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 secret
too, now. It was this madman who had got rid of the men one
by one, and now he has followed them himself. God help me!
How am I to account for all these horrors when I get to port?
When I get to port! Will that ever be?
4 August. Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know
there is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I
dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night
I stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw It Him! God
forgive me, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was
better to die like a man; to die like a sailor in blue water no man
can object. But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But
I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to
the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with them
I shall tie that which He It! dare not touch; and then, come
good wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a
captain. I am growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He
can look me in the face again, I may not have time to act…, If
Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 81
we are wrecked, mayhap this 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. God and the Blessed
Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul trying to do his
duty….
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 now none to say. The folk here hold almost
universally that the captain is simply a hero, and he is to be given
a public funeral. Already it is arranged that his body is to be
taken with a train of boats up the Esk for a piece and then
brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up the abbey steps; for he is
to be buried in the churchyard on the cliff. The owners of more
than a hundred boats have already given in their names as wish-
ing to follow him to the grave.
No trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which there
is much mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state,
he would, I believe, be adopted by the town. To-morrow will see
the funeral; and so will end this one more «mystery of the sea.»
Mina Murray’s Journal.
8 August. Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, could
not sleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among
the chimney-pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came
it seemed to be like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did
not wake; but she got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately,
each time I awoke in time and managed to undress her without
waking her, and got her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this
sleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical
way, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields
herself almost exactly to the routine of her life.
Early in the morning we both got up and went down to the
harbour to see if 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 that topped them was like
snow, forced themselves in through the narrow mouth of the
harbour like a bullying man going through a crowd. Somehow
I felt 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 fearfully anxious about him. If I only knew what to do,
aad could do anything!
82 Dracula
10 August. The funeral of the poor sea-captain to-day was
most touching. Every boat in the harbour seeme’oV to be there,
and the coffin was carried by captains all the way from’TTate Hill
Pier up to the churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went
early to our old seat, whilst the cortege of boats went up the river
to the Viaduct and came down again. 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 on it 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 that
her 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 rest-
lessness; or if there be, she does not understand it herself. There
is an additional cause in that poor old Mr. Swales was found
dead this morning on our seat, 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 of fear and horror on his face that
the men said made them shudder. Poor dear old man! Perhaps
he had seen Death with his dying eyes! Lucy is so sweet and
sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other people
d’o». Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I did not
’much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One of the
men who 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 saw the man angry, nor heard the dog bark.
During the service the dog would not come to its master, who
was on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and
howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then
angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to make a noise. It
was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairs bris-
tling out like a cat’s tail when puss is on the war-path. Finally
the man, too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog,
and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and
half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The
moment it touched the stone the poor thing became quiet and
fell all into a tremble. It did not try to get away, but crouched
down, quivering and cowering, and was in 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 to touch the dog,
but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. Ij^eatly, f par that
she is_of Jtoo super-sensitive a nature to go through the world
without trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure.
TEe whole agglomeration of things the ship steered into port
Cutting from «The Dailygraph» 83
by a dead man; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and
beads; the touching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in
terror wi 1! all afford material for her dreams.
I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physically,
so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood’s
Bay and back. She ought not to have much inclination for sleep-
walking then.
CHAPTER VIH
MINA MURRAY’S JOURNAL
Same day, n o’clock p. m. Oh, but I am tired \ If it were not
that I had made my diary a duty I should not open it to-night.
We had a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while, was in gay spirits,
owing, I think, to some dear cows who came nosing towards us in
a field close to the lighthouse, and frightened the wits out of us.
I believe we forgot everything except, of course, personal fear,
and it seemed to wipe the slate clean and give us a fresh start.
We had a capital" severe tea» at Robin Hood’s Bay in a sweet
little old-fashioned inn, with a bow-window right over the
seaweed-covered rocks of the strand. I believe we should have
shocked the «New Woman» with our appetites. Men are more
tolerant, bless them! Then we walked home with some, or rather
many, stoppages to rest, and with our hearts full of a constant
dread of wild bulls. Lucy was really tired, and we intended to
creep off to bed as soon as we could. The young curate came in,
however, and Mrs. Westenra asked him to stay for supper. Lucy
and I had both a fight for it with the dusty miller; I know it was
a hard fight on my part, and I am quite heroic. I think that some
day the bishops must get together and see about breeding up a
new class of curates, who don’t take supper, no matter how the>
may be pressed to, and who will know when girls are tired. Luc}
is asleep and breathing softly. She has more colour in her cheek
than usual, and looks, oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in lov
with her seeing her only in the drawing-room, I wonder what h
would say if he saw her now. Some of the «New Women" writer
will some day start an idea that men and women should
allowed to see each other asleep before proposing or accepting
But I suppose the New Woman won’t condescend in future t
accept; she will do the proposing herself. And a nice job she wi
make of it, too! There’s some consolation in that. I am so happ
to-night, because dear Lucy seems better. I really believe sh
has turned the corner, and that we are over her troubles wit
dreaming. I should be quite happy if I only knew if Jonathan..
God bless and keep him.
84
Mina Murray’s Journal 8$
ii August, 3 a. m. Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as
well write. I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an ad-
venture, such an agonising experience. I fell asleep as soon as I
had closed my diary…. Suddenly I became broad awake, and
sat up, with a horrible sense of fear upon me, and of some feeling
of emptiness around me. The room was dark, so I could not see
^ucy’s bed; I stole across and felt for her. The bed was empty. I
it a match and found that she was not in the room. The door was
shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her mother,
who has been more than usually ill lately, so threw on some
clothes and got ready to look for her. As I was leaving the room
t struck me that the clothes she wore might give me some clue
to her dreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean house-,
dress, outside. Dressing-gown and dress were both in their places.
«Thank God,» I said to myself, «she cannot be far, as she is
only in her nightdress.» I ran downstairs and looked in the
sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in all the other open
rooms of the house, with an ever-growing fear chilling my heart.
Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. It was not
wide open, but the catch of the lock had not caught. The people
of the house are careful to lock the door every night, so I feared
that Lucy must have gone out as she was. There was no time to
think of what might happen; a vague, overmastering fear ob-
scured all details. I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The
clock was striking one as I was in the Crescent, and there was not
a soul in sight. I ran along the North Terrace, but could see no
sign of the white figure which I expected. At the edge of the West
Cliff above the pier I looked across the harbour to the East Cliff,
in the hope or fear I don’t know which of seeing Lucy in our
favourite seat. There was a bright full moon, with heavy black,
driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting dio-
rama of light and shade as they sailed across. For a moment or
two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured