A to Z Classics - Bram Stoker - The Complete Novels

We took our way first down the Hill, and then westward to the Shleenanaher, for we intended, under Dick’s advice, to follow, if possible, up to its source the ravine made by the bog. When we got to the entrance of the Pass we were struck with the vast height to which the bog had risen when its mass first struck the portals. A hundred feet overhead there was the great brown mark, and on the sides of the Pass the same mark was visible, declining quickly as it got seaward and the Pass widened, showing the track of its passage to the sea.

We climbed the rocks and looked over. Norah clung close to me, and my arm went round her and held her tight as we peered over and saw where the great waves of the Atlantic struck the rocks three hundred feet below us, and were for a quarter of a mile away still tinged with the brown slime of the bog.

We then crossed over the ravine, for the rocky bottom was here laid bare, and so we had no reason to fear water-holes or pitfalls. A small stream still ran down the ravine and, shallowing out over the shelf of rock, spread all across the bottom of the Pass, and fell into the sea — something like a miniature of the Staubach Fall, as the water whitened in the falling.

We then passed up on the west side of the ravine, and saw that the stream which ran down the centre was perpetual — a live stream, and not merely the drainage of the ground where the bog had saturated the earth. As we passed up the Hill we saw where the side of the slope had been torn bodily away, and the great chasm where once the house had been which Murdock took from Joyce, and so met his doom. Here there was a great pool of water — and, indeed, all throughout the ravine were places where the stream broadened into deep pools, and again into shallow pools where it ran over the solid bed of rock. As we passed up Dick hazarded an explanation or a theory:

“Do you know it seems to me that this ravine or valley was once before just as it is now? The stream ran down it and out at the Shleenanaher just as it does now. Then by some landslips, or a series of them, or by a falling tree, the passage became blocked, and the hollow became a lake, and its edges grew rank with boggy growth; and then, from one cause and another — the falling in of the sides, or the rush of rain-storms carrying down the detritus of the mountain and perpetually washing down particles of clay from the higher levels — the lake became choked up; and then the lighter matter floated to the top, and by time and vegetable growth became combined. And so the whole mass grew cohesive and floated on the water and slime below. This may have occurred more than once. Nay, moreover, sections of the bog may have become segregated or separated by some similarity of condition affecting its parts, or by some formation of the ground, as by the valley narrowing in parts between walls of rock so that the passage could be easily choked. And so solid earth formed to be again softened and demoralised by the latter mingling with the less solid mass above it. It is possible, if not probable, that more than once, in the countless ages that have passed, this ravine has been as we see it, and again as it was but a few hours ago.”

No one had anything to urge against this theory, and we all proceeded on our way.

When we came to the place where Norah had rescued me, we examined the spot most carefully, and again went over the scene and the exploit. It was almost impossible to realise that this great rock, towering straight up from the bottom of the ravine, had, at the fatal hour, seemed only like a tussock rising from the bog. When I had climbed to the top I took my knife and cut a cross on the rock, where my brave girl’s feet had rested, to mark the spot.

Then we went on again. Higher up the Hill we came to a place where, on each side, a rocky promontory with straight, deep walls, jutted into the ravine, making a sort of narrow gateway or gorge in the valley. Dick pointed it out.

“See, here is one of the very things I spoke of that made the bog into sections, or chambers, or tanks, or whatever we should call them. More than that, here is an instance of the very thing I hinted at before — that the peculiar formation of the Snake’s Pass runs right through the Hill. If this be so — but we shall see later on.”

On the other side was, we agreed, the place where old Moynahan had said the Frenchmen had last been seen. Dick and I were both curious about the matter, and we agreed to cross the ravine and make certain, for if it were the spot, Dick’s mark of the stones in the Y shape would be a proof. Joyce and Norah both refused to let us go alone, so we all went up a little farther, where the sides of the rock sloped on each side, and where we could pass safely, as the bed was rock and quite smooth, with the stream flowing over it in a thin sheet.

When we got to the bottom, Joyce, who was looking round, said, suddenly:

“What is that like a square block behind the high rock on the other side?” He went over to it, and an instant after gave a great cry, and turned and beckoned to us. We all ran over; and there before us, in a crescent-shaped nook at the base of the lofty rock, lay a wooden chest. The top was intact, but one of the lower corners was broken, as though with a fall; and from the broken aperture had fallen out a number of coins, which we soon found to be of gold.

On the top of the chest we could make out the letters R. F. in some metal, discolored and corroded with a century of slime, and on its ends were great metal handles, to each of which something white was attached. We stooped to look at them, and then Norah, with a low cry, turned to me and laid her head on my breast, as though to shut out some horrid sight. Then we investigated the mass that lay there.

At each end of the chest lay a skeleton, the fleshless fingers grasping the metal handle. We recognised the whole story at a glance, and our hats came off.

“Poor fellows,” said Dick; “they did their duty nobly; they guarded their treasure to the last.” Then he went on: “See, they evidently stepped into the bog, straight off the rock, and were borne down at once, holding tight to the handles of the chest they carried — or, stay” — and he stooped lower and caught hold of something — “See how the bog can preserve! This leather strap attached to the handles of the chest each had round his shoulder, and so, willy nilly, they were dragged to their doom. Never mind, they were brave fellows all the same, and faithful ones; they never let go the handles; look, their dead hands clasp them still. France should be proud of such sons. It would make a noble coat of arms, this treasure-chest sent by freemen to aid others, and with two such supporters!”

We looked at the chest and the skeletons for a while, and then Dick said:

“Joyce, this is on your land — for it is yours till to-morrow — and you may as well keep it; possession is nine points of the law, and if we take the gold out, the Government can only try to claim it. But if they take it, we may ask in vain.”

Joyce answered:

“Take it I will, an’ gladly; but not for meself. The money was sent for Ireland’s good, to help them that wanted help, an’ plase God, I’ll see it doesn’t go asthray now!”

Dick’s argument was a sensible one, and straightway we wrenched the top off the chest, and began to remove the gold; but we never stirred the chest or took away those skeleton hands from the handles which they grasped.

It took us all, carrying a good load each, to bring the money to Joyce’s cottage. We locked it in a great oak chest, and warned Miss Joyce not to say a word about it. I told Miss Joyce that if Andy came for me he was to be sent on to us, explaining that we were going back to the top of the new ravine.

We followed it up farther, till we reached a point much higher up on the Hill, and at last came to the cleft in the rock whence the stream issued. The floor here was rocky, and, it being so, we did not hesitate to descend, and even to enter the chine. As we did so, Dick turned to me.