Vampires of the Desert
Vampires of the Desert
By A. Hyatt Verrill
Copyright © 1929 by A Hyatt Verrill
This edition published in 2011 by eStar Books, LLC.
www.estarbooks.com
ISBN 9781612101989
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Vampires of the Desert
By A. Hyatt Verrill
When I sailed for Peru, to accept a position as field paleontologist for the International Petroleum Company at their oil fields near Talara, I little dreamed what amazing experiences and astounding adventures were in store for me.
The life of a paleontologist is not, as a rule, an exciting or adventurous one. In fact, there is scarcely a branch of scientific field work that promises so little in the way of adventure, peril or thrills. Fossils, interesting as they may be to the trained scientist who studies them, are not what one might call dangerous game. Neither are they elusive, shy nor suspicious of human beings. And, aside from the ordinary and to-be-expected hardships of camp life and field work, hunting fossils is perhaps the safest and tamest of professions. And as I was to hunt and study the smallest and most abundant of fossils — namely, diatoms and foraminifera — for the presence of certain species of these minute fossil animals is known to have a very direct bearing upon petroleum deposits, and as my hunting ground was in the open desert where there were neither wild animals nor wild men, and as my entire field of activities was within sight and sound of the busy oil refineries, the wells, the pump-houses and the well ordered "camp" or town, the possibility of any excitement, any danger or anything unusual never occurred to me. And had anyone suggested such eventualities, I most assuredly would have laughed them to scorn. Yet, so strange is fate and so whimsical her moods, and so little do we know of the future that, within a few months after my arrival at Talara, I was to have some of the most astounding, even incredible experiences that ever came into the life of any man. Indeed, were it not that the facts are well known, and that meager reports of the remarkable occurrence have already been published in the press, I should hesitate to write of them for fear of being classed as a romancer and as writing fiction in the guise of fact. But I feel that, as precisely the same things may — in fact, probably will — recur again somewhere — even if not in Peru — and many human lives, perhaps entire communities, may be destroyed by such recurrences, the public should be acquainted with all the facts and details of the visitation, and thus should be prepared for its repetition.
But before beginning my story, I wish to disclaim the undue credit that has been accorded me for solving the baffling mystery of those terrible times and for saving the lives of hundreds — probably thousands — of my fellow men and fellow women. Any man with scientific training, a knowledge of zoology and with an interest in the unusual forms of animal and plants life could have done more than I did. It merely chanced that I was on the spot, that my scientific interests had been aroused before the happenings occurred and that I had always taken a deep interest in the botany of the tropics. Never before had this fad been of any real value to me or to anyone else. In the first place I never had visited the tropics and in the second place I made paleontology my life work and confined my studies to invertebrate paleontology at that. Yet I cannot help feeling that my amateurish interest in plant life must have been inspired by the Divinity and for the sole purpose which it later and so fortunately fulfilled.
One thing more I must mention, for it had a very great bearing upon the affair and enabled me to make dedications and to understand matters that otherwise would have been impossible to understand. During my postgraduate course at Yale I was greatly interested in the deep-sea researches of the United States Fish Commission under the direction of Professor Verrill, who was my instructor.
Largely, this was due to the fact that — as is well known, — the ocean's beds are composed mainly of foraminiferous ooze, the accumulated billions of skeletal remains of foraminifera, and that many living species — closely akin to the fossil form — are obtained from great depths. But I soon found, when on the "Albatross" in company with the Professor and his assistants, that one branch of science — or more especially one branch of any one department of science — hinges upon another. Thus to study diatoms intelligently, I was compelled to make a fairly intensive study of other and higher forms of marine life. Such, for example, were the ascidians, or sea cucumbers; the corals and sea-anemones, the sponges, and such forms of life as the hydroids and bryozoans as well as jelly-fish. And had I not thus acquired a fairly comprehensive and accurate knowledge of the life histories and habits of these harmless and interesting marine creatures, I never would have been able to make head or tail of the affair during that nightmarish time at Talara.
Talara, as I have hinted, is situated on that barren, treeless, waterless strip of South America's coastal desert that stretches from the vicinity of Guayaquil in Peru southward to central Chile. It is not, however, a flat or level desert. Rather it consists of desert sand hills rising to rocky hills, equally bare and sterile, and forming an incorporate part of the desert, and which become higher and more numerous as they approach the Andes, into which they merge. In fact, the sand of the desert proper is nothing more or less than the accumulated detritus of those hills, decomposed and washed down through countless ages. Originally — or at least at some remote period — the area was beneath the sea. Hence the presence of fossils of marine organisms. And it was to study these remains, which millions of years ago were beneath the waters of the Pacific, that I was employed by the International Petroleum Company; for, strange as it may appear, some of the largest of the world's known oil deposits are in this desert country of Peru.
For countless centuries this desert has been rainless; in fact, it is a desert merely because of lack of rainfall, and as the sand is impregnated with nitrates, phosphates and potash, it is fertile and capable of producing huge crops of agricultural products when watered or irrigated. Possibly my readers may think that this somewhat lengthy dissertation upon the Peruvian desert is quite unnecessary to my story, but let me assure them that it is most essential, and I request that those who may read this story of the incredible occurrences at Talara will read this portion very carefully. Otherwise it will be practically impossible to secure an intelligent idea of the happenings and their causes and to realize that they were neither miraculous, supernatural nor at all beyond the realms of cause and effect in nature.
Also, I must try the patience of my readers still further by briefly sketching the causes for the rainless, desert condition of this coast. The Humboldt Current, flowing northward from the Antarctic, tempers the normal temperatures of the tropical coasts of the equatorial and subequatorial regions of the west coast of South America and at the same time acts as a condenser for moisture-laden atmosphere that otherwise would reach the coast. Added to this is the fact that the warm, moisture-filled air from the vast Amazonian jungles is covered by the cold Andes heights, and its moisture is then deposited as rain and snow before it passes westward over the Andes.
At Talara, however, the Humboldt Current does not actually wash the coastline. A small, warm water current, known as the Niño or child; flows southward from the Bay of Panama and forces its way between the Humboldt Current and the shore. And the relative size and volume of these two currents vary considerably according to the force and direction of the prevailing winds and because of other causes — very possible seismic disturbances of the sea bed. From the earliest times, as proved by my studies of fossils and by the observations of more eminent scie
ntists, these currents have varied. Often the variation is slight and temporary, but at other times it has been of long duration and very marked. Even a slight variation in either current has a decided effect upon the climate of the Peruvian coastal land. The temperature alters materially, mist and even light rains fall, and with miraculous suddenness vegetation springs up from the bare desert and barren hillsides. Usually the change continues for only a few days or weeks, but in the past ages such changes of currents, climate and the resultant vegetable and animal life obviously — proved by fossil remains — endured for many years.
In fact, one of the first and most interesting discoveries I made was that the desert soil — to a depth of twenty-five feet or more — was in many spots composed of alternate layers or strata of sand, some clear and some containing a large percentage of plant seeds. It was thus evident that alternating periods of dryness and dampness had occurred from the most remote times, and while the proportionate number of strata and their relative depths varied somewhat, there was abundant evidence to show that from the most ancient times there had existed regularly defined and periodic eras of rainfall and lack of rainfall, with the accompanying abundance of vegetation and lack of vegetation. The lower layers of seeds were fossil, but the upper ones were comparatively recent and with so slight a layer of sand superimposed upon them that a heavy rain would unquestionably enable them to germinate and sprout. That this was the case, was in fact proved when in 1924-5, after a comparatively short period of rainy weather, the hills and deserts about Talara — and as far south as Antofogasta, Chile, became covered with a rank semi-jungle as high as a man's waist. Moreover, nearly all of the plants that then appeared were strange to the inhabitants and totally distinct from any found elsewhere in South America. And in examining the seeds which I discovered, I found that — with few exceptions — they were of species, genera and even families entirely new to me.
It was this discovery that again aroused my long-dormant interest in tropical plant life and I was about to try my hand at growing some of the more unusual seeds, when Nature saved me the trouble. A severe earthquake shook the entire west coast of South America, causing a vast amount of damage in southern Chile, raising Juan Fernandez Island several hundred feet above its former level and upraising the sea bed between that island and the coastline for at least two hundred feet. As a result, the greater position of the Humboldt Current was deflected to the west into the Pacific, the warm Niño current increased in size and volume, and heavy rains at once commenced to fall along the coasts of Peru and Chile. Irreparable damage was caused in many localities. Estuaries, fields, villages and even large towns were swept away by floods that came pouring down the ancient dry river beds from the mountains. Buildings of sun-dried adobe, well adapted to the formerly rainless climate, melted and were reduced to mud, and in a few weeks such cities as Piura, Trujillo and others were utterly obliterated.
In Chile the nitrate beds were completely destroyed, many large and prosperous communities were rendered uninhabitable, and even Lima, Peru's capital — being built largely of adobe — suffered losses totaling millions of dollars. Fortunately the capital's more modern buildings and residences were of concrete and remained unaffected, and for similar reasons Talara suffered little. The native shacks and the old churches and government edifices crumbled and vanished, but the majority of the buildings at the port, as well as the mining camps of Negritos and Lobitos, being of wood, concrete or corrugated iron construction, suffered none at all. Neither did the torrential rains cause any appreciable damage to the petroleum industry.
The sand, being washed away, allowed some of the derricks to topple and fall, many pipe-lines were broken and similar small damages resulted, but on the whole the rains appeared more of a blessing than a curse in the district. The climate, although warmer, was less oppressive; the bare desert and hills became almost instantly covered with tender green, and hollows that became filled with water were the resort of flocks of wild geese and ducks that afforded great sport for the employees of the company.
Finding that my paleontological work was seriously — though I hoped only temporarily — interrupted by the rain and the disruption of some of my favorite localities for study, I had an abundance of spare time which I devoted to examining with the greatest interest the plants that had sprung up from the seeds I had discovered. Also, being a keen sportsman, I spent considerable time hunting, both about the pools I have mentioned and in the embryonic jungle that — within two weeks — had become waist-high and almost impenetrably dense. To my surprise and delight I discovered that with very few exceptions the growth was composed of plants which hitherto had been known only in a fossil state. There were many forms of tree ferns, of the horse-tails, of giant lycopodiums and of odd aberrant leguminous plants that — as nearly as I could judge — were the ancestors of our common beans, peas, etc. At first I was greatly amazed to find these supposedly extinct and fossil forms thus growing in abundance, but a short investigation and a little logical reasoning soon convinced me that it was a perfectly normal and easily explicable condition. From the most remote geological times the country had been periodically wet and dry as I have said. Hence plants that for a few years or centuries grew in the district, would have had no time to alter or evolve to higher forms before a rainless period occurred. Thus the earliest types of plant life that had existed in the district had been perpetuated with no great changes from the far-distant geological periods.
Probably on no other spot on earth could such a condition have occurred, and I decided to take advantage of the unique opportunity to write a monograph on the subject, to describe the habits and appearances of the plants, and to secure accurate photographs as well as to preserve specimens for the benefit of science.
It was while doing this that I came upon a small group of the most peculiar shrubs. I say shrubs, though they were not shrubs in the true sense of the word. They were rather more like attenuated and branched tubers, like gigantic, slender and distorted sweet-potatoes growing above ground. The stalks were fleshy but fibrous and very tough. There were no leaves, and the growth, as well as the branching habit, was by means of joints or articulations, one tough olive-colored section budding from another and increasing in size and length until it, too, developed additional joints. When I first found the things, they were quite small — the largest barely a foot in height — but they grew with truly amazing rapidity. In a few days they were as high as my waist and all my interests became centered upon them. I found no others, although every natural surrounding and condition seemed identical with other localities, but, I reasoned, this was not surprising, as the same conditions that had led to the perpetuation of long-extinct species would at the same time have acted to localize each form.
The more I examined the odd growths, the more they puzzled me. In many respects they could not be classified among any of the various botanical genera, families or orders. I prepared sections and examined them under the microscope. I tried all means of identification — but in vain. Oddly enough, they bore many resemblances to the algae or marine plants, and especially to those natural-history puzzles, the bryozoans and hydroids which seem to form connecting links between the animal and vegetable kingdoms. But who ever heard of a bryozoan or a hydroid growing on land? Still, I reasoned, in the remote periods of the earth's existence there may have been such, for there are land algae as there are also marine arachnids or spiders. Why not land bryozoans and hydroids?
It was a fascinating thought, but until my strange growths saw fit to flower or seed I could not determine what they were. Hence my elation can be judged — at least by any scientist — when I discovered signs of the plants budding as if about to flower. At this time they were six feet or so in height with main stems as thick as a man's body and most remarkable appearing things. The buds — if buds they were — broke through the outer bark or skin at the terminal joints of the branches, and at the same time I noticed a distinct swelling or enlargement of these joints.
There were indications of long delicate petals of brilliant colors, and it was obvious that the flowers would be of truly gigantic size. But my expectations had fallen far short of the reality, when, on visiting the spot one morning, I found one of the buds had partly opened. I had never seen anything like it or even resembling it. It was not by any means fully developed, and I judged from its appearance that it was a night-blooming plant and that in order to see the flower in its full glory I would be obliged to visit the spot after dark. However it was sufficiently open for me to obtain a good idea of its character, and I examined it with the most intense interest. It appeared semi-transparent, was very fleshy, or I might even say gelatinous, and was coated with a shining, moist, and apparently sticky substance. At the stem or base, for there was no true stem, it was a dark intense purple and bulbous in form. Beyond this purple area was a border or fringe of pure white membranous growth, and beyond this were the innumerable long and multicolored petals — or so I judged them — that were folded or coiled together like the partly opened petals of a gigantic chrysanthemum flower.
In size the strange bloom was nearly four feet in length by three feet in diameter. It had no appreciable odor, and though I was greatly tempted to do so, I forbore touching it for fear of injuring it and preventing it from expanding to its full perfection. Yet, strange as it may seem, there was something about it, despite its beauty of form, its colors and its translucent gelatinous appearance , that was repellent. It was no doubt on account of its bizarre appearance, for I have noted that the human mind naturally recoils from or at least is suspicious of any unusual or strange form of some well-known natural object. Even human freaks have this effect upon the majority of persons, and the flower and the weird growth that bore it were sufficiently unusual and strange to create a vague dislike and even distrust in even my scientific mind.