The Cursed Castle

Chapter 8

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 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 came

thick and fast, followed by such peals of thunder 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, running madly for shelter before the blast, now

and again the white wings of a storm-tossed seabird. 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

onrushing 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 the 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 gray 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 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 northeast, 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

the deck at all.

A great awe came on all 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 southeast 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, thruffsteans or through-stones, as

they call them in 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 coastguard on duty on the eastern side of the harbour,

who at once ran down to the little pier, was the first to climb

aboard. 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 examine 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 Tate Hill 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 had 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, declared, 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 property being held in contravention of the

statues of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not

proof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand.

It is needless to say that the dead steersman has been

reverently removed from the place where he held his honourable watch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble

as that of the young Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is

abating. Crowds are scattering backward, and the sky is beginning to redden over the Yorkshire wolds.

I shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of

the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour in the storm.

9 August.—The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in the storm last night is almost more startling than the

thing itself. It turns out that the schooner is Russian from

Varna, and is called the Demeter. She is almost entirely in

ballast of silver sand, with only a small amount of cargo, a

number of great wooden boxes filled with mould.

This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr.

S.F. Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went

aboard and took formal possession of the goods consigned

to him.

The Russian consul, too, acting for the charter-party,

took formal possession of the ship, and paid all harbour

dues, etc.

Nothing is talked about here today except the strange

coincidence. The officials of the Board of Trade have been

most exacting in seeing that every compliance has been

made with existing regulations. As the matter is to be a

‘nine days wonder’, they are evidently determined that there

shall be no cause of other complaint.

A good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog

which landed when the ship struck, and more than a few

of the members of the S.P.C.A., which is very strong in

Whitby, have tried to befriend the animal. To the general

disappointment, however, it was not to be found. It seems

to have disappeared entirely from the town. It may be that

it was frightened and made its way on to the moors, where

it is still hiding in terror.

There are some who look with dread on such a possibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for it

is evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large dog,

a half-bred mastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to

Tate Hill Pier, was found dead in the roadway opposite 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.

Later.—By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have been permitted to look over the log book of the

Demeter, which was in order up to within three days, but

contained nothing of special interest except as to facts of

missing men. The greatest interest, however, is with regard

to the paper found in the bottle, which was today produced

at the inquest. And a more strange narrative than the two

between them unfold it has not been my lot to come across.

As there is no motive for concealment, I am permitted

to use them, and accordingly send you a transcript, simply

omitting technical details of seamanship and supercargo. It

almost seems as though the captain had been seized with

some kind of mania before he had got well into blue water, and that this had developed persistently throughout

the voyage. Of course my statement must be taken c*m

grano, since I am writing from the dictation of a clerk of

the Russian consul, who kindly translated for me, time being short.

LOG OF THE ‘DEMETER’ Varna to Whitby

Written 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall

keep accurate note henceforth till we land.

On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and