Fear
We went on deck after dinner. There was not a ripple on the whole Mediterranean, whose smooth surface shone like silver under the great moon. The big steamer glided along, throwing up a curling column of thick black smoke toward the starlit sky and in our wake the white water churned up by the screw and the rapid movement of the huge ship, foamed and twisted, gleaming with such phosphorus as though it were nothing but bubbling moonlight.
Our party consisted of six or eight men, all of whom were gazing admiringly and in rapt silence at the distant shores of Africa, whither we were bound. The captain, who was smoking an after-dinner cigar with us, suddenly took up the conversation where it had been left off during dinner.
“Yes,” he said, “that day I was badly frightened. My ship stayed on the rocks six hours beaten by the sea. Luckily, we were picked up toward evening by an English collier that saw our plight.”
Then a tall man with sunburned face and dignified bearing, one of those men who have been in strange lands and have braved terrible dangers and whose eyes seem to have retained in their depths something of the fantastic sights they have seen, spoke for the first time:
“Captain, you say that you were frightened. I do not believe it. You use a wrong word and the sensation you felt was not that of fear. An energetic man never feels afraid before actual danger. He may be anxious, he may be restless, but fear is something entirely different.”
Laughingly, the captain replied:
“Well, by Jove, I can tell you I was frightened.”
Then the man with the sunburned face said in a slow voice:
“Allow me to explain my meaning. Fear (and the bravest men can experience it) is sometimes terrible, a dreadful sensation; it can be compared to the decomposition of the soul, and is a frightful spasm of the heart and mind, the mere recollection of which sends shudders through our frame. But, if a man is courageous, that never happens in the face of certain death, nor in the face of any known form of peril; it only occurs in certain abnormal instances, when a person is labouring under some strange influence, or when in the face of vague and unknowable dangers. Real fear is like a reminiscence of the fantastic terrors of past ages. A man who believes in ghosts and who imagines that he sees one, must experience the sensation of fear in all its atrocious horror.
“As for myself, I got an idea of what it must be like, in broad daylight, about ten years ago, and I experienced the full sensation of it last winter, during a night in December.
“I’ve taken many chances in my life and have had any number of adventures that were desperate enough. I’ve had may duels, I’ve been attacked and almost beaten to death by robbers. In America, once, I was sentenced to be hanged as a rebel, while another time I was thrown overboard by mutineers off the Chinese coast. Each time I thought that my last hour had come, and I made up my mind quickly to face the inevitable. I scarcely felt any emotion or regret.
“But fear is something very different.
“I have had a presentiment of it in Africa, although it is the offspring of the North; the sun makes it vanish like mist. You know, gentlemen, that the Orientals place little value on life; if one of them has to die, he makes up his mind at once; their nights are as free and void of legends as their souls are void of the morbid anxieties which haunt the brains of northern men. A panic may occur in the East, but fear is unknown there!
“Well, this is what happened to me in that weird country of Africa:
“I was crossing the downs that lie to the south of Ouargla. It is one of the strangest places in the world. Of course you all know the smooth, flat sand of ocean beaches? Well, just imagine the ocean changed into sand during a hurricane; imagine a silent storm with motionless waves of yellow dust, as high as mountains, as irregular, varying, and tumultuous as real breakers, but larger and streaked like watered silk. The blazing southern sun sheds its full glare on this raging but silent and motionless sea. You have to climb up one side of these golden waves and slide down the other, without respite or protection of any kind from the sun. The horses groan and sink up to their knees in the soft sand and slide down the other side of these astounding hills.
“Our little party consisted of a friend and myself, with an escort of eight spahis and four camels, with their keepers. We spoke not a word, for we were well-nigh exhausted and our parched throats were as dry as the desert that stretched in front of us. Suddenly one of the men gave a sort of startled cry; we all stopped and remained motionless in our saddles from sheer amazement at a startling and unaccountable phenomenon known to all travellers in those wild regions.
“From somewhere in the immediate vicinity, we were unable to determine the exact location, came the sound of a beating drum, the mysterious drum of the downs. The sound was perfectly distinct. Sometimes it would increase or decrease in volume and then it would stop altogether, only to begin again after a little while.
“The Arabs, scared to death, exchanged terrified glances. One of them uttered in his own tongue: ‘Death is upon us.’ And all of a sudden my friend, who was as dear as a brother to me, toppled from his horse, stricken with sunstroke.
“And during the two mortal hours in which I tried everything I knew to save him, that drum filled my ears with its strange, monotonous, intermittent beatings. And I felt fear, genuine, horrible fear, creep over me at the sight of the corpse of my beloved friend in that dreadful African hole scorched by the sun and enclosed by four sand hills and where, at a distance of at least two hundred miles from any French village, the echo brought us the sound of a rapidly beating drum.
“That day I realized what it was to feel fear; I realized it even more fully another time …”
The captain interrupted the speaker to inquire:
“Excuse me, sir, but what was the drum, after all?”
The traveller resumed:
“I really cannot tell you. Nobody knows. Officers who have often heard the sound attribute it to the multiplied and magnified echo of sheets of sand hurled by the wind against clumps of dry grass; for it has been noticed that the phenomenon always takes place in the neighbourhood of small plants that the heat of the sun has rendered as dry as parchment.
“According to that, the drum would only be a sort of sound mirage. But I only learned that later.
“Now I will relate my second experience.
“It was last winter and I was in a forest in the northeastern part of France. Night came two hours before its time, so dark was the sky. My guide was a peasant, who walked alongside of me in the narrow path, under a dome of pine-trees that shook and groaned under the furious wind. Between the treetops I could see the clouds hurrying past like a scattered army and they looked as if they were fleeing from some unknown horror. At times, under a dreadful gale of wind, the whole forest would bend in one direction and utter a moan of distress. In spite of my heavy clothing and rapid motion, the cold was beginning to penetrate me to the marrow.
“We were to put up over night at a forester’s home, and we were rapidly approaching the cottage. I had planned to spend a few days in the forest for the shooting.
“From time to time the guide would raise his eyes and mutter: ‘Bad weather, this.’ Then he spoke to me of the people who were to be our hosts. The old man had killed a poacher two years ago, and since then he had grown morose, as if he were haunted by the recollection of his deed. His two married sons lived with him.
“The darkness was terrible. I could not distinguish a thing and the sighing trees filled the night with incessant rumours. At last I saw a light, and after a little while my companion knocked on a door. Several shrill women’s cries answered from within. Then a tremulous man’s voice demanded: ‘Who goes there?’ My guide gave his name. We were admitted and I was confronted by a scene that I shall never forget.
“An old, white-haired man, with staring eyes, was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his fingers closed in a convulsive clasp around a loaded rifle, while two sturdy young men with axes were guarding the door. Two women, their faces buried in their hands, were crouching in a dark corner of the room.
“When we explained that we wished to remain over night, the old man stood the rifle against the wall and ordered the women to prepare our sleeping quarters. But, as they made no move to carry out his command, he turned to me abruptly and said:
“ ‘You see, monsieur, I killed a man two years ago this very night. Last year he came back and called me, and I expect him tonight.’
“Then, in a voice that made me smile, he added:
“ ‘We don’t feel very comfortable, you understand.’
“I reassured him as best I could, although, in my heart, I was glad to have come that very night, so that I might witness the manifestation of that superstitious terror. I told stories and succeeded in quieting almost everyone present.
“Near the hearth an old and half-blind dog was dozing with his nose between his paws. He looked for all the world like some people I’ve seen.
“Outside the storm was raging with great violence and the little house shook under the furious wind. Through a narrow window set near the door I could see the trees sway and the lightning flash through the black clouds.
“In spite of my efforts to cheer them, I could feel that these people experienced a mysterious dread and each time that I ceased talking, they would strain their ears to catch any unwonted sound.
“Tired of witnessing such stupid fears, I was about to ask to be shown to my bed, when suddenly the old forester leaped to his feet, rushed for his gun and shouted wildly: ‘There he is now! I can hear him!’ The women fell on their knees and hid their faces and the two sons clutched their axes.
“I was going to try to quiet them once more, when, all at once, the sleeping dog awoke. He lifted his head, looked at the fire with his dim eyes and let out one of those mournful howls that so often startle travellers in the country at night.
“We all watched him. He arose and stood perfectly still on his four paws, as if haunted by some vision, and then he directed another howl at something invisible to us, unknown, but which must have been ghastly to look upon, for he bristled from end to end.
“The old man, turning as white as a sheet, yelled: ‘He smells him! he smells him! He was with me when I killed him!’ And both women, crazed with fear, began to moan in accompaniment to the dog.
“In spite of myself, a shudder ran down my spine. The vision that the animal saw at that time and place, and among those terrified people, was horrible beyond description.
“For one whole hour the dog howled without moving; he howled as if in the throes of a nightmare, and fear, horrible, stealthy fear, was slowly taking possession of me; fear of what? How can I tell? It was fear, and that’s all I know.
“We remained motionless and terror-stricken, with strained ears, throbbing hearts and trembling limbs, momentarily expecting some dreadful thing to happen. The dog began to wander about the room sniffing the walls. He was driving us mad! All of a sudden, the peasant who acted as my guide jumped up in a sort of paroxysm of frenzied terror, seized the animal by the throat, opened a little door leading into the yard and hurled it into the darkness outside.
“The dog stopped howling at once and we remained in a dead silence that was more terrifying than the noise.
“Suddenly we all gave a start; some creature was creeping along the outer wall, going in the direction of the woods; it passed the door and seemed to feel it with a hesitating hand; for two minutes, which almost made lunatics of us, we heard no sound; then the creeping creature returned and scratched slightly on the door as a child might do with its nail, and then, all of a sudden, a head appeared at the window. It was a white head and it had flaming eyes like a wild beast. And a murmur came from its lips, an indistinct sound that resembled a plaintive moan.
“A minute afterwards a terrific explosion shook the kitchen. The old forester had shot at the thing. Quick as a flash the two sons rushed to the window and barricaded it with a massive kitchen table and sideboard.
“And I swear to you that that shot, which was so absolutely unexpected, froze my blood in my veins and made me feel as if I were going to give up the ghost.
“We stayed in the kitchen until daybreak, for we were powerless to move or utter a sound, so completely unnerved were we.
“We did not dare open the door till a narrow ray of light pierced through the shutters.
“At the foot of the wall, near the door, lay the old dog, his jaw broken by a bullet.
“He had got out of the yard by digging a hole under the fence.”
The man with the sunburned face paused; then he added:
“That night I ran no danger whatever, but I would rather live over all the real perils I have faced than go through another minute like the one I passed when the old keeper shot at the bearded head peering through the cottage window.”