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
overhung, 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 strengthless, 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. They 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.