Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  Closer and closer came the Sea Gull, lying down to the scuppers as she tacked; lightened as she was she made more leeway than was usual to so crank a boat. At last she got her head in the right direction for a run in, and, to the amazement of all who saw her, came full tilt into the outer basin, and, turning sharply round, ran into the inner basin under bare poles. There was not one present, smuggler or coastguard, who did not set down the daring attempt as simply suicidal. In a few seconds the boat stuck on the sandbank accumulated at the western end of the basin and stopped, her bows almost touching the side of the pier. The coastguards had not expected any such manœuvre, and had taken their place on either side of the entrance to the inner basin, so that it took them a few seconds to run the length of the pier and come opposite the boat. The crowd of the smugglers and the smugglers’ friends was so great that just as Neil and his brother began to shove out a plank from the bows to step ashore there was so thick a cluster round the spot that the lieutenant as he came could not see what was going on. Some little opposition was made to his passing through the mass of people, which was getting closer every instant, but his men closed up behind, and together they forced a way to the front before any one from the Sea Gull could spring on shore. A sort of angry murmur — that deep undertone which marks the passion of a mass — arose, and the lieutenant, recognising its import, faced round like lightning, his revolver pointed straight in the faces of the crowd, whilst the men with him drew their cutlasses.

  To Sailor Willy this appearance of action gave a relief from almost intolerable pain. He was in feverish anxiety about Maggie, but he could do nothing — nothing; and to an active and resolute man this feeling is in itself the worst of pain. His heart was simply breaking with suspense, and so it was that the sight of drawn weapons, in whatever cause, came like an anodyne to his tortured imagination. The flash of the cutlasses woke in him the instinct of action, and with a leaping heart he sprang down the narrow winding path that led to the quay.

  Before the lieutenant’s pistol the crowd fell back. It was not that they were afraid — for cowardice is pretty well unknown in Buchan — but authority, and especially in arms, has a special force with law-breakers. But the smugglers did not mean going back altogether now that their booty was so close to them, and the two bodies stood facing each other when Sailor Willy came upon the scene and stood beside the officers. Things were looking pretty serious when the resonant voice of MacWhirter was heard:

  ‘What d’ye mean, men, crowdin’ on the officers. Stand back, there, and let the coastguards come aboard an they will. There’s naught here that they mayn’t see.’

  The lieutenant turned and stepped on the plank — which Neil had by this time shoved on shore — and went on board, followed by two of his men, the other remaining with the boatman and Willy Barrow on the quay. Neil went straight to the officer, and said:

  ‘I want to go ashore at once! Search me an ye will!’ He spoke so rudely that the officer was angered, and said to one of the men beside him:

  ‘Put your hands over him and let him go,’ adding, sotto voce, ‘He wants a lesson in manners!’ The man lightly passed his hands over him to see that he had nothing contraband about him, and, being satisfied on the point, stood back and nodded to his officer, and Neil sprang ashore, and hurried off towards the village.

  Willy had, by this time, a certain feeling of relief, for he had been thinking, and he knew that MacWhirter would not have been so ready to bring the coastguards on board if he had any contraband with him. Hope did for him what despair could not, for as he instinctively turned his eyes over the waste of angry sea, for an instant he did not know if it were the blood in his eyes or, in reality, the red of the dawn which had shot up over the eastern horizon.

  Mendoza’s men, having been carefully searched by one of the coastguards, came sullenly on shore and went to the back of the crowd, where their master, scowling and white-faced, began eagerly to talk with them in whispers. MacWhirter and his elder son busied themselves with apparent nonchalance in the needful matters of the landing, and the crowd seemed holding back for a spring. The suspense of all was broken by the incoming of a boat sent off from the revenue cutter, which, driven by four sturdy oarsmen, and steered by the commander himself, swept into the outer basin of the harbour, tossing amongst the broken waves. In the comparative shelter of the wall it turned, and driving into the inner basin pulled up on the slip beyond where the Sea Gull lay. The instant the boat touched, six bluejackets sprang ashore, followed by the commander, and all seven men marched quietly but resolutely to the quay opposite the Sea Gull’s bow. The oarsmen followed, when they had hauled their boat up on the slip. The crowd now abandoned whatever had been its intention, and fell back looking and muttering thunder.

  By this time the lieutenant was satisfied that the coble contained nothing that was contraband, and, telling its master so, stepped on shore just as Neil, with his face white as a sheet, and his eyes blazing, rushed back at full speed. He immediately attacked Sailor Willy:

  ‘What hae ye dune wi’ ma sister Maggie?’

  He answered as quietly as he could, although there shot through his heart a new pain, a new anxiety:

  ‘I know naught of her. I haven’t seen her since last night, when Alice MacDonald was being married. Is she not at home?’

  ‘Dinna ye ken damned weel that she’s no’. Why did ye send her oot?’ And he looked at him with the menace of murder in his eyes. The lieutenant saw from the looks of the two men that something was wrong, and asked Neil shortly:

  ‘Where did you see her last?’ Neil was going to make some angry reply; but in an instant Mendoza stepped forward, and in a loud voice gave instruction to one of his men who had been on board the Sea Gull to take charge of her, as she was his under a bill of sale. This gave Neil time to think, and his answer came sullenly:

  ‘Nane o’ ye’re business — mind yer ain affairs!’ MacWhirter, when he had seen Neil come running back, had realised the worst, and leaned on the taffrail of the boat, groaning. Mendoza’s man sprang on board, and, taking him roughly by the shoulder, said:

  ‘Come, clear out here. This boat is to Mendoza; get away!’ The old man was so overcome with his feelings regarding Maggie that he made no reply, but quietly, with bent form, stepped on the plank and gained the quay. Willy Barrow rushed forward and took him by the hand and whispered to him:

  ‘What does he mean?’

  ‘He means,’ said the old man in a low, strained voice, ‘that for me an’ him, an’ to warn us she cam oot last nicht in the storm in a wee bit boat, an’ that she is no’ to her hame!’ and he groaned. Willy was smitten with horror. This, then, was Maggie’s high and desperate purpose when she left him. He knew now the meaning of those despairing words, and the darkness of the grave seemed to close over his soul. He moaned out to the old man: ‘She did not tell me she was going. I never knew it. O my God!’ The old man, with the protective instinct of the old to the young, laid his hand on his shoulder, as he said to him in a broken voice:

  ‘A ken it, lad! A ken it weel! She tell’t me sae hersel! The sin is a’ wi’ me, though you, puir lad, must e’en bear yer share o’ the pain!’ The commander said quietly to the lieutenant:

  ‘Looks queer, don’t it — the coastguard and the smuggler whispering?’

  ‘All right,’ came the answer, ‘I know Barrow; he is as true as steel, but he’s engaged to the old man’s daughter. But I gather there’s something queer going on this morning about her. I’ll find out. Barrow,’ he added, calling Willy to him, ‘what is it about MacWhirter’s daughter?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain, sir; but I fear she was out at sea last night.’

  ‘At sea,’ broke in the commander; ‘at sea last night — how?’

  ‘She was in a bit fishin’-boat,’ broke in MacWhirter. ‘Neighbours, hae ony o’ ye seen her this mornin’? ‘Twas ma son Andra’s boat, that he keeps i’ the Downans!’ — another name for the Watter’s Mou’. A sad silence that left the
angry roar of the waves as they broke on the rocks and on the long strand in full possession was the only reply.

  ‘Is the boat back in the Watter’s Mou’?’ asked the lieutenant sharply.

  ‘No,’ said a fisherman. ‘A cam up jist noo past the Barley Mill, an’ there’s nae boat there.’

  ‘Then God help her, an’ God forgie me,’ said MacWhirter, tearing off his cap and holding up his hands, ‘for A’ve killed her — her that sae loved her auld father, that she went oot alane in a bit boat i’ the storm i’ the nicht to save him frae the consequence o’ his sin.’ Willy Barrow groaned, and the lieutenant turned to him: ‘Heart, man, heart! God won’t let a brave girl like that be lost. That’s the lass for a sailor’s wife. ‘Twill be all right — you’ll be proud of her yet!’

  But Sailor Willy only groaned despite the approval of his conscience; his words of last night came back to him. ‘Ye’re no fit wife for me!’ Now the commander spoke out to MacWhirter:

  ‘When did you see her last?’

  ‘Aboot twa o’clock i’ the mornin’.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Aboot twenty miles off the Scaurs.’

  ‘How did she come to leave you?’

  ‘She pulled the boat that she cam in alongside the coble, an’ got in by hersel — the last I saw o’ her she had hoisted her sail an’ was running nor’west. . . . But A’ll see her nae mair — a’s ower wi’ the puir, brave lass — an’ wi’ me, tae, that killed her — a’s ower the noo — a’s ower!’ and he covered his face with his hands and sobbed. The commander said kindly enough, but with a stern gravity that there was no mistaking:

  ‘Do I take it rightly that the girl went out in the storm to warn you?’

  ‘Ay! Puir lass — ’twas an ill day that made me put sic a task on her — God forgie me!’ and there and then he told them all of her gallant deed.

  The commander turned to the lieutenant, and spoke in the quick, resolute, masterful accents of habitual command:

  ‘I shall leave you the bluejackets to help — send your men all out, and scour every nook and inlet from Kirkton to Boddam. Out with all the lifeboats on the coast! And you, men!’ he turned to the crowd, ‘turn out, all of you, to help! Show that there’s some man’s blood in you, to atone if you can for the wrong that sent this young girl out in a storm to save her father from you and your like!’ Here he turned again to the lieutenant, ‘Keep a sharp eye on that man — Mendoza, and all his belongings. We’ll attend to him later on: I’ll be back before night.’

  ‘Where are you off to, Commander?’

  ‘I’m going to scour the sea in the track of the storm where that gallant lass went last night. A brave girl that dared what she did for her father’s sake is not to be lost without an effort; and, by God, she shan’t lack it whilst I hold Her Majesty’s command! Boatswain, signal the cutter full steam up — no, you! We mustn’t lose time, and the boatswain comes with me. To your oars, men!’

  The seamen gave a quick, sharp ‘Hurrah!’ as they sprang to their places, whilst the man of the shore party to whom the order had been given climbed the sea-wall and telegraphed the needful orders; the crowd seemed to catch the enthusiasm of the moment, and scattered right and left to make search along the shore. In a few seconds the revenue boat was tossing on the waves outside the harbour, the men laying to their work as they drove her along, their bending oars keeping time to the swaying body of the commander, who had himself taken the tiller. The lieutenant said to Willy with thoughtful kindness:

  ‘Where would you like to work on the search? Choose which part you will!’ Willy instinctively touched his cap as he answered sadly:

  ‘I should like to watch here, sir, if I may. She would make straight for the Watter’s Mou’!’

  CHAPTER V

  The search for the missing girl was begun vigorously, and carried on thoroughly and with untiring energy. The Port Erroll lifeboat was got out and proceeded up coast, and a telegram was sent to Kirkton to get out the lifeboat there, and follow up the shore to Port Erroll. From either place a body of men with ropes followed on shore keeping pace with the boat’s progress. In the meantime the men of each village and hamlet all along the shore of Buchan from Kirkton to Boddam began a systematic exploration of all the openings on the coast. Of course there were some places where no search could at present be made. The Bullers, for instance, was well justifying its name with the wild turmoil of waters that fretted and churned between its rocky walls, and the neighbourhood of the Twa Een was like a seething caidron. At Dunbuy, a great sheet of foam, perpetually renewed by the rush and recoil of the waves among the rocks, lay like a great white blanket over the inlet, and effectually hid any flotsam or jetsam that might have been driven thither. But on the high cliffs around these places, on every coign of vantage, sat women and children, who kept keen watch for aught that might develop. Every now and again a shrill cry would bring a rush to the place and eager eyes would follow the pointing hand of the watcher who had seen some floating matter; but in every case a few seconds and a little dispersing of the shrouding foam put an end to expectation. Throughout that day the ardour of the searchers never abated. Morning had come rosy and smiling over the waste of heaving waters, and the sun rose and rose till its noonday rays beat down oppressively. But Willy Barrow never ceased from his lonely vigil on the cliff. At dinner-time a good-hearted woman brought him some food, and in kindly sympathy sat by him in silence, whilst he ate it. At first it seemed to him that to eat at all was some sort of wrong to Maggie, and he felt that to attempt it would choke him. But after a few mouthfuls the human need in him responded to the occasion, and he realised how much he wanted food. The kindly neighbour then tried to cheer him with a few words of hope, and a many words of Maggie’s worth, and left him, if not cheered, at least sustained for what he had to endure.

  All day long his glass ranged the sea in endless, ever-baffled hope. He saw the revenue boat strike away at first towards Girdleness, and then turn and go out to where Maggie had left the Sea Gull; and then under full steam churn her way north-west through the fretted seas. Now and again he saw boats, far and near, pass on their way; and as they went through that wide belt of sea where Maggie’s body might be drifting with the wreckage of her boat, his heart leaped and fell again under stress of hope and despair. The tide fell lower and ever lower, till the waves piling into the estuary roared among the rocks that paved the Watter’s Mou’. Again and again he peered down from every rocky point in fear of seeing amid the turmoil — what, he feared to think. There was ever before his eyes the figure of the woman he loved, spread out rising and falling with the heaving waves, her long hair tossing wide and making an aureole round the upturned white face. Turn where he would, in sea or land, or in the white clouds of the summer sky, that image was ever before him, as though it had in some way burned into his iris.

  Late in the afternoon, as he stood beside the crane, where he had met Maggie the night before, he saw Neil coming towards him, and instinctively moved from the place, for he felt that he would not like to meet on that spot, for ever to be hallowed in his mind, Maggie’s brother with hatred in his heart. So he moved slowly to meet him, and when he had got close to the flagstaff waited till he should come up, and swept once again the wide horizon with his glass — in vain. Neil, too, had begun to slow his steps as he drew nearer. Slower and slower he came, and at last stood close to the man whom in the morning he had spoken to with hatred and murder in his heart.

  All the morning Neil had worked with a restless, feverish activity, which was the wonder of all. He had not stayed with the searching party with whom he had set out; their exhaustive method was too slow for him, and he soon distanced them, and alone scoured the whole coast as far as Murdoch Head. Then in almost complete despair, for his mind was satisfied that Maggie’s body had never reached that part of the shore, he had retraced his steps almost at a run, and, skirting the sands of Cruden Bay, on whose wide expanse the breakers still rolled heavily and roared loudly, he glanc
ed among the jagged rocks that lay around Whinnyfold and stretched under the water away to the Scaurs. Then he came back again, and the sense of desolation complete upon him moved his passionate heart to sympathy and pity. It is when the soul within us feels the narrow environments of our selfishness that she really begins to spread her wings.

  Neil walked over the sandhills along Cruden Bay like a man in a dream. With a sailor’s habit he watched the sea, and now and again had his attention attracted by the drifting masses of seaweed torn from its rocky bed by the storm. In such tossing black masses he sometimes thought that Maggie’s body might lie, but his instinct of the sea was too true to be long deceived. And then he began to take himself to task. Hitherto he had been too blindly passionate to be able to think of anything but his own trouble; but now, despite what he could do, the woe-stricken face of Sailor Willy would rise before his inner eye like the embodiment or the wraith of a troubled conscience. When once this train of argument had been started, the remorseless logic which is the mechanism of the spirit of conscience went on its way unerringly. Well he knew it was the ill-doing of which he had a share, and not the duty that Willy owed, that took his sister out alone on the stormy sea. He knew from her own lips that Willy had neither sent her nor even knew of her going, and the habit of fair play which belonged to his life began to exert an influence. The first sign of his change of mind was the tear which welled up in his eye and rolled down his cheek. ‘Poor Maggie! Poor Willy!’ he murmured to himself, half unconsciously, ‘A’ll gang to him an’ tak it a’ back!’ With this impulse on him he quickened his steps, and never paused till he saw Willy Barrow before him, spy-glass to eye, searching the sea for any sign of his lost love. Then his fears, and the awkwardness which a man feels at such a moment, no matter how poignant may be the grief which underlies it, began to trip him up. When he stood beside Willy Barrow, he said, with what bravery he could: