Dracula’s Brethren

by Richard Dalby

  Once upon a time, so say the Zaporo Indians, who inhabit the district between the Amazon and the Maranyon, there came across the Pampas de Sacramendo a company of gold-seekers, white men, who drove the natives from their workings and took possession of them. They were the first white men who had ever been seen there, and the Indians were afraid of their guns; but eventually treachery did the work of courage, for, pretending to be friendly, the natives sent their women among the strangers, and they taught them how to make tucupi out of the bread-fruit, but did not tell them how to distinguish between the ripe and the unripe. So the wretched white men made tucupi out of the unripe fruit, which brings on fits like epilepsy, and when they were lying about the camp, helpless, the Indians attacked them and killed them all.

  All except three. These three they gave to the Vampire.

  But what was the Vampire? The Zaporos did not know. ‘Very long ago,’ said they, ‘there were many vampires in Peru, but they were all swallowed up in the year of the Great Earthquake when the Andes were lifted up, and there was left behind only one Arinchi, who lived where the Amazon joins the Maranyon, and he would not eat dead bodies – only live ones, from which the blood would flow.’

  So far the legend; and that it had some foundation in fact is proved by the records of the district, which tell of more than one massacre of white gold-seekers on the Maranyon by Indians whom they had attempted to oust from the washings; but of the Arinchi, the Vampire, there is no official mention. Here, however, other local superstitions help us to the reading of the riddle of the man-lizard of the University of Bierundwurst.

  When sacrifice was made to ‘the Vampire,’ the victim was bound in a canoe, and taken down the river to a point where there was a kind of winding backwater, which had shelving banks of slimy mud, and at the end there was a rock with a cave in it. And here the canoe was left. A very slow current flowed through the tortuous creek, and anything thrown into the water ultimately reached the cave. Some of the Indians had watched the canoes drifting along, a few yards only in an hour, and turning round and round as they drifted, and had seen them reach the cave and disappear within. And it had been a wonder to them, generation after generation, that the cave was never filled up, for all day long the sluggish current was flowing into it, carrying with it the flotsam of the river. So they said that the cave was the entrance to Hell, and bottomless.

  And one day a white man, a professor of that same University of Bierundwurst, and a mighty hunter of beetles before the Lord, who lived with the Indians in friendship, went up the backwater right into the entrance, and set afloat inside the cave a little raft, heaped up with touch-wood and knots of the oil-tree, which he set fire to, and he saw the raft go creeping along all ablaze, for an hour and more lighting up the wet walls of the cave as it went on either side; and then it was put out.

  It did not ‘go’ out suddenly, as if it had upset, or had floated over the edge of a waterfall, but it was as if it had been beaten out.

  For the burning fragments were flung to one side and the other, and the pieces, still alight, glowed for a long time on the ledges and points of rock, where they fell, and the cave was filled with the sound of a sudden wind and the echoes of a noise as of great wings flapping.

  And at last, one day, this professor went into the cave himself.

  ‘I took,’ he wrote, ‘a large canoe, and from the bows I built out a brazier of stout cask-hoops, and behind it set a gold-washing tin dish for a reflector, and loaded the canoe with roots of the resin-tree, and oil-wood, and yams, and dried meat; and I took spears with me, some tipped with the woorali poison, that numbs but does not kill. And so I drifted inside the cave; and I lit my fire, and with my pole I guided the canoe very cautiously through the tunnel, and before long it widened out, and creeping along one wall I suddenly became aware of a moving of something on the opposite side.

  ‘So I turned the light fair upon it, and there, upon a kind of ledge, sat a beast with a head like a large grey dog. Its eyes were as large as a cow’s.

  ‘What its shape was I could not see. But as I looked I began gradually to make out two huge bat-like wings, and these were spread out to their utmost as if the beast were on tip-toe and ready to fly. And so it was. For just as I had realised that I beheld before me some great bat-reptile of a kind unknown to science, except as prediluvian, and the shock had thrilled through me at the thought that I was actually in the presence of a living specimen of the so-called “extinct” flying lizards of the Flood, the thing launched itself upon the air, and the next instant it was upon me.

  ‘Clutching on to the canoe, it beat with its wings at the flame so furiously that it was all I could do to keep the canoe from capsizing, and, taken by surprise, I was nearly stunned by the strength and rapidity of its blows before I attempted to defend myself.

  ‘By that time – seemingly half a minute had elapsed – the brazier had been nearly emptied by the powerful brute; and the Vampire, mistaking me no doubt for a victim of sacrifice, had already taken hold of me. The next instant I had driven a spear deep into its body, and with a prodigious tumult of wings, the thing loosed its claws from my clothes and dropped off into the stream.

  ‘As quickly as possible I rekindled my light, and now saw the Arinchi, with wings outstretched upon the water, drifting along on the current. I followed it.

  ‘Hour after hour, with my reflector turned full upon that grey dog’s head with cow-like eyes, I passed along down the dark and silent waterway. I ate and drank as I went along, but did not dare to sleep. A day must have passed, and two nights; and then, as of course I had all along expected, I saw right ahead a grey eye-shaped light, and knew that I was coming out into daylight again.

  ‘The opening came nearer and nearer, and it was with intense eagerness that I gazed upon my trophy, the floating Arinchi, the last of the “winged reptiles.”

  ‘Already in imagination I saw myself the foremost of travellers of European fame – the hero of my day. What were Banks’ kangaroos or Du Chaillu’s gorilla to my discovery of the last survivor of the pterodactyle creatures of the Flood – the flying Saurians of the pre-Noachian epoch of catastrophe and mud?

  ‘Full of these thoughts, I had not noticed that the Vampire was no longer moving, and suddenly the bow of the canoe bumped against it. In an instant it had climbed up on to the boat. Its great batlike wings once more beat me and scattered the flaming brands, and the thing made a desperate effort to get past me back into the gloom. It had seen the daylight approaching and rather than face the sun preferred to fight.

  ‘Its ferocity was that of a maddened dog, but I kept it off with my pole, and seeing my opportunity as it clung, flapping its wings, upon the bow, gave it such a thrust as made it drop off. It tried to swim (I then for the first time noticed its long neck), but with my pole I struck it on the head and stunned it, and once more saw it go drifting on the current with me into daylight.

  ‘What a relief it was to be out in the open air! It was noon, and as we passed out from under the entrance of the cave the river blazed so in the sunlight that after the two days of almost total darkness I was blinded for a time. I turned my canoe to the shore, to the shade of trees, and throwing a noose over the floating body, let it tow behind.

  ‘Once more on firm land – and in possession of the Vampire!

  ‘I dragged it out of the water. What a hideous beast it looked, this winged kangaroo with a python’s neck! It was not dead; so I made a muzzle with a strip of skin, and then I firmly bound its wings together round its body. I lay down and slept. When I awoke, the next day was breaking; so, having breakfasted, I dragged my captive into the canoe and went on down the river. Where I was I had no idea, but I knew that I was going to the sea: going to Germany: that was enough.

  ‘For two months I have been drifting with the current down this never-ending river. Of my adventures, of hostile natives, of rapids, of alligators, and jaguars, I need say nothing. They are the common property of all travellers. But my Vampire! It is st
ill alive. And now I am devoured by only one ambition – to keep it alive, to let Europe actually gaze upon the living, breathing survivor of the great Reptiles known to the human race before the days of Noah – the missing link between the reptile and the bird. To this end I deny myself food; deny myself even precious medicine. In spite of itself I gave it all my quinine, and when the miasma crept up the river at night, I covered it with my rug and lay exposed myself. If the black fever should seize me!

  ‘Three months, and still upon this hateful river! Will it never end? I have been ill – so ill, that for two days I could not feed it. I had not the strength to go ashore to find food, and I fear that it will die – die before I can get it home.

  ‘Been ill again – the black fever! But it is alive. I caught a vicuna swimming in the river, and it sucked it dry – gallons of blood. It had been unfed three days. In its hungry haste it broke its muzzle. I was almost too feeble to put it on again. A horrible thought possesses me. Suppose it breaks its muzzle again when I am lying ill, delirious, and it is ravenous? Oh! the horror of it! To see it eating is terrible. It links the claws of its wings together, and cowers over the body; its head is under the wings, out of sight. But the victim never moves. As soon as the Vampire touches it there seems to be a paralysis. Once those wings are linked there is absolute quiet. Only the sound of sucking and heavy breathing. Horrible! horrible! But in Germany I shall be famous. In Germany with my Vampire!

  ‘Am very feeble. It broke its muzzle again. But it was in the daylight – when it is blind. Its great eyes are blind in sunlight. It was a long struggle. This black fever! and the horror of this thing! I am too weak now to kill it, if I would. I must get it home alive. Soon – surely soon – the river will end. O God! does it never reach the sea, reach white men, reach home? But if it attacks me I will throttle it. If I am dying I will throttle it. If we cannot go back to Germany alive, we will go together dead. I will throttle it with my two hands, and fix my teeth in it, and our bones shall lie together on the bank of this accursed river.’

  This is nearly all that was recorded of the Professor’s diary. But it is enough to tell us of the final tragedy.

  The two skeletons were found together on the very edge of the riverbank. Half of each, in the lapse of years, had been washed away at successive floodtides. The rest, when put together, made up the man-reptile which, to use a Rabelaisian phrase, ‘metagrobolised all to nothing’ the University of Bierundwurst.

  THE STORY OF JELLA AND THE MACIC

  Professor P. Jones

  Little is known about the author of this story. The only clue to his identity is a newspaper report from 1894 which gives details about a fire which destroyed the valuable library of a Professor P. Jones, the Orientalist, who lived in Trieste. Judging by his novel The Pobratim (1895) – from which ‘The Story of Jella and the Macic’ is extracted – the Professor seems to have been an expert on the local customs and beliefs of the inhabitants of the Montenegro-Hungary region of the Balkans; and, although written as a work of fiction, The Pobratim is a veritable storehouse of Slavic legends and superstitions.

  MILOS Bellacic swallowed another glass of slivovitz, leaving, however, a few drops at the bottom of his glass, which he spilt on the floor as a compliment to the Starescina, showing thereby that in his house there was not only enough and to spare, but even to be wasted. He then took a long pull at the amber mouthpiece of his long Marasca cherry pipe, let the smoke rise quietly and curl about his nose, and, after clearing his throat, began as follows:

  THE STORY OF JELLA AND THE MACIC

  Once upon a time there lived in a village of Crivoscie an old man and his wife; they had one fair daughter Jella and no more. This girl was beyond all doubt the prettiest maiden of the place. She was as beautiful as the rising sun, or the new moon, or as a Vila; so nothing more need be said about her good looks. All the young men of the village and of the neighbouring country were madly in love with her, though she never gave them the slightest encouragement.

  Being now of a marriageable age, she was, of course, asked to every festivity. Still, being very demure, she would not go anywhere, as neither her father nor her mother, who were a sullen couple of stingy, covetous old fogeys, would accompany her.

  At last her parents, fearing lest she might remain an old maid, and be a thorn rather than a comfort to them, insisted upon her being a little more sociable, and go out of an evening like the other girls. ‘Moreover, if some rich young man comes courting you, be civil to him,’ said the mother. ‘For there are still fools who will marry a girl for her pretty face,’ quoth the father. It was, therefore, decided that the very next time some neighbours gathered together to make merry, Jella should take part in the festivity. ‘For how was she ever to find the husband of her choice if she always remained shut up at home?’ said the mother.

  Soon afterwards, a feast in honour of some saint or other happened to be given at the house of one of their wealthy neighbours, so Jella decked herself out in her finest dress and went. She was really beautiful that evening, for she wore a gown of white wool, all embroidered in front with a wreath of gay flowers, then an over-dress of the same material, the sleeves of which were likewise richly stitched in silks of many colours. Her belt was of some costly Byzantine stuff, all purfled with gold threads. On her head she wore a red cap, the headgear of the young Crivosciane.

  As she entered the room, all the young men flocked around her to invite her to dance the Kolo with them, and to whisper all kinds of pretty things to her. But she, blushing, refused them all, declaring that she would not dance, elbowed her way to a corner of the room, where she sat down quite alone. All the young men soon came buzzing around her, like moths round a candle, each one hoping to be fortunate enough to become her partner. Anyhow, when the music struck up, and the Kolo began, their toes were now itching, and one by one they slunk away, and she, to her great joy, and the still greater joy of the other girls, was left quite by herself.

  While she was looking at the evolutions of the Kolo, she saw a young stranger enter the room. Although he wore the dress of the Kotor, he evidently was from some distant part of the country. His clothes – made out of the finest stuffs, richly braided and embroidered in gold – were trimmed with filigree buttons and bugles. The pas, or sash, he wore round his waist was of crimson silk, woven with gold threads; the wide morocco girdle – the pripasnjaca – was purfled with lovely arabesques; his princely weapons, studded with precious stones and damaskened, were numerous and costly. His pipe, stuck not in his girdle like his arms, but ’twixt his blue satin waistcoat – jacerma – and his shirt, had the hugest amber mouthpiece that man had ever seen; aye, the Czar himself could not possibly have a finer pipe. What young man, seeing that pipe with its silver mounting, adorned with coral and turquoises, could help breaking the Tenth Commandment? He was, moreover, as handsome as a Macic, aye, as winsome as Puck.

  He came in the room, doffed his cap to greet the company like a well-bred young man, then set it pertly on his head again. After that, he went about chatting with the lads, flirting with the lassies, as if he had long been acquainted with them, like a youth accustomed to good company. He did not notice, however, poor Jella in her corner. He took no part in the dances, probably because, every Jack having found his Jill, there was nobody with whom he could dance.

  The girls all looked slily at him, and many a one wished in her heart that she had not been so hasty in choosing her partner, nay, that she had remained a wallflower for that night.

  At last the young stranger wended his steps towards that corner where Jella was sitting alone, moping. He no sooner caught sight of her than he went gracefully up, and, looking at her with a merry twinkle in his eyes, and a most mischievous smile upon his lips:

  ‘And you, my pretty one? Don’t you dance this evening?’ he asked.

  ‘I never dance, either this evening or any other.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘Because there is not a single young man I care to dance w
ith.’

  ‘Oh, Jella!’ whispered the girls, ‘dance with him if he asks you; we should so much like to see how he dances.’

  ‘Then it would be useless asking you to dance the Kolo with me, I suppose?’

  ‘Oh, Jella! dance with him,’ whispered the young men; ‘it would be an unheard-of rudeness to refuse dancing with a stranger who has no partner.’

  ‘Even if I did not care about dancing, I should do so for the sake of our village.’

  ‘Then you only dance with me that it might not be said: “He was welcomed with the sour lees of wine”?’

  ‘I dance with you because I choose to do so.’

  ‘Thank you, pretty one.’

  The two thereupon began to go through the maze of the Kolo, and, as he twisted her round, they both moved so gracefully, keeping time to the music, that they looked like feathery boughs swayed by the summer breeze.

  About ten o’clock the dances came to an end, and every youth, having gone to thank his host for the pleasant evening he had passed, went off with his partner, laughing and chatting all the way.

  ‘And you, my lovely one, where do you live?’ asked the stranger of Jella.

  ‘In one of the very last houses of the village, quite at the end of the lane.’

  ‘Will you allow me to see you home?’

  ‘If I am not taking you out of your way.’

  ‘Even if it were, it would be a pleasure for me.’

  Jella blushed, not knowing what to answer to so polite a youth.

  They, therefore, went off together, and in no time they reached her house. Jella then bid the stranger goodbye, and, standing on the door-step, she saw him disappear in the darkness of the night.

  Whither had he gone? Which turning had he taken? She did not know.