Лестер Дент - The Fantastic Island

They crouched down, watching. Stars dripped pale light. And suddenly a close, bulking mountain disgorged a red glareinto the sky. Bathed in the baleful light of volcanic fires, huge muscled men could be seen moving ceaselessly up-and-down at the edge of the honeycombed ground. The men were clothed as those others had been — in loin cloths and leather collars. They carried long whips which they swung over their heads and cracked down into the row of pits.

Hideous groans and jabberings issued from the unseen depths of the pits. The whip-crackers — their half-naked bodies in the redvolcanic glare sleek with glistening sweat — looked like Satanic apparitions come to Earth.

"Back on the yacht I said maybe we were headed for Hell," Monk muttered. "Now I know it!"

"The cracking noises we heard were from the whips," Ham observed.

"What's in the pits, I wonder?" Pat asked, in a hushed tone.

Monk was already edging forward, crawling on his stomach.

"Hold Habeas Corpus," he whispered back. "I'll find out."

"Blast your hog!" Ham complained. But he held the pig.

As he muscled to a position where he could look down into the pits, Monk gasped with grim surprise. In every one of the circular holes — as far as he could see down the long line — stakes were driven. And to the stakes were attached chains. And to the end of the chains were fastened men.

There was one man with a shovel in each pit, digging. The diggers wore loin cloths only, lacking the lizard-leather collars worn by the whip-cracking overseers. These collars, Monk correctly assumed, to be emblems of authority.

Each of the pit-men was digging a hole of a circumference allowed by the length of his chain. Extending across the plain in a straight line, the holes were of uniform width — about 10 feet.

Under the lash of the whips in the hellish redvolcano glare, the chained men were actually digging their way to death.

- — — — — — — — — — — — —

Suddenly from behind Monk sounded a fast thudding on the hard packed ground. Something thrust hard against his back as he swerved around. A shrill squeal sounded.

Monk clamped his huge hands over Habeas Corpus's snout to smother the affectionate squeals of the pig which had burst away from Ham and had run straight to Monk.

He throttled the squeals. But the damage was already done. Whip-cracking overseers jabbered sharply at each other and clumped forward to investigate the disturbance.

Monk's squat bulk reared upward. Brandishing his stout club, he lunged forward to meet the attack of the nearest man. But before Monk could close in, a deadly swish sounded. Monk's enemy was still 6-or-8 paces away. But Monk felt his knees gripped as though by iron hands, jerked tightly together, and pulled out from under him. He fell, striking the ground with stunning force.

Monk knew what had thrown him. His hands raked down to jerk away the lead-tipped thong which had whipped out of the night murk and entwined his legs. Before he could free himself, his assailant was standing over him with the weighted whip handle raised high to crash against Monk's head.

Ham's sword cane slithered in that instant, dropped the overseer, and saved Monk from the blow. But another whip swished out of the night, wrapped around Ham's legs, and hurled him to the ground on top of Monk.

Clubs battered them both to unconsciousness before they could claw free from the knee-binding thongs.

- — — — — — — — — — — — —

When they came to a few minutes later, they found themselves bound and lying on the ground at the edge of the line of pits. Ham focused his groggy glance at the nearest pit worker. The man had sunk his hole about 5 feet down so that his face was practically on ground level. That pain-racked face was almost within hand's reach of Ham.

Ham started violently. In a redvolcanic flare, he had recognized the man as being one of the members of Johnny's expedition.

"Tony!" Ham whispered hoarsely.

A shudder went over the man as his crazed eyes turned to Ham's. His lips widened in startled recognition. He said nothing but kept on digging.

Ham shot a quick glance around and saw that the nearest overseer was intently engaged in a bullying cross-examination of Pat. Ham squirmed close to the edge of the hole so that his lips were almost at the digger's ear.

"Where's the rest of the ship's crew? And Johnny?" he whispered.

"Crew's in the pits diggin'," the man answered in a kind of wrenching sob.

"Where's Johnny? Is he alive?" Ham hung on the answer fearfully.

"Alive … But he won't be long."

"Where is he?"

"A big guy with a black beard took him away. I don't know where. I only know they're gonna kill Johnny. They're gonna kill all of us!" The man's voice rose to hysterical rasp.

"Don't talk so loud," Ham cautioned fiercely. "What have we got into here? Tell me what you know. Quick! While we've got the chance."

"I can't tell you … But I can … " Then the man's voice rose in a choking shriek, out of all control now. It was an insane shriek.

Plainly, the fellow had broken under the tortures he had endured.

- — — — — — — — — — — — —

Whatever it was he meant to tell — or not to tell — Ham remained forever untold. The overseer rushed forward mouthing unintelligible curses. His arm reared up … and down! The leaded whip handle struck with gruesome thump against the crazed man's head. It was a blow heavy enough to have dropped anything alive. But the man in the pit was not exactly alive now. He was a raving madman, mercifully removed from all consciousness of pain. His whitish eyes rolled madly. Crimsonfoam bubbled from his lips.

The leaded whip handle descended again. This time the man slumped, a slack weight in the pit. He was dead before his body hit the bottom.

The overseer — he was some unidentifiable Asiatic type — bawled orders in harsh gibberish. 2 guards shoved forward. One was a giant brown-skinned man; the other a paunchy Caucasian of indeterminate race. The brown man bent and commenced ripping the thongs from Ham's hands and feet. The other guard jumped heavily down, unlocked the iron cuff from the dead man's leg, and heaved the limp body out of the pit.

The guard on top grunted and pushed Ham roughly over the edge. Ham fell sprawling. The guard in the pit was ready for him. He jangled the chain against the stake, grabbed Ham by the foot, and slapped on the iron cuff still warm from the dead man's leg.

He picked up the dead man's shovel and thrust it into Ham's hands. The overseer above cracked down with the whip. A thick welt bloomed on Ham's cheek. He started digging.

Overseers herded Monk a short distance down the line of horror holes and put him similarly to work.

Pat experienced a somewhat different fate from that of the 2 men. She was consigned to one of the pits. But though she was chained to the stake, she was not whipped nor was she compelled to dig.

She was greatly relieved at this concession to her womanhood until — cutting through the harsh medley of groans, whip-cracks, and guttural cries — she heard the close voices of 2 guards conversing in English.

"Make her dig."

"No. The Count will surely order her to be brought to the Palace. He will not want her worn out from digging."

"But she could well stand a little bit of whipping … "

"No," the other protested. "In this case, the Count will prefer to do his own whipping."

"Maybe you're right," the overseer growled and moved away down the line of pits.