us to be now possible. It transcends170 human wit to give any scientific explanation which could cover the alleged171 facts.”
Perhaps before the Courier published these words they would have been wise to send their representative to me. I have thought the matter out, as no one else has occasion to do, and it is possible that I might have removed some of the more obvious difficulties of the narrative and brought it one degree nearer to scientific acceptance. Let me then write down the only explanation which seems to me to elucidate172 what I know to my cost to have been a series of facts. My theory may seem to be wildly improbable, but at least no one can venture to say that it is impossible.
My view is — and it was formed, as is shown by my diary, before my personal adventure — that in this part of England there is a vast subterranean lake or sea, which is fed by the great number of streams which pass down through the limestone. Where there is a large collection of water there must also be some evaporation173, mists or rain, and a possibility of vegetation. This in turn suggests that there may be animal life, arising, as the vegetable life would also do, from those seeds and types which had been introduced at an early period of the world’s history, when communication with the outer air was more easy. This place had then developed a fauna174 and flora175 of its own, including such monsters as the one which I had seen, which may well have been the old cave-bear, enormously enlarged and modified by its new environment. For countless176 aeons the internal and the external creation had kept apart, growing steadily177 away from each other. Then there had come some rift135 in the depths of the mountain which had enabled one creature to wander up and, by means of the Roman tunnel, to reach the open air. Like all subterranean life, it had lost the power of sight, but this had no doubt been compensated178 for by nature in other directions. Certainly it had some means of finding its way about, and of hunting down the sheep upon the hillside. As to its choice of dark nights, it is part of my theory that light was painful to those great white eyeballs, and that it was only a pitch-black world which it could tolerate. Perhaps, indeed, it was the glare of my lantern which saved my life at that awful moment when we were face to face. So I read the riddle179. I leave these facts behind me, and if you can explain them, do so; or if you choose to doubt them, do so. Neither your belief nor your incredulity can alter them, nor affect one whose task is nearly over.
So ended the strange narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle.
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1
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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2
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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3
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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6
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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8
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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9
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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10
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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12
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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13
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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14
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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15
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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16
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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17
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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18
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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19
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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20
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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21
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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22
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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23
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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24
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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25
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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26
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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27
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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28
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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29
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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30
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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31
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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32
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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33
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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34
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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35
reverberation
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| 反响； 回响； 反射； 反射物 | |
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36
chasms
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| 裂缝( chasm的名词复数 )； 裂口； 分歧； 差别 | |
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37
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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38
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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39
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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40
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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41
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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42
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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43
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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44
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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45
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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46
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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47
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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48
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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49
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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50
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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51
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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52
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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53
geologist
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| n.地质学家 | |
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54
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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55
excavation
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| n.挖掘，发掘；被挖掘之地 | |
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56
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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57
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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58
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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59
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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60
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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61
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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62
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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63
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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64
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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65
owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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66
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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67
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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68
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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69
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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70
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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71
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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72
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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73
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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74
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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75
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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76
counteracted
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| 对抗，抵消( counteract的过去式 ) | |
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77
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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78
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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79
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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80
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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81
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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82
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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83
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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84
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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85
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
sniffs
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的第三人称单数 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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87
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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88
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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89
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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90
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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91
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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92
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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93
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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94
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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95
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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96
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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imprints
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| n.压印( imprint的名词复数 )；痕迹；持久影响 | |
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98
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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99
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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100
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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101
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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102
yokels
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| n.乡下佬，土包子( yokel的名词复数 ) | |
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103
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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104
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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105
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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106
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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107
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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108
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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109
pedants
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| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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110
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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111
quails
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| 鹌鹑( quail的名词复数 )； 鹌鹑肉 | |
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112
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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113
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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114
consigning
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的现在分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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115
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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116
rhinoceros
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| n.犀牛 | |
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117
troglodyte
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| n.古代穴居者；井底之蛙 | |
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118
spate
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| n.泛滥，洪水，突然的一阵 | |
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119
underlies
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的第三人称单数 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起 | |
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120
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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121
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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122
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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123
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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124
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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125
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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126
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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127
commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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128
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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130
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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131
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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132
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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133
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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134
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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136
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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137
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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138
inchoate
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| adj.才开始的，初期的 | |
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139
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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140
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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142
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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143
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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144
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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146
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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148
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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149
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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150
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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151
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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152
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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153
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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154
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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155
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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156
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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157
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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158
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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159
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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160
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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161
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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162
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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163
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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164
shaly
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| adj.页岩的 | |
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165
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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166
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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167
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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169
corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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170
transcends
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的第三人称单数 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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171
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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172
elucidate
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| v.阐明，说明 | |
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173
evaporation
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| n.蒸发，消失 | |
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174
fauna
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| n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物，动物区系 | |
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175
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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176
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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177
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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178
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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179
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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