He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he could,down the steps. The steps are a great feature of the place. They leadfrom the town up to the church; there are hundreds of them--I do notknow how many--and they wind up in a delicate curve; the slope is sogentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them. I think theymust originally have had something to do with the Abbey. I shall gohome too. Lucy went out visiting with her mother, and as they were onlyduty calls, I did not go. They will be home by this.
_1 August._--I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a mostinteresting talk with my old friend and the two others who always comeand join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I shouldthink must have been in his time a most dictatorial person. He will notadmit anything, and downfaces everybody. If he can't out-argue themhe bullies them, and then takes their silence for agreement with hisviews. Lucy was looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn frock; she hasgot a beautiful colour since she has been here. I noticed that the oldmen did not lose any time in coming up and sitting near her when we satdown. She is so sweet with old people; I think they all fell in lovewith her on the spot. Even my old man succumbed and did not contradicther, but gave me double share instead. I got him on the subject of thelegends, and he went off at once into a sort of sermon. I must try toremember it and put it down:--
"It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel; that's what it be, an'nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' bar-guests andbogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy womena-belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs! They, an' all grims an' signsan' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome beuk-bodies an'railway touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an' to get folks todo somethin' that they don't other incline to. It makes me ireful tothink o' them. Why, it's them that, not content with printin' lies onpaper an' preachin' them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin' themon the tombsteans. Look here all round you in what airt ye will; allthem steans, holdin' up their heads as well as they can out of theirpride, is acant--simply tumblin' down with the weight o' the lies wroteon them, 'Here lies the body' or 'Sacred to the memory' wrote on allof them, an' yet in nigh half of them there bean't no bodies at all;an' the memories of them bean't cared a pinch of snuff about, much lesssacred. Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of one kind or another! Mygog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment, when theycome tumblin' up here in their death-sarks, all jouped together an'tryin' to drag their tombsteans with them to prove how good they was;some of them trimmlin' and ditherin', with their hands that dozzenedan' slippy from lyin' in the sea that they can't even keep their grupo' them."
I could see from the old fellow's self-satisfied air and the way inwhich he looked round for the approval of his cronies that he was"showing off," so I put in a word to keep him going:--
"Oh, Mr. Swales, you can't be serious. Surely these tombstones are notall wrong?"
"Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they makeout the people too good; for there be folk that do think a balm-bowlbe like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be onlylies. Now look you here; you come here a stranger, an' you see thiskirk-garth." I nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I didnot quite understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do withthe church. He went on: "And you consate that all these steans be aboonfolk that be happed here, snod an' snog?" I assented again. "Then thatbe just where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these lay-bedsthat be toom as old Dun's 'bacca-box on Friday night." He nudged one ofhis companions, and they all laughed. "And my gog! how could they beotherwise? Look at that one, the aftest abaft the bier-bank; read it!"I went over and read:--
"Edward Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by pirates off the coastof Andres, April, 1854, aet. 30." When I came back Mr. Swales wenton:--
"Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off thecoast of Andres! an' you consated his body lay under! Why, I could nameye a dozen whose bones lie in the G
reenland seas above"--he pointednorthwards--"or where the currents may have drifted them. There be thesteans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the small-print ofthe lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey--I knew his father, lostin the _Lively_ off Greenland in '20; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned inthe same seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a yearlater; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drownedin the Gulf of Finland in '50. Do ye think that all these men will haveto make a rush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherumsaboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they'd be jommlin' an'jostlin' one another that way that it 'ud be like a fight up on the icein the old days, when we'd be at one another from daylight to dark, an'tryin' to tie up our cuts by the light of the aurora borealis." Thiswas evidently local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, andhis cronies joined in with gusto.
"But," I said, "surely you are not quite correct, for you start on theassumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will have totake their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you thinkthat will be really necessary?"
"Well, what else be they tombsteans for? Answer me that, miss!"
"To please their relatives, I suppose."
"To please their relatives, you suppose!" This he said with intensescorn. "How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies is wroteover them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be lies?" Hepointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, onwhich the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. "Read thelines on that thruffstean," he said. The letters were upside down to mefrom where I sat, but Lucy was more opposite to them, so she leant overand read:--
"Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of aglorious resurrection, on July 29, 1873, falling from the rocks atKettleness. This tomb is erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearlybeloved son. 'He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.'Really, Mr. Swales, I don't see anything very funny in that!" She spokeher comment very gravely and somewhat severely.
"Ye don't see aught funny! Ha! ha! But that's because ye don't gawmthe sorrowin' mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he wasacrewk'd--a regular lamiter he was--an' he hated her so that hecommitted suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she puton his life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musketthat they had for scarin' the crows with. 'Twarn't for crows then, forit brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That's the way he fell offthe rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection, I've oftenheard him say masel' that he hoped he'd go to hell, for his mother wasso pious that she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he didn't want toaddle where she was. Now isn't that stean at any rate"--he hammered itwith his stick as he spoke--"a pack of lies? and won't it make Gabrielkeckle when Geordie comes pantin' up the grees with the tombsteanbalanced on his hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!"
I did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as shesaid, rising up:--
"Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my favourite seat, and I cannotleave it; and now I find I must go on sitting over the grave of asuicide."
"That won't harm ye, my pretty; an' it may make poor Geordie gladsometo have so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That won't hurt ye. Why,I've sat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an' it hasn'tdone me no harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under ye, or thatdoesn' lie there either! It'll be time for ye to be getting scart whenye see the tombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as astubble-field. There's the clock, an' I must gang. My service to ye,ladies!" And off he hobbled.
Lucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us that wetook hands as we sat; and she told me all over again about Arthur andtheir coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick, for Ihaven't heard from Jonathan for a whole month.
* * * * *
_The same day._--I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was noletter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan.The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights scattered all over thetown, sometimes in rows where the streets are, and sometimes singly;they run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of the valley. To myleft the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the old house nextthe Abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the fields away behindme, and there is a clatter of a donkey's hoofs up the paved road below.The band on the pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and fartheralong the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street.Neither of the bands hears the other, but up here I hear and see themboth. I wonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking of me! I wish hewere here.
_Dr. Seward's Diary._
_5 June._--The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I getto understand the man. He has certain qualities very largely developed:selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is theobject of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of hisown, but what it is I do not yet know. His redeeming quality is alove of animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it thatI sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of oddsorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has at present such aquantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment, hedid not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter insimple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said: "May I havethree days? I shall clear them away." Of course, I said that would do. Imust watch him.
_18 June._--He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got severalvery big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them with his flies, and thenumber of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although he hasused half his food in attracting more flies from outside to his room.
_1 July._--His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as hisflies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He lookedvery sad at this, so I said that he must clear out some of them, atall events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the sametime as before for reduction. He disgusted me much while with him, forwhen a horrid blowfly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into theroom, he caught it, held it exultingly for a few moments between hisfinger and thumb, and, before I knew what he was going to do, put it inhis mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly thatit was very good and very wholesome; that it was life, strong life,and gave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. Imust watch how he gets rid of his spiders. He has evidently some deepproblem in his mind, for he keeps a little note-book in which he isalways jotting down something. Whole pages of it are filled with massesof figures, generally single numbers added up in batches, and then thetotals added in batches again, as though he was "focusing" some account,as the auditors put it.
_8 July._--There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentaryidea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then,oh, unconscious cerebration! you will have to give the wall to yourconscious brother. I kept away from my friend for a few days, so thatI might notice if there were any change. Things remained as they wereexcept that he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one. Hehas managed to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed it. Hismeans of taming is simple, for already the spiders have diminished.Those that do remain, however, are well fed, for he still brings in theflies by tempting them with his food.
_19 July._--We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony ofsparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I camein he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour--a very,very great favour; and as he spoke he fawned on me like a dog. I askedhim what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his voice andbearing:--
"A kitten, a nice little, sleek, playful kitten, that I can play with,and teach, and feed--and feed--and feed!" I was not unprepared for thisrequest, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size andvivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame sparrowsshould be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and the spiders
; soI said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather have acat than a kitten. His eagerness betrayed him as he answered:--
"Oh, yes I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you shouldrefuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?" I shookmy head, and said that at present I feared it would not be possible, butthat I would see about it. His face fell, and I could see a warning ofdanger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong look which meantkilling. The man is an undeveloped homicidal maniac. I shall test himwith his present craving and see how it will work out; then I shall knowmore.