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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 disap-
peared. 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 mael-
strom, 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
Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 79
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.
jo 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. Alter 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
8o Dracula
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 harm-
less 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 de-
liberately threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the