P. C. WREN - Tales Of The Foreign Legion. P. C. Wren
river-gunboats, and I had had an infernally busy day—what with the debarkation from the ship and then again at Haiphong, after the six-hour journey up the river. On top of all I had high fever.
"Now, before getting into bed that night, I turned out the lamp that hung on a nail on the wall, and then lay down, finished my cigarette, and turned out the tiny hand-lamp which I had brought in from the bathroom and placed on the little petit-déjeuner table beside my bed, noting, as I did so, that the matches were beside it. I always lock my door at night and sleep without a light, but with the means of getting a light easily accessible. Funny things are apt to occur at night in some parts of the shiny East.... I expect they've got electric light in Haiphong by now.... Well, in two minutes I was sound asleep—sleeping the sleep of the just and enjoying the reward of my good conscience, virtuous life, and hard work."
... "Va ten, blagueur," murmured Colonel Lebrun with a smile.
"An hour or two later, I awoke suddenly—awoke to the knowledge that I was being murdered, was dying, and, in effect, very nearly dead. Some one had me by the throat and was choking my life out with as deadly and scientific a grip as ever fastened upon a man's neck.... The human mind is curiously constituted, and, even in that moment, I tried to remember the name of a book about the garotters of India, the 'Thugs'—a book I had read many years before, when studying English—written by a Colonel of the Army of India.... 'Chinese garotters,' thinks I to myself, and realized that I was in for it, for I could no more yell for assistance than I could fly. There was my orderly sleeping on a rug in a little ante-chamber a few feet from me, and I could not call to him. I must face my fate alone and live or die without help from outside. I was terrified." ....
One or two of his audience glanced at the medals and decorations on the speaker's breast (they included the Croix de Guerre and the Médaille Militaire) and smiled.
"I should have felt for his eyes and blinded him!" announced Lieutenant d'Amienville.
... "Simultaneously with the awakening to the knowledge that I was being throttled by some silent, motionless, invisible assailant, came my attempt to strike him, of course—to spring up, and to grapple with him; but, simultaneously again with the attempt, came the knowledge that my right arm was absolutely useless beneath his weight, and that I was pinned to the pillow, like a butterfly to a cork, by the weight and power of the hand that had me in its grip. Finding my right immovable, I naturally struck out with my left and hit again and again with all my strength—to find that I struck nothing—until, being at my last gasp, I grabbed at the hand that was choking me and strove to tear it from my throat.
"Even at that terrible moment I was startled at the extraordinary coldness of the hand I grasped. It was as deadly cold as it was horribly strong, and as brain reeled and senses failed, I seemed to visualize a terrible marble statue endowed with life and superhuman strength, leaning its cruel weight upon the frozen hand that clutched my throat. And I could not seize or even touch any part of this horrible assailant but the Hand.... And I tell you the thing was dead—dead and cold.... I was dying—throttled by a Dead Hand, and that is the simple truth." ...
None of the party moved or spoke—not even d'Amienville. That, and the fact that scarcely a cigar or cigarette remained alight, were remarkable tributes to d'Armentières' dramatic and convincing way of speech. And those of the party who knew him well, also knew him to be incapable of telling a lie, when he had given his word that what he said was the truth.
... "Well, I have never believed in taking things lying down, so I tried once again to get up, and, putting all my heart and soul and strength into a mighty heave, I strove to throw my assailant off before I lost consciousness completely.... In vain....
"All this takes time in the telling, but it must have taken mighty little time in the doing, for I was almost dead from suffocation when I first awoke.
"As I strained and tore at the hand, I struggled to rise. My body writhed, but my right arm budged not a fraction of an inch, and the grip on my throat perceptibly tightened, though I thought the limit had surely been reached.... I must get one breath, or ears and eyes and brain must burst.... Surely I was black in the face and my eyeballs were on my cheek-bones? ... I lived a lifetime in a second.... So this was the end and the finish of Gautier d'Armentières, was it? Here were to end all dreams of military glory and distinction, all visions of fine, quick death in action against the foes of La France? ... A dog's death! To be slowly suffocated in my bed—choked to death by a cold Dead Hand, a Hand without a tangible body....
"As my frame was convulsed and my senses finally reeled in unconsciousness or death, I made my last wild attempt, and probably put forth such a violent concentration of co-ordinated effort as never before in my life—and, with a gasp and sob of thankfulness, I flung my assailant off!
"And, as he fell, he stabbed me in the arm.
"Yes—with the last vestige of my strength I flung it off, and the crash of falling lamp and table was the sweetest sound I ever heard, and the pain of the stab in my arm was absolutely welcome.... For I don't mind confessing that I prefer human, or rather real, antagonists when I have to fight—and when lamp and table smashed to the ground under its weight, and I felt myself knifed, I knew that this cold, dead hand belonged to something actual and tangible—something alive, something human....
"But I have never touched anything that seemed more dead and cold, for all that.
"Well, my assailant was hardly on the ground before I was there too, for, although my right arm was absolutely useless from the stab, I meant to have him somehow. I hate being choked at night when I am getting my due and necessary sleep, and I wanted him badly. I was really annoyed about it all....
"But he wasn't there, and, as I sprang to my feet and struck and grabbed and clutched, I clutched and grabbed and struck—precisely nothing!
"My terror returned tenfold. Was the Thing supernatural after all? I had fallen practically on top of it and actually holding it—and it was not.... But—nonsense! The most violent and virulent Oriental djinn, spirit, ghost, devil, afrit, esprit malin, or demon, does not stab one, even if it throttles—as some of them are said to do....
"I crouched still and silent with restrained breathing, hoping to hear other breathing or some movement.
"Perfect silence and stillness!
"I burst into a cold perspiration—as I imagined the thing to be behind me, and about to seize my neck again in its frozen, vice-like grip.
"I whirled around with extended arms, and then, rising to my feet, struck out in every direction, dealing coups de savate when my arms tired. And then again I crouched and listened and waited—with my hands at my throat.
"Perfect silence and stillness!
"And, do you know, my friends, it positively never occurred to me to cry out for help! ... I suppose my faculties were all so engrossed in this strange struggle that no corner of my brain was free to think, 'One shout and Jean Boule will burst in your door, sword-bayonet in hand.'" ...
"More likely you wanted to see it out all by your little self, mon ancien," smiled Colonel Lebrun.
"But no, I assure you. I never thought to shout for help.... And then, as I put a hand to the floor, I touched the matches that had fallen with the table. And I thanked le bon Dieu.... With trembling fingers I struck a light—wondering what would be revealed to my staring eyes, and whether the light would be the signal for my death-blow. Should I get it in the back—or across the neck? Was it a common Chinese 'pirate'? I hoped so, ... but they do not have dead hands and intangible bodies.
"The match flared....
"The room was empty....
"Absolutely empty. And, look you, my friends, the door was still locked on the inside; there was no fireplace and chimney, and not so much as a cat could have escaped by the window without knocking down the articles which stood on the inner ledge of it—some little brass ornaments, a crude vase, and one or two framed photographs or pictures. I went cold all over. What had throttled