It was about ten of the clock on a November morning in the little
village of Blea-on-the-Sands. The hamlet was made up of some thirty
houses, which clustered together on a low rising ground. The place was
very poor, but some old merchant of bygone days had built in a pious
mood a large church, which was now too great for the needs of the place;
the nave had been unroofed in a heavy gale, and there was no money to
repair it, so that it had fallen to decay, and the tower was joined to
the choir by roofless walls. This was a sore trial to the old priest,
Father Thomas, who had grown grey there; but he had no art in gathering
money, which he asked for in a shamefaced way; and the vicarage was a
poor one, hardly enough for the old man's needs. So the church lay
desolate.
The village stood on what must once have been an island; the little
river Reddy, which runs down to the sea, there forking into two channels
on the landward side; towards the sea the ground was bare, full of
sand-hills covered with a short grass. Towards the land was a small wood
of gnarled trees, the boughs of which were all brushed smooth by the
gales; looking landward there was the green flat, in which the river
ran, rising into low hills; hardly a house was visible save one or two
lonely farms; two or three church towers rose above the hills at a long
distance away. Indeed Blea was much cut off from the world; there was a
bridge over the stream on the west side, but over the other channel was
no bridge, so that to fare eastward it was requisite to go in a boat.
To seaward there were wide sands, when the tide was out; when it was in,
it came up nearly to the end of the village street. The people were
mostly fishermen, but there were a few farmers and labourers; the boats
of the fishermen lay to the east side of the village, near the river
channel which gave some draught of water; and the channel was marked out
by big black stakes and posts that straggled out over the sands, like
awkward leaning figures, to the sea's brim.
Father Thomas lived in a small and ancient brick house near the church,
with a little garden of herbs attached. He was a kindly man, much worn
by age and weather, with a wise heart, and he loved the quiet life with
his small flock. This morning he had come out of his house to look
abroad, before he settled down to the making of his sermon. He looked
out to sea, and saw with a shadow of sadness the black outline of a
wreck that had come ashore a week before, and over which the white
waves were now breaking. The wind blew steadily from the north-east, and
had a bitter poisonous chill in it, which it doubtless drew from the
fields of the upper ice. The day was dark and over, hung, not with
cloud, but with a kind of dreary vapour that shut out the sun. Father
Thomas shuddered at the wind, and drew his patched cloak round him. As
he did so, he saw three figures come up to the vicarage gate. It was not
a common thing for him to have visitors in the morning, and he saw with
surprise that they were old Master John Grimston, the richest man in the
place, half farmer and half fisherman, a dark surly old man; his wife,
Bridget, a timid and frightened woman, who found life with her harsh
husband a difficult business, in spite of their wealth, which, for a
place like Blea, was great; and their son Henry, a silly shambling man
of forty, who was his father's butt. The three walked silently and
heavily, as though they came on a sad errand.
Father Thomas went briskly down to meet them, and greeted them with his
accustomed cheerfulness. "And what may I do for you?" he said. Old
Master Grimston made a sort of gesture with his head as though his wife
should speak; and she said in a low and somewhat husky voice, with a
rapid utterance, "We have a matter, Father, we would ask you about--are
you at leisure?" Father Thomas said, "Ay, I am ashamed to be not more
busy! Let us go within the house." They did so; and even in the little
distance to the door, the Father thought that his visitors behaved
themselves very strangely. They peered round from left to right, and
once or twice Master Grimston looked sharply behind them, as though they
were followed. They said nothing but "Ay" and "No" to the Father's talk,
and bore themselves like people with a sore fear on their backs. Father
Thomas made up his mind that it was some question of money, for nothing
else was wont to move Master Grimston's mind. So he had them into his
parlour and gave them seats, and then there was a silence, while the two
men continued to look furtively about them, and the goodwife sate with
her eyes upon the priest's face. Father Thomas knew not what to make of
this, till Master Grimston said harshly, "Come, wife, tell the tale and
make an end; we must not take up the Father's time."
"I hardly know how to say it, Father," said Bridget, "but a strange and
evil thing has befallen us; there is something come to our house, and we
know not what it is--but it brings a fear with it." A sudden paleness
came over her face, and she stopped, and the three exchanged a glance in
which terror was visibly written. Master Grimston looked over his
shoulder swiftly, and made as though to speak, yet only swallowed in his
throat; but Henry said suddenly, in a loud and woeful voice: "It is an
evil beast out of the sea." And then there followed a dreadful silence,
while Father Thomas felt a sudden fear leap up in his heart, at the
contagion of the fear that he saw written on the faces round him. But he
said with all the cheerfulness he could muster, "Come, friends, let us
not begin to talk of sea-beasts; we must have the whole tale Mistress
Grimston, I must hear the story--be content--nothing can touch us here."
The three seemed to draw a faint content from his words, and Bridget
began:--
"It was the day of the wreck, Father. John was up betimes, before the
dawn; he walked out early to the sands, and Henry with him--and they
were the first to see the wreck--was not that it?" At these words the
father and son seemed to exchange a very swift and secret look, and both
grew pale. "John told me there was a wreck ashore, and they went
presently and roused the rest of the village; and all that day they were
out, saving what could be saved. Two sailors were found, both dead and
pitifully battered by the sea, and they were buried, as you know,
Father, in the churchyard next day; John came back about dusk and Henry
with him, and we sate down to our supper. John was telling me about the
wreck, as we sate beside the fire, when Henry, who was sitting apart,
rose up and cried out suddenly, 'What is that?'"
She paused for a moment, and Henry, who sate with face blanched, staring
at his mother, said, "Ay, did I--it ran past me suddenly." "Yes, but
what was it?" said Father Thomas trying to smile; "a dog or cat,
methinks." "It was a beast," said Henry slowly, in a trembling voice--"a
beast about the bigness of a goat. I never saw the like--yet I did not
see it clear; I but felt the air blow, and caught a whiff of it--it was
salt like the sea, but with a kind of dead smell behind." "Was that all
you saw?" said Father Thomas; "belike you were tired and faint, and the
air swam round you suddenly--I have known the like myself when weary."
"Nay, nay," said Henry, "this was not like that--it was a beast, sure
enough."
"Ay, and we have seen it since," said Bridget. "At least I have not seen
it clearly yet, but I have smelt its odour, and it turns me sick--but
John and Henry have seen it often--sometimes it lies and seems to sleep,
but it watches us; and again it is merry, and will leap in a corner--and
John saw it skip upon the sands near the wreck--did you not, John?" At
these words the two men again exchanged a glance, and then old Master
Grimston, with a dreadful look in his face, in which great anger seemed
to strive with fear, said "Nay, silly woman, it was not near the wreck,
it was out to the east." "It matters little," said Father Thomas, who
saw well enough this was no light matter. "I never heard the like of it.
I will myself come down to your house with a holy book, and see if the
thing will meet me. I know not what this is," he went on, "whether it is
a vain terror that hath hold of you; but there be spirits of evil in
the world, though much fettered by Christ and His Saints--we read of
such in Holy Writ--and the sea, too, doubtless hath its monsters; and it
may be that one hath wandered out of the waves, like a dog that hath
strayed from his home. I dare not say, till I have met it face to face.
But God gives no power to such things to hurt those who have a fair
conscience."--And here he made a stop, and looked at the three; Bridget
sate regarding him with a hope in her face; but the other two sate
peering upon the ground; and the priest divined in some secret way that
all was not well with them. "But I will come at once," he said rising,
"and I will see if I can cast out or bind the thing, whatever it be--for
I am in this place as a soldier of the Lord, to fight with works of
darkness." He took a clasped book from a table, and lifted up his hat,
saying, "Let us set forth." Then he said as they left the room, "Hath it
appeared to-day?" "Yes, indeed," said Henry, "and it was ill content.
It followed us as though it were angered." "Come," said Father Thomas
turning upon him, "you speak thus of a thing, as you might speak of a
dog--what is it like?" "Nay," said Henry, "I know not; I can never see
it clearly; it is like a speck in the eye--it is never there when you
look upon it--it glides away very secretly; it is most like a goat, I
think. It seems to be horned, and hairy; but I have seen its eyes, and
they were yellow, like a flame."
As he said these words Master Grimston went in haste to the door, and
pulled it open as though to breathe the air. The others followed him and
went out; but Master Grimston drew the priest aside, and said like a man
in a mortal fear, "Look you, Father, all this is true--the thing is a
devil--and why it abides with us I know not; but I cannot live so; and
unless it be cast out it will slay me--but if money be of avail, I have
it in abundance." "Nay," said Father Thomas, "let there be no talk of
money--perchance if I can aid you, you may give of your gratitude to
God." "Ay, ay," said the old man hurriedly, "that was what I
meant--there is money in abundance for God, if he will but set me free."
So they walked very sadly together through the street. There were few
folk about; the men and the children were all abroad--a woman or two
came to the house doors, and wondered a little to see them pass so
solemnly, as though they followed a body to the grave.
Master Grimston's house was the largest in the place. It had a walled
garden before it, with a strong door set in the wall. The house stood
back from the road, a dark front of brick with gables; behind it the
garden sloped nearly to the sands, with wooden barns and warehouses.
Master Grimston unlocked the door, and then it seemed that his terrors
came over him, for he would have the priest enter first. Father Thomas,
with a certain apprehension of which he was ashamed, walked quickly in,
and looked about him. The herbage of the garden had mostly died down in
the winter, and a tangle of sodden stalks lay over the beds. A flagged
path edged with box led up to the house, which seemed to stare at them
out of its dark windows with a sort of steady gaze. Master Grimston
fastened the door behind them, and they went all together, keeping close
one to another, up to the house, the door of which opened upon a big
parlour or kitchen, sparely furnished, but very clean and comfortable.
Some vessels of metal glittered on a rack. There were chairs, ranged
round the open fireplace. There was no sound except that the wind
buffeted in the chimney. It looked a quiet and homely place, and Father
Thomas grew ashamed of his fears. "Now," said he in his firm voice,
"though I am your guest here, I will appoint what shall be done. We will
sit here together, and talk as cheerfully as we may, till we have
dined. Then, if nothing appears to us,"--and he crossed himself--"I will
go round the house, into every room, and see if we can track the thing
to its lair: then I will abide with you till evensong; and then I will
soon return, and lie here to-night. Even if the thing be wary, and dares
not to meet the power of the Church in the day-time, perhaps it will
venture out at night; and I will even try a fall with it. So come, good
people, and be comforted."
So they sate together; and Father Thomas talked of many things, and told
some old legends of saints; and they dined, though without much cheer;
and still nothing appeared. Then, after dinner, Father Thomas would view
the house. So he took his book up, and they went from room to room. On
the ground floor there were several chambers not used, which they
entered in turn, but saw nothing; on the upper floor was a large room
where Master Grimston and his wife slept; and a further room for Henry,
and a guest-chamber in which the priest was to sleep if need was; and a
room where a servant-maid slept. And now the day began to darken and to
turn to evening, and Father Thomas felt a shadow grow in his mind. There
came into his head a verse of Scripture about a spirit which found a
house "empty, swept and garnished," and called his fellows to enter in.
At the end of the passage was a locked door; and Father Thomas said:
"This is the last room--let us enter." "Nay, there is no need to do
that," said Master Grimston in a kind of haste; "it leads nowhither--it
is but a room of stores." "It were a pity to leave it unvisited," said
the Father--and as he said the word, there came a kind of stirring from
within. "A rat, doubtless," said the Father, striving with a sudden
sense of fear; but the pale faces round him told another tale. "Come,
Master Grimston, let us be done with this;" said Father Thomas
decisively; "the hour of vespers draws nigh." So Master Grimston slowly
drew out a key and unlocked the door, and Father Thomas marched in. It
was a simple place enough. There were shelves on which various household
matters lay, boxes and jars, with twine and cordage. On the ground stood
chests. There were some clothes hanging on pegs, and in a corner was a
heap of garments, piled up. On one of the chests stood a box of rough
deal, and from the corner of it dripped water, which lay in a little
pool on the floor. Master Grimston went hurriedly to the box and pushed
it further to the wall. As he did so, a kind of sound came from Henry's
lips. Father Thomas turned and looked at him; he stood pale and
strength-less, his eyes fixed on the corner--at the same moment
something dark and shapeless seemed to slip past the group, and there
came to the nostrils of Father Thomas a strange sharp smell, as of the
sea, only that there was a taint within it, like the smell of
corruption.
They all turned and looked at Father Thomas together, as though seeking
a comfort from his presence. He, hardly knowing what he did, and in the
grasp of a terrible fear, fumbled with his book; and opening it, read
the first words that his eye fell upon, which was the place where the
Blessed Lord, beset with enemies, said that if He did but pray to His
Father, He should send Him forthwith legions of angels to encompass Him.
And the verse seemed to the priest so like a message sent instantly from
heaven that he was not a little comforted.
But the thing, whatever the reason was, appeared to them no more at that
time. Yet the thought of it lay very heavy on Father Thomas's heart. In
truth he had not in the bottom of his mind believed that he would see
it, but had trusted in his honest life and his sacred calling to protect
him. He could hardly speak for some minutes,--moreover the horror of
the thing was very great--and seeing him so grave, their terrors were
increased, though there was a kind of miserable joy in their minds that
some one, and he a man of high repute, should suffer with them.
Then Father Thomas, after a pause--they were now in the parlour--said,
speaking very slowly, that they were in a sore affliction of Satan, and
that they must withstand him with a good courage--"and look you," he
added, turning with a great sternness to the three, "if there be any
mortal sin upon your hearts, see that you confess it and be shriven
speedily--for while such a thing lies upon the heart, so long hath Satan
power to hurt--otherwise have no fear at all."
Then Father Thomas slipped out to the garden, and hearing the bell
pulled for vespers, he went to the church, and the three would go with
him, because they would not be left alone. So they went together; by
this time the street was fuller, and the servant-maid had told tales,
so that there was much talk in the place about what was going forward.
None spoke with them as they went, but at every corner you might see one
check another in talk, and a silence fall upon a group, so that they
knew that their terrors were on every tongue. There was but a handful of
worshippers in the church, which was dark, save for the light on Father
Thomas' book. He read the holy service swiftly and courageously, but his
face was very pale and grave in the light of the candle. When the
vespers were over, and he had put off his robe, he said that he would go
back to his house, and gather what he needed for the night, and that
they should wait for him at the churchyard gate. So he strode off to his
vicarage. But as he shut to the door, he saw a dark figure come running
up the garden; he waited with a fear in his mind, but in a moment he saw
that it was Henry, who came up breathless, and said that he must speak
with the Father alone. Father Thomas knew that somewhat dark was to be
told him. So he led Henry into the parlour and seated himself, and said,
"Now, my son, speak boldly." So there was an instant's silence, and
Henry slipped on to his knees.
Then in a moment Henry with a sob began to tell his tale. He said that
on the day of the wreck his father had roused him very early in the
dawn, and had told him to put on his clothes and come silently, for he
thought there was a wreck ashore. His father carried a spade in his
hand, he knew not then why. They went down to the tide, which was moving
out very fast, and left but an inch or two of water on the sands. There
was but a little light, but, when they had walked a little, they saw the
black hull of a ship before them, on the edge of the deeper water, the
waves driving over it; and then all at once they came upon the body of a
man lying on his face on the sand. There was no sign of life in him, but
he clasped a bag in his hand that was heavy, and the pocket of his coat
was full to bulging; and there lay, moreover, some glittering things
about him that seemed to be coins. They lifted the body up, and his
father stripped the coat off from the man, and then bade Henry dig a
hole in the sand, which he presently did, though the sand and water
oozed fast into it. Then his father, who had been stooping down,
gathering somewhat up from the sand, raised the body up, and laid it in
the hole, and bade Henry cover it with the sand. And so he did till it
was nearly hidden. Then came a horrible thing; the sand in the hole
began to move and stir, and presently a hand was put out with clutching
fingers; and Henry had dropped the spade, and said, "There is life in
him," but his father seized the spade, and shovelled the sand into the
hole with a kind of silent fury, and trampled it over and smoothed it
down--and then he gathered up the coat and the bag, and handed Henry the
spade. By this time the town was astir, and they saw, very faintly, a
man run along the shore eastward; so, making a long circuit to the west,
they returned; his father had put the spade away and taken the coat
upstairs; and then he went out with Henry, and told all he could find
that there was a wreck ashore.
The priest heard the story with a fierce shame and anger, and turning to
Henry he said, "But why did you not resist your father, and save the
poor sailor?" "I dared not," said Henry shuddering, "though I would have
done so if I could; but my father has a power over me, and I am used to
obey him." Then said the priest, "This is a dark matter. But you have
told the story bravely, and now will I shrive you, my son." So he gave
him shrift. Then he said to Henry, "And have you seen aught that would
connect the beast that visits you with this thing?" "Ay, that I have,"
said Henry, "for I watched it with my father skip and leap in the water
over the place where the man lies buried." Then the priest said, "Your
father must tell me the tale too, and he must make submission to the
law." "He will not," said Henry. "Then will I compel him," said the
priest. "Not out of my mouth," said Henry, "or he will slay me too." And
then the priest said that he was in a strait place, for he could not use
the words of confession of one man to convict another of his sin. So he
gathered his things in haste, and walked back to the church; but Henry
went another way, saying "I made excuse to come away, and said I went
elsewhere; but I fear my father much--he sees very deep; and I would not
have him suspect me of having made confession."
Then the Father met the other two at the church gate; and they went down
to the house in silence, the Father pondering heavily; and at the door
Henry joined them, and it seemed to the Father that old Master Grimston
regarded him not. So they entered the house in silence, and ate in
silence, listening earnestly for any sound. And the Father looked oft on
Master Grimston, who ate and drank and said nothing, never raising his
eyes. But once the Father saw him laugh secretly to himself, so that the
blood came cold in the Father's veins, and he could hardly contain
himself from accusing him. Then the Father had them to prayers, and
prayed earnestly against the evil, and that they should open their
hearts to God, if he would show them why this misery came upon them.
Then they went to bed; and Henry asked that he might lie in the priest's
room, which he willingly granted. And so the house was dark, and they
made as though they would sleep; but the Father could not sleep, and he
heard Henry weeping silently to himself like a little child.
But at last the Father slept--how long he knew not--and suddenly brake
out of his sleep with a horror of darkness all about him, and knew that
there was some evil thing abroad. So he looked upon the room. He heard
Henry mutter heavily in his sleep as though there was a dark terror upon
him; and then, in the light of the dying embers, the Father saw a thing
rise upon the hearth, as though it had slept there, and woke to stretch
itself. And then in the half-light it seemed softly to gambol and play;
but whereas when an innocent beast does this in the simple joy of its
heart, and seems a fond and pretty sight, the Father thought he had
never seen so ugly a sight as the beast gambolling all by itself, as if
it could not contain its own dreadful joy; it looked viler and more
wicked every moment; then, too, there spread in the room the sharp scent
of the sea, with the foul smell underneath it, that gave the Father a
deadly sickness; he tried to pray, but no words would come, and he felt
indeed that the evil was too strong for him. Presently the beast
desisted from its play, and looking wickedly about it, came near to the
Father's bed, and seemed to put up its hairy forelegs upon it; he could
see its narrow and obscene eyes, which burned with a dull yellow light,
and were fixed upon him. And now the Father thought that his end was
near, for he could stir neither hand nor foot, and the sweat rained down
his brow; but he made a mighty effort, and in a voice which shocked
himself, so dry and husky and withal of so loud and screaming a tone it
was, he said three holy words. The beast gave a great quiver of rage,
but it dropped down on the floor, and in a moment was gone. Then Henry
woke, and raising himself on his arm, said somewhat; but there broke out
in the house a great outcry and the stamping of feet, which seemed very
fearful in the silence of the night. The priest leapt out of his bed all
dizzy, and made a light, and ran to the door, and went out, crying
whatever words came to his head. The door of Master Grimston's room was
open, and a strange and strangling sound came forth; the Father made his
way in, and found Master Grimston lying upon the floor, his wife bending
over him; he lay still, breathing pitifully, and every now and then a
shudder ran through him. In the room there seemed a strange and shadowy
tumult going forward; but the Father saw that no time could be lost, and
kneeling down beside Master Grimston, he prayed with all his might.
Presently Master Grimston ceased to struggle and lay still, like a
man who had come out of a sore conflict. Then he opened his eyes, and
the Father stopped his prayers, and looking very hard at him he said,
"My son, the time is very short--give God the glory." Then Master
Grimston, rolling his haggard eyes upon the group, twice strove to speak
and could not; but the third time the Father, bending down his head,
heard him say in a thin voice, that seemed to float from a long way off,
"I slew him ... my sin." Then the Father swiftly gave him shrift, and as
he said the last word, Master Grimston's head fell over on the side, and
the Father said, "He is gone." And Bridget broke out into a terrible cry,
and fell upon Henry's neck, who had entered unseen.
Then the Father bade him lead her away, and put the poor body on the
bed; as he did so he noticed that the face of the dead man was strangely
bruised and battered, as though it had been stamped upon by the hoofs of
some beast. Then Father Thomas knelt, and prayed until the light came
filtering in through the shutters; and the cocks crowed in the village,
and presently it was day. But that night the Father learnt strange
secrets, and something of the dark purposes of God was revealed to him.
In the morning there came one to find the priest, and told him that
another body had been thrown up on the shore, which was strangely
smeared with sand, as though it had been rolled over and over in it;
and the Father took order for its burial.
Then the priest had long talk with Bridget and Henry. He found them
sitting together, and she held her son's hand and smoothed his hair, as
though he had been a little child; and Henry sobbed and wept, but
Bridget was very calm. "He hath told me all," she said, "and we have
decided that he shall do whatever you bid him; must he be given to
justice?" and she looked at the priest very pitifully. "Nay, nay," said
the priest. "I hold not Henry to account for the death of the man; it
was his father's sin, who hath made heavy atonement--the secret shall be
buried in our hearts."
Then Bridget told him how she had waked suddenly out of her sleep, and
heard her husband cry out; and that then followed a dreadful kind of
struggling, with the scent of the sea over all; and then he had all at
once fallen to the ground and she had gone to him--and that then the
priest had come.
Then Father Thomas said with tears that God had shown them deep things
and visited them very strangely; and they would henceforth live humbly
in his sight, showing mercy.
Then lastly he went with Henry to the store-room; and there, in the box
that had dripped with water, lay the coat of the dead man, full of
money, and the bag of money too; and Henry would have cast it back into
the sea, but the priest said that this might not be, but that it should
be bestowed plentifully upon shipwrecked mariners unless the heirs
should be found. But the ship appeared to be a foreign ship, and no
search ever revealed whence the money had come, save that it seemed to
have been violently come by.
Master Grimston was found to have left much wealth. But Bridget would
sell the house and the land, and it mostly went to rebuild the church to
God's glory. Then Bridget and Henry removed to the vicarage and served
Father Thomas faithfully, and they guarded their secret. And beside the
nave is a little high turret built, where burns a lamp in a lantern at
the top, to give light to those at sea.
Now the beast troubled those of whom I write no more; but it is easier
to raise up evil than to lay it; and there are those that say that to
this day a man or a woman with an evil thought in their hearts may see
on a certain evening in November, at the ebb of the tide, a goatlike
thing wade in the water, snuffing at the sand, as though it sought but
found not. But of this I know nothing.
* * * * *