Dracula's Guest
and I struggled on. The seconds seemed hours; but the few moments I had
in starting, combined with my youth and strength, gave me a great
advantage, and, though several forms struggled after me in deadly
silence which was more dreadful than any sound, I easily reached the
top. Since then I have climbed the cone of Vesuvius, and as I struggled
up that dreary steep amid the sulphurous fumes the memory of that awful
night at Montrouge came back to me so vividly that I almost grew faint.
The mound was one of the tallest in the region of dust, and as I
struggled to the top, panting for breath and with my heart beating like
a sledge-hammer, I saw away to my left the dull red gleam of the sky,
and nearer still the flashing of lights. Thank God! I knew where I was
now and where lay the road to Paris!
For two or three seconds I paused and looked back. My pursuers were
still well behind me, but struggling up resolutely, and in deadly
silence. Beyond, the shanty was a wreck—a mass of timber and moving
forms. I could see it well, for flames were already bursting out; the
rags and straw had evidently caught fire from the lantern. Still
silence there! Not a sound! These old wretches could die game, anyhow.
I had no time for more than a passing glance, for as I cast an eye
round the mound preparatory to making my descent I saw several dark
forms rushing round on either side to cut me off on my way. It was now
a race for life. They were trying to head me on my way to Paris, and
with the instinct of the moment I dashed down to the right-hand side. I
was just in time, for, though I came as it seemed to me down the steep
in a few steps, the wary old men who were watching me turned back, and
one, as I rushed by into the opening between the two mounds in front,
almost struck me a blow with that terrible butcher’s axe. There could
surely not be two such weapons about!
Then began a really horrible chase. I easily ran ahead of the old men,
and even when some younger ones and a few women joined in the hunt I
easily distanced them. But I did not know the way, and I could not even
guide myself by the light in the sky, for I was running away from it. I
had heard that, unless of conscious purpose, hunted men turn always to
the left, and so I found it now; and so, I suppose, knew also my
pursuers, who were more animals than men, and with cunning or instinct
had found out such secrets for themselves: for on finishing a quick
spurt, after which I intended to take a moment’s breathing space, I
suddenly saw ahead of me two or three forms swiftly passing behind a
mound to the right.
I was in the spider’s web now indeed! But with the thought of this new
danger came the resource of the hunted, and so I darted down the next
turning to the right. I continued in this direction for some hundred
yards, and then, making a turn to the left again, felt certain that I
had, at any rate, avoided the danger of being surrounded.
But not of pursuit, for on came the rabble after me, steady, dogged,
relentless, and still in grim silence.
In the greater darkness the mounds seemed now to be somewhat smaller
than before, although—for the night was closing—they looked bigger in
proportion. I was now well ahead of my pursuers, so I made a dart up
the mound in front.
Oh joy of joys! I was close to the edge of this inferno of dustheaps.
Away behind me the red light of Paris was in the sky, and towering up
behind rose the heights of Montmarte—a dim light, with here and there
brilliant points like stars.
Restored to vigour in a moment, I ran over the few remaining mounds of
decreasing size, and found myself on the level land beyond. Even then,
however, the prospect was not inviting. All before me was dark and
dismal, and I had evidently come on one of those dank, low-lying waste
places which are found here and there in the neighbourhood of great
cities. Places of waste and desolation, where the space is required for
the ultimate agglomeration of all that is noxious, and the ground is so
poor as to create no desire of occupancy even in the lowest squatter.
With eyes accustomed to the gloom of the evening, and away now from the
shadows of those dreadful dustheaps, I could see much more easily than
I could a little while ago. It might have been, of course, that the
glare in the sky of the lights of Paris, though the city was some miles
away, was reflected here. Howsoever it was, I saw well enough to take
bearings for certainly some little distance around me.
In front was a bleak, flat waste that seemed almost dead level, with
here and there the dark shimmering of stagnant pools. Seemingly far off
on the right, amid a small cluster of scattered lights, rose a dark
mass of Fort Montrouge, and away to the left in the dim distance,
pointed with stray gleams from cottage windows, the lights in the sky
showed the locality of Bicêtre. A moment’s thought decided me to take
to the right and try to reach Montrouge. There at least would be some
sort of safety, and I might possibly long before come on some of the
cross roads which I knew. Somewhere, not far off, must lie the
strategic road made to connect the outlying chain of forts circling the
city.
Then I looked back. Coming over the mounds, and outlined black against
the glare of the Parisian horizon, I saw several moving figures, and
still a way to the right several more deploying out between me and my
destination. They evidently meant to cut me off in this direction, and
so my choice became constricted; it lay now between going straight
ahead or turning to the left. Stooping to the ground, so as to get the
advantage of the horizon as a line of sight, I looked carefully in this
direction, but could detect no sign of my enemies. I argued that as
they had not guarded or were not trying to guard that point, there was
evidently danger to me there already. So I made up my mind to go
straight on before me.
It was not an inviting prospect, and as I went on the reality grew
worse. The ground became soft and oozy, and now and again gave way
beneath me in a sickening kind of way. I seemed somehow to be going
down, for I saw round me places seemingly more elevated than where I
was, and this in a place which from a little way back seemed dead
level. I looked around, but could see none of my pursuers. This was
strange, for all along these birds of the night had followed me through
the darkness as well as though it was broad daylight. How I blamed
myself for coming out in my light-coloured tourist suit of tweed. The
silence, and my not being able to see my enemies, whilst I felt that
they were watching me, grew appalling, and in the hope of some one not
of this ghastly crew hearing me I raised my voice and shouted several
times. There was not the slightest response; not even an echo rewarded
my efforts. For a while I stood stock still and kept my eyes in one
direction. On one of the rising places around me I saw something dark
move along, then another, and another. This was to my left, and
seemingly moving to head me off.
I thought that again I might with my skill as a runner elude my enemies
at this game, and so with all my speed darted forward.
Splash!
My feet had given way in a mass of slimy rubbish, and I had fallen
headlong into a reeking, stagnant pool. The water and the mud in which
my arms sank up to the elbows was filthy and nauseous beyond
description, and in the suddenness of my fall I had actually swallowed
some of the filthy stuff, which nearly choked me, and made me gasp for
breath. Never shall I forget the moments during which I stood trying to
recover myself almost fainting from the fœtid odour of the filthy pool,
whose white mist rose ghostlike around. Worst of all, with the acute
despair of the hunted animal when he sees the pursuing pack closing on
him, I saw before my eyes whilst I stood helpless the dark forms of my
pursuers moving swiftly to surround me.
It is curious how our minds work on odd matters even when the energies
of thought are seemingly concentrated on some terrible and pressing
need. I was in momentary peril of my life: my safety depended on my
action, and my choice of alternatives coming now with almost every step
I took, and yet I could not but think of the strange dogged persistency
of these old men. Their silent resolution, their steadfast, grim,
persistency even in such a cause commanded, as well as fear, even a
measure of respect. What must they have been in the vigour of their
youth. I could understand now that whirlwind rush on the bridge of
Arcola, that scornful exclamation of the Old Guard at Waterloo!
Unconscious cerebration has its own pleasures, even at such moments;
but fortunately it does not in any way clash with the thought from
which action springs.
I realised at a glance that so far I was defeated in my object, my
enemies as yet had won. They had succeeded in surrounding me on three
sides, and were bent on driving me off to the left-hand, where there
was already some danger for me, for they had left no guard. I accepted
the alternative—it was a case of Hobson’s choice and run. I had to keep
the lower ground, for my pursuers were on the higher places. However,
though the ooze and broken ground impeded me my youth and training made
me able to hold my ground, and by keeping a diagonal line I not only
kept them from gaining on me but even began to distance them. This gave
me new heart and strength, and by this time habitual training was
beginning to tell and my second wind had come. Before me the ground
rose slightly. I rushed up the slope and found before me a waste of
watery slime, with a low dyke or bank looking black and grim beyond. I
felt that if I could but reach that dyke in safety I could there, with
solid ground under my feet and some kind of path to guide me, find with
comparative ease a way out of my troubles. After a glance right and
left and seeing no one near, I kept my eyes for a few minutes to their
rightful work of aiding my feet whilst I crossed the swamp. It was
rough, hard work, but there was little danger, merely toil; and a short
time took me to the dyke. I rushed up the slope exulting; but here
again I met a new shock. On either side of me rose a number of
crouching figures. From right and left they rushed at me. Each body
held a rope.
The cordon was nearly complete. I could pass on neither side, and the
end was near.
There was only one chance, and I took it. I hurled myself across the
dyke, and escaping out of the very clutches of my foes threw myself
into the stream.
At any other time I should have thought that water foul and filthy, but
now it was as welcome as the most crystal stream to the parched
traveller. It was a highway of safety!
My pursuers rushed after me. Had only one of them held the rope it
would have been all up with me, for he could have entangled me before I
had time to swim a stroke; but the many hands holding it embarrassed
and delayed them, and when the rope struck the water I heard the splash
well behind me. A few minutes’ hard swimming took me across the stream.
Refreshed with the immersion and encouraged by the escape, I climbed
the dyke in comparative gaiety of spirits.
From the top I looked back. Through the darkness I saw my assailants
scattering up and down along the dyke. The pursuit was evidently not
ended, and again I had to choose my course. Beyond the dyke where I
stood was a wild, swampy space very similar to that which I had
crossed. I determined to shun such a place, and thought for a moment
whether I would take up or down the dyke. I thought I heard a sound—the
muffled sound of oars, so I listened, and then shouted.
No response; but the sound ceased. My enemies had evidently got a boat
of some kind. As they were on the up side of me I took the down path