CHAPTER VI.
/Mina Murray's Journal./
_24 July. Whitby._--Lucy met me at the station, looking sweeter andlovelier than ever, and we drove up to the house at the Crescent inwhich they have rooms. This is a lovely place. The little river, theEsk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes nearthe harbour. A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, throughwhich the view seems, somehow, farther away than it really is. Thevalley is beautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are onthe high land on either side you look right across it, unless you arenear enough to see down. The houses of the old town--the side away fromus--are all red-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other anyhow,like the pictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is the ruinof Whitby Abbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is the sceneof part of "Marmion," where the girl was built up in the wall. It is amost noble ruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful and romanticbits; there is a legend that a white lady is seen in one of thewindows. Between it and the town there is another church, the parishone, round which is a big graveyard, all full of tombstones. This is,to my mind, the nicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over thetown, and has a full view of the harbour and all up the bay to wherethe headland called Kettleness stretches out into the sea. It descendsso steeply over the harbour that part of the bank has fallen away,and some of the graves have been destroyed. In one place part of thestonework of the graves stretches out over the sandy pathway far below.There are walks, with seats beside them, through the churchyard; andpeople go and sit there all day long looking at the beautiful view andenjoying the breeze. I shall come and sit here very often myself andwork. Indeed, I am writing now, with my book on my knee, and listeningto the talk of three old men who are sitting beside me. They seem todo nothing all day but sit up here and talk.
The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite wallstretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of it,in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy sea-wall runs alongoutside of it. On the near side, the sea-wall makes an elbow crookedinversely, and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two piersthere is a narrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens.
It is nice at high tide; but when the tide is out it shoals away tonothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running betweenbanks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour on thisside there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp edge ofwhich runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end ofit is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in amournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship islost bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the old man about this; heis coming this way....
He is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is allgnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he isnearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishingfleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very scepticalperson, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Ladyat the abbey he said very brusquely:--
"I wouldn't fash masel' about them, miss. Them things be all wore out.Mind, I don't say they never was, but I do say that they wasn't inmy time. They be all very well for comers and trippers an' the like,but not for a nice young lady like you. Them feet-folks from Yorkand Leeds that be always eatin' cured herrin's an' drinkin' tea an'lookin' out to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder masel' who'dbe bothered tellin' lies to them--even the newspapers, which is full offool-talk." I thought he would be a good person to learn interestingthings from, so I asked him if he would mind telling me somethingabout whale-fishing in the old days. He was just settling himself tobegin when the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up, andsaid:--
"I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My granddaughter doesn't liketo be kept waitin' when the tea is ready, for it takes me time tocrammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of 'em; an', miss, I lackbelly-timber sairly by the clock."
He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he could,down the steps. The steps are a great feature of the place. They leadfrom the town up to the church; there are hundreds of them--I do notknow how many--and they wind up in a delicate curve; the slope is sogentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them. I think theymust originally have had something to do with the Abbey. I shall gohome too. Lucy went out visiting with her mother, and as they were onlyduty calls, I did not go. They will be home by this.
_1 August._--I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a mostinteresting talk with my old friend and the two others who always comeand join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I shouldthink must have been in his time a most dictatorial person. He will notadmit anything, and downfaces everybody. If he can't out-argue themhe bullies them, and then takes their silence for agreement with hisviews. Lucy was looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn frock; she hasgot a beautiful colour since she has been here. I noticed that the oldmen did not lose any time in coming up and sitting near her when we satdown. She is so sweet with old people; I think they all fell in lovewith her on the spot. Even my old man succumbed and did not contradicther, but gave me double share instead. I got him on the subject of thelegends, and he went off at once into a sort of sermon. I must try toremember it and put it down:--
"It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel; that's what it be, an'nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' bar-guests andbogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy womena-belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs! They, an' all grims an' signsan' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome beuk-bodies an'railway touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an' to get folks todo somethin' that they don't other incline to. It makes me ireful tothink o' them. Why, it's them that, not content with printin' lies onpaper an' preachin' them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin' themon the tombsteans. Look here all round you in what airt ye will; allthem steans, holdin' up their heads as well as they can out of theirpride, is acant--simply tumblin' down with the weight o' the lies wroteon them, 'Here lies the body' or 'Sacred to the memory' wrote on allof them, an' yet in nigh half of them there bean't no bodies at all;an' the memories of them bean't cared a pinch of snuff about, much lesssacred. Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of one kind or another! Mygog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment, when theycome tumblin' up here in their death-sarks, all jouped together an'tryin' to drag their tombsteans with them to prove how good they was;some of them trimmlin' and ditherin', with their hands that dozzenedan' slippy from lyin' in the sea that they can't even keep their grupo' them."
I could see from the old fellow's self-satisfied air and the way inwhich he looked round for the approval of his cronies that he was"showing off," so I put in a word to keep him going:--
"Oh, Mr. Swales, you can't be serious. Surely these tombstones are notall wrong?"
"Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they makeout the people too good; for there be folk that do think a balm-bowlbe like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be onlylies. Now look you here; you come here a stranger, an' you see thiskirk-garth." I nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I didnot quite understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do withthe church. He went on: "And you consate that all these steans be aboonfolk that be happed here, snod an' snog?" I assented again. "Then thatbe just where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these lay-bedsthat be toom as old Dun's 'bacca-box on Friday night." He nudged one ofhis companions, and they all laughed. "And my gog! how could they beotherwise? Look at that one, the aftest abaft the bier-bank; read it!"I went over and read:--
"Edward Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by pirates off the coastof Andres, April, 1854, aet. 30." When I came back Mr. Swales wenton:--
"Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off thecoast of Andres! an' you consated his body lay under! Why, I could nameye a dozen whose bones lie in the G
reenland seas above"--he pointednorthwards--"or where the currents may have drifted them. There be thesteans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the small-print ofthe lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey--I knew his father, lostin the _Lively_ off Greenland in '20; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned inthe same seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a yearlater; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drownedin the Gulf of Finland in '50. Do ye think that all these men will haveto make a rush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherumsaboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they'd be jommlin' an'jostlin' one another that way that it 'ud be like a fight up on the icein the old days, when we'd be at one another from daylight to dark, an'tryin' to tie up our cuts by the light of the aurora borealis." Thiswas evidently local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, andhis cronies joined in with gusto.
"But," I said, "surely you are not quite correct, for you start on theassumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will have totake their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you thinkthat will be really necessary?"
"Well, what else be they tombsteans for? Answer me that, miss!"
"To please their relatives, I suppose."
"To please their relatives, you suppose!" This he said with intensescorn. "How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies is wroteover them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be lies?" Hepointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, onwhich the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. "Read thelines on that thruffstean," he said. The letters were upside down to mefrom where I sat, but Lucy was more opposite to them, so she leant overand read:--
"Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of aglorious resurrection, on July 29, 1873, falling from the rocks atKettleness. This tomb is erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearlybeloved son. 'He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.'Really, Mr. Swales, I don't see anything very funny in that!" She spokeher comment very gravely and somewhat severely.
"Ye don't see aught funny! Ha! ha! But that's because ye don't gawmthe sorrowin' mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he wasacrewk'd--a regular lamiter he was--an' he hated her so that hecommitted suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she puton his life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musketthat they had for scarin' the crows with. 'Twarn't for crows then, forit brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That's the way he fell offthe rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection, I've oftenheard him say masel' that he hoped he'd go to hell, for his mother wasso pious that she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he didn't want toaddle where she was. Now isn't that stean at any rate"--he hammered itwith his stick as he spoke--"a pack of lies? and won't it make Gabrielkeckle when Geordie comes pantin' up the grees with the tombsteanbalanced on his hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!"
I did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as shesaid, rising up:--
"Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my favourite seat, and I cannotleave it; and now I find I must go on sitting over the grave of asuicide."
"That won't harm ye, my pretty; an' it may make poor Geordie gladsometo have so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That won't hurt ye. Why,I've sat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an' it hasn'tdone me no harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under ye, or thatdoesn' lie there either! It'll be time for ye to be getting scart whenye see the tombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as astubble-field. There's the clock, an' I must gang. My service to ye,ladies!" And off he hobbled.
Lucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us that wetook hands as we sat; and she told me all over again about Arthur andtheir coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick, for Ihaven't heard from Jonathan for a whole month.
* * * * *
_The same day._--I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was noletter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan.The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights scattered all over thetown, sometimes in rows where the streets are, and sometimes singly;they run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of the valley. To myleft the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the old house nextthe Abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the fields away behindme, and there is a clatter of a donkey's hoofs up the paved road below.The band on the pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and fartheralong the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street.Neither of the bands hears the other, but up here I hear and see themboth. I wonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking of me! I wish hewere here.
_Dr. Seward's Diary._
_5 June._--The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I getto understand the man. He has certain qualities very largely developed:selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is theobject of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of hisown, but what it is I do not yet know. His redeeming quality is alove of animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it thatI sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of oddsorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has at present such aquantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment, hedid not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter insimple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said: "May I havethree days? I shall clear them away." Of course, I said that would do. Imust watch him.
_18 June._--He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got severalvery big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them with his flies, and thenumber of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although he hasused half his food in attracting more flies from outside to his room.
_1 July._--His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as hisflies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He lookedvery sad at this, so I said that he must clear out some of them, atall events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the sametime as before for reduction. He disgusted me much while with him, forwhen a horrid blowfly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into theroom, he caught it, held it exultingly for a few moments between hisfinger and thumb, and, before I knew what he was going to do, put it inhis mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly thatit was very good and very wholesome; that it was life, strong life,and gave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. Imust watch how he gets rid of his spiders. He has evidently some deepproblem in his mind, for he keeps a little note-book in which he isalways jotting down something. Whole pages of it are filled with massesof figures, generally single numbers added up in batches, and then thetotals added in batches again, as though he was "focusing" some account,as the auditors put it.
_8 July._--There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentaryidea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then,oh, unconscious cerebration! you will have to give the wall to yourconscious brother. I kept away from my friend for a few days, so thatI might notice if there were any change. Things remained as they wereexcept that he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one. Hehas managed to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed it. Hismeans of taming is simple, for already the spiders have diminished.Those that do remain, however, are well fed, for he still brings in theflies by tempting them with his food.
_19 July._--We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony ofsparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I camein he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour--a very,very great favour; and as he spoke he fawned on me like a dog. I askedhim what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his voice andbearing:--
"A kitten, a nice little, sleek, playful kitten, that I can play with,and teach, and feed--and feed--and feed!" I was not unprepared for thisrequest, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size andvivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame sparrowsshould be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and the spiders
; soI said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather have acat than a kitten. His eagerness betrayed him as he answered:--
"Oh, yes I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you shouldrefuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?" I shookmy head, and said that at present I feared it would not be possible, butthat I would see about it. His face fell, and I could see a warning ofdanger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong look which meantkilling. The man is an undeveloped homicidal maniac. I shall test himwith his present craving and see how it will work out; then I shall knowmore.
_10 p.m._--I have visited him again and found him sitting in a cornerbrooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees before me andimplored me to let him have a cat; that his salvation depended upon it.I was firm, however, and told him that he could not have it, whereuponhe went without a word, and sat down, gnawing his fingers, in the cornerwhere I had found him. I shall see him in the morning early.
_20 July._--Visited Renfield very early, before the attendant went hisrounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was spreading out his sugar,which he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly beginning hisfly-catching again; and beginning it cheerfully and with a good grace. Ilooked around for his birds, and not seeing them, asked him where theywere. He replied, without turning round, that they had all flown away.There were a few feathers about the room and on his pillow a drop ofblood. I said nothing, but went and told the keeper to report to me ifthere were anything odd about him during the day.
_11 a.m._--The attendant has just been to me to say that Renfield hasbeen very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of feathers. "My belief is,doctor," he said, "that he has eaten his birds, and that he just tookand ate them raw!"
_11 p.m._--I gave Renfield a strong opiate to-night; enough to makeeven him sleep, and took away his pocket-book to look at it. Thethought that has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete, andthe theory proved. My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shallhave to invent a new classification for him, and call him a zoophagous(life-eating) maniac; what he desires is to absorb as many lives as hecan, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a cumulative way. Hegave many flies to one spider and many spiders to one bird, and thenwanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have been his latersteps? It would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. Itmight be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men sneered atvivisection, and yet look at its results to-day! Why not advance sciencein its most difficult and vital aspect--the knowledge of the brain? HadI even the secret of one such mind--did I hold the key to the fancy ofeven one lunatic--I might advance my own branch of science to a pitchcompared with which Burdon-Sanderson's physiology or Ferrier's brainknowledge would be as nothing. If only there were a sufficient cause! Imust not think too much of this, or I may be tempted; a good cause mightturn the scale with me, for may not I too be of an exceptional brain,congenitally?
How well the man reasoned; lunatics always do within their own scope.I wonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at only one. He hasclosed the account most accurately, and to-day begun a new record. Howmany of us begin a new record with each day of our lives?
To me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended with my new hope,and that truly I began a new record. So it will be until the GreatRecorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a balance toprofit or loss. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you, nor can I beangry with my friend whose happiness is yours; but I must only wait onhopeless and work. Work! work!
If I only could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend there, agood, unselfish cause to make me work, that would be indeed happiness.
/Mina Murray's Journal./
_26 July._--I am anxious, and it soothes me to express myself here;it is like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time.And there is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes itdifferent from writing. I am unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. Ihad not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned; butyesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letterfrom him. I had written asking him if he had heard, and he said theenclosed had just been received. It is only a line dated from CastleDracula, and says that he is just starting for home. That is not likeJonathan; I do not understand it, and it makes me uneasy. Then, too,Lucy, although she is so well, has lately taken to her old habit ofwalking in her sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about it, and wehave decided that I am to lock the door of our room every night. Mrs.Westenra has got an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs ofhouses and along the edges of cliffs, and then get suddenly awakenedand fall over with a despairing cry that echoes all over the place.Poor dear, she is naturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells me thather husband, Lucy's father, had the same habit; that he would get up inthe night and dress himself and go out, if he were not stopped. Lucyis to be married in the autumn, and she is already planning out herdresses and how her house is to be arranged. I sympathise with her, forI do the same, only Jonathan and I will start in life in a very simpleway, and shall have to try to make both ends meet. Mr. Holmwood--he isthe Hon. Arthur Holmwood, only son of Lord Godalming--is coming up herevery shortly--as soon as he can leave town, for his father is not verywell, and I think dear Lucy is counting the moments till he comes. Shewants to take him up to the seat on the churchyard cliff and show himthe beauty of Whitby. I daresay it is the waiting which disturbs her;she will be all right when he arrives.
_27 July._--No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy abouthim, though why I should I do not know; but I _do_ wish that he wouldwrite, if it were only a single line. Lucy walks more than ever, andeach night I am awakened by her moving about the room. Fortunately, theweather is so hot that she cannot get cold; but still the anxiety andthe perpetually being awakened is beginning to tell on me, and I amgetting nervous and wakeful myself. Thank God, Lucy's health keeps up.Mr. Holmwood has been suddenly called to Ring to see his father, who hasbeen taken seriously ill. Lucy frets at the postponement of seeing him,but it does not touch her looks; she is a trifle stouter, and her cheeksare a lovely rose pink. She has lost that anaemic look which she had. Ipray it will all last.
_3 August._--Another week gone, and no news from Jonathan, not evento Mr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope he is not ill.He surely would have written. I look at that last letter of his, butsomehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like him, and yet itis his writing. There is no mistake of that. Lucy has not walked muchin her sleep the last week, but there is an odd concentration about herwhich I do not understand; even in her sleep she seems to be watchingme. She tries the door, and finding it locked, goes about the roomsearching for the key.
_6 August._--Another three days, and no news. This suspense is gettingdreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I shouldfeel easier; but no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that lastletter. I must only pray to God for patience. Lucy is more excitablethan ever, but is otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, andthe fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch it andlearn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, and the sun as I write ishidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is grey--exceptthe green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it; grey earthy rock;grey clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over thegrey sea, into which the sand-points stretch like grey fingers. Thesea is tumbling in over the shallows and the sandy flats with a roar,muffled in the sea-mists drifting inland. The horizon is lost in a greymist. All is vastness; the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, andthere is a "brool" over the sea that sounds like some presage of doom.Dark figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half shroudedin the mist, and seem "men like trees walking." The fishing-boats areracing for home, and rise and dip in the ground swell as they sweep intothe harbour, bending to the scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He ismaking straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, thathe wants to talk
....
I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man. When he satdown beside me, he said in a very gentle way:--
"I want to say something to you, miss." I could see he was not at ease,so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speakfully; so he said, leaving his hand in mine:--
"I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wickedthings I've been sayin' about the dead, and such-like, for weeks past;but I didn't mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I've gone.We aud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal,don't altogether like to think of it, and we don't want to feel scart ofit; an' that's why I've took to makin' light of it, so that I'd cheer upmy own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I ain't afraid of dyin',not a bit; only I don't want to die if I can help it. My time must benigh at hand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for anyman to expect; and I'm so nigh it that the Aud Man is already whettin'his scythe. Ye see, I can't get out o' the habit of caffin' about itall at once; the chafts will wag as they be used to. Some day soon theAngel of Death will sound his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an'greet, my deary!"--for he saw that I was crying--"if he should come thisvery night I'd not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all,only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death beall that we can rightly depend on. But I'm content, for it's comin' tome, my deary, and comin' quick. It may be comin' while we be lookin'and wonderin'. Maybe it's in that wind out over the sea that's bringin'with it loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad hearts. Look! look!"he cried suddenly. "There's something in that wind and in the hoastbeyont that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. It'sin the air; I feel it comin'. Lord, make me answer cheerful when my callcomes!" He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouthmoved as though he were praying. After a few minutes' silence, he gotup, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbledoff. It all touched me, and upset me very much.
I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy-glass under hisarm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the timekept looking at a strange ship.
"I can't make her out," he said; "she's a Russian, by the look of her;but she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't know her minda bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide whether torun up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She issteered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on the wheel;changes about with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of her beforethis time to-morrow."