Dracula. Bram Stoker
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port lay the great flat 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 quite
impossible that she should fetch the entrance of the harbour. It
was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so great
that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost visible,
and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such speed
that, in the words of one old salt, «she must fetch up somewhere,
if it was only in hell.» Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater
than any hitherto a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close
on all things like a grey pall, and left available to men only
the organ of hearing, for the roar of the tempest, and the crash of
the thunder, and the booming of the mighty billows came
through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The rays of
M -r Dracula
the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the
East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited
breathless. The wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the
remnant of the sea-fog melted in the blast; and then, mirabile
dictu, between the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed
at headlong speed, swept the strange schooner before the blast,
with all sail set, and gained the safety of the harbour. The
searchlight followed her, and a shudder ran through all who saw
her, for lashed to the helm was a corpse, with drooping head,
which swung horribly to and fro at each motion of the ship. No
other form could be seen on deck at all. A great awe came on air
as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, had found the
harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However,
all took place more quickly than it takes to write these words.
The schooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched
herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many
tides and many storms into 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 up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was
strained, and some of the" top-hammer» came crashing down.
But, strangest of all, the very instant the shore was touched, an
immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as if shot up by the
concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow on the
sand. Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard
hangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of
the flat tombstones «thruff-steans» or «through-stones,» as
they call them in the Whitby vernacular actually project over
where the sustaining cliff has fallen away, it disappeared in the
darkness, which seemed 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 bed or were out on the heights above. Thus the coast-
guard on duty on the eastern 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, after scouring the entrance of the
harbour without seeing anything, then turned the light on
the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, and when
he came beside the wheel, bent over to exarrTne it, and recoiled at,
once as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique
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
Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 75
Tate H21 Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good
runner, and came well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived,
however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd,
whom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on
board. By the courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your
correspondent, permitted to climb on deck, and] was one of a
small group who saw the dead seaman whilst actually lashed to
the wheel.
It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even
awed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man
was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a
spoke of the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a
crucifix, the set of beads on which it was fastened being around
both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The
poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but the flapping
and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of the
wheel and dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which
he was tied had cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note was
made of the state of things, and a doctor Surgeon J. M. Caffyn,
of 33, East Elliot Place who came immediately after me, de-
clared, after making examination, that the man must have been
dead for quite two days. In his pocket was a bottle, carefully
corked, empty save for a little roll of paper, which proved to be
the addendum to the log. The coastguard said the man must
have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with his teeth.
The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save some
complications, later on, in the Admiralty Court; for coastguards
cannot claim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian
entering on a derelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are
wagging, and one young law student is loudly asserting that the
rights of the owner are already completely sacrificed, his prop-
erty being held in contravention of the statutes of mortmain,
since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of delegated posses-
sion, is held in a dead hand. It is needless to say that the dead
steersman has been reverently