Atlas Nightshade

Day 17

"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean."

Shortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite

oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep

inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and the

band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a discord in the

great harmony of nature's silence. A little after 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 nature 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 coastguard 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 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 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

statutes 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 homeward, 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.

_Whitby_

_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 a 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 formally took

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 to-day 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 after

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 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.