Dracula
aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had been sheltering
behind the 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 go along the deck forward, and disappear. He followed cautiously,
but when he got to bows found no one, and the hatchways were all closed.
He was in 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 to stern.
* * * * *
Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as they
evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search from
stem to stern. First mate angry; said it was folly, and to yield to such
foolish ideas would demoralise the men; said he would engage to keep
them out of trouble with a handspike. I let him take the helm, while the
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 when
search over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but
said nothing.
* * * * *
_22 July_.--Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with
sails--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 bad
weather. Passed Gibralter 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 last
night another man lost--disappeared. Like the first, he came off his
watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear; sent a round
robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate
angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do
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 mate
volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours’ sleep.
Wind abating; seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is
steadier.
* * * * *
_29 July_.--Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, as crew too
tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one
except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search,
but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate
and 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 telling
me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate and
two hands left to work ship.
* * * * *
_1 August_.--Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when in
the 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 terrible
doom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger nature
seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear,
working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are
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 on
watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits
of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as
he heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and
only God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us; and God
seems to have deserted us.
* * * * *
_3 August_.--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel, and
when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ran
before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted for the
mate. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He
looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given
way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my
ear, as though fearing the very air might hear: “_It_ is here; I know
it, 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 behind
It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the
air.” And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into
space. Then he went on: “But It is here, and I’ll find It. It is in the
hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I’ll unscrew them one by one and
see. You work the helm.” And, with a warning look and his finger on his
lip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could
not leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool-chest
and 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 those
big boxes: they are invoiced as “clay,” and to pull them about is as
harmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, and
write 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 cut
down sails and lie by, and signal for help....
* * * * *
It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that the mate
would come out calmer--for I heard him knocking away at something in the
hold, 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 he
came as if shot from a gun--a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and
his face convulsed with fear. “Save me! save me!” he cried, and then
looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in
a steady voice he said: “You had better come too, captain, before it is
too late. _He_ is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save me
from Him, and it is all that is left!” Before I could say a word, or
move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately
threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was
this madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has
followed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all these
horrors 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 there is
sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not go
below, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I stayed, and in
the dimness of the night I saw It--Him! God forgive me, but the mate was
right to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man; to die like a
sailor in blue water no man can object. But I am captain, and I must not
leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie
my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with
them I shall tie that which He--It!--dare not touch; and then, come good
wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am
growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the
face again, I may not have time to act.... If we are wrecked, mayhap
this 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. God
and the Blessed Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul trying
to 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 now
none to say. The folk here hold almost universally that the captain is
simply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral. Already it is
arranged that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up the Esk
for a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbey
steps; for he is to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The owners
of more than a hundred boats have already given in their names as
wishing to follow him to the grave.
No trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which there is much
mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he would, I
believe, be adopted by the town. To-morrow will see the funeral; and so
will end this one more “mystery of the sea.”
_Mina Murray’s Journal._
_8 August._--Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could not
sleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among the
chimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed to be
like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she got up
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 her will is
thwarted in any physical way, her intention, if there be any,
disappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the routine of her
life.
Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour to see
if 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 that
topped them was like snow, forced themselves in through the narrow mouth
of the harbour--like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow I
felt 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 fearfully
anxious 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 most
touching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the coffin
was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to the
churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat, whilst
the cortège of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came down
again. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession nearly all the way.
The poor fellow was laid to rest quite near our seat so that we stood on
it when the time came and saw everything. Poor Lucy seemed much upset.
She was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that
her dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing:
she will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness; or if
there be, she does not understand it herself. There is an additional
cause in that poor old Mr. Swales was found dead this morning on our
seat, his neck being broken. He had evidently, as the doctor said,
fallen back in the seat in some sort of fright, for there was a look of
fear and horror on his face that the men said made them shudder. Poor
dear old man! Perhaps he had seen Death with his dying eyes! Lucy is so
sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other
people do. Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I did
not much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One of the men
who came up here often to look for the boats was followed by his dog.