1 November.—All day long we have travelled, and at a good speed.
The horses seem to know that they are being kindly treated, for
they go willingly their full stage at best speed. We have now had
so many changes and find the same thing so constantly that we are
encouraged to think that the journey will be an easy one. Dr. Van
Helsing is laconic, he tells the farmers that he is hurrying to
Bistritz, and pays them well to make the exchange of horses. We get
hot soup, or coffee, or tea, and off we go. It is a lovely country.
Full of beauties of all imaginable kinds, and the people are brave,
and strong, and simple, and seem full of nice qualities. They are
very, very superstitious. In the first house where we stopped, when
the woman who served us saw the scar on my forehead, she crossed
herself and put out two fingers towards me, to keep off the evil
eye. I believe they went to the trouble of putting an extra amount
of garlic into our food, and I can’t abide garlic. Ever since then
I have taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and so have
escaped their suspicions. We are travelling fast, and as we have no
driver with us to carry tales, we go ahead of scandal. But I
daresay that fear of the evil eye will follow hard behind us all
the way. The Professor seems tireless. All day he would not take
any rest, though he made me sleep for a long spell. At sunset time
he hypnotized me, and he says I answered as usual,”darkness,
lapping water and creaking wood.” So our enemy is still on the
river. I am afraid to think of Jonathan, but somehow I have now no
fear for him, or for myself. I write this whilst we wait in a
farmhouse for the horses to be ready. Dr. Van Helsing is sleeping.
Poor dear, he looks very tired and old and grey, but his mouth is
set as firmly as a conqueror’s. Even in his sleep he is intense
with resolution. When we have well started I must make him rest
whilst I drive. I shall tell him that we have days before us, and
he must not break down when most of all his strength will be
needed … All is ready. We are off shortly.
2 November, morning.—I was successful, and we took turns driving
all night. Now the day is on us, bright though cold. There is a
strange heaviness in the air. I say heaviness for want of a better
word. I mean that it oppresses us both. It is very cold, and only
our warm furs keep us comfortable. At dawn Van Helsing hypnotized
me. He says I answered “darkness, creaking wood and roaring water,”
so the river is changing as they ascend. I do hope that my darling
will not run any chance of danger, more than need be, but we are in
God’s hands.
2 November, night.—All day long driving. The country gets wilder
as we go, and the great spurs of the Carpathians, which at Veresti
seemed so far from us and so low on the horizon, now seem to gather
round us and tower in front. We both seem in good spirits. I think
we make an effort each to cheer the other, in the doing so we cheer
ourselves. Dr. Van Helsing says that by morning we shall reach the
Borgo Pass. The houses are very few here now, and the Professor
says that the last horse we got will have to go on with us, as we
may not be able to change. He got two in addition to the two we
changed, so that now we have a rude four-in-hand. The dear horses
are patient and good, and they give us no trouble. We are not
worried with other travellers, and so even I can drive. We shall
get to the Pass in daylight. We do not want to arrive before. So we
take it easy, and have each a long rest in turn. Oh, what will
tomorrow bring to us? We go to seek the place where my poor darling
suffered so much. God grant that we may be guided aright, and that
He will deign to watch over my husband and those dear to us both,
and who are in such deadly peril. As for me, I am not worthy in His
sight. Alas! I am unclean to His eyes, and shall be until He may
deign to let me stand forth in His sight as one of those who have
not incurred His wrath.
MEMORANDUM BY ABRAHAM VAN HELSING
4 November.—This to my old and true friend John Seward, M. D.,
of Purefleet, London, in case I may not see him. It may explain. It
is morning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have kept
alive, Madam Mina aiding me. It is cold, cold. So cold that the
grey heavy sky is full of snow, which when it falls will settle for
all winter as the ground is hardening to receive it. It seems to
have affected Madam Mina. She has been so heavy of head all day
that she was not like herself. She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps!
She who is usual so alert, have done literally nothing all the day.
She even have lost her appetite. She make no entry into her little
diary, she who write so faithful at every pause. Something whisper
to me that all is not well. However, tonight she is more vif. Her
long sleep all day have refresh and restore her, for now she is all
sweet and bright as ever. At sunset I try to hypnotize her, but
alas! with no effect. The power has grown less and less with each
day, and tonight it fail me altogether. Well, God’s will be done,
whatever it may be, and whithersoever it may lead!
Now to the historical, for as Madam Mina write not in her
stenography, I must, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so each day
of us may not go unrecorded.
We got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise yesterday morning.
When I saw the signs of the dawn I got ready for the hypnotism. We
stopped our carriage, and got down so that there might be no
disturbance. I made a couch with furs, and Madam Mina, lying down,
yield herself as usual, but more slow and more short time than
ever, to the hypnotic sleep. As before, came the answer, “darkness
and the swirling of water.” Then she woke, bright and radiant and
we go on our way and soon reach the Pass. At this time and place,
she become all on fire with zeal. Some new guiding power be in her
manifested, for she point to a road and say, “This is the way.”
“How know you it?” I ask.
“Of course I know it,’ she answer, and with a pause, add, “Have
not my Jonathan travelled it and wrote of his travel?”
At first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there be
only one such byroad. It is used but little, and very different
from the coach road from the Bukovina to Bistritz, which is more
wide and hard, and more of use.
So we came down this road. When we meet other ways, not always
were we sure that they were roads at all, for they be neglect and
light snow have fallen, the horses know and they only. I give rein
to them, and they go on so patient. By and by we find all the
things which Jonathan have note in that wonderful diary of him.
Then we go on for long, long hours and hours. At the first, I tell
Madam Mina to sleep. She try, and she succeed. She sleep all the
time, till at the last, I feel myself to suspicious grow, and
attempt to wake her. But she sleep on, and I may not wake her
though I try. I do not wish to try too hard lest I harm her. For I
know that she have suffer much, and sleep at times be all-in-all to
her. I think I drowse myself, for all of sudden I feel guilt, as
though I have done something. I find myself bolt up, with the reins
in my hand, and the good horses go along jog, jog, just as ever. I
look down and find Madam Mina still asleep. It is now not far off
sunset time, and over the snow the light of the sun flow in big
yellow flood, so that we throw great long shadow on where the
mountain rise so steep. For we are going up, and up, and all is oh,
so wild and rocky, as though it were the end of the world.
Then I arouse Madam Mina. This time she wake with not much
trouble, and then I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. But she sleep
not, being as though I were not. Still I try and try, till all at
once I find her and myself in dark, so I look round, and find that
the sun have gone down. Madam Mina laugh, and I turn and look at
her. She is now quite awake, and look so well as I never saw her
since that night at Carfax when we first enter the Count’s house. I
am amaze, and not at ease then. But she is so bright and tender and
thoughtful for me that I forget all fear. I light a fire, for we
have brought supply of wood with us, and she prepare food while I
undo the horses and set them, tethered in shelter, to feed. Then
when I return to the fire she have my supper ready. I go to help
her, but she smile, and tell me that she have eat already. That she
was so hungry that she would not wait. I like it not, and I have
grave doubts. But I fear to affright her, and so I am silent of it.
She help me and I eat alone, and then we wrap in fur and lie beside
the fire, and I tell her to sleep while I watch. But presently I
forget all of watching. And when I sudden remember that I watch, I
find her lying quiet, but awake, and looking at me with so bright
eyes. Once, twice more the same occur, and I get much sleep till
before morning. When I wake I try to hypnotize her, but alas!
Though she shut her eyes obedient, she may not sleep. The sun rise
up, and up, and up, and then sleep come to her too late, but so
heavy that she will not wake. I have to lift her up, and place her
sleeping in the carriage when I have harnessed the horses and made
all ready. Madam still sleep, and she look in her sleep more
healthy and more redder than before. And I like it not. And I am
afraid, afraid, afraid! I am afraid of all things, even to think
but I must go on my way. The stake we play for is life and death,
or more than these, and we must not flinch.
5 November, morning.—Let me be accurate in everything, for
though you and I have seen some strange things together, you may at
the first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad. That the many horrors
and the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.
All yesterday we travel, always getting closer to the mountains,
and moving into a more and more wild and desert land. There are
great, frowning precipices and much falling water, and Nature seem
to have held sometime her carnival. Madam Mina still sleep and
sleep. And though I did have hunger and appeased it, I could not
waken her, even for food. I began to fear that the fatal spell of
the place was upon her, tainted as she is with that Vampire
baptism. “Well,” said I to myself, “if it be that she sleep all the
day, it shall also be that I do not sleep at night.” As we travel
on the rough road, for a road of an ancient and imperfect kind
there was, I held down my head and slept.
Again I waked with a sense of guilt and of time passed, and
found Madam Mina still sleeping, and the sun low down. But all was
indeed changed. The frowning mountains seemed further away, and we
were near the top of a steep rising hill, on summit of which was
such a castle as Jonathan tell of in his diary. At once I exulted
and feared. For now, for good or ill, the end was near.
I woke Madam Mina, and again tried to hypnotize her, but alas!
unavailing till too late. Then, ere the great dark came upon us,
for even after down sun the heavens reflected the gone sun on the
snow, and all was for a time in a great twilight. I took out the
horses and fed them in what shelter I could. Then I make a fire,
and near it I make Madam Mina, now awake and more charming than
ever, sit comfortable amid her rugs. I got ready food, but she
would not eat, simply saying that she had not hunger. I did not
press her, knowing her unavailingness. But I myself eat, for I must
needs now be strong for all. Then, with the fear on me of what
might be, I drew a ring so big for her comfort, round where Madam
Mina sat. And over the ring I passed some of the wafer, and I broke
it fine so that all was well guarded. She sat still all the time,
so still as one dead. And she grew whiter and even whiter till the
snow was not more pale, and no word she said. But when I drew near,
she clung to me, and I could know that the poor soul shook her from
head to feet with a tremor that was pain to feel.
I said to her presently, when she had grown more quiet, “Will
you not come over to the fire?” for I wished to make a test of what
she could. She rose obedient, but when she have made a step she
stopped, and stood as one stricken.
“Why not go on?” I asked. She shook her head, and coming back,
sat down in her place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of
one waked from sleep, she said simply,”I cannot!” and remained
silent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what she could not, none of
those that we dreaded could. Though there might be danger to her
body, yet her soul was safe!
Presently the horses began to scream, and tore at their tethers
till I came to them and quieted them. When they did feel my hands
on them, they whinnied low as in joy,and licked at my hands and
were quiet for a time. Many times through the night did I come to
them, till it arrive to the cold hour when all nature is at lowest,
and every time my coming was with quiet of them. In the cold hour
the fire began to die, and I was about stepping forth to replenish
it, for now the snow came in flying sweeps and with it a chill
mist. Even in the dark there was a light of some kind, as there
ever is over snow, and it seemed as though the snow flurries and
the wreaths of mist took shape as of women with trailing garments.
All was in dead, grim silence only that the horses whinnied and
cowered, as if in terror of the worst. I began to fear, horrible
fears. But then came to me the sense of safety in that ring wherein
I stood. I began too, to think that my imaginings were of the
night, and the gloom, and the unrest that I have gone through, and
all the terrible anxiety. It was as though my memories of all
Jonathan’s horrid experience were befooling me. For the snow flakes
and the mist began to wheel and circle round, till I could get as
though a shadowy glimpse of those women that would have kissed him.
And then the horses cowered lower and lower, and moaned in terror
as men do in pain. Even the madness of fright was not to them, so
that they could break away. I feared for my dear Madam Mina when
these weird figures drew near and circled round. I looked at her,
but she sat calm, and smiled at me. When I would have stepped to
the fire to replenish it, she caught me and held me back, and
whispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so low it
was.
“No! No! Do not go without. Here you are safe!”
I turned to her, and looking in her eyes said, “But you? It is
for you that I fear!”
Whereat she laughed, a laugh low and unreal, and said, “Fear for
me! Why fear for me? None safer in all the world from them than I
am,”and as I wondered at the meaning of her words, a puff of wind
made the flame leap up, and I see the red scar on her forehead.
Then, alas! I knew. Did I not, I would soon have learned, for the
wheeling figures of mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever
without the Holy circle. Then they began to materialize till, if
God have not taken away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes.
There were before me in actual flesh the same three women that
Jonathan saw in the room, when they would have kissed his throat. I
knew the swaying round forms, the bright hard eyes, the white
teeth, the ruddy color, the voluptuous lips. They smiled ever at
poor dear Madam Mina. And as their laugh came through the silence
of the night, they twined their arms and pointed to her, and said
in those so sweet tingling tones that Jonathan said were of the
intolerable sweetness of the water glasses, “Come, sister. Come to
us. Come!”
In fear I turned to my poor Madam Mina, and my heart with
gladness leapt like flame. For oh! the terror in her sweet eyes,
the repulsion, the horror, told a story to my heart that was all of
hope. God be thanked she was not, yet of them. I seized some of the
firewood which was by me, and holding out some of the Wafer,
advanced on them towards the fire. They drew back before me, and
laughed their low horrid laugh. I fed the fire, and feared them
not. For I knew that we were safe within the ring, which she could
not leave no more than they could enter. The horses had ceased to
moan, and lay still on the ground. The snow fell on them softly,
and they grew whiter. I knew that there was for the poor beasts no
more of terror.
And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall
through the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe
and terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon
life was to me again. At the first coming of the dawn the horrid
figures melted in the whirling mist and snow. The wreaths of
transparent gloom moved away towards the castle, and were lost.
Instinctively, with the dawn coming, I turned to Madam Mina,
intending to hypnotize her. But she lay in a deep and sudden sleep,
from which I could not wake her. I tried to hypnotize through her
sleep, but she made no response, none at all, and the day broke. I
fear yet to stir. I have made my fire and have seen the horses,
they are all dead. Today I have much to do here, and I keep waiting
till the sun is up high. For there may be places where I must go,
where that sunlight, though snow and mist obscure it, will be to me
a safety.
I will strengthen me with breakfast, and then I will do my
terrible work. Madam Mina still sleeps, and God be thanked! She is
calm in her sleep …
JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL
4 November, evening.—The accident to the launch has been a
terrible thing for us. Only for it we should have overtaken the
boat long ago, and by now my dear Mina would have been free. I fear
to think of her, off on the wolds near that horrid place. We have
got horses, and we follow on the track. I note this whilst
Godalming is getting ready. We have our arms. The Szgany must look
out if they mean to fight. Oh, if only Morris and Seward were with
us. We must only hope! If I write no more Goodby Mina! God bless
and keep you.
DR. SEWARD’S DIARY
5 November.—With the dawn we saw the body of Szgany before us
dashing away from the river with their leiter wagon. They
surrounded it in a cluster, and hurried along as though beset. The
snow is falling lightly and there is a strange excitement in the
air. It may be our own feelings, but the depression is strange. Far
off I hear the howling of wolves. The snow brings them down from
the mountains, and there are dangers to all of us, and from all
sides. The horses are nearly ready, and we are soon off. We ride to
death of some one. God alone knows who, or where, or what, or when,
or how it may be …
DR. VAN HELSING’S MEMORANDUM
5 November, afternoon.—I am at least sane. Thank God for that
mercy at all events, though the proving it has been dreadful. When
I left Madam Mina sleeping within the Holy circle, I took my way to
the castle. The blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from
Veresti was useful, though the doors were all open I broke them off
the rusty hinges, lest some ill intent or ill chance should close
them, so that being entered I might not get out. Jonathan’s bitter
experience served me here. By memory of his diary I found my way to
the old chapel, for I knew that here my work lay. The air was
oppressive. It seemed as if there was some sulphurous fume, which
at times made me dizzy. Either there was a roaring in my ears or I
heard afar off the howl of wolves. Then I bethought me of my dear
Madam Mina, and I was in terrible plight. The dilemma had me
between his horns.
Her, I had not dare to take into this place, but left safe from
the Vampire in that Holy circle. And yet even there would be the
wolf! I resolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the wolves
we must submit, if it were God’s will. At any rate it was only
death and freedom beyond. So did I choose for her. Had it but been
for myself the choice had been easy, the maw of the wolf were
better to rest in than the grave of the Vampire! So I make my
choice to go on with my work.
I knew that there were at least three graves to find, graves
that are inhabit. So I search, and search, and I find one of them.
She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty
that I shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not
that in the old time, when such things were, many a man who set
forth to do such a task as mine, found at the last his heart fail
him, and then his nerve. So he delay, and delay, and delay, till
the mere beauty and the fascination of the wanton Undead have
hypnotize him. And he remain on and on, till sunset come, and the
Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair woman
open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss, and
the man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire
fold. One more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the
Undead! …
There is some fascination, surely, when I am moved by the mere
presence of such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb fretted
with age and heavy with the dust of centuries, though there be that
horrid odor such as the lairs of the Count have had. Yes, I was
moved. I, Van Helsing, with all my purpose and with my motive for
hate. I was moved to a yearning for delay which seemed to paralyze
my faculties and to clog my very soul. It may have been that the
need of natural sleep, and the strange oppression of the air were
beginning to overcome me. Certain it was that I was lapsing into
sleep, the open eyed sleep of one who yields to a sweet
fascination, when there came through the snow stilled air a long,
low wail, so full of woe and pity that it woke me like the sound of
a clarion. For it was the voice of my dear Madam Mina that I
heard.
Then I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found by
wrenching away tomb tops one other of the sisters, the other dark
one. I dared not pause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest
once more I should begin to be enthrall. But I go on searching
until, presently, I find in a high great tomb as if made to one
much beloved that other fair sister which, like Jonathan I had seen
to gather herself out of the atoms of the mist. She was so fair to
look on, so radiantly beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that
the very instinct of man in me, which calls some of my sex to love
and to protect one of hers, made my head whirl with new emotion.
But God be thanked, that soul wail of my dear Madam Mina had not
died out of my ears. And, before the spell could be wrought further
upon me, I had nerved myself to my wild work. By this tim e I had
searched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as I could tell. And
as there had been only three of these Undead phantoms around us in
the night, I took it that there were no more of active Undead
existent. There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest.
Huge it was, and nobly proportioned. On it was but one word.
DRACULA
This then was the Undead home of the King Vampire, to whom so
many more were due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain
what I knew. Before I began to restore these women to their dead
selves through my awful work, I laid in Dracula’s tomb some of the
Wafer, and so banished him from it, Undead, for ever.
Then began my terrible task, and I dreaded it. Had it been but
one, it had been easy, comparative. But three! To begin twice more
after I had been through a deed of horror. For it was terrible with
the sweet Miss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones
who had survived through centuries, and who had been strenghtened
by the passing of the years. Who would, if they could, have fought
for their foul lives …
Oh, my friend John, but it was butcher work. Had I not been
nerved by thoughts of other dead, and of the living over whom hung
such a pall of fear, I could not have gone on. I tremble and
tremble even yet, though till all was over, God be thanked, my
nerve did stand. Had I not seen the repose in the first place, and
the gladness that stole over it just ere the final dissolution
came, as realization that the soul had been won, I could not have
gone further with my butchery. I could not have endured the horrid
screeching as the stake drove home, the plunging of writhing form,
and lips of bloody foam. I should have fled in terror and left my
work undone. But it is over! And the poor souls, I can pity them
now and weep, as I think of them placid each in her full sleep of
death for a short moment ere fading. For, friend John, hardly had
my knife severed the head of each, before the whole body began to
melt away and crumble into its native dust, as though the death
that should have come centuries agone had at last assert himself
and say at once and loud,”I am here!”
Before I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never
more can the Count enter there Undead.
When I stepped into the circle where Madam Mina slept, she woke
from her sleep and, seeing me, cried out in pain that I had endured
too much.
“Come!” she said, “come away from this awful place! Let us go to
meet my husband who is, I know, coming towards us.” She was looking
thin and pale and weak. But her eyes were pure and glowed with
fervor. I was glad to see her paleness and her illness, for my mind
was full of the fresh horror of that ruddy vampire sleep.
And so with trust and hope, and yet full of fear, we go eastward
to meet our friends, and him, whom Madam Mina tell me that she know
are coming to meet us.
MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL
6 November.—It was late in the afternoon when the Professor and
I took our way towards the east whence I knew Jonathan was coming.
We did not go fast, though the way was steeply downhill, for w e
had to take heavy rugs and wraps with us. We dared not face the
possibility of being left without warmth in the cold and the snow.
We had to take some of our provisions too, for we were in a perfect
desolation, and so far as we could see through the snowfall, there
was not even the sign of habitation. When we had gone about a mile,
I was tired with the heavy walking and sat down to rest. Then we
looked back and saw where the clear line of Dracula’s castle cut
the sky. For we were so deep under the hill whereon it was set that
the angle of perspective of the Carpathian mountains was far below
it. We saw it in all its grandeur, perched a thousand feet on the
summit of a sheer precipice, and with seemingly a great gap between
it and the steep of the adjacent mountain on any side. There was
something wild and uncanny about the place. We could hear the
distant howling of wolves. They were far off, but the sound, even
though coming muffled through the deadening snowfall, was full of
terror. I knew from the way Dr. Van Helsing was searching about
that he was trying to seek some strategic point, where we would be
less exposed in case of attack. The rough roadway still led
downwards. We could trace it through the drifted snow.
In a little while the Professor signalled to me, so I got up and
joined him. He had found a wonderful spot, a sort of natural hollow
in a rock, with an entrance like a doorway between two boulders. He
took me by the hand and drew me in.
“See!” he said,”here you will be in shelter. And if the wolves
do come I can meet them one by one.”
He brought in our furs, and made a snug nest for me, and got out
some provisions and forced them upon me. But I could not eat, to
even try to do so was repulsive to me, and much as I would have
liked to please him, I could not bring myself to the attempt. He
looked very sad, but did not reproach me. Taking his field glasses
from the case, he stood on the top of the rock, and began to search
the horizon.
Suddenly he called out, “Look! Madam Mina, look!Look!”
I sprang up and stood beside him on the rock. He handed me his
glasses and pointed. The snow was now falling more heavily, and
swirled about fiercely, for a high wind was beginning to blow.
However, there were times when there were pauses between the snow
flurries and I could see a long way round. From the height where we
were it was possible to see a great distance. And far off, beyond
the white waste of snow, I could see the river lying like a black
ribbon in kinks and curls as it wound its way. Straight in front of
us and not far off, in fact so near that I wondered we had not
noticed before, came a group of mounted men hurrying along. In the
midst of them was a cart, a long leiter wagon which swept from side
to side, like a dog’s tail wagging, with each stern inequality of
the road. Outlined against the snow as they were, I could see from
the men’s clothes that they were peasants or gypsies of some
kind.
On the cart was a great square chest. My heart leaped as I saw
it, for I felt that the end was coming. The evening was now drawing
close, and well I knew that at sunset the Thing, which was till
then imprisoned there, would take new freedom and could in any of
many forms elude pursuit. In fear I turned to the Professor. To my
consternation, however, he was not there. An instant later, I saw
him below me. Round the rock he had drawn a circle, such as we had
found shelter in last night.
When he had completed it he stood beside me again saying, “At
least you shall be safe here from him!” He took the glasses from
me, and at the next lull of the snow swept the whole space below
us. “See,”he said,”they come quickly. They are flogging the horses,
and galloping as hard as they can.”
He paused and went on in a hollow voice, “They are racing for
the sunset. We may be too late. God’s will be done!” Down came
another blinding rush of driving snow, and the whole landscape was
blotted out. It soon passed, however, and once more his glasses
were fixed on the plain.
Then came a sudden cry, “Look! Look! Look! See, two horsemen
follow fast, coming up from the south. It must be Quincey and John.
Take the glass. Look before the snow blots it all out!” I took it
and looked. The two men might be Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris. I knew
at all events that neither of them was Jonathan. At the same time I
knew that Jonathan was not far off. Looking around I saw on the
north side of the coming party two other men, riding at breakneck
speed. One of them I knew was Jonathan, and the other I took, of
course, to be Lord Godalming. They too, were pursuing the party
with the cart. When I told the Professor he shouted in glee like a
schoolboy, and after looking intently till a snow fall made sight
impossible, he laid his Winchester rifle ready for use against the
boulder at the opening of our shelter.
“They are all converging,” he said.”When the time comes we shall
have gypsies on all sides.” I got out my revolver ready to hand,
for whilst we were speaking the howling of wolves came louder and
closer. When the snow storm abated a moment we looked again. It was
strange to see the snow falling in such heavy flakes close to us,
and beyond, the sun shining more and more brightly as it sank down
towards the far mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I
could see here and there dots moving singly and in twos and threes
and larger numbers. The wolves were gathering for their prey.
Every instant seemed an age whilst we waited. The wind came now
in fierce bursts, and the snow was driven with fury as it swept
upon us in circling eddies. At times we could not see an arm’s
length before us. But at others, as the hollow sounding wind swept
by us, it seemed to clear the air space around us so that we could
see afar off. We had of late been so accustomed to watch for
sunrise and sunset, that we knew with fair accuracy when it would
be. And we knew that before long the sun would set. It was hard to
believe that by our watches it was less than an hour that we waited
in that rocky shelter before the various bodies began to converge
close upon us. The wind came now with fiercer and more bitter
sweeps, and more steadily from the north. It seemingly had driven
the snow clouds from us, for with only occasional bursts, the snow
fell. We could distinguish clearly the individuals of each party,
the pursued and the pursuers. Strangely enough those pursued did
not seem to realize, or at least to care, that they were pursued.
They seemed, however, to hasten with redoubled speed as the sun
dropped lower and lower on the mountain tops.
Closer and closer they drew. The Professor and I crouched down
behind our rock, and held our weapons ready. I could see that he
was determined that they should not pass. One and all were quite
unaware of our presence.
All at once two voices shouted out to, “Halt!” One was my
Jonathan’s, raised in a high key of passion. The other Mr. Morris’
strong resolute tone of quiet command. The gypsies may not have
known the language, but there was no mistaking the tone, in
whatever tongue the words were spoken. Instinctively they reined
in, and at the instant Lord Godalming and Jonathan dashed up at one
side and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris on the other. The leader of the
gypsies, a splendid looking fellow who sat his horse like a
centaur, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to his
companions some word to proceed. They lashed the horses which
sprang forward. But the four men raised their Winchester rifles,
and in an unmistakable way commanded them to stop. At the same
moment Dr. Van Helsing and I rose behind the rock and pointed our
weapons at them. Seeing that they were surrounded the men tightened
their reins and drew up. The leader turned to them and gave a word
at which every man of the gypsy party drew what weapon he carried,
knife or pistol,and held himself in readiness to attack. Issue was
joined in an instant.
The leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his horse
out in front, and pointed first to the sun, now close down on the
hill tops, and then to the castle, said something which I did not
understand. For answer, all four men of our party threw themselves
from their horses and dashed towards the cart. I should have felt
terrible fear at seeing Jonathan in such danger, but that the ardor
of battle must have been upon me as well as the rest of them. I
felt no fear, but only a wild, surging desire to do something.
Seeing the quick movement of our parties, the leader of the gypsies
gave a command. His men instantly formed round the cart in a sort
of undisciplined endeavor, each one shouldering and pushing the
other in his eagerness to carry out the order.
In the midst of this I could see that Jonathan on one side of
the ring of men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a way to
the cart. It was evident that they were bent on finishing their
task before the sun should set. Nothing seemed to stop or even to
hinder them.Neither the levelled weapons nor the flashing knives of
the gypsies in front, nor the howling of the wolves behind,
appeared to even attract their attention. Jonathan’s impetuosity,
and the manifest singleness of his purpose, seemed to overawe those
in front of him. Instinctively they cowered aside and let him pass.
In an instant he had jumped upon the cart, and with a strength
which seemed incredible, raised the great box, and flung it over
the wheel to the ground. In the meantime, Mr. Morris had had to use
force to pass through his side of the ring of Szgany. All the time
I had been breathlessly watching Jonathan I had, with the tail of
my eye, seen him pressing desperately forward, and had seen the
knives of the gypsies flash as he won a way through them, and they
cut at him. He had parried with his great bowie knife, and at first
I thought that he too had come through in safety. But as he sprang
beside Jonathan, who had by now jumped from the cart, I could see
that with his left hand he was clutching at his side, and that the
blood was spurting through his fingers. He did not delay
notwithstanding this, for as Jonathan, with desperate energy,
attacked one end of the chest, attempting to prize off the lid with
his great Kukri knife, he attacked the other frantically with his
bowie. Under the efforts of both men the lid began to yield. The
nails drew with a screeching sound, and the top of the box was
thrown back.
By this time the gypsies, seeing themselves covered by the
Winchesters, and at the mercy of Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward, had
given in and made no further resistance. The sun was almost down on
the mountain tops, and the shadows of the whole group fell upon the
snow. I saw the Count lying within the box upon the earth, some of
which the rude falling from the cart had scattered over him. He was
deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with
the horrible vindictive look which I knew so well.
As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate
in them turned to triumph.
But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan’s
great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat.
Whilst at the same moment Mr. Morris’s bowie knife plunged into the
heart.
It was like a miracle, but before our very eyes, and almost in
the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and
passed from our sight.
I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of
final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I
never could have imagined might have rested there.
The Castle of Dracula now stood out against the red sky, and
every stone of its broken battlements was articulated against the
light of the setting sun.
The gypsies, taking us as in some way the cause of the
extraordinary disappearance of the dead man, turned, without a
word, and rode away as if for their lives. Those who were unmounted
jumped upon the leiter wagon and shouted to the horsemen not to
desert them. The wolves, which had withdrawn to a safe distance,
followed in their wake, leaving us alone.
Mr. Morris, who had sunk to the ground, leaned on his elbow,
holding his hand pressed to his side. The blood still gushed
through his fingers. I flew to him, for the Holy circle did not now
keep me back, so did the two doctors. Jonathan knelt behind him and
the wounded man laid back his head on his shoulder. With a sigh he
took, with a feeble effort, my hand in that of his own which was
unstained.
He must have seen the anguish of my heart in my face, for he
smiled at me and said, “I am only too happy to have been of
service! Oh, God!” he cried suddenly, struggling to a sitting
posture and pointing to me. “It was worth for this to die! Look!
Look!”
The sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and the red
gleams fell upon my face, so that it was bathed in rosy light. With
one impulse the men sank on their knees and a deep and earnest
“Amen” broke from all as their eyes followed the pointing of his
finger.
The dying man spoke, “Now God be thanked that all has not been
in vain! See! The snow is not more stainless than her forehead! The
curse has passed away!”
And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he died,
a gallant gentleman.
NOTE
Seven years ago we all went through the flames. And the
happiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth the
pain we endured. It is an added joy to Mina and to me that our
boy’s birthday is the same day as that on which Quincey Morris
died. His mother holds, I know, the secret belief that some of our
brave friend’s spirit has passed into him. His bundle of names
links all our little band of men together. But we call him
Quincey.
In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania,
and went over the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of
vivid and terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe
that the things which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with
our own ears were living truths. Every trace of all that had been
was blotted out. The castle stood as before, reared high above a
waste of desolation.
When we got home we were talking of the old time, which we could
all look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both
happily married. I took the papers from the safe where they had
been ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the
fact, that in all the mass of material of which the record is
composed, there is hardly one authentic document. Nothing but a
mass of typewriting, except the later notebooks of Mina and Seward
and myself, and Van Helsing’s memorandum. We could hardly ask any
one, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs of so wild a
story. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his
knee.
“We want no proofs. We ask none to believe us! This boy will
some day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already
he knows her sweetness and loving care. Later on he will understand
how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her
sake.
JONATHAN HARKER