CUTTING FROM "THE DAILYGRAPH," 8 AUGUST
(PASTED IN MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL)
From a correspondent.
Whitby.
One
of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been
experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had
been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of
August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great
body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods,
Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips
in the neighborhood of Whitby. The steamers Emma and Scarborough made
trips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of
`tripping' both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the
afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliff
churchyard, and from the commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of
sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of
`mares tails' high in the sky to the northwest. The wind was then
blowing from the southwest in the mild degree which in barometrical
language is ranked `No. 2, light breeze.'
The coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old
fisherman,who for more than half a century has kept watch on weather
signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner the coming of
a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very beautiful, so grand
in its masses of splendidly coloured clouds, that there was quite an
assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old churchyard to enjoy
the beauty.Before the sun dipped below the black mass of Kettleness,
standing boldly athwart the western sky, its downward was was marked by
myriad clouds of every sunset colour, flame, purple, pink, green,
violet, and all the tints of gold, with here and there masses not
large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as
well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on
the painters, and doubtless some of the sketches of the `Prelude to the
Great Storm' will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next.
More than one captain made up his mind then and there that his
`cobble' or his `mule', as they term the different classes of boats,
would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The wind fell
away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there was a dead
calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on the
approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature.
There were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting
steamers,which usually hug the shore so closely, kept well to
seaward,and but few fishing boats were in sight. The only sail
noticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was
seemingly going westwards.The foolhardiness or ignorance of her
officers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she remained in sight,
and efforts were made to signal her to reduce sail in the face of her
danger. Before the night shut down she was seen with sails idly
flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of the sea. "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 dischord
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 pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the
night would have 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 at 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.
Recent Comments