Bram Stoker: The Complete Novels. A to Z Classics

be any old iron lying about.’ As he offered me excellent terms for my time, I thought he must have some good — or rather, I should say, some strong motive. I know now, though he has never told me, that he is trying for the money that is said to have been lost and buried here by the French after Humbert’s expedition to Killala.”

      “How do you work?” I asked.

      “The simplest thing in the world; just carry about a strong magnet — only we have to do it systematically.”

      “And have you found anything as yet?”

      “Only old scraps — horseshoes, nails, buckles, buttons; our most important find was the tire of a wheel. The old Gombeen thought he had it that time!” and Dick laughed.

      “How did you manage the bog?”

      “That is the only difficult part; we have poles on opposite sides of the bog with lines between them. The magnet is fixed, suspended from a free wheel, and I let it down to the centre from each side in turn. If there were any attraction I should feel it by the thread attached to the magnet which I hold in my hand.”

      “It is something like fishing?”

      “Exactly.”

      Murdoch now returned and told us that he was ready, so we all went to work. I kept with Sutherland at the far side of the bog, Murdoch remaining on the nearside. We planted, or rather placed, a short stake in the solid ground, as close as we could get it to the bog, and steadied it with a guy from the top; the latter I held, while Murdoch, on the other side, fulfilled a similar function. A thin wire connected the two stakes; on this Sutherland now fixed the wheel, from which the magnet depended. On each side we deflected the stake until the magnet almost touched the surface of the bog. After a few minutes’ practice I got accustomed to the work, and acquired sufficient dexterity to be able to allow the magnet to run freely. Inch by inch we went over the surface of the bog, moving slightly to the south-west each time we shifted, following the edges of the bog. Every little while Dick had to change sides, so as to cover the whole extent of the bog, and when he came round again had to go back to where he had last stopped on the same side.

      All this made the process very tedious, and the day was drawing to a close when we neared the posts set up to mark the bounds of the two lands. Several times during the day Joyce had come up from his cottage and inspected our work, standing at his own side of the post. He looked at me closely, but did not seem to recognise me. I nodded to him once, but he did not seem to see my salutation, and I did not repeat it.

      All day long I never heard the sweet voice; and as we returned to Carnaclif after a blank day — blank in every sense of the word — the air seemed chillier and the sunset less beautiful than before. The last words I heard on the mountain were from Murdock:

      “Nothin’ to-morrow, Mr. Sutherland! I’ve a flittin’ to make, but I pay the day all the same; I hould ye to your conthract. An’ remember, surr, we’re in no hurry wid the wurrk now, so ye’ll not need help any more.”

      Andy made no remark till we were well away from the Hill, and then said, dryly:

      “I’m afeerd yer ‘an’r has had but a poor day; ye luk as if ye hadn’t seen a bit iv bog at all, at all. Gee up, ye ould corn-crake! the gintlemin does be hurryin’ home fur their tay, an’ fur more wurrk wid bogs to-morra!”

Chapter 5 — On Knocknacar

      When Sutherland and I had finished dinner that evening we took up the subject of bogs where we had left it in the morning. This was rather a movement of my own making, for I felt an awkwardness about touching on the special subject of the domestic relations of the inhabitants of Knockcalltecrore. After several interesting remarks, Dick said:

      “There is one thing that I wish to investigate thoroughly: the correlation of bog and special geological formations.”

      “For instance?” said I.

      “Well, specially with regard to limestone. Just at this part of the country I find it almost impossible to pursue the investigation any more than Van Trail could have pursued snake studies in Iceland.”

      “Is there no limestone at all in this part of the country?” I queried.

      “Oh yes, in lots of places; but as yet I have not been able to find any about here. I say ‘as yet’ on purpose, because it seems to me that there must be some on Knockcalltecrore.”

      Needless to say the conversation here became to me much more interesting. Dick went on:

      “The main feature of the geological formation of all this part of the country is the vast amount of slate and granite, either in isolated patches or lying side by side. And as there are instances of limestone found in quaint ways, I am not without hopes that we mayyetfind the same phenomenon.”

      “Where do you find the instances of these limestone formations?” I queried, for I felt that as he was bound to come back to, or towards Shleenanaher, I could ease my own mind by pretending to divert his from it.

      “Well, as one instance, I can give you the Corrib River — the stream that drains Lough Corrib into Galway Bay; in fact, the river on which the town of Galway is built. At one place one side of the stream all is granite, and the other is all limestone; I believe the river runs over the union of the two formations. Now, if there should happen to be a similar formation, even in the least degree, at Knockcalltecrore, it will be a great thing.”

      “Why will it be a great thing?” I asked.

      “Because there is no lime near the place at all; because, with limestone on the spot, a hundred things could be done that, as thing are at present, would not repay the effort. With limestone we could reclaim the bogs cheaply all over the neighborhood — in fact a limekiln there would be worth a small fortune. We could build walls in the right places; I can see how a lovely little harbor could be made there at a small expense. And then, beyond all else, would be the certainty — which is at present in my mind only a hope or a dream — that we could fathom the secret of the Shifting Bog, and perhaps abolish or reclaim it.”

      “This is exceedingly interesting,” said I, as I drew my chair closer. And I only spoke the exact truth, for at that moment I had no other thought in my mind. “Do you mind telling me more, Dick? I suppose you are not like Lamb’s Scotchman that will not broach a half-formed idea!”

      “Not the least in the world. It will be a real pleasure to have such a good listener. To begin at the beginning, I was much struck with that old cavity on the top of the Hill. It is one of the oddest things I have ever seen or heard of. If it were in any other place or among any other geological formation, I would think its origin must have been volcanic. But here such a thing is quite impossible. It was evidently once a lake.”

      “So goes the legend. I suppose you have heard it?”

      “Yes; and it rather confirms my theory. Legends have always a base in fact; and whatever cause gave rise to the myth of St. Patrick and the King of the Snakes, the fact remains that the legend is correct in at least one particular — that at some distant time there was a lake or pond on the spot.”

      “Are you certain?”

      “A very cursory glance satisfied me of that. I could not go into the matter thoroughly, for that old wolf of mi ne was so manifestly impatient that I should get to his wild-goose chase for the lost treasure-chest, that the time and opportunity were wanting. However, I saw quite enough to convince me.”

      “Well, how do you account for the change? What is your theory regarding the existence of limestone?”

      “Simply this, that a lake or reservoir on the top of a mountain means the existence of a spring or springs. Now, springs in granite or hard slate do not wear away the substance of the rock in the same way as they do when they come through limestone. And, moreover, the natures of the two rocks are quite different. There are fissures and cavities in the limestone which are wanting, or which are, at any rate,