Land Under England

by Joseph O'Neill

  They were growing clearer.

  I relaxed, and drew deep breaths of relief and disappointment. They were flitting through the air, hovering. They were only will-o’-the-wisps, or some similar form of phosphorescence.

  I kept on. Underneath, the ground had got quite spongy, as if there were abundance of water near the surface.

  I kept a sharp watch for any sign of an animal or a man, and a sharp ear for any movement, but there was no sign of anything, nor any sound, except the one like a soft wind among leaves. At my feet, the torch showed me masses of clinging stuff, that gave an extraordinary impression of a red meadow lying there under the darkness.

  But what was that? A gleam of light on the ground!

  I stopped. The landscape was beginning to show—lit with a dim light.

  I looked up. There were gleams of light coming out again, in the vault above me, not sheet lightning, but something like an Aurora Borealis. I stared. They were brightening, enlarging, sending spears of light in all directions. As I watched, they came together and flung out a broad banner of pale light that swung back and forward, as if it were being tossed by a high wind, yet there was no stirring of the air nor sound of wind either below or in the heights where it was waving. Round me, the air seemed to get more electric, as if the rays were vitalising it.

  I felt my breath coming in gasps, not because the atmosphere was difficult to breathe, but through sheer wonder. After the world of darkness that I had come through, the sudden wonder of this splendid light took away my breath.

  As I stared, it gathered its folds of flame, and seemed to draw away from me into the vaults of darkness. Rapidly it grew dimmer, and I felt afraid that it might die out before I had seen the world that lay before me. I stared, fascinated, down at the weird land that stretched away on all sides. It was dark, except for the light of the rays that swept over it from above, but, as they raced over it, I could see first, tall, scattered growths that might be trees, and, below them, a black mass that looked like a wood. There seemed to be blurs of light high up in the dark mass—dim, scattered lights, in spots, like globes.

  As I went on over the clinging ground in the dim light, I got a curious feeling that I was moving under water, that this was a tropical under-sea prairie.

  Suddenly the silence was rent by a piercing scream from the lower ground, some distance in front of me. It rang out high and shrill for a moment, then it stopped as abruptly as it had begun. I listened, every nerve torn by the sudden shock. I hadn’t realised how much my nerves had been on edge. I forced myself to relax. Whatever was there, I had to face it.

  It stopped, but a chattering noise broke out on my left, and was answered by a series of cacklings and chatterings. I stood, staring round me, but nothing appeared, and gradually the sounds died away.

  For several minutes I stood there, watching and listening. There were living creatures all round me. At any moment one of them might appear in my path. I began to move forward again—very slowly. Whatever creatures produced the sounds were in front, but I had no choice but to go forward. There was no cover. I might lie down and work along the ground, but I did not know what creatures the ground growths might hold—perhaps poisonous reptiles. It was safer to go forward, upright, ready for action, watching every movement of light and shadow.

  I could see the higher growths clearly now. They were certainly trees of some sort—mostly dark, but some with luminous tops. These were the fixed lights that had made the pale blurs high up in the darkness.

  As I came near, I began to make out two different kinds—huge seaweedy things, and fungoid growths. The latter threw out a light from their crowns that lit up the ground so that things were much clearer in the wood than on the open land.

  I approached the wood, watching it narrowly for any sign of life. I could see none, and, after a halt at the verge, I went in under the trees.

  I began to advance slowly through the wood. The ground underfoot was difficult for travelling, and the trailing growths clung to the feet. A warm steam seemed to come up from the earth, and the ground-growths sent up a heavy smell that oppressed me.

  I tried to shake off the drowsiness that was falling on me. The excitement that had been produced in me by the strange quality of the air and the sight of the new world, with its curious light and vegetation, was now struggling with a desire to sleep.

  I had eaten nothing since I left home, but I didn’t feel hungry so much as tired and sleepy. The light that had shone from the dome above me was disappearing, and, with its fading, the electric quality seemed to have gone from the air.

  I think that I would have lain down and slept, only for an insistent fear.

  The fungoid globes above seemed to be winking and quivering. As I stumbled on, I began to nod and wake by starts. I pulled myself together resolutely, trying to keep my senses alert. Once, in the distance, I thought I saw something that looked much more definite than the other shadows and lights—something like a vast toad—but it had disappeared among the trees before I could see clearly what it was.

  There was one good thing about the situation, and that was that the wood, instead of growing thicker, as I had feared, was remaining quite sparse, so that it was possible, under the light of the fungoid trees, to see some distance on each side.

  To my right a stream ran with a sliding noise.

  The land was evidently narrowing to a gorge. The fungoid trees were becoming rare, so that the forest was much darker. After flaring up, the light in the sky had faded away rapidly.

  I began to hurry as quickly as my heavy senses allowed. I suddenly felt a most intense craving for home and shelter. Somewhere below there might be lights, hearth-fires—something that would save me from the darkness.

  I went on, half expecting to see human forms coming through the trees. I stopped, and pulled myself together with a great effort. My mind mustn’t wander through this drugged fatigue. I must get somewhere where I could rest—but where? One of the dark seaweedy trees—a high one— would give me some sort of protection, perhaps, if I could climb into a good secure place in a fork and settle myself there.

  What was that moving through the trees? I stood stock still—staring.

  A monstrous-looking creature, with a pair of bulging bag-like bodies, was galloping down the gorge at a great speed. For a moment I saw it, then it had vanished. I stood staring incredulously.

  I had seen a creature, about the size of a tiger, with a double body joined by a neck in the middle, and supported by several stilt-like legs. But had I seen aright? I had been heavy and sleepy, and in the dimness I might have been deceived by some curious shaping of the branches of the trees as some animal hurried through. Then I remembered the drawing of the strange animal, on which the man was standing, cut in the stone monument that I had met at the head of the valley. That was the creature!—exactly the thing that I had seen! Then, I reflected, the memory of it in my tired condition might have made my mind produce the illusion.

  I stood and listened. I thought I could hear distant noises, and once a far cry, like wailing, but I could make out nothing distinctly.

  I went forward slowly. What should I do?

  The sight of the monstrous galloping thing, the dimness of the gorge, the failing light! I could not afford to let myself get drowsy; yet the drowsiness was creeping on me again.

  Down in the gorge it seemed dark—a pool of darkness—anything might be lurking there. I couldn’t go through it. I stood still. All round me a rustling and a stirring were beginning, and, in the dimness under the farthest trees, it seemed to me that stealthy shapes were gliding towards me.

  Suddenly I felt that the ground was unsafe. I ran to a large tree that stood near me, and clambered up.

  In a moment I was in the first fork. I settled myself in it, and looked down. There was nothing in sight—no animals, nor any movement.

  I felt safer now. The fork was roomy, but it might be safer, perhaps, to go up to the second fork, which would have plenty of room for me.
Then I realised that I was very thirsty again. I had had a good drink when I fell into the spring in the soft ground, but I had sweated so much, and I felt that I could not sleep without another drink. I looked down, but could see no moving shapes below.

  It was dim and dark, however, and there might be anything quite near me. I cursed my stupidity in not having thought of a drink before I climbed the tree. Now I couldn’t sleep, my mouth was so parched.

  The little stream was only a few yards away. I cast one more cautious glance round me, then climbed down the tree, ran to the stream, and lay face downwards to drink. As I drank, a sound struck my ears, so low and deep that at first I only realised it as part of the silence. I raised my head from the water and listened. I could hear nothing. I decided that my ears must have deceived me, and stooped and drank again. In a few moments I heard it again—a low vibrant sound that seemed to be coming up-stream from below, and with it a chuckling and slobbering. I jumped up. The sound ceased, but in the night air a faint stench struck my nostrils. I ran for the tree. Just as I reached it, something like a long cord whizzed past my ear. I ducked and sprang for the branch. My nerves were all awry, but I kept my head, and I swarmed up the tree. As I reached the fork, I heard another whiz, and the end of a second cord struck the branch that ran out on the stream-side from the fork, and stuck to it, coiling round.

  I looked down, but could not see who or what had thrown the cord, so I clambered farther up the tree. The higher I got, the more protected I should be against a lasso, by the thick cluster of branches.

  When I reached the second fork I was still somewhat overexposed, but I halted to draw my knife. I looked down.

  Almost under the tree there was a large beast with a body that seemed to be in two parts, like a sack divided in the middle. There was the whiz again.

  Ah! I felt the cut of a whip across my left shoulder and a downward tug. I was being drawn to the ground by a leash that had fastened round my shoulder. With a backward movement of the knife, I cut the leash in two. The pull on my shoulder loosened, the portion that remained on my clothes fell, and the rest of the cord disappeared.

  I must get higher up. I had to put my knife back lest I should lose it, but I must get out of range of that leash.

  I swarmed up the tree; my neck felt sore—an irritated weal where the cord had touched me. The thought that it was poisonous came to me, but I could do nothing about it. I must get out of range of the lasso.

  Already it might be coiling for another throw, or was it a sucker, like the arm of a polyp?

  I was at the third fork. Every moment I expected to hear the whiz again. The third fork was at least thirty-five or forty feet over the ground. The leash could hardly reach me here.

  I could hear distinctly sounds of glidings, sobbings, and shufflings coming closer, as if something were climbing the tree.

  The sounds stopped. Either the creature was lying quiet, watching, or it had dropped to the ground. I stared down along the trunk, but there was no light now of any sort, and I could not see the boughs below me. I held my knife in readiness to strike downwards at the slightest sign of movement under me, but there was none.

  Gradually my tension relaxed and I settled back in my seat. I was well ensconced between the boughs that sprang from the fork.

  There was now almost complete silence.

  I began to feel more normal; I even realised that I was hungry. I felt in my knapsack for the sandwiches, and began to eat heartily.

  As I ate, I thought of my position, but I could not think clearly. I was beyond all thought or calculation. Strange to say this very fact made it easier for me. I had done things wrongly, but I could not mend matters now. This was not the way in which I should have come to this world—entirely unarmed, except for a short knife. Even if I had had a large-bore rifle, I should be in very great danger. What chance of survival had I now that I was almost completely defenceless?

  Such were the thoughts that passed through my mind as I ate my sandwiches in the high fork of the tree in the subterranean darkness. They should have appalled me. I was alone, and almost defenceless in face of unimaginable things.

  If I tried to go back for help, I should have almost as little chance as if I went forward, since, even if I could reach the exact spot on the top of the slope on which I had fallen, I knew of no way by which I could get from it to the trapdoor.

  On the other hand, if I went forward, without weapons of any sort, my chances in a struggle for existence must be exceedingly small.

  Yet, as I sat eating my first meal in that underworld, the chief feeling in my mind was one of unreasoning exultation. An insatiable curiosity and expectation drowned my fears, and made my mind a whirlwind of fantastic visions.

  When I had eaten a quarter of my sandwiches, I put the rest back into the knapsack, for, though I still felt hungry, I could not guess what opportunity of getting food lay in front of me. I felt better. This world was as strange in one sense as before, but it had become less strange since I had eaten a meal in it.

  I shut my eyes. Was it fancy, or did I feel a slow deep pulsating movement, like a pulsation from a heavy animal?

  I sat up. It stopped. Was there something in the tree? I listened. There was nothing. I shut my eyes and relaxed. It came again. Then I knew … it was the beating of my own heart—slow, heavy now—the excitement gone down into a ground-swell of feeling.

  Suddenly I thought of my mother. All the time I hadn’t thought of her. She wouldn’t know yet that I was gone—not yet. I wasn’t to be back until Sunday night at earliest—perhaps Monday morning—to catch the early train back to the factory. I hadn’t thought of her, or troubled about her —just like my father. I had left her alone to bear the brunt of it—without troubling—blind in my own excitement. She had nobody now—nobody except the Sacketts.

  I sat up, and stared into the darkness. What a brute I had been!

  Then I lay back again. I had had no choice. If I had found the trapdoor in the ordinary way, I would have gone back and told her. The two of us together would have arranged for my journey. Would it have been any better that way? It would have come to the same thing in the end. We should have had no choice. I could not have avoided coming down to look for my father. There would have been the same suspense, only it would have come before my descent as well as after it. Perhaps this was better. Perhaps by the time she discovered that I was gone I should have found my father. Already I might be quite near human settlements. Perhaps before I slept again I should see him putting his hand up through his thick hair, as he used to do in the old days before the war.

  What was that sound below—that heavy brushing sound?

  I sat up—the darkness was too thick to see anything—now it was passing—like a bear or a bullock pushing through the undergrowth.

  It seemed incredible that a few days ago I had been working in the factory with Ned Carter, the works foreman—talking of stream-lining.

  I stared into the darkness, absorbed. John Sackett’s face was staring back at me for a moment —then it was my mother’s—so like John, except for the blunt look he had in the eyes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monsters

  I WAS awakened by a noise like a very loud braying. I lifted my head drowsily. I had been dreaming of homely things—the broken trash of everyday life that makes most dreams—and for a moment I didn’t realise where I was, but listened sleepily to the sound. Then remembrance came to me.

  I sprang into a sitting posture and looked about. There was some light coming from above and I could see dimly through the branches. The braying sound was tearing the air. It rose and fell, rose again, then began to die away in a series of chuckles, but, as I listened to it, another sound broke out—a scream of agony. I thought of the brute that had treed me on the preceding night. Had it got a victim, or had it met another creature in the forest, even more fearsome than itself? That scream was the cry of a large animal. It was dying away.

  I listened intently. The panic that
had seized me before my sleep was gone. I felt quite cool and collected. I was in danger—great danger—but men had come through greater on the upper earth. If the light stayed, I could face it. I was growing stronger. Things were becoming visible again.

  The lights were tossing back and forward in a dome of darkness that, over the gleams, looked like an inverted black bowl. As I watched, a crown of light began to take shape, with a rim of rose carmine and a centre of brilliant yellow light that began to contract and dilate like a great heart, so that the fantastic idea came to me that I was watching the heart of the earth.

  I sat for a while in the tree-top, staring up at it with a sort of awed wonder, until it shook itself out like a great banner, so that the forest and the cliffs were lit as brightly as if it were full, brilliant moonlight.

  I decided that I must take advantage of the light while it lasted. I looked down, searching the tree forks and the ground for signs of any beasts. There were none, nor any sound. Still I sat intently watching.

  Then I began to climb down cautiously. After a long examination from the lowest fork, I slid to the ground, and stood with my back to the tree, looking all round me.

  The trees were fairly sparse here, with spaces covered by ground growths between them. I began to move warily, examining the ground. The sward had been trampled in a curious way, and in a damp spot there were marks of something resembling big claws. Already the seaweedy trees were becoming familiar to me, so that, under the brilliant light, they almost seemed homely. Nor was there anything fearsome to be seen. Near me, a thing like an enormous slug was dragging itself down to the stream. Farther up, some small creatures that looked like large lizards were watching me from the trunks of trees. None of them seemed to be sufficiently big to be at all dangerous. The slug was about the size of a rabbit; the lizards considerably smaller. Apart from these there was nothing moving on the landscape.