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 was ever known, and the greatbody of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods,Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips inthe neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers _Emma_ and _Scarborough_ madetrips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount oftripping both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till theafternoon, 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 show ofmares'-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 century haskept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphaticmanner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so verybeautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured clouds, thatthere was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the oldchurchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the blackmass 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 here andthere masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in allsorts 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. and R.I. walls in May next. More than one captain made up his mind then andthere 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, and theband on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a discord in thegreat harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight came astrange 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 realize,the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose ingrowing fury, each overtopping 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 spume sweptthe lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pierof Whitby Harbour. The wind roared like thunder, and blew with suchforce that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet,or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessaryto clear the entire piers from the mass of onlookers, or else thefatalities of the night would have been increased manifold. To add tothe difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog camedrifting inland--white, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion,so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort ofimagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea weretouching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and manya one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At times the mistcleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of thelightning, which now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden pealsof thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shockof the footsteps of the storm.
Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and ofabsorbing interest--the sea, running mountains high, threw skywards witheach wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed tosnatch at and whirl away into space; here and there a fishing-boat, witha rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast; now and againthe white wings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On the summit of the EastCliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet beentried. The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and inthe pauses of the inrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea.Once or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing-boat,with gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidanceof the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against thepiers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout ofjoy from the mass of people on shore, a shout which for a moment seemedto cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush.
Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schoonerwith all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been noticedearlier in the evening. The wind had by this time backed to the east,and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as theyrealized the terrible danger in which she now was. Between her and theport lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have from timeto time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter,it would be quite impossible that she should fetch the entrance of theharbour. It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were sogreat that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almostvisible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with suchspeed 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 thanany hitherto--a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all thingslike 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 thebooming of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louderthan before. The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbourmouth across the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waitedbreathless. The wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the remnantof the sea-fog melted in the blast; and then, _mirabile dictu_, betweenthe piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed,swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, andgained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and ashudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was acorpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at eachmotion of the ship. No other form could be seen on deck at all. A greatawe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, hadfound the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However,all took place more quickly than it takes to write these words. Theschooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself onthat accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and manystorms into the south-east corner of the pier jutting under the EastCliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier.
There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up onthe sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of thetop-hammer came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instantthe shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, asif shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bowon the sand. Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyardhangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flattombstones--thruff-steans or through-stones, as they call them inthe Whitby vernacular--actually project over where the sustaining cliffhas fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemedintensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.
It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill Pier, asall those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bed or wereout on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty on the easternside of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was thefirst to climb on board. The men working the searchlight, after scouringthe entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, then turned thelight on the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, andwhen he came beside the wheel, bent over to examine it, and recoiled atonce as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique generalcuriosity, and quite a number of people began to run. It is a good wayround from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to Tate Hill Pier, but yourcorrespondent 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 thecourtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permittedto climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seamanwhilst 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 which itwas fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast bythe binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, butthe flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder ofthe wheel and dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which hewas tied had cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note was made of thestate of things, and a doctor--Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East ElliotPlace--who came immediately after me, declared, after makingexamination, that the man must have been dead for quite two days. In hispocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a little roll ofpaper, which proved to be the addendum to the log. The coastguard saidthe man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with histeeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save somecomplications, later on, in the Admiralty Court; for coastguards cannotclaim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian entering on aderelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one younglaw student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are alreadycompletely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of thestatutes of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, ofdelegated possession, is held in a _dead hand_. It is needless to saythat the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place wherehe held his honourable watch and ward till death--a steadfastness asnoble as that of the young Casabianca--and placed in the mortuary toawait inquest.
Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating;crowds are scattering homeward, 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 called the_Demeter_. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver sand, with only asmall amount of cargo--a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould.This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F. Billington, of7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and formally tookpossession of the goods consigned to him. The Russian consul, too,acting for the charter-party, took formal possession of the ship, andpaid all harbour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here to-day exceptthe strange coincidence; the officials of the Board of Trade have beenmost exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made withexisting regulations. As the matter is to be a nine days' wonder, theyare evidently determined that there shall be no cause of aftercomplaint. A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog whichlanded when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of theS. P. C. A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to befriend theanimal. To the general disappointment, however, it was not to be found;it seems to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may be that itwas frightened and made its way on to the moors, where it is stillhiding 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 to its master's yard. It had been fighting,and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat was torn away,and its belly was slit open as if with a savage claw.
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_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 greatest 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 motive forconcealment, I am permitted to use them, and accordingly send you arescript, 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 thatthis had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of course mystatement must be taken _cum grano_, since I am writing from thedictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, who kindly translated forme, time being short.
LOG OF THE DEMETER.
_Varna to Whitby._
_Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keepaccurate note henceforth till we land._
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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).
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On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customsofficers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.
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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.
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On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something.Seemed scared, but would not speak out.
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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.
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On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew, Petrofsky, wasmissing. Could not account for it. Took larboard watch eight bells lastnight; 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 there was _something_ aboard. Mate getting veryimpatient with them; feared some trouble ahead.
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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 shelteringbehind 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 mayspread. To allay it, I shall to-day search entire ship carefully fromstem to stern.
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Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as theyevidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would 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, while therest began thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns: we leftno corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, therewere no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved whensearch over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, butsaid nothing.
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_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 Gibralter and out through Straits. All well.
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_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. Mateangry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will dosome violence.
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_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. Hardlyknow 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.
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_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.
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_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 man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate andtwo hands left to work ship.
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_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 men. His stronger natureseems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear,working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They areRussian, he Roumanian.
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_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, andran 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.
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_3 August_.--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel, andwhen 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 for themate. 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....
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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, and ina steady voice he said: You had better come too, captain, before it istoo 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. It wasthis 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?
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_4 August._--Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know there issunrise 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 was 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 shall tiemy hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along withthem I shall tie that which He--It!--dare not touch; and then, come goodwind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I amgrowing 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....
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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 here hold almost universally that the captain issimply a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral. Already it isarranged that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up the Eskfor a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbeysteps; for he is to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The ownersof 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, could notsleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among thechimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed to belike a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake; but she got uptwice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time andmanaged to undress her without waking her, and got her back to bed. Itis a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as her will isthwarted 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!
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_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 the way.The poor fellow was laid to rest quite near our seat so that we stood onit 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 thather 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 ifthere be, she does not understand it herself. There is an additionalcause in that poor old Mr. Swales was found dead this morning on ourseat, 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 offear and horror on his face that the men said made them shudder. Poordear old man! Perhaps he had seen Death with his dying eyes! Lucy is sosweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than otherpeople do. Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I didnot much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One of the menwho came up here often to look for the boats was followed by his dog.The dog is always with him. They are both quiet persons, and I never sawthe man angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog wouldnot come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a fewyards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and thenharshly, and then angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to make anoise. It was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairsbristling out like a cat's tail when puss is on the war-path. Finallythe man, too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog, and thentook it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and half threw it onthe tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The moment it touched thestone the poor thing became quiet and fell all into a tremble. It didnot try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and wasin such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without effect,to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt totouch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatlyfear that she is of too super-sensitive a nature to go through the worldwithout trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. Thewhole agglomeration of things--the ship steered into port by a deadman; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads; thetouching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in terror--will allafford material for her dreams.
I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically, so Ishall 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.