Slowly, with intense reluctance, I relaxed the pressure on my aching knees. I could have wept as that band of dim light narrowed and finally disappeared. It had seemed to link me again with life and joy and all the happy things I had ever known; yet I had had voluntarily to sever that link and once more condemn my eyes to unrelieved darkness.
For a time I lay still, rallying my strength for a fresh effort. Then, placing my hands palm upward, flat against the coffin lid above my head, I made it. Again, under the pressure I exerted the coffin lid lifted. Again I saw that blessed streak of grey daylight to my left, and now on a level with my head. The strain upon the muscles of my arms was agonising. It increased with every fraction of an inch that I forced upwards the grim weight that now held me prisoner. It was a torture equal to that of being stretched upon the rack; but to bear, and wilfully intensify, it offered the only possible alternative to suffering tortures still worse. More—in addition to lifting I had yet to throw Ankaret’s coffin sideways before I could crawl out of my own.
Raising my right knee I placed it firmly against the coffin lid. Relaxing a little the pressure exerted by my left arm, I took the weight of the head end on my right. I was all set now for the final movement. Taking a deep breath, I threw every ounce of strength I had into one terrific heave, aimed at using my right knee and arm to tip Ankaret’s coffin over on to that of my father. The band of daylight on my left swiftly widened to from two to four, six, eight inches. The strain seemed unbearable, yet it might not have been if I had paused then, holding up the weight but not striving to raise it further until I had recruited fresh strength. It was owing to my reasoning faculties having been submerged by terror, and the frantic urge to escape, that I made my fatal mistake.
The accursed thought came to me that by gripping the right edge of my coffin lid I should be better able to exert the leverage needed to turn Ankaret’s coffin right over. Withdrawing my right hand from its place above my head, I made a swift grab at the raised edge of the coffin lid. I was not quick enough, and my movement was fouled by my finger-tips striking the brick side of the vault. My right knee and left arm proved insufficient to support the weight above me. My left arm crumpled; the upper part of the lid descended with a rush. My right hand was half in, half out of the coffin. Its palm was caught and crushed. A sickening stab of pain ran up my right arm. But that was not the worst. Frantically I strove to drag my hand free. I could not. It was trapped; gripped as in a vice between the coffin lid and the right-hand edge of the coffin. The agony became excruciating. I fainted.
For how long I was out, I had no means of judging. When I came to my brain was again bemused, and thoughts trickled back into it through a mist of pain. Once more I suffered the ghastly process of slowly becoming aware of the full horror of my situation. My right arm was bent round at an awkward angle and my hand caught palm upward on a level with my head. The hand itself had gone numb, but a pulsing ache throbbed through the muscles of my arm right up to the arm-pit.
As I remembered the opportunity of which sleep had robbed me tears trickled from my eyes. Then as I thought of the way in which the funeral party had left the grave-side before I could make myself heard by them, a ray of fresh hope suddenly illuminated my distraught mind.
When they left, the Sexton had not drawn the tarpaulin back over the vault. It was certain that he would return to do so, before nightfall. I should hear him and my shouts would bring him to my rescue. Suffering as I was, there was no danger of my falling asleep a second time. There was another danger, though. My heart contracted as I thought of it. Unless my pain eased I might faint again. Yet another thought brought quick relief. Even if I did faint, while covering the vault he could not fail to see my fingers sticking out from the side of the coffin.
It was then I made a terrible discovery. My trapped palm held open the right side of the coffin near my head a good inch. A streak of grey twilight should show there. But it did not. I was once again enshrouded in the utter darkness of the pit. The Sexton must have come and re-covered the vault while I was lying unconscious. As Ankaret’s coffin was on top of mine, in the deep shadow cast by it he had failed to see my fingers.
At this dashing of my final hope I lost all control of myself. Threshing about within the narrow limits of my prison, I screamed and shouted: ‘Help! Help! Help! Let me out! I’m alive! Alive! Alive! Oh can’t you hear me! Help! Help! Help!’
My voice, seeming unnaturally loud in that confined space, roared and rumbled, sometimes rising to a piercing shriek, but it only echoed back to me mockingly.
All the time I was shouting, my limbs were flailing in violent unco-ordinated movements. I kicked with my feet, banged on the coffin lid with my knees, hammered at it with my clenched left fist, and jerked at my imprisoned right hand. For as long as my strength lasted, I kept it up; but my voice grew husky and my limbs tired until they were capable of no more than feeble twitchings. At last, overcome with exhaustion, I fell silent and lay still once more.
My frantic efforts to free my hand had set all the nerves in it going again. The coffin lid was cutting like the edge of a door that was being forced shut into the upper part of my palm just below the fingers; the side of the coffin cut with equal force into the back of my hand. As I lay panting and sweating from my recent struggle I recalled having heard of people who when similarly trapped in some desperate situation had saved themselves by cutting off the limb by which they were held prisoner. For me to have done so in my case, had it been possible, could hardly have caused me greater agony. But it was not possible. I had no knife and, even had I had one, I was so cramped for room that I could not have used it effectively.
Yet, unless I could free my hand, there was not a particle of hope left for me. I wondered if by a superhuman effort I could tear my fingers off, or perhaps wriggle them until they were severed by the two edges of wood that cut into them so cruelly. If I succeeded there was the possibility that I would bleed to death, but that was a welcome thought compared to the other death that awaited me.
Nerving myself afresh, I made the attempt. Never had I believed that I could endure such agony. Perhaps I might have succeeded if it had been my fingers only that were caught, but the lower part of my hand was also trapped, and too thick for those terrible edges to cut through. The only result of my effort was that I again fainted.
When I came round I was conscious for the first time of thirst. My exertions had at least succeeded in temporarily warming me, but they, and the pain I was in, had caused me to break out in a profuse sweat. It was now dry and cold on my forehead, but my mouth felt hot, dry and parched. Again sheer terror seized upon my mind; and once more my limbs threshed convulsively.
After a time I once more got control of myself. Accepting the fact at last that all hope of either rescue or escape was gone, I faced up to a new problem. My extremity had purged me of all my old prejudices against committing suicide; and I began to consider how I might save myself from further torment by making a quick end of myself.
Again I cursed my folly in having ordered air-holes to be bored in my coffin. Had I not done so I might have been dead long since; yet, if only I had the strength of mind, I might perhaps manage to suffocate myself. Wriggling my left hand around, I got hold of the torn winding sheet, pulled it up as far as I could, and stuffed a wad of it into my mouth. As I could still breath through my nose the mouthful of sheet did no more than add to my discomfort. Firmly I gripped my nose between finger and thumb, and held on to it.
For some moments I felt no appreciable effect. Then a pulse began to hammer in my throat. I wanted to retch. My head felt as though the blood was being pumped into it until it would burst. I began to gasp internally. My eyes bulged. My lungs screamed at my brain for help. I could not go on. I let go my nose, spat out the sheet, and gulped in great draughts of stale chilly air.
My next thought was to open a vein so that I might bleed to death. Once more, I would have given every penny I possessed for a sharp implement; if not a knife a
safety razor blade, or even a nail. That last thought spurred me to fresh action. I had no iron nail, but I had my own nails. Squeezing up my left hand I began to claw at the side of my neck hoping to open my jugular vein.
It was no use. I had always been rather proud of my hands, and had kept my nails well trimmed. Had I had more room for my arm I might have succeeded, but cramped and twisted as it was I could not drag my nails fiercely down my neck. All I could do was to scratch with them and their blunt edges refused to penetrate the skin. All they did was to split upon it and make a sore from which seeped only a little surface blood. When I realised the futility of continuing I broke down and wept unrestrainedly.
I think my tears eased the tension of my mind a little, although they could not relieve my pain. As my sobbing lessened I scoured such wits as I had left for some other means by which to blot out my consciousness for good. I could think of none; but it occurred to me that I might, perhaps, render myself unconscious for a time, and as with every hour I must grow weaker, any time which could be so gained would lessen that of my sufferings.
Accordingly, I began to bang my forehead against the coffin lid in an attempt to knock myself out. Once again, lack of free space strictly limited my action. I could not bash my head with any force against the lid, but had to do my best with a swing of something under three inches. Jerking my neck repeatedly I struck as hard as I could, all the time increasing the tempo of the movement.
Soon my head was aching intensely, my ears were singing, and waves of coloured lights waxed and waned in the darkness before my eyes. Suddenly I had the impression that I was about to leave my body. I redoubled my efforts until I was three parts stunned. But, alas, the loosening of my mind under the stimulus of unceasing self-inflicted pain resulted in the lessening of my physical control over the muscles of my neck. Before I was properly out my head ceased jerking with any force at all, then dropped back and lay limply rolling from side to side. I had added a blinding headache to my other ills but was still sufficiently conscious to know that even temporary escape was beyond me.
Yet there had been those few blessed moments when I had felt myself to be within an ace of freedom. Owing to the battering I had given my forehead it seemed to be opening and shutting. That, of course, was an illusion; but, near insane now from half a dozen simultaneous forms of suffering, the idea came to me that I might drive my spirit out through my head. Calling up all the will-power that I had left, I strove to do so.
In my delirium I no longer paid any regard to my newly-acquired knowledge of the occult, but reverted to the belief of a life-time: that man had only a body and a soul. That my Ka might go out on the waves of pain through my gaping head while leaving my spirit still imprisoned in my flesh, did not occur to me. Yet I believe that is what happened.
I found myself in Daisy’s flat. It was early evening, but she was not in shabby clothes or preparing her high-tea-lunch. Propped up with cushions, and wearing a most fetching négligée she was, lying on the divan in her sitting-room. Close beside her sat the dark, rather heavy-looking man whom she had joined after refusing to listen to Johnny any longer at her night club. She had referred to him as her ‘rent cheque’ and, as it transpired during their conversation, he had exercised the privilege of his position to make her telephone to her club and say that she could not appear that night because she had gone down with a sudden bout of ‘flu; so would not be in till Monday.
He was now trying to persuade her to dress and pack a suitcase; so that he could take her in his car down to an hotel near Maidenhead, and they could spend a short week-end there. But she would not play.
She said there was too great a risk that someone who knew her would spot her, and that it might get to the manager of the club that she had bilked him. If it did she would get the sack; so the game was not worth the candle.
I was already endeavouring to make her see me; but the argument went on for quite a time, and her mind was entirely absorbed by it. Her friend tried to bribe her to accept the risk by the offer of a special present of twenty pounds, but she still dug her toes in, and said:
‘No, ducks. Nothing doing. I like it where I am, and other jobs aren’t so easy to get as you seem to think. Not Jobs on the level, that is. And you know you wouldn’t like me to have to let myself be messed about by some other fellow as part of what it takes to get a decent pay packet. After all, what’s wrong with this place? It’s nice and cosy here, and we won’t have to get up before we want in the morning because the chamber-maid has got to make the bed, or something. You slip out and buy us a nice bottle of wine, and half a chicken or a cold lobster for our dinner.’
The man gave in, and as he stood up my hopes rose; but only to be dashed a minute later. Instead of leaving the room to do as Daisy suggested he walked across to the gramophone and put a record on. Until I could get her alone, with her mind in a receptive state, I knew I had little chance of making contact with her; and soon I had cause for a new worry. I became conscious that my Ka lacked the feeling of permanency that it had had during the week it had roved at will through London and the Home Counties. Slowly but perceptibly the strength seemed to be ebbing from it; yet for well over an hour it was compelled to hover there impotently, before Daisy’s friend at last said that he would go out and get something for them to eat.
As soon as the front door had slammed behind him Daisy jumped up from the divan, walked straight through me, and went into the bathroom to powder her nose.
I should have known better than to follow her. However lax Daisy might be in her morals, she had the innate respectability of the British middle classes. Urged on by the knowledge that my still living body lay in the grave, I thought of nothing but my desperate need to be rescued, and saved from further torment at the earliest possible moment. Taking not the least notice of what she was doing I placed myself before her and positively forced my presence into her consciousness.
She started and went bright pink. Then her blue eyes blazed at the way I had outraged her sense of modesty.
‘You beast!’ she cried. ‘You filthy-minded scum! How dare you come and play the Paul Pry on me when I’m paying a penny!’
Thoughts tumbled towards her in a torrent from my brain. ‘Daisy, I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t; but I’ve been striving to catch your attention for the best part of two hours. Help me! You must! For God’s sake help me! Telephone to Longshot. You only have to let people know. You needn’t even give your name. I’m … don’t! Stop! Please!’
That was as far as I managed to get. Now white with anger, she made the sign of the Cross and shouted: ‘Avaunt thee Satan! Go! Unclean thing, go! Get back to Hell where you belong.’
Had she had the powers of an archangel her abjuration, in this instance, could not have been more effective. I expect that she would have barred her consciousness against me anyhow, even if I had not so flagrantly infringed her particular code of decent behaviour. But I had been rushed into my blunder not only through the dominating urge to get help. It had also been, in part at least, because for the past hour I had known my Ka to be weakening. Now its last resources of will and energy had been used up in its desperate effort to get a hearing from Daisy. Under her curse, it seemed to wilt. I saw her only as through a thickening veil for another few moments. Then I found myself back in my coffin.
I was no longer delirious. Whether my Ka had actually journeyed to London and appeared to Daisy, or that had been only a figment of my distraught imagination, I had no means of judging; but my mind was again quite clear. I was still in great pain and now terribly weak. While I had been lying still the seeping cold had numbed me, yet my face burnt with fever. My tongue was thick and leathery in my mouth.
For the last time my mind sought wildly for any possible chance that I might have overlooked. I had laid it down in my will that the vault should not be sealed until a week after my funeral. The Sexton and his mates would then come again to my grave. But I had been buried on Tuesday and this was only Saturday night. Wit
hout water I could not possibly survive for another two and a half days. But how long would it be before I died? I made one last despairing effort to break out of my coffin, then fell back utterly exhausted. Soon afterwards I drifted into merciful oblivion.
13
Thursday 15th to Sunday 18th
Before proceeding further it is necessary that I should give an account of what happened to Johnny Norton after he had been placed under close arrest.
Group Captain Kenworthy led him to the Provost Marshal’s department, where the formality of taking down particulars was gone through; then into another room where there were two Security Officers. After inviting Johnny to sit down and giving him a cigarette the Group Captain told him that it would help matters considerably if he were willing to answer a few more questions about me, as that might give them a new line of investigation and enable them to clear him of the accusation that had been made against himself.
No doubt the suggestion was made in perfectly good faith; but, fearing that he might be led to make statements which would later prejudice his own case, Johnny very wisely replied that, in view of the gravity of the charge, he was not prepared to discuss the matter further until he had consulted a solicitor.
On that he was assured that he would be given every facility to do so. The Group Captain then introduced one of the others—a tall fair man—as Wing Commander Tinegate, and said that he would be responsible for Johnny during the period of his arrest. Tinegate took him down to the courtyard and across to a waiting car with an R.A.F. driver.
Johnny suggested that they should go in his car wherever they were going; but Tinegate was not agreeable to that. However, he did agree that it could not be left parked indefinitely outside the Air Ministry, and also that Johnny should be allowed to pick up some things from his rooms. Another R.A.F. driver was procured to drive Johnny’s car down to Earls Court and leave it in the mews garage that he rented behind Nevern Square. The Air Ministry car followed it with Tinegate and Johnny. Having seen it garaged they drove round the corner to the house and went upstairs. While Johnny packed a bag Tinegate waited in his sitting-room, then, when they came downstairs, he told his landlady that he would be away for a few days and they went out to the car. In it they were then driven down to the R.A.F. Depot at Uxbridge.
The Ka of Gifford Hillary Page 37