The Lonely Farm.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVLI, Issue 10, 6 September 1911, Page 42

The Lonely Farm.

Byl

HENRY MEYER.

A Weird and Terrible Story/ From the Transvaal.

THERE was something wonderfully pathetic about the slim, fraillooking lady as, with simple dignity. she slowly mounted the Steps leading on to the verandah running round the low Dutch homestead. 1 had travelled many miles that day, ■uiK’jer a tierce sun. for 'the greater part ol the journey through sparselytimbered country, where- the advantages of shade had been reduced to a minimum. flow welcome this habitation was, therefore, the reader can - realise. The mules, urged on by the masterful hand of the driver, put Jorth a tinal effort, until, panting and with dripping flanks, they came to a standstill about thirty yards from the farmhouse. The undulating nature of the ground screened my approach from the lady until 1 was making preparations..'to descend from the tart. Then" she perceived me. and a strange look of surprise and fear spread itself over her features as she made .an attempt .. .to rise from the chair upon which, a few* seconds ago. she liad* s’eate<TTie’i<eTT. " I apologised to her for appearing so suddenly and with so little- ceremony, explaining that official business was tak-. ing me through that part of the country, and. a< a storm appeared imminent, I had. under direction from my Kaffir boy. driven somewhat out of my way to crave her hospitality for the night, it being (piite impossible to reach Rooidrift that evening. As I explained she appeared to grow Visibly ill an ease. and. whilst accepting the position of hostess, did so in a spirit that seemed to lack the .wholeheartedness that is usually characteristic of those cut oft from communication with the distant towns. Her age I supposed to be about forty, which. I afterwards ascertained, was correct within a few years. Her manner in regard to the subtleties of etiquette, no less than her perfectly modulated ami concise utterances, spoke undeniably of culture and refinement. With a request that I would pardon her absence for a few minutes, uttered in a strangely determined manner—al■most as if she feared T would overstep the limits of courtesy and raise an objection to being left <m the now rapidly darkening veranda —she entered the house. Quite twenty minutes elapsed when an apology broke in on by ear as T leaned over the veranda-rail watching the storm, and my hostess stood beside me. She motioned to me to follow her, and we entered a low. long room, essentially Dutch, in the centre of which stood a table set for two. Except for a desultory conversation — merely monosyllabic on her part—wo ate in silence: I had therefore better opportunity of studying the features of Mrs D'Arcy. This name, I felt sure, for what reason T cannot explain, was an assumed one. < hie thing I noticed with surpiise. When, at times, T appeared intent on my food, she always fell into a listening attitude, as one who li-tens for a sound of someone moving stealthily in some other part of the house. Her ln»ws into this attitude were frequent that T, who am nothing if not < urious, felt an uncontrollable d< sire to as< •ertain the reason for her uneasiness. Immediately upon our concluding the meal she again excused herself, in the aame quietly determined manner, and left me alone. \\ hen she re•< n'trre<l the room she more at ease, and presently t'omincm** <1 quite an interesting discusaion on books and art. Eventually, however, her conversation . became disconnected, and I saw once more, with a little irritation, that «he was merely lending me a fraction of her attention. f was on the point of asking her cona<nt to my withdrawal when she anticipated me by rising from her chair

with a statement to the effect that my room was in order if 1 wished to retire. this to be my desire, so, without more ado, she took a lamp in her hand and I followed her down a long passage to a room at the extreme end, where she placed the light on a. bracket beside the door and bade me good night. The bedroom was comfortably furnished .with the massive, old-fashioned Dytch furniture. An ancient muzzleloading gun hung over a commodious lireplace, and a few Scriptural texts in Dutch adorned the walls. For a few moments I sat down by the window. The storm had passed overhead. and now only fitful Hashes of lighting came stabbing from out the dis-

truce, lighting up the veldt and making tile neighbouring kopjes stand out grim anil harsh against the sky. Soon, however, the storm died away, and the world outside became quite dark save for the starlight. Idly 1 took up some old school-books belonging to my hostess, ami wondered what chain of circumstance had buried “ Ruth Folkus, Grahamstown Convent” away in the back veldt, practically eut off from all communication with the outside world. I must have dozed off in the chair, when a stealthy turning of the door-knob brought me back to a thoroughly-a wakened state. Then, very quietly the door opened, and a human head appeared! I pray Heaven that I may never see such a spectacle again. The creature's face was practically gone; the bones stood out through the skin with livid distinctness. His lips—it was a man, or had been—had disappeared, and blackened stumps of teeth chattered and gnashed continually. Even my enemies cannot account me a coward, but this ghastly object, seen at dead of night, terrified me. Thus far he had not seen me, though his glitter-

ing eyes roved round and round the room, as if in search of some thing or person, and presently he entered. On the wall in the room —I forgot to mention it before —there hung an oilpainting of a fair young face, which ■might have been taken for the daughter of my hostess. As my horrible visitor passed this 1 noticed he cowered and shrank hack against the bed, on the farther side of which I sat in the high-baeked chair, pressing myself back as far as possible. Then, ambling over to a chest standing in a corner of the room, he opened a drawer, and with an attenuated arm drew therefrom a pair of riding leggings and a heavy whip. The former he gravely proceeded to put on, the condition of his legs making an awful contrast to the width of the leggings. This done he grasped the whip, and, with a low guttural cry, threw his leg over an imaginary horse. His eyes glowing like tire, he started to slash and cut at the animal which his distorted mind led him to believe he was riding. Presently — horror of horrors! —he seemed to become aware of the fact that he was not alone, for his eve.- roved suspiciously around the room until they rested on me. He stopped his antics, his eyes shone

angrily, and, repeating some unintelligible gibberish', he came crawling Over the snowy counterpane towards me. ■lt was all like some horrible dream. Aly legs’and tongue refused their office, and I simply sat spellbound, wa’tching his slow advance. Then, throftgh a sort of haze, just as the'loathsome creature was reaching but a claw-like hand to touch me, something passed between us and the light. There stood Mrs. D'Arcy, a white robe draping ■tar slight form. hc’H 'feet tare, hands clasped loosely in front of her. and a Took of unutterable anguish and despair stamped on every line of her sweet face. Her eyes stared fixedly before her. and not a tremor disturbed the evenness of ’her gaze. Wonderingly 1 perceived that she whs asleep. A book—luckily one T had not disturbed—was lying on the low shelf, and this, with an indescribably lender action, she took up, lovingly kissed, and placed back again. All my sense of danger, all my, fear of the maniac, seemed to vanish at her approach. Even the natural instinct to protect her from the creature seemed wanting, for it appeared unnecessary.

As she approached, so he crawled back over the tad, furtively glancing at her with the mein of a thrashed dog treacherously waiting, yet afraid, to spring from behind. 8

Mrs D’Arcy, having replaced the book, turned and left the room again, at the same even pace, though I noticed with thankfulness that her face bore only a steady look of sympathy. The nia£ man was now beside the door, some three yards in front of her, and, as she advanced, so he fell back step by step along the passage. I rose from my chair and walked into line with the door, watching the pair. Never shall I behold such another scene. The reader must visit the low-lyin» fever districts of Africa; he must see the dark and clammy malarial mist; shrinking back before the rays of the morning sun. Then only can he contrive the picture of this loathsome creature reluctantly giving way, foot by foot, as the lady advanced, until he finally retired- into what I supposed was his own room.

Suddenly the reflection that this might; be but a temporary respite, and that in all probability, immediately Airs D’Arcy had gone, he might creep back to pay me a second visit, flashed over me. This had no sooner crossed my mind that I followed immediately behind the somnambulist, keeping ns close to her as caution would permit. Thus 1 passed the room of the poor wretch, noticing with a shiver as I did so. two eyes, like balls of fire, glaring savagely out of the darkness within. 1 gained the dining-room and, securely locking the door behind me. lit a match. By its light I moved across to a couch, on which I threw myself, giving way to so prolonged a period of trembling that I felt ashamed of myself. Then I fell into a troubled sleep and dreamed of Dante’s Inferno. Half an hour could not have elapsed before I was sitting bolt upright, listening to the most blood-curdling cries imaginable. At intervals shrieks of insane laughter would echo out, gradually merging into a sob or wail. Finally, to my horror, thin streaks, of fire appeared round the door-jambs, waning and glowing. When I summoned up sufficient courage to open the door a thick cloud of smoke drove me temporarily back into the room. Out again into the passage I dashed, groping for the room of my hostess. I found it; it was unlocked. Feveri-hly striking a match, I discerned her lying unconscious on the bed, apparently overcome by the choking fumes. It was the work of a' second to send the window and shutters- flying outward, and I soon stood with her out in the cool night air. My first duty seemed to my hostess. 80 I. left to my driver ami -Kaffir servant—who, disturbed from their sleep, were, gazing, foolishly on—the hopeless task of subduing the conflagration. It soon became apparent that my efforts."tp restore her to ednsciousin t could avail nothing at the moment, so, making her as comfortable as was possible in one of the outhouses, I turned my attention to the now rapidly-disap-pearing homestead. The walls of the room which had been the scene of my terrible experience had fallen in, and only the front portion of the house withstood the fury of the flames. The three of us worked like Trojans, but the chilly air of the June morning found us standing out on the veldt look’ ing at - a mass of charred debris—all that was left of the homestead. About midday I inspanned the limbs into my Cape-cart and, placing W 1 D’Arcy, who was still unconscious—uj-1 a heap pf thick rugs at the bolt. > set, but for the nearest town, a Bin.' 1 '! place called. Klipdorp, some forty' nil? away. Before leaving I searched among Hia ruins of the homestead. Tn one corner I found the madman’s charred bone o , and a feeling of thankfulness came ov<f me. Strange to say, one of the few things to escape the fire was a book —the very one Mrs D’Arcy had placed to her lipb T glanced at the title-page, and saw 'b was a copy of Shakespeare's works. Cl the flyleaf -were the words, still quits legible:— “Tp Ruth from Johannes. December, 1887.” ' Below this a woman’s hand had wrig ten:-— 't ...

•‘How often is our path crossed by gome spirit whose bright presence spreads a passing fragrance over it, but whose course lies down a different current, never more to mix witti ours!” tVe reached Klipdorp about eleven that night, and I saw my charge safely into the care of Dr Bressell. I had yesolved that until Mrs D’Arcy recovered consciousness I would keep the account of my night’s adventure to my6elf so, whilst informing the doctor of the fire, 1 was careful to appear ignorant of the cause. ' I left my address with the doctor, instructing him to wire me when it was safe for his patient to see me. Quite a month later a telegram arrived et mv office in Johannesburg, reading. “Come straightway.--Bressell,” so I was soon speeding towards Klipdorp on the outward train from the golden city. Arriving at my destination, the door was opened to me by the doctor himself. and together we went into his study. He was looking quite anxious, I thought, and when I asked a question concerning the welfare of my late hostess his face grew graver still. ‘•Yes,” lie answered, “she is quite conscious now —unfortunately. It would have been immeasurably better had she fallen a victim to the fire, for a death a thousand times more horrible awaits her. She is a leper, and the shock has aggravated the disease intensely.” He paused, and then continued: “I wa- nearly distraught on finding this out. and lost no time in sending my family awav to a place of safety. Mrs D'Arcy has expressed a wish to see you Before she is removed to the Cape Town I.eper Asylum. Come, I will now lead Von to her room.” I followed him to the most isolated portion of the house. Here, pointing to si door, the doctor left me, bidding me slay no longer than was really necessary. Knocking softly on the panels, I turned the knob and walked cn tip-toe into the room. Reclining on her pillows lay Mrs D’Arcy, looking now a mere shadow of her former self. Death had unmistakably marked her as one of his own. Hardly able to express my sympathy, I muttered something sincere, if unintelligible, yet she understood and, smiling very tenderly, said, “Yes, the good doctor has told me all; I have that which for years I dreaded, yet loved to live with. Now I am no longer afraid.” 'I sent for you.” she went on, “to Hunk you for your great kindness.

though <perha.ps I ought to have died with hint. Ah!”—arid she seemed to recollect—“ But I forgot ; yoj uid not see liim.” Now. therefore, I told her of my awful adventure, and gave ‘her the only possible reason or explanation of the fire—name* iy, that the maniac must have displaced the lamp on his return in search of me. She appeared horror stricken at my tale, and for a long time did not speakThen she told me her life-story, which, in iny own words, I now give to the reader. Johannes Verster was a man pre-emi-nent amongst men—utterly fearless, tall, and with features remarkable for their frank, energetic, and commanding expression.

With his mother and the eight-year-old Petrus, his brother, he lived on a comfortable little farm some ten miles from Grahamstown. During one of his numerous journeys into town he had been the means of rescuing from certain death an elderly gentleman and his daughter, by stopping, at great risk to himself, a runaway pair of horses attached to a carriage. Between the rescued—Mr Folkus and his daughter Ruth—and Johannes a ripe friendship arose. . Then came the only possible conclusion, and a day was fixed on which Johannes should take Ruth home as his wife. Unfortunately at this time there was trouble at the Verster farm. Petrus, the ♦bay, began almost imperceptibly, to evince strange symptoms, against which all the prescriptions handed down from past ages in the Verster family were of no avail. j ■_ \ However, one June a strange coincidence, the very day, fifteen years back, from the night of the fire—the two lovers, Ruth Folkus and Johannes Friedrich Verster, were made husband and wife. She walked back down the church in a dream of happiness, fingering the girdle of blossoms Johannes liad made for her that morning.' She knew there was not another man in Grahamstown to coiripare. with her husband, and she covertly looked for the admiring glances levelled at him. Shortlived happiness. The joyous faces around took to themselves looks of ,dismay, and all stared aghast at the woman standing in the doorway of the church, her clothes and hair all awry, her breath coming and going in great gasps. It was Mrs Verster. “Petrus!” she

pante<l, and fell fainting on the threshold. Johannes seemed to understand what his mother meant, for over his handsome •face came a look of horror. While Ruth ran to the fallen woman he rushed outside, sprang on to the back of the horse his mother had ridden in on, took the

churchyard fence at a bound, and was .soon a mere speck in the distance. The wedding-guests never saw him again. , - He ran the last three miles to his house, for the horse, dead-beat, had fallen under him. In the farmyard stood a cart harnessed to four strong mules, and tied up near the gate was a well-groomed saddle-horse. The cart conveyed to him all he wanted to know—they had come to take his little brother away to the leper urdabJishment! Good! lie should go away, blit not with them. To steal- up like thieves with such an object ! Brutes! to lake the boy he loved better than himself whilst he was away paying his vows to God! He took in the situation at a glance —the boy, ready dressed for a journey, the articles or clothing lying about, all told of a projected departure. One man tried to stop him. .Johannes felled, him to the ground and snatched the. lad up. Before vheir astonishment •was over 'he was a goodbpiarter of a mile away, the stolen horse galloping madly «with its double burden. Ori, ever on, he dashed. Through rivers, down valleys of fresh green grasses; then kick to the parches! veldt again. •Ami so he continued day after day, only stopping to get food and rest when Nature made it imperative. At no time during the flight did the pursuit make itself known. A fortnight later, about eight o’cbx-k in the evening, Johannes might have been sei’ii encamped. at a distance of about forty miles from Klipdorp, the boy sleeping comfortably on a bed of veldt grasses, covered by the upper garments of the nia n. We pass over five years: < hi or near (the spot where the encampment had been made a comfortable homestead now stands, surrounded by cultivated kinds. To the south of the house, beside an angle in the garden fence, sit a man and woman. They are reading the inscription scratched on a tiny stone cross; — “To the Memory of Petrus, Who died May 20th, 1889.” Two years later the man and woman are again sitting in |he garden. As he clasps 'her tightly towards him he bends his head and speaks to her. lie tella 'her something which causes her to blanch vifh fear and to cling to him pitifully, almost convulsively. Now she has her ihdad on breast, sobbing as if her

heart would break ; ai.if ho, now looking less robust than we have seen him, vainly tries to quieten her agony. What a terrible and fiendish change the succeding years brought! Tliat dread disease, leprosy, without respect to his 'fine physique, had seized upon Johannes, Grief, melancholia, and then

each succeeded the other, until the strong and noble Johannes Verster became a repulsive creature that 'kibbled to itself through tne long nights. His wife alone retained power to control him. Often in his madness he rehearsed that terrible ride from the old farm with Petrus, iu his imagination, clasped tightly in his arms, the while uttering exultant cries, as though, in his disordered, mind, hr .saw his pursuers far behind! 'him. On the approach ot any person to the farm, which fortunately occurred very seldom, Huth, his wife, would a IminsteF a. narcotic suilicient to send him into a sound sleep for many hour.-.. By some mischance, on the fatal night which opens the first chajiter of this story, the maniac had recovered from the effects of the drug much sooner than usual. At the conclusion of th • po »r woman’s story a lump rose in my throat •which made me feel as though 1 was choking. I took her hand, leper the y i she was, and raised it to my lips. At this moment the doctor entered and, seeing I was upsetting his patient, peremptorily hade me to retire. 1 was glad to get out of the room; I felt 1 must have fresh air. 1 walked to the front door, op-n I it. and remained there until 1 h ‘aid the doctor descending the stairs. I walkc I towards him. Something in his lace piepared me for his message. ••She won’t go to the asylumhe said, gravely. ‘Death has mercifully release I her. 1 shall bury her here to morrow.”