Читать книгу Dracula - Брэм Стокер, Bram Stoker, John Edgar Browning - Страница 10

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 boxes

of earth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands…

two mates, cook, and myself (captain).

On ii July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish

Customs officers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.

On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and

flagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of

officers thorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed

into Archipelago.

On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about

something. Seemed scared, but would not speak out.

On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady

fellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out

what was wrong; they only told him there was something, and

crossed themselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day

and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.

On 1 6 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew,

Petrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard

watch eight bells last night; was relieved by Abramoff, but did

not go to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they

expected something of the kind, but would not say more than

there was something aboard. Mate getting very impatient with

them; feared some trouble ahead.

On 17 July, yesterday, one of th/men, Olgaren, came to my

cabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought

there was a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his

78 Dracula

watch he had been sheltering behind 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

may spread. To allay it, I shall to-day search entire ship carefully

from stem to stern.

Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them,

as they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we

would search from stem to stern. First mate angry; said it was

folly, and to yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the

men; said he would engage to keep them out of trouble with a

handspike. I let him take the helm, while the rest began thorough

search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns: we left no corner

unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there were

no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when

search over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate

scowled, but said nothing.

22 July. Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy

with sails 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 bad weather. Passed Gibralter and out through

Straits. All well.

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 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

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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

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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.