Dracula. Bram Stoker

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