Part 1 out of 7
This etext was created by Judith Boss, Omaha, Nebraska.
The Moon Pool
The publication of the following narrative of Dr. Walter T. Goodwin
has been authorized by the Executive Council of the International
Association of Science.
To end officially what is beginning to be called the Throckmartin
Mystery and to kill the innuendo and scandalous suspicions which have
threatened to stain the reputations of Dr. David Throckmartin, his
youthful wife, and equally youthful associate Dr. Charles Stanton ever
since a tardy despatch from Melbourne, Australia, reported the
disappearance of the first from a ship sailing to that port, and the
subsequent reports of the disappearance of his wife and associate from
the camp of their expedition in the Caroline Islands.
Because the Executive Council have concluded that Dr. Goodwin's
experiences in his wholly heroic effort to save the three, and the
lessons and warnings within those experiences, are too important
to humanity as a whole to be hidden away in scientific papers
understandable only to the technically educated; or to be presented
through the newspaper press in the abridged and fragmentary form
which the space limitations of that vehicle make necessary.
For these reasons the Executive Council commissioned Mr. A. Merritt
to transcribe into form to be readily understood by the layman the
stenographic notes of Dr. Goodwin's own report to the Council,
supplemented by further oral reminiscences and comments by Dr.
Goodwin; this transcription, edited and censored by the Executive
Council of the Association, forms the contents of this book.
Himself a member of the Council, Dr. Walter T. Goodwin, Ph.D.,
F.R.G.S. etc., is without cavil the foremost of American botanists, an
observer of international reputation and the author of several epochal
treaties upon his chosen branch of science. His story, amazing in the
best sense of that word as it may be, is fully supported by proofs
brought forward by him and accepted by the organization of which I
have the honor to be president. What matter has been elided from
this popular presentation--because of the excessively menacing
potentialities it contains, which unrestricted dissemination might
develop--will be dealt with in purely scientific pamphlets of
carefully guarded circulation.
THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF SCIENCE
Per J. B. K., President
The Thing on the Moon Path
For two months I had been on the d'Entrecasteaux Islands gathering
data for the concluding chapters of my book upon the flora of the
volcanic islands of the South Pacific. The day before I had reached
Port Moresby and had seen my specimens safely stored on board the
Southern Queen. As I sat on the upper deck I thought, with homesick
mind, of the long leagues between me and Melbourne, and the longer
ones between Melbourne and New York.
It was one of Papua's yellow mornings when she shows herself in her
sombrest, most baleful mood. The sky was smouldering ochre. Over the
island brooded a spirit sullen, alien, implacable, filled with the
threat of latent, malefic forces waiting to be unleashed. It seemed an
emanation out of the untamed, sinister heart of Papua herself--sinister
even when she smiles. And now and then, on the wind, came a breath from
virgin jungles, laden with unfamiliar odours, mysterious and menacing.
It is on such mornings that Papua whispers to you of her immemorial
ancientness and of her power. And, as every white man must, I fought
against her spell. While I struggled I saw a tall figure striding down
the pier; a Kapa-Kapa boy followed swinging a new valise. There was
something familiar about the tall man. As he reached the gangplank he
looked up straight into my eyes, stared for a moment, then waved his
And now I knew him. It was Dr. David Throckmartin--"Throck" he was to
me always, one of my oldest friends and, as well, a mind of the first
water whose power and achievements were for me a constant inspiration
as they were, I know, for scores other.
Coincidentally with my recognition came a shock of surprise,
definitely--unpleasant. It was Throckmartin--but about him was
something disturbingly unlike the man I had known long so well and to
whom and to whose little party I had bidden farewell less than a month
before I myself had sailed for these seas. He had married only a few
weeks before, Edith, the daughter of Professor William Frazier,
younger by at least a decade than he but at one with him in his ideals
and as much in love, if it were possible, as Throckmartin. By virtue
of her father's training a wonderful assistant, by virtue of her own
sweet, sound heart a--I use the word in its olden sense--lover. With
his equally youthful associate Dr. Charles Stanton and a Swedish
woman, Thora Halversen, who had been Edith Throckmartin's nurse from
babyhood, they had set forth for the Nan-Matal, that extraordinary
group of island ruins clustered along the eastern shore of Ponape in
I knew that he had planned to spend at least a year among these ruins,
not only of Ponape but of Lele--twin centres of a colossal riddle of
humanity, a weird flower of civilization that blossomed ages before
the seeds of Egypt were sown; of whose arts we know little enough and
of whose science nothing. He had carried with him unusually complete
equipment for the work he had expected to do and which, he hoped,
would be his monument.
What then had brought Throckmartin to Port Moresby, and what was that
change I had sensed in him?
Hurrying down to the lower deck I found him with the purser. As I
spoke he turned, thrust out to me an eager hand--and then I saw what
was that difference that had so moved me. He knew, of course by my
silence and involuntary shrinking the shock my closer look had given
me. His eyes filled; he turned brusquely from the purser, hesitated
--then hurried off to his stateroom.
"'E looks rather queer--eh?" said the purser. "Know 'im well, sir?
Seems to 'ave given you quite a start."
I made some reply and went slowly up to my chair. There I sat,
composed my mind and tried to define what it was that had shaken me
so. Now it came to me. The old Throckmartin was on the eve of his
venture just turned forty, lithe, erect, muscular; his controlling
expression one of enthusiasm, of intellectual keenness, of--what shall
I say--expectant search. His always questioning brain had stamped its
vigor upon his face.
But the Throckmartin I had seen below was one who had borne some
scaring shock of mingled rapture and horror; some soul cataclysm that
in its climax had remoulded, deep from within, his face, setting on it
seal of wedded ecstasy and despair; as though indeed these two had
come to him hand in hand, taken possession of him and departing left
behind, ineradicably, their linked shadows!
Yes--it was that which appalled. For how could rapture and horror,
Heaven and Hell mix, clasp hands--kiss?
Yet these were what in closest embrace lay on Throckmartin's face!
Deep in thought, subconsciously with relief, I watched the shore line
sink behind; welcomed the touch of the wind of the free seas. I had
hoped, and within the hope was an inexplicable shrinking that I would
meet Throckmartin at lunch. He did not come down, and I was sensible
of deliverance within my disappointment. All that afternoon I lounged
about uneasily but still he kept to his cabin--and within me was no
strength to summon him. Nor did he appear at dinner.
Dusk and night fell swiftly. I was warm and went back to my
deck-chair. The Southern Queen was rolling to a disquieting swell and
I had the place to myself.
Over the heavens was a canopy of cloud, glowing faintly and testifying
to the moon riding behind it. There was much phosphorescence. Fitfully
before the ship and at her sides arose those stranger little swirls of
mist that swirl up from the Southern Ocean like breath of sea
monsters, whirl for an instant and disappear.
Suddenly the deck door opened and through it came Throckmartin. He
paused uncertainly, looked up at the sky with a curiously eager,
intent gaze, hesitated, then closed the door behind him.
"Throck," I called. "Come! It's Goodwin."
He made his way to me.
"Throck," I said, wasting no time in preliminaries. "What's wrong?
Can I help you?"
I felt his body grow tense.
"I'm going to Melbourne, Goodwin," he answered. "I need a few
things--need them urgently. And more men--white men--"
He stopped abruptly; rose from his chair, gazed intently toward the
north. I followed his gaze. Far, far away the moon had broken through
the clouds. Almost on the horizon, you could see the faint
luminescence of it upon the smooth sea. The distant patch of light
quivered and shook. The clouds thickened again and it was gone. The
ship raced on southward, swiftly.
Throckmartin dropped into his chair. He lighted a cigarette with a
hand that trembled; then turned to me with abrupt resolution.
"Goodwin," he said. "I do need help. If ever man needed it, I do.
Goodwin--can you imagine yourself in another world, alien, unfamiliar,
a world of terror, whose unknown joy is its greatest terror of all;
you all alone there, a stranger! As such a man would need help, so I
He paused abruptly and arose; the cigarette dropped from his fingers.
The moon had again broken through the clouds, and this time much
nearer. Not a mile away was the patch of light that it threw upon the
waves. Back of it, to the rim of the sea was a lane of moonlight; a
gigantic gleaming serpent racing over the edge of the world straight
and surely toward the ship.
Throckmartin stiffened to it as a pointer does to a hidden covey. To
me from him pulsed a thrill of horror--but horror tinged with an
unfamiliar, an infernal joy. It came to me and passed away--leaving me
trembling with its shock of bitter sweet.
He bent forward, all his soul in his eyes. The moon path swept
closer, closer still. It was now less than half a mile away. From it
the ship fled--almost as though pursued. Down upon it, swift and
straight, a radiant torrent cleaving the waves, raced the moon stream.
"Good God!" breathed Throckmartin, and if ever the words were a prayer
and an invocation they were.
And then, for the first time--I saw--IT!
The moon path stretched to the horizon and was bordered by darkness.
It was as though the clouds above had been parted to form a lane-drawn
aside like curtains or as the waters of the Red Sea were held back to
let the hosts of Israel through. On each side of the stream was the
black shadow cast by the folds of the high canopies And straight as a
road between the opaque walls gleamed, shimmered, and danced the
shining, racing, rapids of the moonlight.
Far, it seemed immeasurably far, along this stream of silver fire I
sensed, rather than saw, something coming. It drew first into sight as
a deeper glow within the light. On and on it swept toward us--an
opalescent mistiness that sped with the suggestion of some winged
creature in arrowed flight. Dimly there crept into my mind memory of
the Dyak legend of the winged messenger of Buddha--the Akla bird
whose feathers are woven of the moon rays, whose heart is a living
opal, whose wings in flight echo the crystal clear music of the white
stars--but whose beak is of frozen flame and shreds the souls of
Closer it drew and now there came to me sweet, insistent
tinklings--like pizzicati on violins of glass; crystal clear; diamonds
melting into sounds!
Now the Thing was close to the end of the white path; close up to the
barrier of darkness still between the ship and the sparkling head of
the moon stream. Now it beat up against that barrier as a bird against
the bars of its cage. It whirled with shimmering plumes, with swirls
of lacy light, with spirals of living vapour. It held within it odd,
unfamiliar gleams as of shifting mother-of-pearl. Coruscations and
glittering atoms drifted through it as though it drew them from the
rays that bathed it.
Nearer and nearer it came, borne on the sparkling waves, and ever
thinner shrank the protecting wall of shadow between it and us. Within
the mistiness was a core, a nucleus of intenser light--veined,
opaline, effulgent, intensely alive. And above it, tangled in the
plumes and spirals that throbbed and whirled were seven glowing
Through all the incessant but strangely ordered movement of
the--THING--these lights held firm and steady. They were seven--like
seven little moons. One was of a pearly pink, one of a delicate
nacreous blue, one of lambent saffron, one of the emerald you see in
the shallow waters of tropic isles; a deathly white; a ghostly
amethyst; and one of the silver that is seen only when the flying fish
leap beneath the moon.
The tinkling music was louder still. It pierced the ears with a
shower of tiny lances; it made the heart beat jubilantly--and checked
it dolorously. It closed the throat with a throb of rapture and
gripped it tight with the hand of infinite sorrow!
Came to me now a murmuring cry, stilling the crystal notes. It was
articulate--but as though from something utterly foreign to this
world. The ear took the cry and translated with conscious labour into
the sounds of earth. And even as it compassed, the brain shrank from
it irresistibly, and simultaneously it seemed reached toward it with
Throckmartin strode toward the front of the deck, straight toward the
vision, now but a few yards away from the stern. His face had lost all
human semblance. Utter agony and utter ecstasy--there they were side
by side, not resisting each other; unholy inhuman companions blending
into a look that none of God's creatures should wear--and deep, deep
as his soul! A devil and a God dwelling harmoniously side by side! So
must Satan, newly fallen, still divine, seeing heaven and
contemplating hell, have appeared.
And then--swiftly the moon path faded! The clouds swept over the sky
as though a hand had drawn them together. Up from the south came a
roaring squall. As the moon vanished what I had seen vanished with
it--blotted out as an image on a magic lantern; the tinkling ceased
abruptly--leaving a silence like that which follows an abrupt thunder
clap. There was nothing about us but silence and blackness!
Through me passed a trembling as one who has stood on the very verge
of the gulf wherein the men of the Louisades says lurks the fisher of
the souls of men, and has been plucked back by sheerest chance.
Throckmartin passed an arm around me.
"It is as I thought," he said. In his voice was a new note; the calm
certainty that has swept aside a waiting terror of the unknown. "Now I
know! Come with me to my cabin, old friend. For now that you too have
seen I can tell you"--he hesitated--"what it was you saw," he ended.
As we passed through the door we met the ship's first officer.
Throckmartin composed his face into at least a semblance of normality.
"Going to have much of a storm?" he asked.
"Yes," said the mate. "Probably all the way to Melbourne."
Throckmartin straightened as though with a new thought. He gripped the
officer's sleeve eagerly.
"You mean at least cloudy weather--for"--he hesitated--"for the next
three nights, say?"
"And for three more," replied the mate.
"Thank God!" cried Throckmartin, and I think I never heard such relief
and hope as was in his voice.
The sailor stood amazed. "Thank God?" he repeated. "Thank--what d'ye
But Throckmartin was moving onward to his cabin. I started to follow.
The first officer stopped me.
"Your friend," he said, "is he ill?"
"The sea!" I answered hurriedly. "He's not used to it. I am going to
look after him."
Doubt and disbelief were plain in the seaman's eyes but I hurried on.
For I knew now that Throckmartin was ill indeed--but with a sickness
the ship's doctor nor any other could heal.
"Dead! All Dead!"
He was sitting, face in hands, on the side of his berth as I entered.
He had taken off his coat.
"Throck," I cried. "What was it? What are you flying from, man?
Where is your wife--and Stanton?"
"Dead!" he replied monotonously. "Dead! All dead!" Then as I
recoiled from him--"All dead. Edith, Stanton, Thora--dead--or worse.
And Edith in the Moon Pool--with them--drawn by what you saw on the
moon path--that has put its brand upon me--and follows me!"
He ripped open his shirt.
"Look at this," he said. Around his chest, above his heart, the skin
was white as pearl. This whiteness was sharply defined against the
healthy tint of the body. It circled him with an even cincture about
two inches wide.
"Burn it!" he said, and offered me his cigarette. I drew back. He
gestured--peremptorily. I pressed the glowing end of the cigarette
into the ribbon of white flesh. He did not flinch nor was there odour
of burning nor, as I drew the little cylinder away, any mark upon the
"Feel it!" he commanded again. I placed my fingers upon the band. It
was cold--like frozen marble.
He drew his shirt around him.
"Two things you have seen," he said. "IT--and its mark. Seeing, you
must believe my story. Goodwin, I tell you again that my wife is
dead--or worse--I do not know; the prey of--what you saw; so, too, is
Stanton; so Thora. How--"
Tears rolled down the seared face.
"Why did God let it conquer us? Why did He let it take my Edith?" he
cried in utter bitterness. "Are there things stronger than God, do you
"Are there? Are there?" His wild eyes searched me.
"I do not know just how you define God," I managed at last through my
astonishment to make answer. "If you mean the will to know, working
He waved me aside impatiently.
"Science," he said. "What is our science against--that? Or against
the science of whatever devils that made it--or made the way for it to
enter this world of ours?"
With an effort he regained control.
"Goodwin," he said, "do you know at all of the ruins on the Carolines;
the cyclopean, megalithic cities and harbours of Ponape and Lele, of
Kusaie, of Ruk and Hogolu, and a score of other islets there?
Particularly, do you know of the Nan-Matal and the Metalanim?"
"Of the Metalanim I have heard and seen photographs," I said. "They
call it, don't they, the Lost Venice of the Pacific?"
"Look at this map," said Throckmartin. "That," he went on, "is
Christian's chart of Metalanim harbour and the Nan-Matal. Do you see
the rectangles marked Nan-Tauach?"
"Yes," I said.
"There," he said, "under those walls is the Moon Pool and the seven
gleaming lights that raise the Dweller in the Pool, and the altar and
shrine of the Dweller. And there in the Moon Pool with it lie Edith
and Stanton and Thora."
"The Dweller in the Moon Pool?" I repeated half-incredulously.
"The Thing you saw," said Throckmartin solemnly.
A solid sheet of rain swept the ports, and the Southern Queen began to
roll on the rising swells. Throckmartin drew another deep breath of
relief, and drawing aside a curtain peered out into the night. Its
blackness seemed to reassure him. At any rate, when he sat again he
was entirely calm.
"There are no more wonderful ruins in the world," he began almost
casually. "They take in some fifty islets and cover with their
intersecting canals and lagoons about twelve square miles. Who built
them? None knows. When were they built? Ages before the memory of
present man, that is sure. Ten thousand, twenty thousand, a hundred
thousand years ago--the last more likely.
"All these islets, Walter, are squared, and their shores are frowning
seawalls of gigantic basalt blocks hewn and put in place by the hands
of ancient man. Each inner water-front is faced with a terrace of
those basalt blocks which stand out six feet above the shallow canals
that meander between them. On the islets behind these walls are
time-shattered fortresses, palaces, terraces, pyramids; immense
courtyards strewn with ruins--and all so old that they seem to wither
the eyes of those who look on them.
"There has been a great subsidence. You can stand out of Metalanim
harbour for three miles and look down upon the tops of similar
monolithic structures and walls twenty feet below you in the water.
"And all about, strung on their canals, are the bulwarked islets with
their enigmatic walls peering through the dense growths of
mangroves--dead, deserted for incalculable ages; shunned by those who
"You as a botanist are familiar with the evidence that a vast shadowy
continent existed in the Pacific--a continent that was not rent
asunder by volcanic forces as was that legendary one of Atlantis in
the Eastern Ocean.*1 My work in Java, in Papua, and in the Ladrones
had set my mind upon this Pacific lost land. Just as the Azores are
believed to be the last high peaks of Atlantis, so hints came to me
steadily that Ponape and Lele and their basalt bulwarked islets were
the last points of the slowly sunken western land clinging still to
the sunlight, and had been the last refuge and sacred places of the
rulers of that race which had lost their immemorial home under the
rising waters of the Pacific.
*1 For more detailed observations on these points refer to G. Volkens,
Uber die Karolinen Insel Yap, in Verhandlungen Gesellschaft Erdkunde
Berlin, xxvii (1901); J. S. Kubary, Ethnographische Beitrage zur
Kentniss des Karolinen Archipel (Leiden, 1889-1892); De Abrade
Historia del Conflicto de las Carolinas, etc. (Madrid, 1886).--W. T. G.
"I believed that under these ruins I might find the evidence
that I sought.
"My--my wife and I had talked before we were married of making this
our great work. After the honeymoon we prepared for the expedition.
Stanton was as enthusiastic as ourselves. We sailed, as you know, last
May for fulfilment of my dreams.
"At Ponape we selected, not without difficulty, workmen to help
us--diggers. I had to make extraordinary inducements before I could
get together my force. Their beliefs are gloomy, these Ponapeans. They
people their swamps, their forests, their mountains, and shores, with
malignant spirits--ani they call them. And they are afraid--bitterly
afraid of the isles of ruins and what they think the ruins hide. I do
"When they were told where they were to go, and how long we expected
to stay, they murmured. Those who, at last, were tempted made what I
thought then merely a superstitious proviso that they were to be
allowed to go away on the three nights of the full moon. Would to God
we had heeded them and gone too!"
"We passed into Metalanim harbour. Off to our left--a mile away arose
a massive quadrangle. Its walls were all of forty feet high and
hundreds of feet on each side. As we drew by, our natives grew very
silent; watched it furtively, fearfully. I knew it for the ruins that
are called Nan-Tauach, the 'place of frowning walls.' And at the
silence of my men I recalled what Christian had written of this place;
of how he had come upon its 'ancient platforms and tetragonal
enclosures of stonework; its wonder of tortuous alleyways and
labyrinth of shallow canals; grim masses of stonework peering out from
behind verdant screens; cyclopean barricades,' and of how, when he had
turned 'into its ghostly shadows, straight-way the merriment of guides
was hushed and conversation died down to whispers.'"
He was silent for a little time.
"Of course I wanted to pitch our camp there," he went on again
quietly, "but I soon gave up that idea. The natives were
panic-stricken--threatened to turn back. 'No,' they said, 'too great
ani there. We go to any other place--but not there.'
"We finally picked for our base the islet called Uschen-Tau. It was
close to the isle of desire, but far enough away from it to satisfy
our men. There was an excellent camping-place and a spring of fresh
water. We pitched our tents, and in a couple of days the work was in
The Moon Rock
"I do not intend to tell you now," Throckmartin continued, "the
results of the next two weeks, nor of what we found. Later--if I am
allowed, I will lay all that before you. It is sufficient to say that
at the end of those two weeks I had found confirmation for many of my
"The place, for all its decay and desolation, had not infected us with
any touch of morbidity--that is not Edith, Stanton, or myself. But
Thora was very unhappy. She was a Swede, as you know, and in her blood
ran the beliefs and superstitions of the Northland--some of them so
strangely akin to those of this far southern land; beliefs of spirits
of mountain and forest and water werewolves and beings malign. From
the first she showed a curious sensitivity to what, I suppose, may be
called the 'influences' of the place. She said it 'smelled' of ghosts
"I laughed at her then--
"Two weeks slipped by, and at their end the spokesman for our natives
came to us. The next night was the full of the moon, he said. He
reminded me of my promise. They would go back to their village in the
morning; they would return after the third night, when the moon had
begun to wane. They left us sundry charms for our 'protection,' and
solemnly cautioned us to keep as far away as possible from Nan-Tauach
during their absence. Half-exasperated, half-amused I watched them go.
"No work could be done without them, of course, so we decided to spend
the days of their absence junketing about the southern islets of the
group. We marked down several spots for subsequent exploration, and on
the morning of the third day set forth along the east face of the
breakwater for our camp on Uschen-Tau, planning to have everything in
readiness for the return of our men the next day.
"We landed just before dusk, tired and ready for our cots.
It was only a little after ten o'clock that Edith awakened me.
"'Listen!' she said. 'Lean over with your ear close to the ground!'
"I did so, and seemed to hear, far, far below, as though coming up
from great distances, a faint chanting. It gathered strength, died
down, ended; began, gathered volume, faded away into silence.
"'It's the waves rolling on rocks somewhere,' I said. 'We're probably
over some ledge of rock that carries the sound.'
"'It's the first time I've heard it,' replied my wife doubtfully. We
listened again. Then through the dim rhythms, deep beneath us, another
sound came. It drifted across the lagoon that lay between us and
Nan-Tauach in little tinkling waves. It was music--of a sort; I won't
describe the strange effect it had upon me. You've felt it--"
"You mean on the deck?" I asked. Throckmartin nodded.
"I went to the flap of the tent," he continued, "and peered out.
As I did so Stanton lifted his flap and walked out into the moonlight,
looking over to the other islet and listening. I called to him.
"'That's the queerest sound!' he said. He listened again.
'Crystalline! Like little notes of translucent glass. Like the bells
of crystal on the sistrums of Isis at Dendarah Temple,' he added
half-dreamily. We gazed intently at the island. Suddenly, on the
sea-wall, moving slowly, rhythmically, we saw a little group of
lights. Stanton laughed.
"'The beggars!' he exclaimed. 'That's why they wanted to get away, is
it? Don't you see, Dave, it's some sort of a festival--rites of some
kind that they hold during the full moon! That's why they were so
eager to have us KEEP away, too.'
"The explanation seemed good. I felt a curious sense of relief,
although I had not been sensible of any oppression.
"'Let's slip over,' suggested Stanton--but I would not.
"'They're a difficult lot as it is,' I said. 'If we break into one of
their religious ceremonies they'll probably never forgive us. Let's
keep out of any family party where we haven't been invited.'
"'That's so,' agreed Stanton.
"The strange tinkling rose and fell, rose and fell--
"'There's something--something very unsettling about it,' said Edith
at last soberly. 'I wonder what they make those sounds with. They
frighten me half to death, and, at the same time, they make me feel as
though some enormous rapture were just around the corner.'
"'It's devilish uncanny!' broke in Stanton.
"And as he spoke the flap of Thora's tent was raised and out into the
moonlight strode the old Swede. She was the great Norse type--tall,
deep-breasted, moulded on the old Viking lines. Her sixty years had
slipped from her. She looked like some ancient priestess of Odin.
"She stood there, her eyes wide, brilliant, staring. She thrust her
head forward toward Nan-Tauach, regarding the moving lights; she
listened. Suddenly she raised her arms and made a curious gesture to
the moon. It was--an archaic--movement; she seemed to drag it from
remote antiquity--yet in it was a strange suggestion of power, Twice
she repeated this gesture and--the tinklings died away! She turned to
"'Go!' she said, and her voice seemed to come from far distances. 'Go
from here--and quickly! Go while you may. It has called--' She pointed
to the islet. 'It knows you are here. It waits!' she wailed. 'It
"She fell at Edith's feet, and over the lagoon came again the
tinklings, now with a quicker note of jubilance--almost of triumph.
"We watched beside her throughout the night. The sounds from
Nan-Tauach continued until about an hour before moon-set. In the
morning Thora awoke, none the worse, apparently. She had had bad
dreams, she said. She could not remember what they were--except that
they had warned her of danger. She was oddly sullen, and throughout
the morning her gaze returned again and again half-fascinatedly,
half-wonderingly to the neighbouring isle.
"That afternoon the natives returned. And that night on Nan-Tauach
the silence was unbroken nor were there lights nor sign of life.
"You will understand, Goodwin, how the occurrences I have related
would excite the scientific curiosity. We rejected immediately, of
course, any explanation admitting the supernatural.
"Our--symptoms let me call them--could all very easily be accounted
for. It is unquestionable that the vibrations created by certain
musical instruments have definite and sometimes extraordinary effect
upon the nervous system. We accepted this as the explanation of the
reactions we had experienced, hearing the unfamiliar sounds. Thora's
nervousness, her superstitious apprehensions, had wrought her up to a
condition of semi-somnambulistic hysteria. Science could readily
explain her part in the night's scene.
"We came to the conclusion that there must be a passage-way between
Ponape and Nan-Tauach known to the natives--and used by them during
their rites. We decided that on the next departure of our labourers we
would set forth immediately to Nan-Tauach. We would investigate during
the day, and at evening my wife and Thora would go back to camp,
leaving Stanton and me to spend the night on the island, observing
from some safe hiding-place what might occur.
"The moon waned; appeared crescent in the west; waxed slowly toward
the full. Before the men left us they literally prayed us to accompany
them. Their importunities only made us more eager to see what it was
that, we were now convinced, they wanted to conceal from us. At least
that was true of Stanton and myself. It was not true of Edith. She was
"When the men were out of sight around the turn of the harbour, we
took our boat and made straight for Nan-Tauach. Soon its mighty
sea-wall towered above us. We passed through the water-gate with its
gigantic hewn prisms of basalt and landed beside a half-submerged
pier. In front of us stretched a series of giant steps leading into a
vast court strewn with fragments of fallen pillars. In the centre of
the court, beyond the shattered pillars, rose another terrace of
basalt blocks, concealing, I knew, still another enclosure.
"And now, Walter, for the better understanding of what
follows--and--and--" he hesitated. "Should you decide later to return
with me or, if I am taken, to--to--follow us--listen carefully to my
description of this place: Nan-Tauach is literally three rectangles.
The first rectangle is the sea-wall, built up of monoliths--hewn and
squared, twenty feet wide at the top. To get to the gateway in the
sea-wall you pass along the canal marked on the map between Nan-Tauach
and the islet named Tau. The entrance to the canal is bidden by dense
thickets of mangroves; once through these the way is clear. The steps
lead up from the landing of the sea-gate through the entrance to the
"This courtyard is surrounded by another basalt wall, rectangular,
following with mathematical exactness the march of the outer
barricades. The sea-wall is from thirty to forty feet high--originally
it must have been much higher, but there has been subsidence in parts.
The wall of the first enclosure is fifteen feet across the top and its
height varies from twenty to fifty feet--here, too, the gradual
sinking of the land has caused portions of it to fall.
"Within this courtyard is the second enclosure. Its terrace, of the
same basalt as the outer walls, is about twenty feet high. Entrance is
gained to it by many breaches which time has made in its stonework.
This is the inner court, the heart of Nan-Tauach! There lies the great
central vault with which is associated the one name of living being
that has come to us out of the mists of the past. The natives say it
was the treasure-house of Chau-te-leur, a mighty king who reigned long
'before their fathers.' As Chan is the ancient Ponapean word both for
sun and king, the name means, without doubt, 'place of the sun king.'
It is a memory of a dynastic name of the race that ruled the Pacific
continent, now vanished--just as the rulers of ancient Crete took the
name of Minos and the rulers of Egypt the name of Pharaoh.
"And opposite this place of the sun king is the moon rock that hides
the Moon Pool.
"It was Stanton who discovered the moon rock. We had been inspecting
the inner courtyard; Edith and Thora were getting together our lunch.
I came out of the vault of Chau-te-leur to find Stanton before a part
of the terrace studying it wonderingly.
"'What do you make of this?' he asked me as I came up. He pointed to
the wall. I followed his finger and saw a slab of stone about fifteen
feet high and ten wide. At first all I noticed was the exquisite
nicety with which its edges joined the blocks about it. Then I
realized that its colour was subtly different--tinged with grey and of
a smooth, peculiar--deadness.
"'Looks more like calcite than basalt,' I said. I touched it and
withdrew my hand quickly for at the contact every nerve in my arm
tingled as though a shock of frozen electricity had passed through it.
It was not cold as we know cold. It was a chill force--the phrase I
have used--frozen electricity--describes it better than anything else.
Stanton looked at me oddly.
"'So you felt it too,' he said. 'I was wondering whether I was
developing hallucinations like Thora. Notice, by the way, that the
blocks beside it are quite warm beneath the sun.'
"We examined the slab eagerly. Its edges were cut as though by an
engraver of jewels. They fitted against the neighbouring blocks in
almost a hair-line. Its base was slightly curved, and fitted as
closely as top and sides upon the huge stones on which it rested. And
then we noted that these stones had been hollowed to follow the line
of the grey stone's foot. There was a semicircular depression running
from one side of the slab to the other. It was as though the grey rock
stood in the centre of a shallow cup--revealing half, covering half.
Something about this hollow attracted me. I reached down and felt it.
Goodwin, although the balance of the stones that formed it, like all
the stones of the courtyard, were rough and age-worn--this was as
smooth, as even surfaced as though it had just left the hands of the
"'It's a door!' exclaimed Stanton. 'It swings around in that little
cup. That's what makes the hollow so smooth.'
"'Maybe you're right,' I replied. 'But how the devil can we open it?'
"We went over the slab again--pressing upon its edges, thrusting
against its sides. During one of those efforts I happened to look
up--and cried out. A foot above and on each side of the corner of the
grey rock's lintel was a slight convexity, visible only from the angle
at which my gaze struck it.
"We carried with us a small scaling-ladder and up this I went. The
bosses were apparently nothing more than chiseled curvatures in the
stone. I laid my hand on the one I was examining, and drew it back
sharply. In my palm, at the base of my thumb, I had felt the same
shock that I had in touching the slab below. I put my hand back. The
impression came from a spot not more than an inch wide. I went
carefully over the entire convexity, and six times more the chill ran
through my arm. There were seven circles an inch wide in the curved
place, each of which communicated the precise sensation I have
described. The convexity on the opposite side of the slab gave exactly
the same results. But no amount of touching or of pressing these spots
singly or in any combination gave the slightest promise of motion to
the slab itself.
"'And yet--they're what open it,' said Stanton positively.
"'Why do you say that?' I asked.
"'I--don't know,' he answered hesitatingly. 'But something tells me
so. Throck,' he went on half earnestly, half laughingly, 'the purely
scientific part of me is fighting the purely human part of me. The
scientific part is urging me to find some way to get that slab either
down or open. The human part is just as strongly urging me to do
nothing of the sort and get away while I can!'
"He laughed again--shamefacedly.
"'Which shall it be?' he asked--and I thought that in his tone the
human side of him was ascendant.
"'It will probably stay as it is--unless we blow it to bits,' I said.
"'I thought of that,' he answered, 'and I wouldn't dare,' he added
soberly enough. And even as I had spoken there came to me the same
feeling that he had expressed. It was as though something passed out
of the grey rock that struck my heart as a hand strikes an impious
lip. We turned away--uneasily, and faced Thora coming through a breach
on the terrace.
"'Miss Edith wants you quick,' she began--and stopped. Her eyes went
past me to the grey rock. Her body grew rigid; she took a few stiff
steps forward and then ran straight to it. She cast herself upon its
breast, hands and face pressed against it; we heard her scream as
though her very soul were being drawn from her--and watched her fall
at its foot. As we picked her up I saw steal from her face the look I
had observed when first we heard the crystal music of Nan-Tauach
--that unhuman mingling of opposites!"
The First Vanishings
"We carried Thora back, down to where Edith was waiting. We told her
what had happened and what we had found. She listened gravely, and as
we finished Thora sighed and opened her eyes.
"'I would like to see the stone,' she said. 'Charles, you stay here
with Thora.' We passed through the outer court silently--and stood
before the rock. She touched it, drew back her hand as I had; thrust
it forward again resolutely and held it there. She seemed to be
listening. Then she turned to me.
"'David,' said my wife, and the wistfulness in her voice hurt
me--'David, would you be very, very disappointed if we went from
here--without trying to find out any more about it--would you?'
"Walter, I never wanted anything so much in my life as I wanted to
learn what that rock concealed. Nevertheless, I tried to master my
desire, and I answered--'Edith, not a bit if you want us to do it.'
"She read my struggle in my eyes. She turned back toward the grey
rock. I saw a shiver pass through her. I felt a tinge of remorse and
"'Edith,' I exclaimed, 'we'll go!'
"She looked at me again. 'Science is a jealous mistress,' she quoted.
'No, after all it may be just fancy. At any rate, you can't run away.
No! But, Dave, I'm going to stay too!'
"And there was no changing her decision. As we neared the others she
laid a hand on my arm.
"'Dave,' she said, 'if there should be something--well--inexplicable
tonight--something that seems--too dangerous--will you promise to go
back to our own islet tomorrow, if we can--and wait until the natives
"I promised eagerly--the desire to stay and see what came with the
night was like a fire within me.
"We picked a place about five hundred feet away from the steps leading
into the outer court.
"The spot we had selected was well hidden. We could not be seen, and
yet we had a clear view of the stairs and the gateway. We settled down
just before dusk to wait for whatever might come. I was nearest the
giant steps; next me Edith; then Thora, and last Stanton.
"Night fell. After a time the eastern sky began to lighten, and we
knew that the moon was rising; grew lighter still, and the orb peeped
over the sea; swam into full sight. I glanced at Edith and then at
Thora. My wife was intently listening. Thora sat, as she had since we
had placed ourselves, elbows on knees, her hands covering her face.
"And then from the moonlight flooding us there dripped down on me a
great drowsiness. Sleep seemed to seep from the rays and fall upon my
eyes, closing them--closing them inexorably. Edith's hand in mine
relaxed. Stanton's head fell upon his breast and his body swayed
drunkenly. I tried to rise--to fight against the profound desire for
slumber that pressed on me.
"And as I fought, Thora raised her head as though listening; and
turned toward the gateway. There was infinite despair in her face--and
expectancy. I tried again to rise--and a surge of sleep rushed over
me. Dimly, as I sank within it, I heard a crystalline chiming; raised
my lids once more with a supreme effort.
"Thora, bathed in light, was standing at the top of the stairs.
"Sleep took me for its very own--swept me into the heart of oblivion!
"Dawn was breaking when I wakened. Recollection rushed back; I thrust
a panic-stricken hand out toward Edith; touched her and my heart gave
a great leap of thankfulness. She stirred, sat up, rubbing dazed eyes.
Stanton lay on his side, back toward us, head in arms.
"Edith looked at me laughingly. 'Heavens! What sleep!' she said.
Memory came to her.
"'What happened?' she whispered. 'What made us sleep like that?'
"'What's the matter!' he exclaimed. 'You look as though you've been
"Edith caught my hands.
"'Where's Thora?' she cried. Before I could answer she had run out
into the open, calling.
"'Thora was taken,' was all I could say to Stanton, 'together we went
to my wife, now standing beside the great stone steps, looking up
fearfully at the gateway into the terraces. There I told them what I
had seen before sleep had drowned me. And together then we ran up the
stairs, through the court and to the grey rock.
"The slab was closed as it had been the day before, nor was there
trace of its having opened. No trace? Even as I thought this Edith
dropped to her knees before it and reached toward something lying at
its foot. It was a little piece of gay silk. I knew it for part of the
kerchief Thora wore about her hair. She lifted the fragment. It had
been cut from the kerchief as though by a razor-edge; a few threads
ran from it--down toward the base of the slab; ran on to the base of
the grey rock and--under it!
"The grey rock was a door! And it had opened and Thora had passed
"I think that for the next few minutes we all were a little insane.
We beat upon that portal with our hands, with stones and sticks. At
last reason came back to us.
"Goodwin, during the next two hours we tried every way in our power to
force entrance through the slab. The rock resisted our drills. We
tried explosions at the base with charges covered by rock. They made
not the slightest impression on the surface, expending their force, of
course, upon the slighter resistance of their coverings.
"Afternoon found us hopeless. Night was coming on and we would have
to decide our course of action. I wanted to go to Ponape for help. But
Edith objected that this would take hours and after we had reached
there it would be impossible to persuade our men to return with us
that night, if at all. What then was left? Clearly only one of two
choices: to go back to our camp, wait for our men, and on their return
try to persuade them to go with us to Nan-Tauach. But this would mean
the abandonment of Thora for at least two days. We could not do it; it
would have been too cowardly.
"The other choice was to wait where we were for night to come; to wait
for the rock to open as it had the night before, and to make a sortie
through it for Thora before it could close again.
"Our path lay clear before us. We had to spend that night on
"We had, of course, discussed the sleep phenomena very fully. If our
theory that lights, sounds, and Thora's disappearance were linked with
secret religious rites of the natives, the logical inference was that
the slumber had been produced by them, perhaps by vapours--you know as
well as I, what extraordinary knowledge these Pacific peoples have of
such things. Or the sleep might have been simply a coincidence and
produced by emanations either gaseous or from plants, natural causes
which had happened to coincide in their effects with the other
manifestations. We made some rough and ready but effective
"As dusk fell we looked over our weapons. Edith was an excellent shot
with both rifle and pistol. We had decided that my wife was to remain
in the hiding-place. Stanton would take up a station on the far side
of the stairway and I would place myself opposite him on the side near
Edith. The place I picked out was less than two hundred feet from her,
and I could reassure myself now and then as to her safety as it looked
down upon the hollow wherein she crouched. From our respective
stations Stanton and I could command the gateway entrance. His
position gave him also a glimpse of the outer courtyard.
"A faint glow in the sky heralded the moon. Stanton and I took our
places. The moon dawn increased rapidly; the disk swam up, and in a
moment it was shining in full radiance upon ruins and sea.
"As it rose there came a curious little sighing sound from the inner
terrace. Stanton straightened up and stared intently through the
gateway, rifle ready.
"'Stanton, what do you see?' I called cautiously. He waved a
silencing hand. I turned my head to look at Edith. A shock ran through
me. She lay upon her side. Her face, grotesque with its nose and mouth
covered by the respirator, was turned full toward the moon. She was
again in deepest sleep!
"As I turned again to call to Stanton, my eyes swept the head of the
steps and stopped, fascinated. For the moonlight had thickened. It
seemed to be--curdled--there; and through it ran little gleams and
veins of shimmering white fire. A languor passed through me. It was
not the ineffable drowsiness of the preceding night. It was a sapping
of all will to move. I tried to cry out to Stanton. I had not even the
will to move my lips. Goodwin--I could not even move my eyes!
"Stanton was in the range of my fixed vision. I watched him leap up
the steps and move toward the gateway. The curdled radiance seemed to
await him. He stepped into it--and was lost to my sight.
"For a dozen heart beats there was silence. Then a rain of tinklings
that set the pulses racing with joy and at once checked them with tiny
fingers of ice--and ringing through them Stanton's voice from the
courtyard--a great cry--a scream--filled with ecstasy insupportable
and horror unimaginable! And once more there was silence. I strove to
burst the bonds that held me. I could not. Even my eyelids were fixed.
Within them my eyes, dry and aching, burned.
"Then Goodwin--I first saw the--inexplicable! The crystalline music
swelled. Where I sat I could take in the gateway and its basalt
portals, rough and broken, rising to the top of the wall forty feet
above, shattered, ruined portals--unclimbable. From this gateway an
intenser light began to flow. It grew, it gushed, and out of it walked
"Stanton! But--God! What a vision!"
A deep tremor shook him. I waited--waited.
Into the Moon Pool
"Goodwin," Throckmartin went on at last, "I can describe him only as a
thing of living light. He radiated light; was filled with light;
overflowed with it. A shining cloud whirled through and around him in
radiant swirls, shimmering tentacles, luminescent, coruscating
"His face shone with a rapture too great to be borne by living man,
and was shadowed with insuperable misery. It was as though it had been
remoulded by the hand of God and the hand of Satan, working together
and in harmony. You have seen that seal upon my own. But you have
never seen it in the degree that Stanton bore it. The eyes were wide
open and fixed, as though upon some inward vision of hell and heaven!
"The light that filled and surrounded him had a nucleus, a
core--something shiftingly human shaped--that dissolved and changed,
gathered itself, whirled through and beyond him and back again. And as
its shining nucleus passed through him Stanton's whole body pulsed
radiance. As the luminescence moved, there moved above it, still and
serene always, seven tiny globes of seven colors, like seven little
"Then swiftly Stanton was lifted--levitated--up the unscalable wall
and to its top. The glow faded from the moonlight, the tinkling music
grew fainter. I tried again to move. The tears were running down now
from my rigid lids and they brought relief to my tortured eyes.
"I have said my gaze was fixed. It was. But from the side,
peripherally, it took in a part of the far wall of the outer
enclosure. Ages seemed to pass and a radiance stole along it. Soon
drifted into sight the figure that was Stanton. Far away he was--on
the gigantic wall. But still I could see the shining spirals whirling
jubilantly around and through him; felt rather than saw his tranced
face beneath the seven moons. A swirl of crystal notes, and he had
passed. And all the time, as though from some opened well of light,
the courtyard gleamed and sent out silver fires that dimmed the
moonrays, yet seemed strangely to be a part of them.
"At last the moon neared the horizon. There came a louder burst of
sound; the second, and last, cry of Stanton, like an echo of his
first! Again the soft sighing from the inner terrace. Then--utter
"The light faded; the moon was setting and with a rush life and power
to move returned to me. I made a leap for the steps, rushed up them,
through the gateway and straight to the grey rock. It was closed--as I
knew it would be. But did I dream it or did I bear, echoing through it
as though from vast distances a triumphant shouting?
"I ran back to Edith. At my touch she wakened; looked at me
wanderingly; raised herself on a hand.
"'Dave!' she said, 'I slept--after all.' She saw the despair on my
face and leaped to her feet. 'Dave!' she cried. 'What is it? Where's
"I lighted a fire before I spoke. Then I told her. And for the
balance of that night we sat before the flames, arms around each
other--like two frightened children."
Abruptly Throckmartin held his hands out to me appealingly.
"Walter, old friend!" he cried. "Don't look at me as though I were
mad. It's truth, absolute truth. Wait--" I comforted him as well as I
could. After a little time he took up his story.
"Never," he said, "did man welcome the sun as we did that morning. A
soon as it had risen we went back to the courtyard. The walls whereon
I had seen Stanton were black and silent. The terraces were as they
had been. The grey slab was in its place. In the shallow hollow at its
base was--nothing. Nothing--nothing was there anywhere on the islet
of Stanton--not a trace.
"What were we to do? Precisely the same arguments that had kept us
there the night before held good now--and doubly good. We could not
abandon these two; could not go as long as there was the faintest hope
of finding them--and yet for love of each other how could we remain? I
loved my wife,--how much I never knew until that day; and she loved me
"'It takes only one each night,' she pleaded. 'Beloved, let it take
"I wept, Walter. We both wept.
"'We will meet it together,' she said. And it was thus at last that
we arranged it."
"That took great courage indeed, Throckmartin," I interrupted. He
looked at me eagerly.
"You do believe then?" he exclaimed.
"I believe," I said. He pressed my hand with a grip that nearly
"Now," he told me. "I do not fear. If I--fail, you will follow with
"We talked it over carefully," he went on, "bringing to bear all our
power of analysis and habit of calm, scientific thought. We considered
minutely the time element in the phenomena. Although the deep chanting
began at the very moment of moonrise, fully five minutes had passed
between its full lifting and the strange sighing sound from the inner
terrace. I went back in memory over the happenings of the night
before. At least ten minutes had intervened between the first
heralding sigh and the intensification of the moonlight in the
courtyard. And this glow grew for at least ten minutes more before the
first burst of the crystal notes. Indeed, more than half an hour must
have elapsed, I calculated, between the moment the moon showed above
the horizon and the first delicate onslaught of the tinklings.
"'Edith!' I cried. 'I think I have it! The grey rock opens five
minutes after upon the moonrise. But whoever or whatever it is that
comes through it must wait until the moon has risen higher, or else it
must come from a distance. The thing to do is not to wait for it, but
to surprise it before it passes out the door. We will go into the
inner court early. You will take your rifle and pistol and hide
yourself where you can command the opening--if the slab does open. The
instant it opens I will enter. It's our best chance, Edith. I think
it's our only one.'
"My wife demurred strongly. She wanted to go with me. But I convinced
her that it was better for her to stand guard without, prepared to
help me if I were forced again into the open by what lay behind the
"At the half-hour before moonrise we went into the inner court. I
took my place at the side of the grey rock. Edith crouched behind a
broken pillar twenty feet away; slipped her rifle-barrel over it so
that it would cover the opening.
"The minutes crept by. The darkness lessened and through the breaches
of the terrace I watched the far sky softly lighten. With the first
pale flush the silence of the place intensified. It deepened; became
unbearably--expectant. The moon rose, showed the quarter, the half,
then swam up into full sight like a great bubble.
"Its rays fell upon the wall before me and suddenly upon the
convexities I have described seven little circles of light sprang out.
They gleamed, glimmered, grew brighter--shone. The gigantic slab
before me glowed with them, silver wavelets of phosphorescence pulsed
over its surface and then--it turned as though on a pivot, sighing
softly as it moved!
"With a word to Edith I flung myself through the opening. A tunnel
stretched before me. It glowed with the same faint silvery radiance.
Down it I raced. The passage turned abruptly, passed parallel to the
walls of the outer courtyard and then once more led downward.
"The passage ended. Before me was a high vaulted arch. It seemed to
open into space; a space filled with lambent, coruscating,
many-coloured mist whose brightness grew even as I watched. I passed
through the arch and stopped in sheer awe!
"In front of me was a pool. It was circular, perhaps twenty feet
wide. Around it ran a low, softly curved lip of glimmering silvery
stone. Its water was palest blue. The pool with its silvery rim was
like a great blue eye staring upward.
"Upon it streamed seven shafts of radiance. They poured down upon the
blue eye like cylindrical torrents; they were like shining pillars of
light rising from a sapphire floor.
"One was the tender pink of the pearl; one of the aurora's green; a
third a deathly white; the fourth the blue in mother-of-pearl; a
shimmering column of pale amber; a beam of amethyst; a shaft of molten
silver. Such are the colours of the seven lights that stream upon the
Moon Pool. I drew closer, awestricken. The shafts did not illumine the
depths. They played upon the surface and seemed there to diffuse, to
melt into it. The Pool drank them?
"Through the water tiny gleams of phosphorescence began to dart,
sparkles and coruscations of pale incandescence. And far, far below I
sensed a movement, a shifting glow as of a radiant body slowly rising.
"I looked upward, following the radiant pillars to their source. Far
above were seven shining globes, and it was from these that the rays
poured. Even as I watched their brightness grew. They were like seven
moons set high in some caverned heaven. Slowly their splendour
increased, and with it the splendour of the seven beams streaming from
"I tore my gaze away and stared at the Pool. It had grown milky,
opalescent. The rays gushing into it seemed to be filling it; it was
alive with sparklings, scintillations, glimmerings. And the
luminescence I had seen rising from its depths was larger, nearer!
"A swirl of mist floated up from its surface. It drifted within the
embrace of the rosy beam and hung there for a moment. The beam seemed
to embrace it, sending through it little shining corpuscles, tiny rosy
spiralings. The mist absorbed the rays, was strengthened by them,
gained substance. Another swirl sprang into the amber shaft, clung and
fed there, moved swiftly toward the first and mingled with it. And now
other swirls arose, here and there, too fast to be counted; hung
poised in the embrace of the light streams; flashed and pulsed into
"Thicker and thicker still they arose until over the surface of the
Pool was a pulsating pillar of opalescent mist steadily growing
stronger; drawing within it life from the seven beams falling upon it;
drawing to it from below the darting, incandescent atoms of the Pool.
Into its centre was passing the luminescence rising from the far
depths. And the pillar glowed, throbbed--began to send out questing
swirls and tendrils--
"There forming before me was That which had walked with Stanton, which
had taken Thora--the thing I had come to find!
"My brain sprang into action. My hand threw up the pistol and I fired
shot after shot into the shining core.
"As I fired, it swayed and shook; gathered again. I slipped a second
clip into the automatic and another idea coming to me took careful aim
at one of the globes in the roof. From thence I knew came the force
that shaped this Dweller in the Pool--from the pouring rays came its
strength. If I could destroy them I could check its forming. I fired
again and again. If I hit the globes I did no damage. The little motes
in their beams danced with the motes in the mist, troubled. That was
"But up from the Pool like little bells, like tiny bursting bubbles of
glass, swarmed the tinkling sounds--their pitch higher, all their
sweetness lost, angry.
"And out from the Inexplicable swept a shining spiral.
"It caught me above the heart; wrapped itself around me. There rushed
through me a mingled ecstasy and horror. Every atom of me quivered
with delight and shrank with despair. There was nothing loathsome in
it. But it was as though the icy soul of evil and the fiery soul of
good had stepped together within me. The pistol dropped from my hand.
"So I stood while the Pool gleamed and sparkled; the streams of light
grew more intense and the radiant Thing that held me gleamed and
strengthened. Its shining core had shape--but a shape that my eyes and
brain could not define. It was as though a being of another sphere
should assume what it might of human semblance, but was not able to
conceal that what human eyes saw was but a part of it. It was neither
man nor woman; it was unearthly and androgynous. Even as I found its
human semblance it changed. And still the mingled rapture and terror
held me. Only in a little corner of my brain dwelt something
untouched; something that held itself apart and watched. Was it the
soul? I have never believed--and yet--
"Over the head of the misty body there sprang suddenly out seven
little lights. Each was the colour of the beam beneath which it
rested. I knew now that the Dweller was--complete!
"I heard a scream. It was Edith's voice. It came to me that she had
heard the shots and followed me. I felt every faculty concentrate into
a mighty effort. I wrenched myself free from the gripping tentacle and
it swept back. I turned to catch Edith, and as I did so slipped--fell.
"The radiant shape above the Pool leaped swiftly--and straight into it
raced Edith, arms outstretched to shield me from it! God!
"She threw herself squarely within its splendour," he whispered. "It
wrapped its shining self around her. The crystal tinklings burst forth
jubilantly. The light filled her, ran through and around her as it had
with Stanton; and dropped down upon her face--the look!
"But her rush had taken her to the very verge of the Moon Pool. She
tottered; she fell--with the radiance still holding her, still
swirling and winding around and through her--into the Moon Pool! She
sank, and with her went--the Dweller!
"I dragged myself to the brink. Far down was a shining, many-coloured
nebulous cloud descending; out of it peered Edith's face,
disappearing; her eyes stared up at me--and she vanished!
"'Edith!' I cried again. 'Edith, come back to me!'
"And then a darkness fell upon me. I remember running back through
the shimmering corridors and out into the courtyard. Reason had left
me. When it returned I was far out at sea in our boat wholly estranged
from civilization. A day later I was picked up by the schooner in
which I came to Port Moresby.
"I have formed a plan; you must bear it, Goodwin--" He fell upon his
berth. I bent over him. Exhaustion and the relief of telling his story
had been too much for him. He slept like the dead.
All that night I watched over him. When dawn broke I went to my room
to get a little sleep myself. But my slumber was haunted.
The next day the storm was unabated. Throckmartin came to me at
lunch. He had regained much of his old alertness.
"Come to my cabin," he said. There, he stripped his shirt from him.
"Something is happening," he said. "The mark is smaller." It was as he
"I'm escaping," he whispered jubilantly, "Just let me get to Melbourne
safely, and then we'll see who'll win! For, Walter, I'm not at all
sure that Edith is dead--as we know death--nor that the others are.
There is something outside experience there--some great mystery."
And all that day he talked to me of his plans.
"There's a natural explanation, of course," he said. "My theory is
that the moon rock is of some composition sensitive to the action of
moon rays; somewhat as the metal selenium is to sun rays. The little
circles over the top are, without doubt, its operating agency. When
the light strikes them they release the mechanism that opens the slab,
just as you can open doors with sun or electric light by an ingenious
arrangement of selenium-cells. Apparently it takes the strength of the
full moon both to do this and to summon the Dweller in the Pool. We
will first try a concentration of the rays of the waning moon upon
these circles to see whether that will open the rock. If it does we
will be able to investigate the Pool without interruption
"Look, here on the chart are their locations. I have made this in
duplicate for you in the event--of something happening--to me. And if
I lose--you'll come after us, Goodwin, with help--won't you?"
And again I promised.
A little later he complained of increasing sleepiness.
"But it's just weariness," he said. "Not at all like that other
drowsiness. It's an hour till moonrise still," he yawned at last.
"Wake me up a good fifteen minutes before."
He lay upon the berth. I sat thinking. I came to myself with a
guilty start. I had completely lost myself in my deep preoccupation.
What time was it? I looked at my watch and jumped to the port-hole. It
was full moonlight; the orb had been up for fully half an hour. I
strode over to Throckmartin and shook him by the shoulder.
"Up, quick, man!" I cried. He rose sleepily. His shirt fell open at
the neck and I looked, in amazement, at the white band around his
chest. Even under the electric light it shone softly, as though little
flecks of light were in it.
Throckmartin seemed only half-awake. He looked down at his breast,
saw the glowing cincture, and smiled.
"Yes," he said drowsily, "it's coming--to take me back to Edith!
Well, I'm glad."
"Throckmartin!" I cried. "Wake up! Fight!"
"Fight!" he said. "No use; come after us!"
He went to the port and sleepily drew aside the curtain. The moon
traced a broad path of light straight to the ship. Under its rays the
band around his chest gleamed brighter and brighter; shot forth little
rays; seemed to writhe.
The lights went out in the cabin; evidently also throughout the ship,
for I heard shoutings above.
Throckmartin still stood at the open port. Over his shoulder I saw a
gleaming pillar racing along the moon path toward us. Through the
window cascaded a blinding radiance. It gathered Throckmartin to it,
clothed him in a robe of living opalescence. Light pulsed through and
from him. The cabin filled with murmurings--
A wave of weakness swept over me, buried me in blackness. When
consciousness came back, the lights were again burning brightly.
But of Throckmartin there was no trace!
"The Shining Devil Took Them!"
My colleagues of the Association, and you others who may read this my
narrative, for what I did and did not when full realization returned I
must offer here, briefly as I can, an explanation; a defense--if you
My first act was to spring to the open port. The coma had lasted
hours, for the moon was now low in the west! I ran to the door to
sound the alarm. It resisted under my frantic hands; would not open.
Something fell tinkling to the floor. It was the key and I remembered
then that Throckmartin had turned it before we began our vigil. With
memory a hope died that I had not known was in me, the hope that he
had escaped from the cabin, found refuge elsewhere on the ship.
And as I stooped, fumbling with shaking fingers for the key, a thought
came to me that drove again the blood from my heart, held me rigid. I
could sound no alarm on the Southern Queen for Throckmartin!
Conviction of my appalling helplessness was complete. The ensemble of
the vessel from captain to cabin boy was, to put it conservatively,
average. None, I knew, save Throckmartin and myself had seen the first
apparition of the Dweller. Had they witnessed the second? I did not
know, nor could I risk speaking, not knowing. And not seeing, how
could they believe? They would have thought me insane--or worse;
even, it might be, his murderer.
I snapped off the electrics; waited and listened; opened the door with
infinite caution and slipped, unseen, into my own stateroom. The hours
until the dawn were eternities of waking nightmare. Reason, resuming
sway at last, steadied me. Even had I spoken and been believed where
in these wastes after all the hours could we search for Throckmartin?
Certainly the captain would not turn back to Port Moresby. And even if
he did, of what use for me to set forth for the Nan-Matal without the
equipment which Throckmartin himself had decided was necessary if one
hoped to cope with the mystery that lurked there?
There was but one thing to do--follow his instructions; get the
paraphernalia in Melbourne or Sydney if it were possible; if not sail
to America as swiftly as might be, secure it there and as swiftly
return to Ponape. And this I determined to do.
Calmness came back to me after I had made this decision. And when I
went up on deck I knew that I had been right. They had not seen the
Dweller. They were still discussing the darkening of the ship, talking
of dynamos burned out, wires short circuited, a half dozen
explanations of the extinguishment. Not until noon was Throckmartin's
absence discovered. I told the captain that I had left him early in
the evening; that, indeed, I knew him but slightly, after all. It
occurred to none to doubt me, or to question me minutely. Why should
it have? His strangeness had been noted, commented upon; all who had
met him had thought him half mad. I did little to discourage the
impression. And so it came naturally that on the log it was entered
that he had fallen or leaped from the vessel some time during the
A report to this effect was made when we entered Melbourne. I slipped
quietly ashore and in the press of the war news Throckmartin's
supposed fate won only a few lines in the newspapers; my own presence
on the ship and in the city passed unnoticed.
I was fortunate in securing at Melbourne everything I needed except a
set of Becquerel ray condensers--but these were the very keystone of
my equipment. Pursuing my search to Sydney I was doubly fortunate in
finding a firm who were expecting these very articles in a consignment
due them from the States within a fortnight. I settled down in
strictest seclusion to await their arrival.
And now it will occur to you to ask why I did not cable, during this
period of waiting, to the Association; demand aid from it. Or why I
did not call upon members of the University staffs of either Melbourne
or Sydney for assistance. At the least, why I did not gather, as
Throckmartin had hoped to do, a little force of strong men to go with
me to the Nan-Matal.
To the first two questions I answer frankly--I did not dare. And this
reluctance, this inhibition, every man jealous of his scientific
reputation will understand. The story of Throckmartin, the happenings
I had myself witnessed, were incredible, abnormal, outside the facts
of all known science. I shrank from the inevitable disbelief, perhaps
ridicule--nay, perhaps even the graver suspicion that had caused me to
seal my lips while on the ship. Why I myself could only half believe!
How then could I hope to convince others?
And as for the third question--I could not take men into the range of
such a peril without first warning them of what they might encounter;
and if I did warn them--
It was checkmate! If it also was cowardice--well, I have atoned for
it. But I do not hold it so; my conscience is clear.
That fortnight and the greater part of another passed before the ship
I awaited steamed into port. By that time, between my straining
anxiety to be after Throckmartin, the despairing thought that every
moment of delay might be vital to him and his, and my intensely eager
desire to know whether that shining, glorious horror on the moon path
did exist or had been hallucination, I was worn almost to the edge of
At last the condensers were in my hands. It was more than a week
later, however, before I could secure passage back to Port Moresby and
it was another week still before I started north on the Suwarna, a
swift little sloop with a fifty-horsepower auxiliary, heading straight
for Ponape and the Nan-Matal.
We sighted the Brunhilda some five hundred miles south of the
Carolines. The wind had fallen soon after Papua had dropped astern.
The Suwarna's ability to make her twelve knots an hour without it had
made me very fully forgive her for not being as fragrant as the Javan
flower for which she was named. Da Costa, her captain, was a
garrulous Portuguese; his mate was a Canton man with all the marks of
long and able service on some pirate junk; his engineer was a
half-breed China-Malay who had picked up his knowledge of power
plants, Heaven alone knew where, and, I had reason to believe, had
transferred all his religious impulses to the American built deity of
mechanism he so faithfully served. The crew was made up of six huge,
chattering Tonga boys.
The Suwarna had cut through Finschafen Huon Gulf to the protection of
the Bismarcks. She had threaded the maze of the archipelago
tranquilly, and we were then rolling over the thousand-mile stretch of
open ocean with New Hanover far behind us and our boat's bow pointed
straight toward Nukuor of the Monte Verdes. After we had rounded
Nukuor we should, barring accident, reach Ponape in not more than
It was late afternoon, and on the demure little breeze that marched
behind us came far-flung sighs of spice-trees and nutmeg flowers. The
slow prodigious swells of the Pacific lifted us in gentle, giant hands
and sent us as gently down the long, blue wave slopes to the next
broad, upward slope. There was a spell of peace over the ocean,
stilling even the Portuguese captain who stood dreamily at the wheel,
slowly swaying to the rhythmic lift and fall of the sloop.
There came a whining hail from the Tonga boy lookout draped lazily
over the bow.
"Sail he b'long port side!"
Da Costa straightened and gazed while I raised my glass. The vessel
was a scant mile away, and must have been visible long before the
sleepy watcher had seen her. She was a sloop about the size of the
Suwarna, without power. All sails set, even to a spinnaker she
carried, she was making the best of the little breeze. I tried to read
her name, but the vessel jibed sharply as though the hands of the man
at the wheel had suddenly dropped the helm--and then with equal
abruptness swung back to her course. The stern came in sight, and on
it I read Brunhilda.
I shifted my glasses to the man at wheel. He was crouching down over
the spokes in a helpless, huddled sort of way, and even as I looked
the vessel veered again, abruptly as before. I saw the helmsman
straighten up and bring the wheel about with a vicious jerk.
He stood so for a moment, looking straight ahead, entirely oblivious
of us, and then seemed again to sink down within himself. It came to
me that his was the action of a man striving vainly against a
weariness unutterable. I swept the deck with my glasses. There was no
other sign of life. I turned to find the Portuguese staring intently
and with puzzled air at the sloop, now separated from us by a scant
"Something veree wrong I think there, sair," he said in his curious
English. "The man on deck I know. He is captain and owner of the
Br-rwun'ild. His name Olaf Huldricksson, what you say--Norwegian. He
is eithair veree sick or veree tired--but I do not undweerstand where
is the crew and the starb'd boat is gone--"
He shouted an order to the engineer and as he did so the faint breeze
failed and the sails of the Brunhilda flapped down inert. We were now
nearly abreast and a scant hundred yards away. The engine of the
Suwarna died and the Tonga boys leaped to one of the boats.
"You Olaf Huldricksson!" shouted Da Costa. "What's a matter wit'
The man at the wheel turned toward us. He was a giant; his shoulders
enormous, thick chested, strength in every line of him, he towered
like a viking of old at the rudder bar of his shark ship.
I raised the glass again; his face sprang into the lens and never have
I seen a visage lined and marked as though by ages of unsleeping
misery as was that of Olaf Huldricksson!
The Tonga boys had the boat alongside and were waiting at the oars.
The little captain was dropping into it.
"Wait!" I cried. I ran into my cabin, grasped my emergency medical
kit and climbed down the rope ladder. The Tonga boys bent to the oars.
We reached the side and Da Costa and I each seized a lanyard dangling
from the stays and swung ourselves on board. Da Costa approached
"What's the matter, Olaf?" he began--and then was silent, looking down
at the wheel. The hands of Huldricksson were lashed fast to the spokes
by thongs of thin, strong cord; they were swollen and black and the
thongs had bitten into the sinewy wrists till they were hidden in the
outraged flesh, cutting so deeply that blood fell, slow drop by drop,
at his feet! We sprang toward him, reaching out hands to his fetters
to loose them. Even as we touched them, Huldricksson aimed a vicious
kick at me and then another at Da Costa which sent the Portuguese
tumbling into the scuppers.
"Let be!" croaked Huldricksson; his voice was thick and lifeless as
though forced from a dead throat; his lips were cracked and dry and
his parched tongue was black. "Let be! Go! Let be!"
The Portuguese had picked himself up, whimpering with rage and knife
in hand, but as Huldricksson's voice reached him he stopped.
Amazement crept into his eyes and as he thrust the blade back into
his belt they softened with pity.
"Something veree wrong wit' Olaf," he murmured to me. "I think he
crazee!" And then Olaf Huldricksson began to curse us. He did not
speak--he howled from that hideously dry mouth his imprecations. And
all the time his red eyes roamed the seas and his hands, clenched and
rigid on the wheel, dropped blood.
"I go below," said Da Costa nervously. "His wife, his daughter--" he
darted down the companionway and was gone.
Huldricksson, silent once more, had slumped down over the wheel.
Da Costa's head appeared at the top of the companion steps.
"There is nobody, nobody," he paused--then--"nobody--nowhere!" His
hands flew out in a gesture of hopeless incomprehension. "I do not
Then Olaf Huldricksson opened his dry lips and as he spoke a chill ran
through me, checking my heart.
"The sparkling devil took them!" croaked Olaf Huldricksson, "the
sparkling devil took them! Took my Helma and my little Freda! The
sparkling devil came down from the moon and took them!"
He swayed; tears dripped down his cheeks. Da Costa moved toward him
again and again Huldricksson watched him, alertly, wickedly, from his
I took a hypodermic from my case and filled it with morphine. I drew
Da Costa to me.
"Get to the side of him," I whispered, "talk to him." He moved over
toward the wheel.
"Where is your Helma and Freda, Olaf?" he said.
Huldricksson turned his head toward him. "The shining devil took
them," he croaked. "The moon devil that spark--"
A yell broke from him. I had thrust the needle into his arm just
above one swollen wrist and had quickly shot the drug through. He
struggled to release himself and then began to rock drunkenly. The
morphine, taking him in his weakness, worked quickly. Soon over his
face a peace dropped. The pupils of the staring eyes contracted. Once,
twice, he swayed and then, his bleeding, prisoned hands held high and
still gripping the wheel, he crumpled to the deck.
With utmost difficulty we loosed the thongs, but at last it was done.
We rigged a little swing and the Tonga boys slung the great inert body
over the side into the dory. Soon we had Huldricksson in my bunk. Da
Costa sent half his crew over to the sloop in charge of the Cantonese.
They took in all sail, stripping Huldricksson's boat to the masts and
then with the Brunhilda nosing quietly along after us at the end of a
long hawser, one of the Tonga boys at her wheel, we resumed the way so
I cleansed and bandaged the Norseman's lacerated wrists and sponged
the blackened, parched mouth with warm water and a mild antiseptic.
Suddenly I was aware of Da Costa's presence and turned. His unease was
manifest and held, it seemed to me, a queer, furtive anxiety.
"What you think of Olaf, sair?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders.
"You think he killed his woman and his babee?" He went on. "You think
he crazee and killed all?"
"Nonsense, Da Costa," I answered. "You saw the boat was gone. Most
probably his crew mutinied and to torture him tied him up the way you
saw. They did the same thing with Hilton of the Coral Lady; you'll
"No," he said. "No. The crew did not. Nobody there on board when
Olaf was tied."
"What!" I cried, startled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said slowly, "that Olaf tie himself!"
"Wait!" he went on at my incredulous gesture of dissent. "Wait, I show
you." He had been standing with hands behind his back and now I saw
that he held in them the cut thongs that had bound Huldricksson. They
were blood-stained and each ended in a broad leather tip skilfully
spliced into the cord. "Look," he said, pointing to these leather
ends. I looked and saw in them deep indentations of teeth. I snatched
one of the thongs and opened the mouth of the unconscious man on the
bunk. Carefully I placed the leather within it and gently forced the
jaws shut on it. It was true. Those marks were where Olaf
Huldricksson's jaws had gripped.
"Wait!" Da Costa repeated, "I show you." He took other cords and
rested his hands on the supports of a chair back. Rapidly he twisted
one of the thongs around his left hand, drew a loose knot, shifted the
cord up toward his elbow. This left wrist and hand still free and with
them he twisted the other cord around the right wrist; drew a similar
knot. His hands were now in the exact position that Huldricksson's had
been on the Brunhilda but with cords and knots hanging loose. Then Da
Costa reached down his head, took a leather end in his teeth and with
a jerk drew the thong that noosed his left hand tight; similarly he
drew tight the second.
He strained at his fetters. There before my eyes he had pinioned
himself so that without aid he could not release himself. And he was
exactly as Huldricksson had been!
"You will have to cut me loose, sair," he said. "I cannot move them.
It is an old trick on these seas. Sometimes it is necessary that a man
stand at the wheel many hours without help, and he does this so that
if he sleep the wheel wake him, yes, sair."
I looked from him to the man on the bed.
"But why, sair," said Da Costa slowly, "did Olaf have to tie his
I looked at him, uneasily.
"I don't know," I answered. "Do you?"
He fidgeted, avoided my eyes, and then rapidly, almost surreptitiously
"No," he replied. "I know nothing. Some things I have heard--but
they tell many tales on these seas."
He started for the door. Before he reached it he turned. "But this I
do know," he half whispered, "I am damned glad there is no full moon
tonight." And passed out, leaving me staring after him in amazement.
What did the Portuguese know?
I bent over the sleeper. On his face was no trace of that unholy
mingling of opposites the Dweller stamped upon its victims.
And yet--what was it the Norseman had said?
"The sparkling devil took them!" Nay, he had been even more
explicit--"The sparkling devil that came down from the moon!"
Could it be that the Dweller had swept upon the Brunhilda, drawing
down the moon path Olaf Huldricksson's wife and babe even as it had
As I sat thinking the cabin grew suddenly dark and from above came a
shouting and patter of feet. Down upon us swept one of the abrupt,
violent squalls that are met with in those latitudes. I lashed
Huldricksson fast in the berth and ran up on deck.
The long, peaceful swells had changed into angry, choppy waves from
the tops of which the spindrift streamed in long stinging lashes.
A half-hour passed; the squall died as quickly as it had arisen. The
sea quieted. Over in the west, from beneath the tattered, flying edge
of the storm, dropped the red globe of the setting sun; dropped slowly
until it touched the sea rim.
I watched it--and rubbed my eyes and stared again. For over its
flaming portal something huge and black moved, like a gigantic
Da Costa had seen it, too, and he turned the Suwarna straight toward
the descending orb and its strange shadow. As we approached we saw it
was a little mass of wreckage and that the beckoning finger was a wing
of canvas, sticking up and swaying with the motion of the waves. On
the highest point of the wreckage sat a tall figure calmly smoking a
We brought the Suwarna to, dropped a boat, and with myself as coxswain
pulled toward a wrecked hydroairplane. Its occupant took a long puff
at his cigarette, waved a cheerful hand, shouted a greeting. And just
as he did so a great wave raised itself up behind him, took the
wreckage, tossed it high in a swelter of foam, and passed on. When we
had steadied our boat, where wreck and man had been was--nothing.
There came a tug at the side--, two muscular brown hands gripped it
close to my left, and a sleek, black, wet head showed its top between
them. Two bright, blue eyes that held deep within them a laughing
deviltry looked into mine, and a long, lithe body drew itself gently
over the thwart and seated its dripping self at my feet.
"Much obliged," said this man from the sea. "I knew somebody was sure
to come along when the O'Keefe banshee didn't show up."
"The what?" I asked in amazement.
"The O'Keefe banshee--I'm Larry O'Keefe. It's a far way from Ireland,
but not too far for the O'Keefe banshee to travel if the O'Keefe was
going to click in."
I looked again at my astonishing rescue. He seemed perfectly serious.
"Have you a cigarette? Mine went out," he said with a grin, as he
reached a moist hand out for the little cylinder, took it, lighted it.
I saw a lean, intelligent face whose fighting jaw was softened by the
wistfulness of the clean-cut lips and the honesty that lay side by
side with the deviltry in the laughing blue eyes; nose of a
thoroughbred with the suspicion of a tilt; long, well-knit, slender
figure that I knew must have all the strength of fine steel; the
uniform of a lieutenant in the Royal Flying Corps of Britain's navy.
He laughed, stretched out a firm hand, and gripped mine.
"Thank you really ever so much, old man," he said.
I liked Larry O'Keefe from the beginning--but I did not dream as the
Tonga boys pulled us back to the Suwarna bow that liking was to be
forged into man's strong love for man by fires which souls such as his
and mine--and yours who read this--could never dream.
Larry! Larry O'Keefe, where are you now with your leprechauns and
banshee, your heart of a child, your laughing blue eyes, and your
fearless soul? Shall I ever see you again, Larry O'Keefe, dear to me
as some best beloved younger brother? Larry!
Pressing back the questions I longed to ask, I introduced myself.
Oddly enough, I found that he knew me, or rather my work. He had
bought, it appeared, my volume upon the peculiar vegetation whose
habitat is disintegrating lava rock and volcanic ash, that I had
entitled, somewhat loosely, I could now perceive, Flora of the
Craters. For he explained naively that he had picked it up, thinking
it an entirely different sort of a book, a novel in fact--something
like Meredith's Diana of the Crossways, which he liked greatly.
He had hardly finished this explanation when we touched the side of
the Suwarna, and I was forced to curb my curiosity until we reached
"That thing you saw me sitting on," he said, after he had thanked the
bowing little skipper for his rescue, "was all that was left of one of
his Majesty's best little hydroairplanes after that cyclone threw it
off as excess baggage. And by the way, about where are we?"
Da Costa gave him our approximate position from the noon reckoning.
O'Keefe whistled. "A good three hundred miles from where I left the
H.M.S. Dolphin about four hours ago," he said. "That squall I rode in
on was some whizzer!
"The Dolphin," he went on, calmly divesting himself of his soaked
uniform, "was on her way to Melbourne. I'd been yearning for a joy
ride and went up for an alleged scouting trip. Then that blow shot out
of nowhere, picked me up, and insisted that I go with it.
"About an hour ago I thought I saw a chance to zoom up and out of it,
I turned, and BLICK went my right wing, and down I dropped."
"I don't know how we can notify your ship, Lieutenant O'Keefe," I
said. "We have no wireless."
"Doctair Goodwin," said Da Costa, "we could change our course,
"Thanks--but not a bit of it," broke in O'Keefe. "Lord alone knows
where the Dolphin is now. Fancy she'll be nosing around looking for
me. Anyway, she's just as apt to run into you as you into her. Maybe
we'll strike something with a wireless, and I'll trouble you to put me
aboard." He hesitated. "Where are you bound, by the way?" he asked.
"For Ponape," I answered.
"No wireless there," mused O'Keefe. "Beastly hole. Stopped a week ago
for fruit. Natives seemed scared to death at us--or something. What
are you going there for?"
Da Costa darted a furtive glance at me. It troubled me.
O'Keefe noted my hesitation.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," he said. "Maybe I oughn't to have asked
"It's no secret, Lieutenant," I replied. "I'm about to undertake some
exploration work--a little digging among the ruins on the Nan-Matal."
I looked at the Portuguese sharply as I named the place. A pallor
crept beneath his skin and again he made swiftly the sign of the
cross, glancing as he did so fearfully to the north. I made up my mind
then to question him when opportunity came. He turned from his quick
scrutiny of the sea and addressed O'Keefe.
"There's nothing on board to fit you, Lieutenant."
"Oh, just give me a sheet to throw around me, Captain," said O'Keefe
and followed him. Darkness had fallen, and as the two disappeared into
Da Costa's cabin I softly opened the door of my own and listened.
Huldricksson was breathing deeply and regularly.
I drew my electric-flash, and shielding its rays from my face, looked
at him. His sleep was changing from the heavy stupor of the drug into
one that was at least on the borderland of the normal. The tongue had
lost its arid blackness and the mouth secretions had resumed action.
Satisfied as to his condition I returned to deck.
O'Keefe was there, looking like a spectre in the cotton sheet he had
wrapped about him. A deck table had been cleated down and one of the
Tonga boys was setting it for our dinner. Soon the very creditable
larder of the Suwarna dressed the board, and O'Keefe, Da Costa, and I
attacked it. The night had grown close and oppressive. Behind us the
forward light of the Brunhilda glided and the binnacle lamp threw up a
faint glow in which her black helmsman's face stood out mistily.
O'Keefe had looked curiously a number of times at our tow, but had
asked no questions.
"You're not the only passenger we picked up today," I told him. "We
found the captain of that sloop, lashed to his wheel, nearly dead with
exhaustion, and his boat deserted by everyone except himself."
"What was the matter?" asked O'Keefe in astonishment.
"We don't know," I answered. "He fought us, and I had to drug him
before we could get him loose from his lashings. He's sleeping down in
my berth now. His wife and little girl ought to have been on board,
the captain here says, but--they weren't."
"Wife and child gone!" exclaimed O'Keefe.
"From the condition of his mouth he must have been alone at the wheel
and without water at least two days and nights before we found him," I
replied. "And as for looking for anyone on these waters after such a
"That's true," said O'Keefe. "But his wife and baby! Poor, poor
He was silent for a time, and then, at my solicitation, began to tell
us more of himself. He had been little more than twenty when he had
won his wings and entered the war. He had been seriously wounded at
Ypres during the third year of the struggle, and when he recovered the
war was over. Shortly after that his mother had died. Lonely and
restless, he had re-entered the Air Service, and had remained in it
"And though the war's long over, I get homesick for the lark's land
with the German planes playing tunes on their machine guns and their
Archies tickling the soles of my feet," he sighed. "If you're in love,
love to the limit; and if you hate, why hate like the devil and if
it's a fight you're in, get where it's hottest and fight like hell--if
you don't life's not worth the living," sighed he.
I watched him as he talked, feeling my liking for him steadily
increasing. If I could but have a man like this beside me on the path
of unknown peril upon which I had set my feet I thought, wistfully. We
sat and smoked a bit, sipping the strong coffee the Portuguese made so