of what we called "our lives," yet bymental, not physical, processes. In that sense, as he said, we should bethe victims of our adventure--a sacrifice.
It took us in different fashion, each according to the measure of hissensitiveness and powers of resistance. I translated it vaguely into apersonification of the mightily disturbed elements, investing them with thehorror of a deliberate and malefic purpose, resentful of our audaciousintrusion into their breeding-place; whereas my friend threw it into theunoriginal form at first of a trespass on some ancient shrine, some placewhere the old gods still held sway, where the emotional forces of formerworshippers still clung, and the ancestral portion of him yielded to theold pagan spell.
At any rate, here was a place unpolluted by men, kept clean by the windsfrom coarsening human influences, a place where spiritual agencies werewithin reach and aggressive. Never, before or since, have I been soattacked by indescribable suggestions of a "beyond region," of anotherscheme of life, another revolution not parallel to the human. And in theend our minds would succumb under the weight of the awful spell, and weshould be drawn across the frontier into their world.
Small things testified to the amazing influence of the place, and now inthe silence round the fire they allowed themselves to be noted by the mind.The very atmosphere had proved itself a magnifying medium to distort everyindication: the otter rolling in the current, the hurrying boatman makingsigns, the shifting willows, one and all had been robbed of its naturalcharacter, and revealed in something of its other aspect--as it existedacross the border to that other region. And this changed aspect I felt wasnow not merely to me, but to the race. The whole experience whose verge wetouched was unknown to humanity at all. It was a new order of experience,and in the true sense of the word unearthly.
"It's the deliberate, calculating purpose that reduces one's courage tozero," the Swede said suddenly, as if he had been actually following mythoughts. "Otherwise imagination might count for much. But the paddle, thecanoe, the lessening food--"
"Haven't I explained all that once?" I interrupted viciously.
"You have," he answered dryly; "you have indeed."
He made other remarks too, as usual, about what he called the "plaindetermination to provide a victim"; but, having now arranged my thoughtsbetter, I recognized that this was simply the cry of his frightened soulagainst the knowledge that he was being attacked in a vital part, and thathe would be somehow taken or destroyed. The situation called for a courageand calmness of reasoning that neither of us could compass, and I havenever before been so clearly conscious of two persons in me--the one thatexplained everything, and the other that laughed at such foolishexplanations, yet was horribly afraid.
Meanwhile, in the pitchy night the fire died down and the wood pile grewsmall. Neither of us moved to replenish the stock, and the darknessconsequently came up very close to our faces. A few feet beyond the circleof firelight it was inky black. Occasionally a stray puff of wind set thewillows shivering about us, but apart from this not very welcome sound adeep and depressing silence reigned, broken only by the gurgling of theriver and the humming in the air overhead.
We both missed, I think, the shouting company of the winds.
At length, at a moment when a stray puff prolonged itself as though thewind were about to rise again, I reached the point for me of saturation,the point where it was absolutely necessary to find relief in plain speech,or else to betray myself by some hysterical extravagance that must havebeen far worse in its effect upon both of us. I kicked the fire into ablaze, and turned to my companion abruptly. He looked up with a start.
"I can't disguise it any longer," I said; "I don't like this place, and thedarkness, and the noises, and the awful feelings I get. There's somethinghere that beats me utterly. I'm in a blue funk, and that's the plain truth.If the other shore was--different, I swear I'd be inclined to swim for it!"
The Swede's face turned very white beneath the deep tan of sun and wind. Hestared straight at me and answered quietly, but his voice betrayed his hugeexcitement by its unnatural calmness. For the moment, at any rate, he wasthe strong man of the two. He was more phlegmatic, for one thing.
"It's not a physical condition we can escape from by running away," hereplied, in the tone of a doctor diagnosing some grave disease; "we mustsit tight and wait. There are forces close here that could kill a herd ofelephants in a second as easily as you or I could squash a fly. Our onlychance is to keep perfectly still. Our insignificance perhaps may save us."
I put a dozen questions into my expression of face, but found no words. Itwas precisely like listening to an accurate description of a disease whosesymptoms had puzzled me.
"I mean that so far, although aware of our disturbing presence, they havenot found us--not 'located' us, as the Americans say," he went on. "They'reblundering about like men hunting for a leak of gas. The paddle and canoeand provisions prove that. I think they feel us, but cannot actually seeus. We must keep our minds quiet--it's our minds they feel. We must controlour thoughts, or it's all up with us."
"Death, you mean?" I stammered, icy with the horror of his suggestion.
"Worse--by far," he said. "Death, according to one's belief, means eitherannihilation or release from the limitations of the senses, but it involvesno change of character. You don't suddenly alter just because the body'sgone. But this means a radical alteration, a complete change, a horribleloss of oneself by substitution--far worse than death, and not evenannihilation. We happen to have camped in a spot where their region touchesours, where the veil between has worn thin"--horrors! he was using my veryown phrase, my actual words--"so that they are aware of our being in theirneighborhood."
"But who are aware?" I asked.
I forgot the shaking of the willows in the windless calm, the hummingoverhead, everything except that I was waiting for an answer that I dreadedmore than I can possibly explain.
He lowered his voice at once to reply, leaning forward a little over thefire, an indefinable change in his face that made me avoid his eyes andlook down upon the ground.
"All my life," he said, "I have been strangely, vividly conscious ofanother region--not far removed from our own world in one sense, yet whollydifferent in kind--where great things go on unceasingly, where immense andterrible personalities hurry by, intent on vast purposes compared to whichearthly affairs, the rise and fall of nations, the destinies of empires,the fate of armies and continents, are all as dust in the balance; vastpurposes, I mean, that deal directly with the soul, and not indirectly withmore expressions of the soul--"
"I suggest just now--" I began, seeking to stop him, feeling as though Iwas face to face with a madman. But he instantly overbore me with historrent that had to come.
"You think," he said, "it is the spirit of the elements, and I thoughtperhaps it was the old gods. But I tell you now it is--neither. These wouldbe comprehensible entities, for they have relations with men, dependingupon them for worship or sacrifice, whereas these beings who are now aboutus have absolutely nothing to do with mankind, and it is mere chance thattheir space happens just at this spot to touch our own."
The mere conception, which his words somehow made so convincing, as Ilistened to them there in the dark stillness of that lonely island, set meshaking a little all over. I found it impossible to control my movements.
"And what do you propose?" I began again.
"A sacrifice, a victim, might save us by distracting them until we couldget away," he went on, "just as the wolves stop to devour the dogs and givethe sleigh another start. But--I see no chance of any other victim now."
I stared blankly at him. The gleam in his eye was dreadful. Presently hecontinued.
IV
"It's the willows, of course. The willows mask the others, but the othersare feeling about for us. If we let our minds betray our fear, we're lost,lost utterly." He looked at me with an expression so calm, so determined,so sincere, that I no longer had any doubts as to his sanity. He was assane as any man ever was. "If we can hold
out through the night," he added,"we may get off in the daylight unnoticed, or rather, undiscovered."
"But you really think a sacrifice would--"
That gong-like humming came down very close over our heads as I spoke, butit was my friend's scared face that really stopped my mouth.
"Hush!" he whispered, holding up his hand. "Do not mention them more thanyou can help. Do not refer to them by name. To name is to reveal; it is theinevitable clue, and our only hope lies in ignoring them, in order thatthey may ignore us."
"Even in thought?" He was extraordinarily agitated.
"Especially in thought. Our thoughts make spirals in their world. We