CHAPTER VII.
/Cutting from "The Dailygraph," 8 August./
(_Pasted in Mina Murray's Journal._)
From a Correspondent.
_Whitby._
One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just beenexperienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather hadbeen somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month ofAugust. Saturday evening was as fine as ever was known, and the greatbody of holiday-makers set out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods,Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various tripsin the neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers _Emma_ and _Scarborough_made excursions along the coast, and there was an unusual amount of"tripping" both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine tillthe afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliffchurchyard, and from that commanding eminence watch the wide sweep ofsea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden showof "mares'-tails" high in the sky to the north-west. The wind was thenblowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometricallanguage is ranked "No. 2: light breeze." The coastguard on duty at oncemade report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a centuryhas kept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in anemphatic manner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset wasso very beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured clouds,that there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in theold churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below theblack mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, itsdownward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour--flame,purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold; with hereand there masses not large, but seemingly of absolute blackness, inall sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. Theexperience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of thesketches of the "Prelude to the Great Storm" will grace the R.A. andR.I. walls in May next. More than one captain made up his mind thenand there that his "cobble" or his "mule," as they term the differentclasses of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed.The wind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight therewas a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, onthe approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature. Therewere but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers,which usually "hug" the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and butfew fishing-boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreignschooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards. Thefoolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme forcomment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signalher to reduce sail in face of her danger. Before the night shut down shewas seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulatingswell of the sea,
"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean."
Shortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quiteoppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheepinland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, andthe band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a discordin the great harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight camea strange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began tocarry a strange, faint hollow booming.
Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at thetime, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to realise,the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose ingrowing fury, each over-topping its fellow, till in a very few minutesthe lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster.White-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up theshelving cliffs; others broke over the piers, and with their spumeswept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end ofeither pier of Whitby Harbour. The wind roared like thunder, and blewwith such force that it was with difficulty that even strong men kepttheir feet, or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It wasfound necessary to clear the entire piers from the mass of onlookers,or else the fatalities of the night would have been increased manifold.To add to the difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fogcame drifting inland--white, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostlyfashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effortof imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea weretouching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, andmany a one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At timesthe mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in theglare of the lightning, which now came thick and fast, followed by suchsudden peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed tremblingunder the shock of the footsteps of the storm. Some of the scenes thusrevealed were of immeasurable grandeur and of absorbing interest--thesea, running mountains high, threw skywards with each wave mightymasses of white foam, which the tempest seemed to snatch at and whirlaway into space; here and there a fishing-boat, with a rag of sail,running madly for shelter before the blast; now and again the whitewings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On the summit of the East Cliff thenew searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet been tried.The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and in thepauses of the inrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Onceor twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing-boat, withgunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance ofthe sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the piers.As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout of joyfrom the mass of people on shore, a shout which for a moment seemed tocleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush. Before long thesearchlight discovered some distance away a schooner with all sailsset, apparently the same vessel which had been noticed earlier in theevening. The wind had by this time backed to the east, and there was ashudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as they realised the terribledanger in which she now was. Between her and the port lay the greatflat reef on which so many good ships have from time to time suffered,and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter, it would be quiteimpossible that she should fetch the entrance of the harbour. It wasnow nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so great that intheir troughs the shallows of the shore were almost visible, and theschooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such speed that, in thewords of one old salt, "she must fetch up somewhere, if it was only inhell." Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater than any hitherto--amass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all things like a greypall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing, for the roarof the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the booming of themighty bellows came through the damp oblivion even louder than before.The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth acrossthe East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited breathless.The wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the remnant of thesea-fog melted in the blast; and then, _mirabile dictu_, between thepiers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed, sweptthe strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and gainedthe safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and a shudderran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was a corpse, withdrooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at each motion of theship. No other form could be seen on deck at all. A great awe came onall as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, had found theharbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However, all tookplace more quickly than it takes to write these words. The schoonerpaused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself on thataccumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many stormsinto the south-east corner of the pier jutting under the East Cliff,known locally as Tate Hill Pier.
There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove upon the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some ofthe "top-hamper" came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the veryinstant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck frombelow, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped fromthe bow on to the sand. Making
straight for the steep cliff, where thechurchyard hangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that someof the flat tombstones--"thruff-steans" or "through-stones," as theycall them in the Whitby vernacular--actually project over where thesustaining cliff has fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, whichseemed intensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.
It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill Pier,as all those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bedor were out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty on theeastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier,was the first to climb on board. The men working the searchlight, afterscouring the entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, thenturned the light on the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ranaft, and when he came beside the wheel, bent over to examine it andrecoiled at once as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed topique the general curiosity, and quite a number of people began to run.It is a good way round from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to TateHill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good runner, and came wellahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found already assembledon the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and police refused to allow tocome on board. By the courtesy of the chief boat-man, I was, as yourcorrespondent, permitted to climb on deck, and was one of a small groupwho saw that dead seaman whilst actually lashed to the wheel.
It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed, fornot often can such a sight have been seen. The man was simply fastenedby his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Betweenthe inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on whichit was fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fastby the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at onetime, but the flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked throughthe rudder of the wheel and dragged him to and fro, so that the cordswith which he was tied had cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note wasmade of the state of things, and a doctor--Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of33, East Elliot Place--who came immediately after me, declared, aftermaking examination, that the man must have been dead for quite twodays. In his pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for alittle roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum to the log. Thecoastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands, fastening theknots with his teeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on boardmay save some complications, later on, in the Admiralty Court; for thecoastguards cannot claim the salvage which is the right of the firstcivilian entering on a derelict. Already, however, the legal tongues arewagging, and one young law student is loudly asserting that the rightsof the owner are already completely sacrificed, his property being heldin contravention of the statutes of mortmain, since the tiller, asemblemship, if not proof, of delegated possession, is held in a _deadhand_. It is needless to say that the dead steersman has been reverentlyremoved from the place where he held his honourable watch and ward tilldeath--a steadfastness as noble as that of the young Casabianca--andplaced in the mortuary to await inquest.
Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating; thecrowds are scattering homewards, and the sky is beginning to redden overthe Yorkshire wolds. I shall send, in time for your next issue, furtherdetails of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously intoharbour in the storm.
_Whitby._
_9 August._--The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in thestorm last night is almost more startling than the thing itself. Itturns out that the schooner is a Russian from Varna, and is calledthe _Demeter_. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver sand, withonly a small amount of cargo--a number of great wooden boxes filledwith mould. This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S.F. Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard andformally took possession of the goods consigned to him. The Russianconsul, too, acting for the charter-party, took formal possession ofthe ship, and paid all harbour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about hereto-day except the strange coincidence; the officials of the Board ofTrade have been most exacting in seeing that every compliance has beenmade with existing regulations. As the matter is to be a "nine days'wonder," they are evidently determined that there shall be no cause ofafter complaint. A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dogwhich landed when the ship struck, and more than a few of the membersof the S.P.C.A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to befriendthe animal. To the general disappointment, however, it was not to befound; it seems to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may bethat it was frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it isstill hiding in terror. There are some who look with dread on such apossibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for itis evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bredmastiff, belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was founddead in the roadway opposite its master's yard. It had been fighting,and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat was torn away,and its belly slit open as if with a savage claw.
_Later._--By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have beenpermitted to look over the log-book of the _Demeter_, which was in orderup to within three days, but contained nothing of special interestexcept as to facts of missing men. The greater interest, however, iswith regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was to-day producedat the inquest; and a more strange narrative than the two between themunfold it has not been my lot to come across. As there is no motivefor concealment, I am permitted to use them, and accordingly sendyou a rescript, simply omitting technical details of seamanship andsupercargo. It almost seems as though the captain had been seized withsome kind of mania before he had got well into blue water, and that thishad developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of course my statementmust be taken _cum grano_, since I am writing from the dictation of aclerk of the Russian consul, who kindly translated for me, time beingshort.
/Log of the "Demeter."/
_Varna to Whitby._
_Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keepaccurate note henceforth till we land._
On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of earth.At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands, ... two mates,cook, and myself (captain).
On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customsofficers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p.m.
On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat ofguarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers thorough, butquick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago.
On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something.Seemed scared, but would not speak out.
On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady fellows, whosailed with me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong; they onlytold him there was _something_, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temperwith one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, butall was quiet.
On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew, Petrofsky,was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bellslast night; was relieved by Abramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men moredowncast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, butwould not say more than that there was _something_ aboard. Mate gettingvery impatient with them; feared some trouble ahead.
On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my cabin, and inan awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a strange manaboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been sheltering behindthe deck-house, as there was a rain-storm, when he saw a tall, thin man,who was not like any of the crew, come up the companion-way, and goalong the deck forward, and disappear. He followed cautiously, but whenhe got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed. He wasin a panic of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread.To allay it, I shall to-day search entire ship carefully from stem tostern.
Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as theyevidently thought t
here was some one in the ship, we should search fromstem to stern. First mate angry; said it was folly, and to yield to suchfoolish ideas would demoralise the men; said he would engage to keepthem out of trouble with a handspike. I let him take the helm, whilethe rest began thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns;we left no corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes,there were no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved whensearch over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, butsaid nothing.
_22 July._--Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy withsails--no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread.Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for work in badweather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All well.
_24 July._--There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short,and entering on the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet lastnight another man lost--disappeared. Like the first, he came off hiswatch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear; sent a roundrobin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mateviolent. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men willdo some violence.
_28 July._--Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom,and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out.Hardly know how to set a watch since no one fit to go on. Second matevolunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours' sleep.Wind abating; seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship issteadier.
_29 July._--Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, as crew tootired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no oneexcept steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search,but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mateand I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause.
_30 July._--Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather fine,all sails set. Retired worn out; slept soundly; awaked by mate tellingme that both men on watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate andtwo hands left to work ship.
_1 August._--Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when inthe English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in somewhere.Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare not lower,as could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some terribledoom. Mate now more demoralised than either of them. His strongernature seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyondfear, working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. Theyare Russian, he Roumanian.
_2 August, midnight._--Woke up from few minutes' sleep by hearing a cry,seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck,and ran against mate. Tells me heard cry and ran, but no sign of man onwatch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straitsof Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just ashe heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, andonly God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us; and Godseems to have deserted us.
_3 August._--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel, butwhen I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ranbefore it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted forthe mate. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. Helooked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has givenway. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to myear, as though fearing the very air might hear: "_It_ is here; I knowit, now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin,and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behindIt, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as theair." And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely intospace. Then he went on: "But It is here, and I'll find it. It is in thehold, perhaps, in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one andsee. You work the helm." And, with a warning look and his finger on hislip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I couldnot leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool-chestand a lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark,raving mad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt thosebig boxes: they are invoiced as "clay," and to pull them about is asharmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, andwrite these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears.Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind that is, I shall cutdown sails and lie by, and signal for help....
It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that the matewould come out calmer--for I heard him knocking away at something in thehold, and work is good for him--there came up the hatchway a sudden,startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck hecame as if shot from a gun--a raging madman, with his eyes rolling andhis face convulsed with fear. "Save me! save me!" he cried, and thenlooked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, andin a steady voice he said: "You had better come too, captain, before itis too late. _He_ is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save mefrom Him, and it is all that is left!" Before I could say a word, ormove forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberatelythrew himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. Itwas this madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he hasfollowed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all thesehorrors when I get to port? _When_ I get to port! Will that ever be?
_4 August._--Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know thereis sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not gobelow, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I stayed, and inthe dimness of the night I saw It--Him! God forgive me, but the mate wasright to jump overboard. It is better to die like a man; to die like asailor in blue water no man can object. But I am captain, and I must notleave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shalltie my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and alongwith them I shall tie that which He--It!--dare not touch; and then, comegood wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. Iam growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in theface again, I may not have time to act.... If we are wrecked, mayhapthis bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand; if not,... well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust. Godand the Blessed Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul tryingto do his duty....
Of course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to adduce;and whether or not the man himself committed the murders there is nownone to say. The folk hold almost universally here that the captainis simply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral. Already itis arranged that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up theEsk for a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up theAbbey steps; for he is to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. Theowners of more than a hundred boats have already given in their names aswishing to follow him to the grave.
No trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which there is muchmourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he would, Ibelieve, be adopted by the town. To-morrow will see the funeral; and sowill end this one more "mystery of the sea."
/Mina Murray's Journal./
_8 August._--Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, couldnot sleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among thechimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed tobe like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she gotup twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time,and managed to undress her without waking her, and got her back to bed.It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as herwill is thwarted in any physical way, her intention, if there be any,disappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the routine of herlife.
Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour to seeif anything had happened in the night. There were very few people about,and though the sun was bright, and the air clear and fresh, the big,grim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves because the foam thattopped them was like snow, forced themselves in
through the narrow mouthof the harbour--like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow Ifelt glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But,oh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how? I am getting fearfullyanxious about him. If I only knew what to do, and could do anything!
_10 August._--The funeral of the poor sea-captain to-day was mosttouching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the coffinwas carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to thechurchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat, whilstthe cortege of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came downagain. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession nearly all theway. The poor fellow was laid to rest quite near our seat, so that westood on it when the time came and saw everything. Poor Lucy seemedmuch upset. She was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannotbut think that her dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quiteodd in one thing: she will not admit to me that there is any causefor restlessness; or if there be, she does not understand it herself.There is an additional cause in that poor old Mr. Swales was found deadthis morning on our seat, his neck being broken. He had evidently, asthe doctor said, fallen back in the seat in some sort of fright, forthere was a look of fear and horror on his face that the men said madethem shudder. Poor dear old man! Perhaps he had seen Death with hisdying eyes! Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influencesmore acutely than other people do. Just now she was quite upset by alittle thing which I did not much heed, though I am myself very fond ofanimals. One of the men who come up here often to look for the boatswas followed by his dog. The dog is always with him. They are bothquiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog bark.During the service the dog would not come to its master, who was on theseat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and howling. Its masterspoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then angrily; but it wouldneither come nor cease to make a noise. It was in a sort of fury, withits eyes savage, and all its hairs bristling out like a cat's tail whenpuss is on the war-path. Finally the man, too, got angry, and jumpeddown and kicked the dog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck andhalf dragged and half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat isfixed. The moment it touched the stone the poor thing became quiet andfell all into a tremble. It did not try to get away, but crouched down,quivering and cowering, and was in such a pitiable state of terror thatI tried, though without effect, to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity,too, but she did not attempt to touch the dog, but looked at it in anagonised sort of way. I greatly fear that she is of too supersensitivea nature to go through the world without trouble. She will be dreamingof this to-night, I am sure. The whole agglomeration of things--the shipsteered into port by a dead man; his attitude, tied to the wheel with acrucifix and beads; the touching funeral; the dog, now furious and nowin terror--will all afford material for her dreams.
I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically, soI shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood's Bay andback. She ought not to have much inclination for sleep-walking then.