Tales of Terror and Mystery
The Terror of Blue John Gap
ThenightofFriday,May3rd,wasdarkandcloudy—theverynightforthemonstertowalk.Abouteleveno’clockIwentfromthefarm-housewithmylanternandmyrifle,havingfirstleftanoteuponthetableofmybedroominwhichIsaidthat,ifIweremissing,searchshouldbemadeformeinthedirectionoftheGap.ImademywaytothemouthoftheRomanshaft,and,havingperchedmyselfamongtherocksclosetotheopening,Ishutoffmylanternandwaitedpatientlywithmyloadedriflereadytomyhand.
Itwasamelancholyvigil.AlldownthewindingvalleyIcouldseethescatteredlightsofthefarm-houses,andthechurchclockofChapel-le-Daletollingthehourscamefaintlytomyears.Thesetokensofmyfellow-menservedonlytomakemyownpositionseemthemorelonely,andtocallforagreaterefforttoovercometheterrorwhichtemptedmecontinuallytogetbacktothefarm,andabandonforeverthisdangerousquest.Andyetthereliesdeepineverymanarootedself-respectwhichmakesithardforhimtoturnbackfromthatwhichhehasonceundertaken.Thisfeelingofpersonalpridewasmysalvationnow,anditwasthatalonewhichheldmefastwheneveryinstinctofmynaturewasdraggingmeaway.IamgladnowthatIhadthestrength.Inspiteofallthatishascostme,mymanhoodisatleastabovereproach.
Twelveo’clockstruckinthedistantchurch,thenone,thentwo.Itwasthedarkesthourofthenight.Thecloudsweredriftinglow,andtherewasnotastarinthesky.Anowlwashootingsomewhereamongtherocks,butnoothersound,savethegentlesoughofthewind,cametomyears.
