midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high
overhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow booming.
Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity
which, at the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is
impossible to realize, the whole aspect of na. ture at once became
convulsed. The waves rose in growing fury, each overtopping its
fellow, till in a very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a
roaring and devouring monster. White-crested waves beat madly
on the level sands and rushed up the shelving cliffs; others broke
over the piers, and with their spume swept the lanthorns of the
lighthouses which rise from the end of either pier of Whitby
Harbour. The wind roared like thunder, and blew with such
force that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their
feet, or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found
necessary to clear the entire piers from the mass of onlookers,
or else the fatalities of the night would have been increased
manifold. To add to the difficulties and dangers of the time,
masses of sea-fog came drifting inland white, wet clouds, which
swept by in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp and cold that it
needed but little effort of imagination to think that the spirits
Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 7,S
of those lost at sea were touching their living brethren with the
clammy hands of death, and many a one shuddered as the wreaths
of sea-mist swept by. At times the mist cleared, and the sea for
some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which
now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden peals of thun-
der that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the
shock of the footsteps of the storm.
Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable
grandeur and of absorbing interest the sea, running mountains
high, threw skywards with each wave mighty masses of white
foam, which the tempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away
into space; here and there a fishing-boat, with a rag of sail, run-
ning madly for shelter before the blast; now and again the white
wings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On the summit of the East
Cliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not
yet been tried. The officers in charge of it got it into working
order, and in the 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 guidance of the sheltering light, to avoid
the danger of dashing against the piers. As each boat achieved
the safety of the port there was a shout of joy from the mass of
people on shore, a shout which for a moment seemed to cleave
the gale and was then swept away in its rush.
Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away
a schooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which
had been noticed earlier 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 they realized the terrible danger in which
she now was. Between her and the 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
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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