Chapter Chapter 5 · The Terror of Blue John Gap

. The Terror of Blue John Gap

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.