{"id":31,"date":"2019-02-25T20:46:59","date_gmt":"2019-02-25T20:46:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/dracula\/chapter\/dracula-7\/"},"modified":"2019-02-26T18:49:42","modified_gmt":"2019-02-26T18:49:42","slug":"7","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/chapter\/7\/","title":{"raw":"Chapter 7 Cutting from \"The Dailygraph,\" 8 August","rendered":"Chapter 7 Cutting from “The Dailygraph,” 8 August"},"content":{"raw":"
\r\n\r\n(PASTED IN MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL)\r\n\r\nFrom a correspondent.\r\n\r\nWhitby.\r\n\r\nOne of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been\r\nexperienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather\r\nhad been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the\r\nmonth of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known,\r\nand the great body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits\r\nto Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes,\r\nand the various trips in the neighborhood of Whitby. The steamers\r\nEmma and Scarborough made trips up and down the coast, and there\r\nwas an unusual amount of `tripping' both to and from Whitby. The\r\nday was unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips\r\nwho frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from the commanding\r\neminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east,\r\ncalled attention to a sudden show of `mares tails' high in the sky\r\nto the northwest. The wind was then blowing from the southwest in\r\nthe mild degree which in barometrical language is ranked `No. 2,\r\nlight breeze.'\r\n\r\nThe coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old\r\nfisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on\r\nweather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner\r\nthe coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very\r\nbeautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly coloured clouds,\r\nthat there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in\r\nthe old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below\r\nthe black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western\r\nsky, its downward was was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset\r\ncolour, flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of\r\ngold, with here and there masses not large, but of seemingly\r\nabsolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as\r\ncolossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters,\r\nand doubtless some of the sketches of the `Prelude to the Great\r\nStorm' will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next.\r\n\r\nMore than one captain made up his mind then and there that his\r\n`cobble' or his `mule', as they term the different classes of\r\nboats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The\r\nwind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there\r\nwas a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity\r\nwhich, on the approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive\r\nnature.\r\n\r\nThere were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting\r\nsteamers, which usually hug the shore so closely, kept well to\r\nseaward, and but few fishing boats were in sight. The only sail\r\nnoticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was\r\nseemingly going westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of her\r\nofficers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she remained in\r\nsight, and efforts were made to signal her to reduce sail in the\r\nface of her danger. Before the night shut down she was seen with\r\nsails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of\r\nthe sea.\r\n\r\n\"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.\"\r\n\r\nShortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite\r\noppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a\r\nsheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly\r\nheard, and the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was\r\nlike a dischord in the great harmony of nature's silence. A little\r\nafter midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high\r\noverhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow\r\nbooming.\r\n\r\nThen without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which,\r\nat the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible\r\nto realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed.\r\nThe waves rose in growing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till\r\nin a very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and\r\ndevouring monster. Whitecrested waves beat madly on the level sands\r\nand rushed up the shelving cliffs. Others broke over the piers, and\r\nwith their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise\r\nfrom the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour.\r\n\r\nThe wind roared like thunder, and blew with such force that it\r\nwas with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or clung\r\nwith grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to\r\nclear the entire pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the\r\nfatalities of the night would have increased manifold. To add to\r\nthe difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came\r\ndrifting inland. White, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly\r\nfashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort\r\nof imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were\r\ntouching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and\r\nmany a one shuddered at the wreaths of sea-mist swept by.\r\n\r\nAt times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could\r\nbe seen in the glare of the lightning, which came thick and fast,\r\nfollowed by such peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead\r\nseemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.\r\n\r\nSome of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur\r\nand of absorbing interest. The sea, running mountains high, threw\r\nskywards with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the\r\ntempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away into space. Here and\r\nthere a fishing boat, with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter\r\nbefore the blast, now and again the white wings of a storm-tossed\r\nseabird. On the summit of the East Cliff the new searchlight was\r\nready for experiment, but had not yet been tried. The officers in\r\ncharge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of\r\nonrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once or twice\r\nits service was most effective, as when a fishing boat, with\r\ngunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance\r\nof the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the\r\npiers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a\r\nshout of joy from the mass of people on the shore, a shout which\r\nfor a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was then swept away in\r\nits rush.\r\n\r\nBefore long the searchlight discovered some distance away a\r\nschooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had\r\nbeen noticed earlier in the evening. The wind had by this time\r\nbacked to the east, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on\r\nthe cliff as they realized the terrible danger in which she now\r\nwas.\r\n\r\nBetween her and the port lay the great flat reef on which so\r\nmany good ships have from time to time suffered, and, with the wind\r\nblowing from its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that\r\nshe should fetch the entrance of the harbour.\r\n\r\nIt was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so\r\ngreat that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost\r\nvisible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with\r\nsuch speed that, in the words of one old salt, \"she must fetch up\r\nsomewhere, if it was only in hell\". Then came another rush of\r\nsea-fog, greater than any hitherto, a mass of dank mist, which\r\nseemed to close on all things like a gray pall, and left available\r\nto men only the organ of hearing, for the roar of the tempest, and\r\nthe crash of the thunder, and the booming of the mighty billows\r\ncame through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The rays of\r\nthe searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the\r\nEast Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited\r\nbreathless.\r\n\r\nThe wind suddenly shifted to the northeast, and the remnant of\r\nthe sea fog melted in the blast. And then, mirabile dictu, between\r\nthe piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong\r\nspeed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail\r\nset, and gained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed\r\nher, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the\r\nhelm was a corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and\r\nfro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on the\r\ndeck at all.\r\n\r\nA great awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by\r\na miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a\r\ndead man! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to\r\nwrite these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing across the\r\nharbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel\r\nwashed by many tides and many storms into the southeast corner of\r\nthe pier jutting under the East Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill\r\nPier.\r\n\r\nThere was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel\r\ndrove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained,\r\nand some of the `top-hammer' came crashing down. But, strangest of\r\nall, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang\r\nup on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running\r\nforward, jumped from the bow on the sand.\r\n\r\nMaking straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard hangs\r\nover the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat\r\ntombstones, thruffsteans or through-stones, as they call them in\r\nWhitby vernacular, actually project over where the sustaining cliff\r\nhas fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed\r\nintensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.\r\n\r\nIt so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill\r\nPier, as all those whose houses are in close proximity were either\r\nin bed or were out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on\r\nduty on the eastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to\r\nthe little pier, was the first to climb aboard. The men working the\r\nsearchlight, after scouring the entrance of the harbour without\r\nseeing anything, then turned the light on the derelict and kept it\r\nthere. The coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the wheel,\r\nbent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under some\r\nsudden emotion. This seemed to pique general curiosity, and quite a\r\nnumber of people began to run.\r\n\r\nIt is a good way round from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to\r\nTate Hill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good runner, and\r\ncame well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found\r\nalready assembled on the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and\r\npolice refused to allow to come on board. By the courtesy of the\r\nchief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted to climb on\r\ndeck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman whilst\r\nactually lashed to the wheel.\r\n\r\nIt was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even\r\nawed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man was\r\nsimply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke\r\nof the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix,\r\nthe set of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists\r\nand wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow\r\nmay have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of\r\nthe sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and had\r\ndragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied\r\nhad cut the flesh to the bone.\r\n\r\nAccurate note was made of the state of things, and a doctor,\r\nSurgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place, who came\r\nimmediately after me, declared, after making examination, that the\r\nman must have been dead for quite two days.\r\n\r\nIn his pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a\r\nlittle roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum to the\r\nlog.\r\n\r\nThe coastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands,\r\nfastening the knots with his teeth. The fact that a coastguard was\r\nthe first on board may save some complications later on, in the\r\nAdmiralty Court, for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is\r\nthe right of the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already,\r\nhowever, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law student\r\nis loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already\r\ncompletely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of\r\nthe statues of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not\r\nproof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand.\r\n\r\nIt is needless to say that the dead steersman has been\r\nreverently removed from the place where he held his honourable\r\nwatch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble as that of the\r\nyoung Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.\r\n\r\nAlready the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is\r\nabating. Crowds are scattering backward, and the sky is beginning\r\nto redden over the Yorkshire wolds.\r\n\r\nI shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of\r\nthe derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour\r\nin the storm.\r\n\r\n9 August.\u2014The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in\r\nthe storm last night is almost more startling than the thing\r\nitself. It turns out that the schooner is Russian from Varna, and\r\nis called the Demeter. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver\r\nsand, with only a small amount of cargo, a number of great wooden\r\nboxes filled with mould.\r\n\r\nThis cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F.\r\nBillington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and\r\ntook formal possession of the goods consigned to him.\r\n\r\nThe Russian consul, too, acting for the charter-party, took\r\nformal possession of the ship, and paid all harbour dues, etc.\r\n\r\nNothing is talked about here today except the strange\r\ncoincidence. The officials of the Board of Trade have been most\r\nexacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with\r\nexisting regulations. As the matter is to be a `nine days wonder',\r\nthey are evidently determined that there shall be no cause of other\r\ncomplaint.\r\n\r\nA good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog which\r\nlanded when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of\r\nthe S. P.C.A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to\r\nbefriend the animal. To the general disappointment, however, it was\r\nnot to be found. It seems to have disappeared entirely from the\r\ntown. It may be that it was frightened and made its way on to the\r\nmoors, where it is still hiding in terror.\r\n\r\nThere are some who look with dread on such a possibility, lest\r\nlater on it should in itself become a danger, for it is evidently a\r\nfierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bred mastiff\r\nbelonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was found\r\ndead in the roadway opposite its master's yard. It had been\r\nfighting, and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat\r\nwas torn away, and its belly was slit open as if with a savage\r\nclaw.\r\n\r\nLater.\u2014By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have\r\nbeen permitted to look over the log book of the Demeter, which was\r\nin order up to within three days, but contained nothing of special\r\ninterest except as to facts of missing men. The greatest interest,\r\nhowever, is with regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was\r\ntoday produced at the inquest. And a more strange narrative than\r\nthe two between them unfold it has not been my lot to come\r\nacross.\r\n\r\nAs there is no motive for concealment, I am permitted to use\r\nthem, and accordingly send you a transcript, simply omitting\r\ntechnical details of seamanship and supercargo. It almost seems as\r\nthough the captain had been seized with some kind of mania before\r\nhe had got well into blue water, and that this had developed\r\npersistently throughout the voyage. Of course my statement must be\r\ntaken cum grano, since I am writing from the dictation of a clerk\r\nof the Russian consul, who kindly translated for me, time being\r\nshort.\r\n\r\nLOG OF THE \"DEMETER\" Varna to Whitby\r\n\r\nWritten 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep\r\naccurate note henceforth till we land.\r\n\r\nOn 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of\r\nearth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands\u00a0\u2026\r\ntwo mates, cook, and myself, (captain).\r\n\r\nOn 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customs\r\nofficers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.\r\n\r\nOn 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and\r\nflagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers\r\nthorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into\r\nArchipelago.\r\n\r\nOn 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about\r\nsomething. Seemed scared, but would not speak out.\r\n\r\nOn 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady\r\nfellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what\r\nwas wrong. They only told him there was SOME- THING, and crossed\r\nthemselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck\r\nhim. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.\r\n\r\nOn 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of the crew,\r\nPetrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard\r\nwatch eight bells last night, was relieved by Amramoff, but did not\r\ngo to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they expected\r\nsomething of the kind, but would not say more than there was\r\nSOMETHING aboard. Mate getting very impatient with them. Feared\r\nsome trouble ahead.\r\n\r\nOn 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my\r\ncabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there\r\nwas a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had\r\nbeen sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was a rain storm,\r\nwhen he saw a tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew,\r\ncome up the companionway, and go along the deck forward and\r\ndisappear. He followed cautiously, but when he got to bows found no\r\none, and the hatchways were all closed. He was in a panic of\r\nsuperstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread. To allay\r\nit, I shall today search the entire ship carefully from stem to\r\nstern.\r\n\r\nLater in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them,\r\nas they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would\r\nsearch from stem to stern. First mate angry, said it was folly, and\r\nto yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men, said he\r\nwould engage to keep them out of trouble with the handspike. I let\r\nhim take the helm, while the rest began a thorough search, all\r\nkeeping abreast, with lanterns. We left no corner unsearched. As\r\nthere were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners\r\nwhere a man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and\r\nwent back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said\r\nnothing.\r\n\r\n22 July.\u2014Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with\r\nsails, no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their\r\ndread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for\r\nwork in bad weather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All\r\nwell.\r\n\r\n24 July.\u2014There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand\r\nshort, and entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and\r\nyet last night another man lost, disappeared. Like the first, he\r\ncame off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of\r\nfear, sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear\r\nto be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either\r\nhe or the men will do some violence.\r\n\r\n28 July.\u2014Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of\r\nmalestrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all\r\nworn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go\r\non. Second mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch\r\na few hours sleep. Wind abating, seas still terrific, but feel them\r\nless, as ship is steadier.\r\n\r\n29 July.\u2014Another tragedy. Had single watch tonight, as crew too\r\ntired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one\r\nexcept steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough\r\nsearch, but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in\r\na panic. Mate and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any\r\nsign of cause.\r\n\r\n30 July.\u2014Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather\r\nfine, all sails set. Retired worn out, slept soundly, awakened by\r\nmate telling me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only\r\nself and mate and two hands left to work ship.\r\n\r\n1 August.\u2014Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped\r\nwhen in the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in\r\nsomewhere. Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind.\r\nDare not lower, as could not raise them again. We seem to be\r\ndrifting to some terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than\r\neither of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly\r\nagainst himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and\r\npatiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, he\r\nRoumanian.\r\n\r\n2 August, midnight.\u2014Woke up from few minutes sleep by hearing a\r\ncry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on\r\ndeck, and ran against mate. Tells me he heard cry and ran, but no\r\nsign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we\r\nmust be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw\r\nNorth Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are now\r\noff in the North Sea, and only God can guide us in the fog, which\r\nseems to move with us, and God seems to have deserted us.\r\n\r\n3 August.\u2014At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel and\r\nwhen I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we\r\nran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted\r\nfor the mate. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his\r\nflannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his\r\nreason has given way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely,\r\nwith his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air might\r\nhear. \"It is here. I know it now. On the watch last night I saw It,\r\nlike a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows,\r\nand looking out. I crept behind It, and gave it my knife, but the\r\nknife went through It, empty as the air.\" And as he spoke he took\r\nthe knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on, \"But\r\nIt is here, and I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of\r\nthose boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see. You work the\r\nhelm.\" And with a warning look and his finger on his lip, he went\r\nbelow. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could not leave\r\nthe helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool chest and\r\nlantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, raving\r\nmad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those big\r\nboxes, they are invoiced as clay, and to pull them about is as\r\nharmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay and mind the helm,\r\nand write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the\r\nfog clears. Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind\r\nthat is, I shall cut down sails, and lie by, and signal for\r\nhelp\u00a0\u2026\r\n\r\nIt is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that\r\nthe mate would come out calmer, for I heard him knocking away at\r\nsomething in the hold, and work is good for him, there came up the\r\nhatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold,\r\nand up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman,\r\nwith his eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. \"Save me!\r\nSave me!\" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog.\r\nHis horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said,\"You\r\nhad better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there! I\r\nknow the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all\r\nthat is left!\" Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize\r\nhim, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into\r\nthe sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman\r\nwho had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has followed them\r\nhimself. God help me! How am I to account for all these horrors\r\nwhen I get to port? When I get to port! Will that ever be?\r\n\r\n4 August.\u2014Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce, I know\r\nthere is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I\r\ndared not go below, I dared not leave the helm, so here all night I\r\nstayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw it, Him! God, forgive\r\nme, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die\r\nlike a man. To die like a sailor in blue water, no man can object.\r\nBut I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle\r\nthis fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when\r\nmy strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that\r\nwhich He, It, dare not touch. And then, come good wind or foul, I\r\nshall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing\r\nweaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the face\r\nagain, I may not have time to act\u00a0\u2026 If we are wrecked, mayhap\r\nthis bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand. If\r\nnot\u00a0\u2026 well, then all men shall know that I have been true to\r\nmy trust. God and the Blessed Virgin and the Saints help a poor\r\nignorant soul trying to do his duty\u00a0\u2026\r\n\r\nOf course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to\r\nadduce, and whether or not the man himself committed the murders\r\nthere is now none to say. The folk here hold almost universally\r\nthat the captain is simply a hero, and he is to be given a public\r\nfuneral. Already it is arranged that his body is to be taken with a\r\ntrain of boats up the Esk for a piece and then brought back to Tate\r\nHill Pier and up the abbey steps, for he is to be buried in the\r\nchurchyard on the cliff. The owners of more than a hundred boats\r\nhave already given in their names as wishing to follow him to the\r\ngrave.\r\n\r\nNo trace has ever been found of the great dog, at which there is\r\nmuch mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he\r\nwould, I believe, be adopted by the town. Tomorrow will see the\r\nfuneral, and so will end this one more `mystery of the sea'.\r\n\r\nMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL\r\n\r\n8 August.\u2014Lucy was very restless all night, and I too, could not\r\nsleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among the\r\nchimney pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed\r\nto be like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake, but\r\nshe got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I\r\nawoke in time and managed to undress her without waking her, and\r\ngot her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this\r\nsleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical\r\nway, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields\r\nherself almost exactly to the routine of her life.\r\n\r\nEarly in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour\r\nto see if anything had happened in the night. There were very few\r\npeople about, and though the sun was bright, and the air clear and\r\nfresh, the big, grim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves\r\nbecause the foam that topped them was like snow, forced themselves\r\nin through the mouth of the harbour, like a bullying man going\r\nthrough a crowd. Somehow I felt glad that Jonathan was not on the\r\nsea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on land or sea? Where\r\nis he, and how? I am getting fearfully anxious about him. If I only\r\nknew what to do, and could do anything!\r\n\r\n10 August.\u2014The funeral of the poor sea captain today was most\r\ntouching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the\r\ncoffin was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up\r\nto the churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old\r\nseat, whilst the cortege of boats went up the river to the Viaduct\r\nand came down again. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession\r\nnearly all the way. The poor fellow was laid to rest near our seat\r\nso that we stood on it, when the time came and saw everything.\r\n\r\nPoor Lucy seemed much upset. She was restless and uneasy all the\r\ntime, and I cannot but think that her dreaming at night is telling\r\non her. She is quite odd in one thing. She will not admit to me\r\nthat there is any cause for restlessness, or if there be, she does\r\nnot understand it herself.\r\n\r\nThere is an additional cause in that poor Mr. Swales was found\r\ndead this morning on our seat, his neck being broken. He had\r\nevidently, as the doctor said, fallen back in the seat in some sort\r\nof fright, for there was a look of fear and horror on his face that\r\nthe men said made them shudder. Poor dear old man!\r\n\r\nLucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more\r\nacutely than other people do. Just now she was quite upset by a\r\nlittle thing which I did not much heed, though I am myself very\r\nfond of animals.\r\n\r\nOne of the men who came up here often to look for the boats was\r\nfollowed by his dog. The dog is always with him. They are both\r\nquiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog\r\nbark. During the service the dog would not come to its master, who\r\nwas on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and\r\nhowling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then\r\nangrily. But it would neither come nor cease to make a noise. It\r\nwas in a fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hair bristling out\r\nlike a cat's tail when puss is on the war path.\r\n\r\nFinally the man too got angry, and jumped down and kicked the\r\ndog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged\r\nand half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The\r\nmoment it touched the stone the poor thing began to tremble. It did\r\nnot try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and\r\nwas in such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without\r\neffect, to comfort it.\r\n\r\nLucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to touch the\r\ndog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatly fear\r\nthat she is of too super sensitive a nature to go through the world\r\nwithout trouble. She will be dreaming of this tonight, I am sure.\r\nThe whole agglomeration of things, the ship steered into port by a\r\ndead man, his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and\r\nbeads, the touching funeral, the dog, now furious and now in\r\nterror, will all afford material for her dreams.\r\n\r\nI think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out\r\nphysically, so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to\r\nRobin Hood's Bay and back. She ought not to have much inclination\r\nfor sleep-walking then.\r\n\r\n<\/div>","rendered":"
\n

(PASTED IN MINA MURRAY’S JOURNAL)<\/p>\n

From a correspondent.<\/p>\n

Whitby.<\/p>\n

One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been
\nexperienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather
\nhad been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the
\nmonth of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known,
\nand the great body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits
\nto Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood’s Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes,
\nand the various trips in the neighborhood of Whitby. The steamers
\nEmma and Scarborough made trips up and down the coast, and there
\nwas an unusual amount of `tripping’ both to and from Whitby. The
\nday was unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips
\nwho frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from the commanding
\neminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east,
\ncalled attention to a sudden show of `mares tails’ high in the sky
\nto the northwest. The wind was then blowing from the southwest in
\nthe mild degree which in barometrical language is ranked `No. 2,
\nlight breeze.’<\/p>\n

The coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old
\nfisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on
\nweather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner
\nthe coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very
\nbeautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly coloured clouds,
\nthat there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in
\nthe old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below
\nthe black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western
\nsky, its downward was was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset
\ncolour, flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of
\ngold, with here and there masses not large, but of seemingly
\nabsolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as
\ncolossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters,
\nand doubtless some of the sketches of the `Prelude to the Great
\nStorm’ will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next.<\/p>\n

More than one captain made up his mind then and there that his
\n`cobble’ or his `mule’, as they term the different classes of
\nboats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The
\nwind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there
\nwas a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity
\nwhich, on the approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive
\nnature.<\/p>\n

There were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting
\nsteamers, which usually hug the shore so closely, kept well to
\nseaward, and but few fishing boats were in sight. The only sail
\nnoticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was
\nseemingly going westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of her
\nofficers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she remained in
\nsight, and efforts were made to signal her to reduce sail in the
\nface of her danger. Before the night shut down she was seen with
\nsails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of
\nthe sea.<\/p>\n

“As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.”<\/p>\n

Shortly before ten o’clock the stillness of the air grew quite
\noppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a
\nsheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly
\nheard, and the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was
\nlike a dischord in the great harmony of nature’s silence. A little
\nafter midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high
\noverhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow
\nbooming.<\/p>\n

Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which,
\nat the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible
\nto realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed.
\nThe waves rose in growing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till
\nin a very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and
\ndevouring monster. Whitecrested waves beat madly on the level sands
\nand rushed up the shelving cliffs. Others broke over the piers, and
\nwith their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise
\nfrom the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour.<\/p>\n

The wind roared like thunder, and blew with such force that it
\nwas with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or clung
\nwith grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to
\nclear the entire pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the
\nfatalities of the night would have increased manifold. To add to
\nthe difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came
\ndrifting inland. White, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly
\nfashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort
\nof imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were
\ntouching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and
\nmany a one shuddered at the wreaths of sea-mist swept by.<\/p>\n

At times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could
\nbe seen in the glare of the lightning, which came thick and fast,
\nfollowed by such peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead
\nseemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.<\/p>\n

Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur
\nand of absorbing interest. The sea, running mountains high, threw
\nskywards with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the
\ntempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away into space. Here and
\nthere a fishing boat, with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter
\nbefore the blast, now and again the white wings of a storm-tossed
\nseabird. On the summit of the East Cliff the new searchlight was
\nready for experiment, but had not yet been tried. The officers in
\ncharge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of
\nonrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once or twice
\nits service was most effective, as when a fishing boat, with
\ngunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance
\nof the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the
\npiers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a
\nshout of joy from the mass of people on the shore, a shout which
\nfor a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was then swept away in
\nits rush.<\/p>\n

Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a
\nschooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had
\nbeen noticed earlier in the evening. The wind had by this time
\nbacked to the east, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on
\nthe cliff as they realized the terrible danger in which she now
\nwas.<\/p>\n

Between her and the port lay the great flat reef on which so
\nmany good ships have from time to time suffered, and, with the wind
\nblowing from its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that
\nshe should fetch the entrance of the harbour.<\/p>\n

It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so
\ngreat that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost
\nvisible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with
\nsuch speed that, in the words of one old salt, “she must fetch up
\nsomewhere, if it was only in hell”. Then came another rush of
\nsea-fog, greater than any hitherto, a mass of dank mist, which
\nseemed to close on all things like a gray pall, and left available
\nto men only the organ of hearing, for the roar of the tempest, and
\nthe crash of the thunder, and the booming of the mighty billows
\ncame through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The rays of
\nthe searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the
\nEast Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited
\nbreathless.<\/p>\n

The wind suddenly shifted to the northeast, and the remnant of
\nthe sea fog melted in the blast. And then, mirabile dictu, between
\nthe piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong
\nspeed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail
\nset, and gained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed
\nher, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the
\nhelm was a corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and
\nfro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on the
\ndeck at all.<\/p>\n

A great awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by
\na miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a
\ndead man! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to
\nwrite these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing across the
\nharbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel
\nwashed by many tides and many storms into the southeast corner of
\nthe pier jutting under the East Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill
\nPier.<\/p>\n

There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel
\ndrove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained,
\nand some of the `top-hammer’ came crashing down. But, strangest of
\nall, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang
\nup on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running
\nforward, jumped from the bow on the sand.<\/p>\n

Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard hangs
\nover the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat
\ntombstones, thruffsteans or through-stones, as they call them in
\nWhitby vernacular, actually project over where the sustaining cliff
\nhas fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed
\nintensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.<\/p>\n

It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill
\nPier, as all those whose houses are in close proximity were either
\nin bed or were out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on
\nduty on the eastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to
\nthe little pier, was the first to climb aboard. The men working the
\nsearchlight, after scouring the entrance of the harbour without
\nseeing anything, then turned the light on the derelict and kept it
\nthere. The coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the wheel,
\nbent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under some
\nsudden emotion. This seemed to pique general curiosity, and quite a
\nnumber of people began to run.<\/p>\n

It is a good way round from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to
\nTate Hill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good runner, and
\ncame well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found
\nalready assembled on the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and
\npolice refused to allow to come on board. By the courtesy of the
\nchief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted to climb on
\ndeck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman whilst
\nactually lashed to the wheel.<\/p>\n

It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even
\nawed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man was
\nsimply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke
\nof the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix,
\nthe set of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists
\nand wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow
\nmay have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of
\nthe sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and had
\ndragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied
\nhad cut the flesh to the bone.<\/p>\n

Accurate note was made of the state of things, and a doctor,
\nSurgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place, who came
\nimmediately after me, declared, after making examination, that the
\nman must have been dead for quite two days.<\/p>\n

In his pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a
\nlittle roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum to the
\nlog.<\/p>\n

The coastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands,
\nfastening the knots with his teeth. The fact that a coastguard was
\nthe first on board may save some complications later on, in the
\nAdmiralty Court, for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is
\nthe right of the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already,
\nhowever, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law student
\nis loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already
\ncompletely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of
\nthe statues of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not
\nproof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand.<\/p>\n

It is needless to say that the dead steersman has been
\nreverently removed from the place where he held his honourable
\nwatch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble as that of the
\nyoung Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.<\/p>\n

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is
\nabating. Crowds are scattering backward, and the sky is beginning
\nto redden over the Yorkshire wolds.<\/p>\n

I shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of
\nthe derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour
\nin the storm.<\/p>\n

9 August.\u2014The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in
\nthe storm last night is almost more startling than the thing
\nitself. It turns out that the schooner is Russian from Varna, and
\nis called the Demeter. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver
\nsand, with only a small amount of cargo, a number of great wooden
\nboxes filled with mould.<\/p>\n

This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F.
\nBillington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and
\ntook formal possession of the goods consigned to him.<\/p>\n

The Russian consul, too, acting for the charter-party, took
\nformal possession of the ship, and paid all harbour dues, etc.<\/p>\n

Nothing is talked about here today except the strange
\ncoincidence. The officials of the Board of Trade have been most
\nexacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with
\nexisting regulations. As the matter is to be a `nine days wonder’,
\nthey are evidently determined that there shall be no cause of other
\ncomplaint.<\/p>\n

A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog which
\nlanded when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of
\nthe S. P.C.A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to
\nbefriend the animal. To the general disappointment, however, it was
\nnot to be found. It seems to have disappeared entirely from the
\ntown. It may be that it was frightened and made its way on to the
\nmoors, where it is still hiding in terror.<\/p>\n

There are some who look with dread on such a possibility, lest
\nlater on it should in itself become a danger, for it is evidently a
\nfierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bred mastiff
\nbelonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was found
\ndead in the roadway opposite its master’s yard. It had been
\nfighting, and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat
\nwas torn away, and its belly was slit open as if with a savage
\nclaw.<\/p>\n

Later.\u2014By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have
\nbeen permitted to look over the log book of the Demeter, which was
\nin order up to within three days, but contained nothing of special
\ninterest except as to facts of missing men. The greatest interest,
\nhowever, is with regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was
\ntoday produced at the inquest. And a more strange narrative than
\nthe two between them unfold it has not been my lot to come
\nacross.<\/p>\n

As there is no motive for concealment, I am permitted to use
\nthem, and accordingly send you a transcript, simply omitting
\ntechnical details of seamanship and supercargo. It almost seems as
\nthough the captain had been seized with some kind of mania before
\nhe had got well into blue water, and that this had developed
\npersistently throughout the voyage. Of course my statement must be
\ntaken cum grano, since I am writing from the dictation of a clerk
\nof the Russian consul, who kindly translated for me, time being
\nshort.<\/p>\n

LOG OF THE “DEMETER” Varna to Whitby<\/p>\n

Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep
\naccurate note henceforth till we land.<\/p>\n

On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of
\nearth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands\u00a0\u2026
\ntwo mates, cook, and myself, (captain).<\/p>\n

On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customs
\nofficers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.<\/p>\n

On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and
\nflagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers
\nthorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into
\nArchipelago.<\/p>\n

On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about
\nsomething. Seemed scared, but would not speak out.<\/p>\n

On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady
\nfellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what
\nwas wrong. They only told him there was SOME- THING, and crossed
\nthemselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck
\nhim. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.<\/p>\n

On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of the crew,
\nPetrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard
\nwatch eight bells last night, was relieved by Amramoff, but did not
\ngo to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they expected
\nsomething of the kind, but would not say more than there was
\nSOMETHING aboard. Mate getting very impatient with them. Feared
\nsome trouble ahead.<\/p>\n

On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my
\ncabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there
\nwas a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had
\nbeen sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was a rain storm,
\nwhen he saw a tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew,
\ncome up the companionway, and go along the deck forward and
\ndisappear. He followed cautiously, but when he got to bows found no
\none, and the hatchways were all closed. He was in a panic of
\nsuperstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread. To allay
\nit, I shall today search the entire ship carefully from stem to
\nstern.<\/p>\n

Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them,
\nas they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would
\nsearch from stem to stern. First mate angry, said it was folly, and
\nto yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men, said he
\nwould engage to keep them out of trouble with the handspike. I let
\nhim take the helm, while the rest began a thorough search, all
\nkeeping abreast, with lanterns. We left no corner unsearched. As
\nthere were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners
\nwhere a man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and
\nwent back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said
\nnothing.<\/p>\n

22 July.\u2014Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with
\nsails, no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their
\ndread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for
\nwork in bad weather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All
\nwell.<\/p>\n

24 July.\u2014There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand
\nshort, and entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and
\nyet last night another man lost, disappeared. Like the first, he
\ncame off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of
\nfear, sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear
\nto be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either
\nhe or the men will do some violence.<\/p>\n

28 July.\u2014Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of
\nmalestrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all
\nworn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go
\non. Second mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch
\na few hours sleep. Wind abating, seas still terrific, but feel them
\nless, as ship is steadier.<\/p>\n

29 July.\u2014Another tragedy. Had single watch tonight, as crew too
\ntired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one
\nexcept steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough
\nsearch, but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in
\na panic. Mate and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any
\nsign of cause.<\/p>\n

30 July.\u2014Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather
\nfine, all sails set. Retired worn out, slept soundly, awakened by
\nmate telling me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only
\nself and mate and two hands left to work ship.<\/p>\n

1 August.\u2014Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped
\nwhen in the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in
\nsomewhere. Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind.
\nDare not lower, as could not raise them again. We seem to be
\ndrifting to some terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than
\neither of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly
\nagainst himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and
\npatiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, he
\nRoumanian.<\/p>\n

2 August, midnight.\u2014Woke up from few minutes sleep by hearing a
\ncry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on
\ndeck, and ran against mate. Tells me he heard cry and ran, but no
\nsign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we
\nmust be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw
\nNorth Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are now
\noff in the North Sea, and only God can guide us in the fog, which
\nseems to move with us, and God seems to have deserted us.<\/p>\n

3 August.\u2014At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel and
\nwhen I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we
\nran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted
\nfor the mate. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his
\nflannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his
\nreason has given way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely,
\nwith his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air might
\nhear. “It is here. I know it now. On the watch last night I saw It,
\nlike a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows,
\nand looking out. I crept behind It, and gave it my knife, but the
\nknife went through It, empty as the air.” And as he spoke he took
\nthe knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on, “But
\nIt is here, and I’ll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of
\nthose boxes. I’ll unscrew them one by one and see. You work the
\nhelm.” And with a warning look and his finger on his lip, he went
\nbelow. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could not leave
\nthe helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool chest and
\nlantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, raving
\nmad, and it’s no use my trying to stop him. He can’t hurt those big
\nboxes, they are invoiced as clay, and to pull them about is as
\nharmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay and mind the helm,
\nand write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the
\nfog clears. Then, if I can’t steer to any harbour with the wind
\nthat is, I shall cut down sails, and lie by, and signal for
\nhelp\u00a0\u2026<\/p>\n

It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that
\nthe mate would come out calmer, for I heard him knocking away at
\nsomething in the hold, and work is good for him, there came up the
\nhatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold,
\nand up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman,
\nwith his eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. “Save me!
\nSave me!” he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog.
\nHis horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said,”You
\nhad better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there! I
\nknow the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all
\nthat is left!” Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize
\nhim, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into
\nthe sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman
\nwho had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has followed them
\nhimself. God help me! How am I to account for all these horrors
\nwhen I get to port? When I get to port! Will that ever be?<\/p>\n

4 August.\u2014Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce, I know
\nthere is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I
\ndared not go below, I dared not leave the helm, so here all night I
\nstayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw it, Him! God, forgive
\nme, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die
\nlike a man. To die like a sailor in blue water, no man can object.
\nBut I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle
\nthis fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when
\nmy strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that
\nwhich He, It, dare not touch. And then, come good wind or foul, I
\nshall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing
\nweaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the face
\nagain, I may not have time to act\u00a0\u2026 If we are wrecked, mayhap
\nthis bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand. If
\nnot\u00a0\u2026 well, then all men shall know that I have been true to
\nmy trust. God and the Blessed Virgin and the Saints help a poor
\nignorant soul trying to do his duty\u00a0\u2026<\/p>\n

Of course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to
\nadduce, and whether or not the man himself committed the murders
\nthere is now none to say. The folk here hold almost universally
\nthat the captain is simply a hero, and he is to be given a public
\nfuneral. Already it is arranged that his body is to be taken with a
\ntrain of boats up the Esk for a piece and then brought back to Tate
\nHill Pier and up the abbey steps, for he is to be buried in the
\nchurchyard on the cliff. The owners of more than a hundred boats
\nhave already given in their names as wishing to follow him to the
\ngrave.<\/p>\n

No trace has ever been found of the great dog, at which there is
\nmuch mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he
\nwould, I believe, be adopted by the town. Tomorrow will see the
\nfuneral, and so will end this one more `mystery of the sea’.<\/p>\n

MINA MURRAY’S JOURNAL<\/p>\n

8 August.\u2014Lucy was very restless all night, and I too, could not
\nsleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among the
\nchimney pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed
\nto be like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake, but
\nshe got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I
\nawoke in time and managed to undress her without waking her, and
\ngot her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this
\nsleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical
\nway, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields
\nherself almost exactly to the routine of her life.<\/p>\n

Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour
\nto see if anything had happened in the night. There were very few
\npeople about, and though the sun was bright, and the air clear and
\nfresh, the big, grim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves
\nbecause the foam that topped them was like snow, forced themselves
\nin through the mouth of the harbour, like a bullying man going
\nthrough a crowd. Somehow I felt glad that Jonathan was not on the
\nsea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on land or sea? Where
\nis he, and how? I am getting fearfully anxious about him. If I only
\nknew what to do, and could do anything!<\/p>\n

10 August.\u2014The funeral of the poor sea captain today was most
\ntouching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the
\ncoffin was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up
\nto the churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old
\nseat, whilst the cortege of boats went up the river to the Viaduct
\nand came down again. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession
\nnearly all the way. The poor fellow was laid to rest near our seat
\nso that we stood on it, when the time came and saw everything.<\/p>\n

Poor Lucy seemed much upset. She was restless and uneasy all the
\ntime, and I cannot but think that her dreaming at night is telling
\non her. She is quite odd in one thing. She will not admit to me
\nthat there is any cause for restlessness, or if there be, she does
\nnot understand it herself.<\/p>\n

There is an additional cause in that poor Mr. Swales was found
\ndead this morning on our seat, his neck being broken. He had
\nevidently, as the doctor said, fallen back in the seat in some sort
\nof fright, for there was a look of fear and horror on his face that
\nthe men said made them shudder. Poor dear old man!<\/p>\n

Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more
\nacutely than other people do. Just now she was quite upset by a
\nlittle thing which I did not much heed, though I am myself very
\nfond of animals.<\/p>\n

One of the men who came up here often to look for the boats was
\nfollowed by his dog. The dog is always with him. They are both
\nquiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog
\nbark. During the service the dog would not come to its master, who
\nwas on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and
\nhowling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then
\nangrily. But it would neither come nor cease to make a noise. It
\nwas in a fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hair bristling out
\nlike a cat’s tail when puss is on the war path.<\/p>\n

Finally the man too got angry, and jumped down and kicked the
\ndog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged
\nand half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The
\nmoment it touched the stone the poor thing began to tremble. It did
\nnot try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and
\nwas in such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without
\neffect, to comfort it.<\/p>\n

Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to touch the
\ndog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatly fear
\nthat she is of too super sensitive a nature to go through the world
\nwithout trouble. She will be dreaming of this tonight, I am sure.
\nThe whole agglomeration of things, the ship steered into port by a
\ndead man, his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and
\nbeads, the touching funeral, the dog, now furious and now in
\nterror, will all afford material for her dreams.<\/p>\n

I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out
\nphysically, so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to
\nRobin Hood’s Bay and back. She ought not to have much inclination
\nfor sleep-walking then.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"menu_order":7,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-31","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/31","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/31\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":67,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/31\/revisions\/67"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/31\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=31"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=31"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=31"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/dracula\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=31"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}