Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (30 page)

THE TEMPTATION—THE ANACONDA

In
 
the meantime Fernand Wagner was
engaged in the attempt to cross the chain of mountains which intersected the
island whereon the shipwreck had thrown him. He had clambered over rugged rocks
and leapt across many yawning chasms in that region of desolation,—a region
which formed so remarkable a contrast with the delicious scenery which he had
left behind him. And now he reached the base of a conical hill, the summit of
which seemed to have been split into two parts: and the sinuous tracks of the lava-streams,
now cold, and hard, and black, adown its sides, convinced him that this was the
volcano, from whose rent crater had poured the bituminous fluid so fatal to the
vegetation of that region.

 Following a circuitous and
naturally formed pathway round the base, he reached the opposite side; and now
from a height of three hundred feet above the level of the sea, his eyes
commanded a view of a scene as fair as that behind the range of mountains. He
was now for the first time convinced of what he had all along suspected—namely,
that it was indeed an island on which the storm had cast him. But though from
the eminence where he stood his view embraced the immense range of the ocean,
no speck in the horizon—no sail upon the bosom of the expanse imparted hope to
his soul.

Hunger now oppressed him; for he
had eaten nothing since the noon of the preceding day, when he had plucked a
few fruits in the groves on the other side of the island. He accordingly
commenced a descent toward the new region which lay stretched before him, fair
as—even fairer than—the one which had first greeted his eyes.

But he had not proceeded many
yards amidst the defiles of the rugged rocks which nature had piled around the
base of the volcano, when he found his way suddenly barred by a vast chasm, on
the verge of which the winding path stopped.

The abyss was far too wide to be
crossed save by the wing of the bird: and in its unfathomable depths boiled and
roared a torrent, the din of whose eddies was deafening to the ear.

Wagner retraced his way to the
very base of the volcano, and entered another defile: but this also terminated
on the edge of the same precipice.

Again and again did he essay the
various windings of that scene of rock and crag: but with no better success
than at first; and after passing a considerable time in these fruitless
attempts to find a means of descent into the plains below, he began to fear
that he should be compelled to retrace his way into the region of verdure which
he had quitted the day before, and which lay behind the range of mountains. But
the thought of the hideous snake which he had seen in the tree caused a cold
shudder to pass over him—then, in the next moment, he remembered that if the
region on one side of the mountain were invested with reptiles of that terrible
species, it was not probable that the forests which he beheld as it were at his
feet, were free from the same source of apprehension. Still he had hoped to
find human companionship on this side of the mountains which he had so far
succeeded in reaching—the companionship of the man who had cast away the
doublet, and of the woman whom he had seen in the mirage.

And was it not strange that he
had not as yet overtaken, or at least obtained a trace of, the man who thus
occupied a portion of his thoughts? If that man were still amongst the
mountains, they would probably meet; if he had succeeded in descending into the
plains below, the same pathway that conducted him thither would also be open to
Wagner. Animated with these reflections, and in spite of the hunger which now
sorely oppressed him, Wagner prosecuted with fresh courage his search for a
means of descent into the lovely regions that lay stretched before
 
 him, when he was suddenly
startled by the sound of a human voice near him.

“My son, what dost thou amidst
this scene of desolation?” were the words which, uttered in a mild benignant
tone, met his ears.

He turned and beheld an old man
of venerable appearance, and whose beard, white as snow, stretched down to the
rude leathern belt which confined the palmer’s gown that he wore.

“Holy anchorite!” exclaimed
Wagner—“for such must I deem thee to be,—the sound of thy voice is most welcome
in this solitude, amidst the mazes of which I vainly seek to find an avenue of
egress.”

“Thus it is oft with the troubles
and perplexities of the world, my son,” answered the hermit, “that world which
I have quitted forever.”

“And dost thou dwell in this
desolate region?” asked Fernand.

“My cave is hard by,” returned
the old man. “For forty years have I lived in the heart of these mountains,
descending only into the plains at long intervals, to gather the fruits that
constitute my food:—and then,” he added, in a tone which, despite the sanctity
of his appearance, struck cold and ominous to the very heart of Wagner,—“and
then, too, at the risk of becoming the prey of the terrible anaconda!”

“Thou sayest, holy hermit,”
exclaimed Fernand, endeavoring to conquer a feeling of unaccountable aversion
which he had suddenly entertained toward the old man, “thou sayest that thy cave
is hard by. In the name of mercy! I beseech thee to spare me a few fruits, and
a cup of water, for I am sinking with fatigue, hunger, and thirst.”

“Follow me, young man,” said the
hermit; and he led the way to a cave opening from a narrow fissure in the rock.

The anchorite’s abode was, as
Wagner had expected to find it, rude and cheerless. A quantity of dry leaves
were heaped in one corner—evidently forming the old man’s couch; and in several
small hollows made in the walls of rock, were heaps of fruit—fresh and
inviting, as if they had only just been gathered. On the ground stood a large
earthen pitcher of water. Upon this last object did the thirsty Wagner lay his
left hand; but ere he raised it, he glanced hastily round the cave in search of
a crucifix, in the presence of which he might sign the form of the cross with
his right hand. But to his astonishment the emblem of Christianity was not
there; and it now struck him for the first time that the anchorite wore no
beads around his waist.

“Young man, I can divine your
thoughts,” said the hermit, hastily; “but drink, eat, and ask a blessing
presently. Thou art famished, pause not to question my motives. I will explain
them fully to thee when thy body is refreshed with that pure water and those
delicious fruits.”

“Water shall not pass my lips,
nor fruits assuage the cravings of hunger, until I know more of thee, old man!”
exclaimed Wagner, a terrible suspicion flashing to his mind; and without
 
 another instant’s hesitation or
delay, he made the sign of the cross.

A yell of rage and fury burst
from the lips of the false anchorite, while his countenance became fearfully
distorted—his eyes glared fiercely—his whole aspect changed—and in a few
moments he stood confessed in shape, attire and features, the demon who had
appeared to Fernand in the prison of Florence!

“Fiend! what wouldst thou with
me?” exclaimed Wagner, startled and yet unsubdued by this appearance of the
evil spirit amidst that region of desolation.

“Mortal,” said the demon, in his
deepest and most serious tones, “I am here to place happiness—happiness
ineffable—within thy reach. Nay, be not impatient: but listen to me for a few
moments. ’Twas my power that conducted thy ship, amidst the fury of the storm
which
He
 
whose name I dare not mention raised,
to the shores of this island. ’Twas my influence which yesterday, as thou wast
seated on the sunny banks, filled thine imagination with those delicious
thoughts of Nisida. And it was I also who, by the wonders of the mirage, showed
thee the form of the only female inhabitant of this isle. And that one female,
Wagner—that woman who is now as it were within thy reach—that lovely being
whose presence on this island would teach thee to have no regret for the world
from which you are separated, and whose eyes would cast forth rays of joy and
gladness upon everything around—that charming lady, who has already decked
herself with those flowers which her fair hands have woven into wildly
fantastic arabesques, that being is thy Nisida, the Island Queen.”

“Fiend! you mock—you deceive me,”
cried Fernand, wildly hovering between joyous hope and acute fear.

“Did I deceive thee, Wagner, when
I showed thee thy Nisida in the power of the corsairs?” said the demon, with a
smile of bitter, sardonic triumph. “I tell thee, then, that Nisida is on this
island—there, in the very region into which thou wouldst descend, but to which
thou wilt find no avenue save by my aid.”

“Nisida is here—on this island,”
exclaimed Fernand in an ecstasy of joy.

“Yes—and Stephano, the bandit,
likewise,” added the demon. “It was his doublet which you found—it was he who
slaked his thirst with the juice of the fruits which I, then invisible, beheld
thee contemplate with attention.”

“Stephano here also!” cried
Wagner. “Oh! Nisida—to thy rescue!”

And he bounded forth from the
cave, and was rushing madly down one of the tortuous defiles leading toward the
chasm, when the voice of the demon suddenly caused him to stop short.

“Fool!—insensate mortal!” said
the fiend, with a derisive laugh. “How canst thou escape from these mountains?
But tarry a moment—and behold thy Nisida—behold also her persecutor, who lusts
after her.”

Thus speaking; he handed Wagner a
magic telescope, which immediately brought the most remote objects to a
distance of only a few yards.

 Then what a delicious scene
met Fernand’s eyes! He beheld Nisida bathing in the sea—sporting like a mermaid
with the wavelets—plunging into the refreshing depths—then wringing out the
water from her long raven hair, now swimming and diving, then wading on her
feet,—unconscious that a human eye beheld her.

At length she came forth from the
sea, beauteous as a Venus rising from the ocean; and her toilet commenced upon
the sand. But scarcely had she decked herself with the flowers which she had
gathered early in the morning for the purpose, when she started and rose up;
and then Wagner beheld a man approaching her from the nearest grove.

“That is Stephano Verrina!”
murmured the demon in his ears.

Fernand uttered a cry of dismay,
and threw down the telescope.

“You may save her—save her yet,”
said the demon, speaking in a tone of unusual haste. “In a few minutes she will
be in his power—he is strong and desperate; be mine, and consent to serve
me—and in a moment Nisida shall be clasped in thy arms—the arms of thee, her
deliverer.”

“No—no! I will save her without
thine aid, dread fiend!” exclaimed Wagner, a prey to the most terrible
excitement.

Then making the sign of the
cross, he rushed forward to leap the yawning chasm; his feet touched the
opposite side, but he lost his balance, reeled, and fell back into the
tremendous abyss, while the demon, again baffled, and shrinking in horror from
the emblem of Christianity, disappeared with cries of rage and vexation.

Down—down fell Wagner,—turning
over and over in the hideous vacancy, and clutching vainly at the stunted
shrubs and dead roots which projected from the rugged sides of the chasm.

In another moment he was
swallowed up by the boiling torrent; but his senses did not leave him, and he
felt himself hurried along with the furious speed of the mad waters. Thus
nearly a minute passed; and then his headlong course was suddenly arrested by
the boughs of a tree, which, having given way at the root, bent over into the
torrent. He clung to the boughs as if they were arms stretched out to rescue
him; he raised himself from amidst the turbid waters—and in a few moments
reached a bank which shelved upward to the edge of a dense forest.

Precisely on the opposite or
inner side there was an opening in the rocks, and Wagner’s eye could trace
upward a steep but still practicable path, doubtless formed by some torrent of
the spring, which was now dried up amidst the mountains above,—that path
reaching to the very basis of the volcano.

Thus, had circumstances permitted
him to exercise his patience and institute a longer search among the defiles
formed by the crags and rocks around the conical volcano, he would have
discovered a means of safe egress from that region without daring the desperate
leap of the chasm, desperate even for him,
 
 although
he bore a charmed life, because his limbs might have been broken against the
rugged sides of the precipice.

Between the opening to the steep
path just spoken of, and the shelving bank on which Wagner now stood, there was
so narrow a space, that the bent tree stretched completely across the torrent;
thus any one, descending from the mountains by the natural pathway, might cross
by means of the tree to the side which Fernand had gained.

“This, then, must have been the
route by which the villain Stephano emerged from the mountains,” he said to
himself, “and the fiend deceived me when he declared that I could not reach the
plains below without his aid.”

Such were his reflections as he
hurried up the shelving bank: and when he reached the summit his glance
embraced a scene already described to the reader.