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 somebent 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 studenthowever, 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