Gordon Grice's Blog, page 41

Wild Turkeys

Photography by Dee Puett

Mysterious Eyeball Found on Beach

Giant 'mystery eyeball' discovered on South Florida beach: 

"The discovery of an enormous eyeball on a South Florida beach begs a very pertinent question: What kind of creature did it belong to? The "mystery eyeball," as it's being referred to by the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, was found Wednesday by a beachcomber on Pompano Beach."

The only person quoted in this story who knows what he's talking about is George Burgess, the marine biologist who runs the International Shark Attack File. He suggests a bigeye thresher shark, which looks like this:

A Classic Hyena Story

Esme



by Saki



"All hunting stories are the same," said Clovis; "just as all Turf stories are the same, and all--"

     "My hunting story isn't a bit like any you've ever heard," said the Baroness. "It happened quite a while ago, when I was about twenty-three. I wasn't living apart from my husband then; you see, neither of us could afford to make the other a separate allowance. In spite of everything that proverbs may say, poverty keeps together more homes than it breaks up. But we always hunted with different packs. All this has nothing to do with the story."

     "We haven't arrived at the meet yet. I suppose there was a meet," said Clovis.

     "Of course there was a meet," said the Baroness; "all the usual crowd were there, especially Constance Broddle. Constance is one of those strapping florid girls that go so well with autumn scenery or Christmas decorations in church. 'I feel a presentiment that something dreadful is going to happen,' she said to me; 'am I looking pale?'

     "She was looking about as pale as a beetroot that has suddenly heard bad news.

     " 'You're looking nicer than usual,' I said, 'but that's so easy for you.' Before she had got the right bearings of this remark we had settled down to business; hounds had found a fox lying out in some gorse-bushes."

     "I knew it," said Clovis; "in every fox-hunting story that I've ever heard there's been a fox and some gorse-bushes."

     "Constance and I were well mounted," continued the Baroness serenely, "and we had no difficulty in keeping ourselves in the first flight, though it was a fairly stiff run. Towards the finish, however, we must have held rather too independent a line, for we lost the hounds, and found ourselves plodding aimlessly along miles away from anywhere. It was fairly exasperating, and my temper was beginning to let itself go by inches, when on pushing our way through an accommodating hedge we were gladdened by the sight of hounds in full cry in a hollow just beneath us.

     " 'There they go,' cried Constance, and then added in a gasp, 'In Heaven's name, what are they hunting?'

     "It was certainly no mortal fox. It stood more than twice as high, had a short, ugly head, and an enormous thick neck.

     " 'It's a hyena,' I cried; 'it must have escaped from Lord Pabham's Park.'

     "At that moment the hunted beast turned and faced its pursuers, and the hounds (there were only about six couple of them) stood round in a half-circle and looked foolish. Evidently they had broken away from the rest of the pack on the trail of this alien scent, and were not quite sure how to treat their quarry now they had got him.

     "The hyena hailed our approach with unmistakable relief and demonstrations of friendliness. It had probably been accustomed to uniform kindness from humans, while its first experience of a pack of hounds had left a bad impression. The hounds looked more than ever embarrassed as their quarry paraded its sudden intimacy with us, and the faint toot of a horn in the distance was seized on as a welcome signal for unobtrusive departure. Constance and I and the hyena were left alone in the gathering twilight.

     " 'What are we to do?' asked Constance.

     " 'What a person you are for questions,' I said.

     " 'Well, we can't stay here all night with a hyena,' she retorted.

     " 'I don't know what your ideas of comfort are,' I said; 'but I shouldn't think of staying here all night even without a hyena. My home may be an unhappy one, but at least it has hot and cold water laid on, and domestic service, and other conveniences which we shouldn't find here. We had better make for that ridge of trees to the right; I imagine the Crowley road is just beyond.'

     "We trotted off slowly along a faintly marked cart-track, with the beast following cheerfully at our heels.

     " 'What on earth are we to do with the hyena?' came the inevitable question.

     " 'What does one generally do with hyenas?' I asked crossly.

     " 'I've never had anything to do with one before,' said Constance.

     " 'Well, neither have I. If we even knew its sex we might give it a name. Perhaps we might call it Esme. That would do in either case.

     "There was still sufficient daylight for us to distinguish wayside objects, and our listless spirits gave an upward perk as we came upon a small half-naked gipsy brat picking blackberries from a low-growing bush. The sudden apparition of two horsewomen and a hyena set it off crying, and in any case we should scarcely have gleaned any useful geographical information from that source; but there was a probability that we might strike a gipsy encampment somewhere along our route. We rode on hopefully but uneventfully for another mile or so.

     " 'I wonder what the child was doing there,' said Constance presently.

     " 'Picking blackberries. Obviously.'

     " 'I don't like the way it cried,' pursued Constance; 'somehow its wail keeps ringing in my ears.'

     "I did not chide Constance for her morbid fancies; as a matter of fact the same sensation, of being pursued by a persistent fretful wail, had been forcing itself on my rather over-tired nerves. For company's sake I hulloed to Esme, who had lagged somewhat behind. With a few springy bounds he drew up level, and then shot past us.

     "The wailing accompaniment was explained. The gipsy child was firmly, and I expect painfully, held in his jaws.

     " 'Merciful Heaven!' screamed Constance, 'what on earth shall we do? What are we to do?'

     "I am perfectly certain that at the Last Judgment Constance will ask more questions than any of the examining Seraphs.

     " 'Can't we do something?' she persisted tearfully, as Esme cantered easily along in front of our tired horses.

     "Personally I was doing everything that occurred to me at the moment. I stormed and scolded and coaxed in English and French and gamekeeper language; I made absurd, ineffectual cuts in the air with my thongless hunting-crop; I hurled my sandwich case at the brute; in fact, I really don't know what more I could have done. And still we lumbered on through the deepening dusk, with that dark uncouth shape lumbering ahead of us, and a drone of lugubrious music floating in our ears. Suddenly Esme bounded aside into some thick bushes, where we could not follow; the wail rose to a shriek and then stopped altogether. This part of the story I always hurry over, because it is really rather horrible. When the beast joined us again, after an absence of a few minutes, there was an air of patient understanding about him, as though he knew that he had done something of which we disapproved, but which he felt to be thoroughly justifiable.

     " 'How can you let that ravening beast trot by your side?' asked Constance. She was looking more than ever like an albino beetroot.

     " 'In the first place, I can't prevent it,' I said; 'and in the second place, whatever else he may be, I doubt if he's ravening at the present moment.'

     "Constance shuddered. 'Do you think the poor little thing suffered much?' came another of her futile questions.

     " 'The indications were all that way,' I said; 'on the other hand, of course, it may have been crying from sheer temper. Children sometimes do.'

     "It was nearly pitch-dark when we emerged suddenly into the high road. A flash of lights and the whir of a motor went past us at the same moment at uncomfortably close quarters. A thud and a sharp screeching yell followed a second later. The car drew up, and when I had ridden back to the spot I found a young man bending over a dark motionless mass lying by the roadside.

     " 'You have killed my Esme,' I exclaimed bitterly.

     " 'I'm so awfully sorry,' said the young man; 'I keep dogs myself, so I know what you must feel about it. I'll do anything I can in reparation.'

     " 'Please bury him at once,' I said; 'that much I think I may ask of you.

     " 'Bring the spade, William,' he called to the chauffeur. Evidently hasty roadside interments were contingencies that had been provided against.

     "The digging of a sufficiently large grave took some little time. 'I say, what a magnificent fellow,' said the motorist as the corpse was rolled over into the trench. 'I'm afraid he must have been rather a valuable animal.'

     " 'He took second in the puppy class at Birmingham last year,' I said resolutely.

     Constance snorted loudly.

     " 'Don't cry, dear,' I said brokenly; 'it was all over in a moment. He couldn't have suffered much.'

     " 'Look here,' said the young fellow desperately, 'you simply must let me do something by way of reparation.'

     "I refused sweetly, but as he persisted I let him have my address.

     "Of course, we kept our own counsel as to the earlier episodes of the evening. Lord Pabham never advertised the loss of his hyena; when a strictly fruit-eating animal strayed from his park a year or two previously he was called upon to give compensation in eleven cases of sheep-worrying and practically to re-stock his neighbours' poultry-yards, and an escaped hyena would have mounted up to something on the scale of a Government grant. The gipsies were equally unobtrusive over their missing offspring; I don't suppose in large encampments they really know to a child or two how many they've got."

     The Baroness paused reflectively, and then continued:

     "There was a sequel to the adventure, though. I got through the post a charming little diamond broach, with the name Esme set in a sprig of rosemary. Incidentally, too, I lost the friendship of Constance Broddle. You see, when I sold the brooch I quite properly refused to give her any share of the proceeds. I pointed out that the Esme part of the affair was my own invention, and the hyena part of it belonged to Lord Pabham, if it really was his hyena, of which, of course, I've no proof."



Photo: Gill Penney/Creative Commons

Python Eating Alligator

Thanks to Attack Turtle for showing me this video. 

More Pieces of Gilgamesh

Here's the last installment of my translations from Gilgamesh, the world's oldest story. It's a great story about friendship, violence, and magic, but I confess I've never been entirely happy with the translations I've read. So I've rendered my favorite parts myself. 





Metamorphosis



Like brothers are the sleeping and the dead. 

Nothing lasts. The house you build 

collapses in its age. A legacy is lost. 

The hatred of my enemy 

unties itself in death. 

The river rises high enough 

to drown us all,

but returns, in time, to its bed. 

The creature that seizes the little fish

must one day climb a reed and slough its husk, 

must crawl from the shell of himself

as a dragonfly. His watery wings gleam. 

They dry in the Sun's breath. 





Pursuit



Sleepless days and nights

have worn me, have hollowed my cheeks. 

Grief fills my flesh. 

Death invades my house, my bed. 

Wherever I guide my steps, 

There death moves too.  





Voice from the Underworld



Have you seen a man who died in foreign land,

from accident or age?

I have. He sits alone and screams

and tears his fingernails out.



Have you seen a man who died in the wild,

his corpse despoiled by jackals?

I have. He wanders half-clothed

and cannot rest. 



Have you seen a man with no kinsmen left

alive to love him?

I have. In the underworld

he eats the cauldron's scrapings, 

the food the maggots will not eat. 




Photo by Dee Puett

Spiders Mating in an Orange Rind

Photography by Dee Puett

Wandering Spider Toxin May Help Erectile Dysfunction

Techuser/Creative Commons



Spider Venom Viagra? Brazilian Wandering Spider Toxin May Help Erectile Dysfunction, Study Says: 

"A toxin from the venom of the Brazilian wandering spider may help treat erectile dysfunction in humans.
The study, authored by a team of Brazilian and American scientists, found that the toxin PnTx2-6 improved erectile function in aged rats."

First of all, who knew rats get erectile dysfunction? And how was this discovered?

Leopard Kills Impala

Classic Story: The Terror of Blue John Gap

The Terror
of Blue John Gap




by Arthur Conan Doyle













The following
narrative was found among the papers of Dr. James Hardcastle, who died of
phthisis on February 4th, 1908, at 36, Upper Coventry Flats, South Kensington.
Those who knew him best, while refusing to express an opinion upon this
particular statement, are unanimous in asserting that he was a man of a sober
and scientific turn of mind, absolutely devoid of imagination, and most
unlikely to invent any abnormal series of events. The paper was contained in an
envelope, which was docketed, "A Short Account of the Circumstances which
occurred near Miss Allerton's Farm in North-West Derbyshire in the Spring of
Last Year." The envelope was sealed, and on the other side was written in
pencil—










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."










Inquiry has
failed to elicit 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 erased.













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 bracing climate. Beyond the usual morning cough I have very little
discomfort, 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 quaint and kind, two dear little hard-working old
maids, who are ready to lavish all the heart which might have gone out to
husband and to children upon an invalid stranger. Truly, the old maid is a most
useful person, one of the reserve forces of the community. They talk of the
superfluous woman, but what would the poor superfluous man do without her
kindly presence? By the way, in their simplicity 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 picturesque in the extreme. The farm consists of
grazing land lying at the bottom of an irregular valley. On each side are the
fantastic limestone 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 subterranean 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 caverns, which wind down into the bowels of the earth. I have a small
bicycle lamp, and it is a perpetual joy to me to carry it into these weird
solitudes, 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 peculiar 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 shaft 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 recesses
beyond, I vowed 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 penetrated into the Derbyshire hills.




Strange how
superstitious 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 standing 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 vault, "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 pointed out,
could be explained in a perfectly 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 scattered for a considerable
distance. Human agency again, in my opinion. Finally, Armitage clinched 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 chasms of a limestone formation. My incredulity annoyed
Armitage so that he turned and left me with some abruptness.




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. Secondly, 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 whine,
tremulous and vibrating, almost like the whinnying of a horse. It was certainly
a most remarkable 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 farmhouse, rather mystified by what had occurred. Decidedly I shall
explore that cavern 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
systematically. 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 smeared 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 crimson 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 ooze from the black depths into which I
peered. Could it indeed be possible that some nameless thing, some dreadful presence,
was lurking down yonder? I should have been incapable 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 accurately 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 misgivings 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 descended
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
geologist, but the lining 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 excavation, 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 chamber 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 labyrinth,
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 boulders 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 blotch, deep, broad and irregular, as
if a great boulder 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 hemmed 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 determined, therefore, that I would not be scared by vague
and senseless fears from carrying out my exploration. Before proceeding, 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 reassured myself by examining my spare candles and my
matches, I advanced slowly over the rocky and uneven 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 tilted 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
opaque 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. Alas! 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 situated, 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, velvety darkness one lost all
one's bearings in an instant. Before I had made a dozen paces, I was utterly
bewildered as to my whereabouts. The rippling 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 plight. 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 thoroughly 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 counteracted 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 devoured, and washed them down with a draught 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, lulled by the monotonous gurgle of the stream, and
by the absolute darkness, I sank into an uneasy slumber.




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
reverberation 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 forth a muffled 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 ponderous
footfall. There was some creature there, and surely by the speed of its
advance, it was one which could see in the dark. I crouched 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
sniffs and snorts of tremendous volume and energy. Had it caught the scent of
me? My own nostrils were filled by a low fetid odour, mephitic and abominable.
Then I heard the steps again. They were on my side of the stream now. The
stones rattled 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 horrified 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 lurked 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 conjured 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 crevice 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
imprint. Now I stood astonished before it, for there were three similar
imprints 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 frenzy
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 tangle of briars, and flung myself exhausted 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 warily in the
matter. What would the poor lonely women, or the uneducated yokels 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 entirely 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 adviser,
the very man who was pre-eminently 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 brass plate was displayed
upon the door of a considerable building on the outskirts of the town. I was
about to ring his bell, when some misgiving 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 asylum." 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 pedants 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 malady which has caused degeneration? Certainly my heart
quails when I think of that horrible cavern in the hill, and the certainty that
it has some monstrous 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
remains 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
consigning 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 cartridges, which would bring down a rhinoceros.
Now I am ready for my troglodyte friend. Give me better health and a little
spate 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 underlies 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 vagaries of an English spring, and
during those days there have been developments, the true and sinister 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 rumours 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 belongings. 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 civilized 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 mishap
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 inspector entered it all in a large book and bowed me out with
commendable 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, propped 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 attained
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
melancholy vigil. All down the winding valley I could see the scattered lights
of the farm-houses, and the church clock of Chapel-le-Dale tolling 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 tempted 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 salvation 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 owl was hooting 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 rattle 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 loom of some enormous shape, some monstrous inchoate creature, passing
swiftly and very silently out from the tunnel. I was paralysed with fear and
amazement. 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
clenched 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 loomed up
once more before me, making for the entrance of the cave. Again came that
paralysis of volition which held my crooked forefinger impotent upon the
trigger. But with a desperate effort I shook it off. Even as the brushwood rustled,
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 bristling hair of a withered 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 burrow. In an instant, with a triumphant
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
glimmer 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, dense 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 quarry seems to be flying, the old primeval hunting-spirit awakes and
prudence 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 racing 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 hind 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 rugged skin, and in his red, gaping mouth,
fringed with monstrous fangs. Only in one point did he differ from the bear, or
from any other creature which walks the earth, and even at that supreme moment
a shudder of horror passed over me as I observed that the eyes which glistened
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 concussion of the brain, with my left arm and two
ribs 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 delirium 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 shaly rock, and yonder on its flank is the
dark cleft 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 adventurous gentlemen who had
come from Matlock, Buxton, and other parts, to offer to descend, 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 impaired
health, and to the possibility of cerebral 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
corroboration. So the matter stands, and so the matter will continue to stand,
for no definite solution seems to us to be now possible. It transcends human
wit to give any scientific explanation which could cover the alleged
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 elucidate 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 evaporation, 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
fauna and flora 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 countless aeons the internal and the
external creation had kept apart, growing steadily away from each other. Then
there had come some rift 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
compensated 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 riddle. 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.













 Image based on a photo by Didier Descouens/Creative Commons. 

Chimpanzees Kill Ten People in War Zone

A chimpanzee steals a dead bushbuck from a baboon. Ikiwaner/Creative Commons



An excellent article about recent chimpanzee attacks in the Congo. It explains important factors news articles often miss, including the economic necessity that brings people into conflict with chimps; the impact of war between humans; and the difficulty of verifying animal attacks. 



Amid armed conflict, Congolese villagers face chimpanzee attacks | The Observers: 






One resident said: “There isn’t a month that goes by without someone being killed by a chimpanzee”. 
17 people who have been wounded by chimps
10 people who have been killed over “the past few months”