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
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