Strange Conflict (35 page)

Nearly all Satanists are sadists who derive great enjoyment from inflicting both physical and mental torture. It was highly probable that the Doctor considered that he had the situation completely in hand. If so, he was doubtless deriving a devilish pleasure from the knowledge that Marie Lou and the Duke had been compelled to suffer such torments to keep awake so long, and during the day he had probably been thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of their becoming more and more exhausted.

But if that was the case would the present trick defeat him? It would certainly not do so if Rex and Richard failed to arrive within the next twenty-four hours, as four hours' sleep out of sixty-four would be totally inadequate to sustain de Richleau and Marie Lou, and by then Philippa and Simon himself would also be at the end of their tether.

That, Simon decided grimly, was the game. The Doctor meant to prevent the reappearance of Rex and Richard then quietly enjoy the agony endured by the rest of them as they tried to keep awake all through the next day. If he was right—and Simon now felt convinced that he was—they were in a more desperate situation than any that they had ever encountered; but he had a stout heart in his frail body and the common-sense belief in tackling each situation as it arose.

His job now was to keep the Doctor awake for as long as possible, and if the Satanist was aware of what was going on it might prove even easier to keep him talking till two or three, for he would know quite well that an hour or two's sleep for de Richleau and Marie Lou could not possibly prevent the total collapse of all four of his victims by the following evening.

When the supper things had been cleared away they
settled down in comfortable chairs and Simon, to test out the ground, said: ‘D'you know, it's an extraordinary thing but I don't feel the least bit sleepy although I was up soon after dawn. As a matter of fact, I rarely go to bed before one or two in the morning, so, if you're not too tired, Doctor, I'd be awfully interested to hear something of this strange island.'

Doctor Saturday gave his courteous little bow. ‘I should be delighted to talk for an hour or two. I myself require very little sleep, and when I'm alone I often work in my study until the small hours of the morning. Please don't dream of hurrying to bed before you wish to go, on my account.'

As the two of them smiled at each other Simon felt certain that he saw in the Mulatto's eyes a glint of cruel humour, which made him more convinced than ever that he was right. The Doctor was so confident of his victory that he was perfectly happy to let them think that they were fooling him, while mentally preening himself upon being the big cat who was playing a game with four wretched little mice which he could gobble up whenever he had a mind to do so.

For quite a time they talked of a number of things— Haiti's abundant fertility, its hidden wealth, crops, climate, history, present form of government, leading men—and it was already past one in the morning when Simon asked:

‘Is it true that there's still cannibalism in Haiti and that some of the natives eat human flesh just as their ancestors did before they were brought over from Africa as slaves?'

The Doctor shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘You must not think too badly of us. Admittedly the poorer Negroes, who make up the bulk of our population, are still in a very low state, but they are very far from being savages. In Haiti there are, too, quite a number of educated men who are striving to enlighten the ignorant masses and during the last twenty years have greatly improved conditions here. Their first chance came when they had the backing of the United States Government, which took over the country for a period of nineteen years and has only recently given us back our independence. Having once got a start, these good men have been able to carry on their work, and although
cannibalism was rife here in the old days such practices are now much frowned on.'

‘How about the
Cochon Gris
?' Simon asked.

Doctor Saturday shot him a swift look from beneath his beetling white brows and replied with another question. ‘How did you come to hear of that?'

‘Priest who put us up in Anse à Galets mentioned it to me last night.'

The Doctor lowered his eyes as he said slowly: ‘The
Cochon Gris
is a thing that we do not talk of here; it is dangerous to do so—except, of course, at a time like this, among a group of friends, when none of the servants are about. It is, as you are evidently aware, a secret society, and I do not seek to conceal from you that its members practise cannibalism. But you must understand that it is not just a matter of eating human flesh for its own sake; the practice is an ancient ritual connected with the worship of the Mondongo gods which was brought over from the Congo. All decent people—Voodoo worshippers as well as Christians—hold the society in horror, and some years ago the most enlightened men in Haiti formed a league for its suppression.'

‘They haven't had much luck so far, from what the Catholic priest told me.'

‘There are great difficulties,' the Doctor spread out his hands. ‘During the period of the French occupation all the Negroes were enslaved, so they were able to carry on these horrible rites only with great difficulty, but after the slaves gained their freedom—which occurred in Napoleonic times—it became much easier for them to travel from place to place and so attend such ceremonies. Consequently the cult spread, and in the 1860's it had gained an alarming hold over the whole population. During the Revolution the Roman Catholic priests had been killed or driven out with the other Whites, and for many years no Europeans were allowed even to land in the island; but the Catholic Church is very clever and in the ‘80's they recruited a number of Fathers from the French possessions in Africa, and sent them here. These—and later the white Fathers, when they were allowed to settle in Haiti again—fought the
Cochon Gris
—or the
Secte Rouge,
as many people call it— with the utmost determination; so that by the opening of the
present century its power had waned and it was driven underground. Nevertheless it is generally admitted that it still exists, and it is even whispered that some of the wealthiest people in Haiti are members.'

‘Can't the police do anything about it?' Simon suggested. ‘Surely cannibalism implies murder?'

‘The trouble is that no one knows who belongs to this dreaded society, and it is certain death for any member who recants or is even suspected of lukewarmness once he has been initiated into the mystery. An indiscreet word is enough for the Sect to decide on the execution of anyone who might become an informer. That is why everyone here is so frightened of even speaking of the
Cochon Gris
in public. These people are absolutely unscrupulous and most averse to any mention at all being made of their activities or even existence; so you will see the wisdom of any ordinary person denying all knowledge of the society, when the penalty of careless talk may be to be dragged out of one's house one night and murdered in a peculiarly horrible manner.'

‘How?'

‘Backsliders or suspects are taken out to sea in a boat. One of the adepts smashes their right ear with a blow from a large stone. Poison is then rubbed into the bleeding flesh and the victims are thrown overboard, so even if they were sufficiently strong swimmers to reach the shore they'd die an hour or so later from the effects of the poison. Why this particular method of ensuring their captives' death should be used, when they could quite well knife or strangle them, I do not know; but that, according to report, is the inevitable practice followed from long custom.'

‘Have you—er—ever attended one of their meetings—as a scientist, I mean?' Simon inquired with considerable boldness.

‘Unless I myself were a member of the
Secte Rouge,
had I done so I should certainly not have lived to tell the tale,' the Doctor replied. And Simon noted that although from the Doctor's tone and smile, the implication was that he obviously was not a member, he had in fact hedged rather cleverly, and the probability was that it amused him to turn his phrases thus skilfully instead of telling a direct lie.

‘However,' the Doctor went on, with an unexpected honesty,
‘I have means of screwing information out of the natives, which the police do not possess, and as a man of science I am interested in all their customs, so I can describe for you what takes place at one of these meetings.'

The night outside was very still. Even the cicadas had ceased their chirping and a brooding silence hung over the mysterious land. In it the Doctor's every word was clear as he began to describe these barbarous ancient rites which might even at that moment be reaching their revolting culmination, at a place no more than a few miles distant, out there in the darkness.

The members have facilities, which few people understand, for travelling very swiftly and they come from all parts of the island. Each one carries with him a
sac paille
containing ceremonial raiment. They meet at the Hounfort of a Bocor—that is, a priest who specialises in devil-worship. Actually, as far as the ordinary people are concerned, there is no way in which they can tell if their local Houngan is also a Bocor or not, and a Houngan may practise the usual Voodoo rites for many years without any of his congregation suspecting that he is a Bocor. On the other hand, certain of them have definitely acquired that reputation though there is never any means of proving it.

‘A little before midnight the members assemble in the Hounfort, which is a compound surrounded by a number of small thatched houses. To see them then one might imagine that they were just ordinary people getting ready for a Voodoo service, but at a given signal they all begin to robe themselves. The Bocor plays the part of the Emperor and his Mambo that of the Queen. Others of the principal adepts fill the roles of the President, the Minister, the Cuisiniers, the Officers and the Bourresouse, which is a special guard composed of men picked for their speed and strength. The ceremonial vestments are very rich and strange and they have the effect of giving the whole assembly the appearance of demons with tails and horns. Some of them appear as dogs, goats and cocks, but most of them as grey pigs— hence the name of the society.'

‘Sounds like a Witches' Sabbath in Europe,' Simon commented, recalling, with a shudder that he strove to suppress, a Walpurgis Eve ceremony in which he had once participated on Salisbury Plain.

The Doctor nodded. ‘From such books as I have read on Witchcraft, you are right. When everyone is robed the drums begin to beat, but they have not the deep singing quality of the Rada drums; it is a keen, high-pitched note. To the rhythm of the drums they begin to dance, working themselves up into a frenzy, then each lights a candle and chanting a liturgy of Hell they depart for the nearest crossroad, bearing a small coffin which has scores of candles on it and is the symbol of their Order.

‘At the crossroads they set down the coffin and perform a ceremony to the Petro god, Baron Carrefour, asking him, as Lord of the Roads and Travel, to favour them by sending them many victims. Soon one of the adepts becomes possessed, which is a sign that Baron Carrefour is willing to grant their request.

‘Then they dance and prance down the highway to the cemetery, where they call upon Baron Cimeterre to give them success in their undertakings. Each person with his or her hand on the hip of the person in front and with a lighted candle in the other they advance through the gates. The youngest adept is stretched upon a tomb and all the lighted candles are placed round him. A bowl made from half a calabash is set upon his navel, and, placing the palms of their hands together, they all dance and sing as they move round the tomb until each person has returned to the place in which he has set up his own candle.

‘The congregation cover their eyes while the Queen leaves the cemetery. The youngest adept rises and follows her, after which the others come streaming out. They then take up their positions on some lonely stretch of highway between two towns, from one to another of which it is certain that travellers will be passing. The Bourresouse, or hunters, are sent out in different directions and each group often covers many miles, while the Bocor and his assistants wait on the highway to waylay anyone who may come along it. The hunters carry with them cords, which are made from the dried intestines of human beings. These pieces of gut are very strong, and with them they bind and finally strangle the unfortunate wretches whom they succeed in catching. In the early hours of the morning the hunters return with two, three or perhaps half a dozen victims. These are then taken to the Hounfort, where the Bocor performs the ceremony
of changing them into cows, pigs, goats, etc., after which they are killed and their flesh is divided among the congregation.'

‘Phew!' Simon whistled. ‘What a party! I certainly shan't go walking about the roads alone at night while I'm in Haiti. But surely, with all this light and noise, it would be easy enough for the police to locate and break up the meetings if they really had a mind to it?'

The Doctor shook his head. ‘One would think that it would be easy for the police to put down the racketeers in the United States, which is a highly civilised country, but even there the G-men have found great difficulty in stamping out the well-organised and powerful gangs. From that you may judge how infinitely more difficult it is for law-abiding people to do so in Haiti. Each man fears that he may call down upon himself the most unwelcome attention of the
Secte Rouge
—the Negro police themselves not less than others. So all but a very few brave ones fight shy of having anything to do with this horrible business.'

For over an hour the talk turned on racketeers and secret societies not only in the United States but all over the world. With considerable satisfaction Simon noted that it was close on three o'clock and the Doctor still showed no signs of weariness. Turning a little, he glanced at Philippa.