I *may* have convinced my Favorite Local Game Store to open up at Midnight to sell the D&D 5.5 Player's Handbook.

They went back and forth a bit over this past weekend, and I woke up to this this morning.

I'll be picking up the new D & D 5.5 in about 14 hours.

If you want yours and you live in the Chicagoland area then head on out to Games Plus to get your pre-order.

Expect a mini-review after I pick it up!

Arthur has urgent business with his father.

Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward.

“1 September.

“Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write me fully by to-night’s post to Ring. Wire me if necessary.”

Notes: Moon Phase: Waxing Gibbous

Arthur is called away to his father. There is no plot point here; I don't suspect Dracula is feeding on the senior Lord Godalming. This is keep him away so Seward can tell Arthur, and us, about Lucy's condition via a letter.

It is also to make Arthur the new Lord Godalming when his father dies. Being a Lord in this novel will have certain advantages.

Arthur calls on an old friend.

Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. Seward.

“Albemarle Hotel, 31 August.

“My dear Jack,—

“I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill; that is, she has no special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every day. I have asked her if there is any cause; I do not dare to ask her mother, for to disturb the poor lady’s mind about her daughter in her present state of health would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her doom is spoken—disease of the heart—though poor Lucy does not know it yet. I am sure that there is something preying on my dear girl’s mind. I am almost distracted when I think of her; to look at her gives me a pang. I told her I should ask you to see her, and though she demurred at first—I know why, old fellow—she finally consented. It will be a painful task for you, I know, old friend, but it is for her sake, and I must not hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch at Hillingham to-morrow, two o’clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion in Mrs. Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of being alone with you. I shall come in for tea, and we can go away together; I am filled with anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as I can after you have seen her. Do not fail!

“Arthur.”

Notes: Moon Phase: Waxing Gibbous

More insight into the background of our three Victorian gentlemen. Even though Seward was once Lucy's suitor, Holmwood trusts him enough to have him look in on her. Alone with her no less.

Good thing too, this is the start of the sequence of events that brings in Van Helsing to our tale.

 This one is very easy, and hard. In fact I am sitting here drinking a Mt. Dew (though now a Zero sugar one) in his honor.

My friend and old DM Michael Grenda, died last year. It was a rather sudden and unexpected death. We had not talked in years (jobs, marriages, kids), but we had met up about this time last year, and we fell right into old patterns. 

I was very happy that his life had turned out happy. Maybe not exactly like we used to talk about in High School, but really who can say that.  I still feel sorrow for his wife and daughter.

I have been working on an adventure that I want to get out dedicated to him and based on his version of the "Mad Archmage" archetype. No, it's not a mega-dungeon, but it's certainly closer to a funhouse dungeon.  He, his wife, and his daughter all used to work at this haunted house, one of the largest in the state of Illinois. I was comforted in seeing that there were so many of these "Boo Crew" folks at his funeral. It seems right that the adventure should be a large haunted house-like deal.

Me and Grenda at Dell Rhea's Chicken Basket on Rt. 66 in July 2023

Yeah. I wore that Radio Shack shirt on purpose. We bonded over our love of the TRS-80 Color Computer.  I still have his old computer.

It was his birthday a couple of days ago. To be perfectly honest I am still coming to terms with the fact that he is gone. Weird. 

--

And that is all for Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August, 2024!

 I have not done one of these in a while. While the new 5e D&D (5.5 I am now calling it) is on the horizon, we must not forget there are other games, some really good ones, out there.

Here is one that looks promising and it from Roderic Waibel and Izegrim Creations who has given us some great content in the past.

GEAS Role Playing System

https://www.backerkit.com/c/projects/izegrim-creations/geas-role-playing-system?ref=theotherside

From the campaign:

"GEAS is a high fantasy role-playing game designed with a core mechanic that's easy to learn yet offers tremendous flexibility and options and fosters player agency. Best yet, the core rules will be Creative Commons so YOU have control over your creations."

Ok that doesn't tell us a lot, but there are some good things here.

For starters you grab the GEAS Quickstart Guide for free and this gives you a much better feel for the game.  It is fantasy, but not D&D.

Emphasis is on ease of play and giving the players plenty of options to explore their characters.

I like this bit to be honest and I think that is one of the (many) reasons why D&D 5 has been so successful. 

On the design side, the art looks great and Roderic Waibel is making a No AI art pledge here. That's good. It is also being released into the Creative Commons, also a nice touch.

The game *reads* well, but the proof is in the playing. So I am looking forward to trying it out and will certainly feature it sometime next year. Though if I know Roderic, the game is already done and he is working on the final layout now.

 Hmm. That is an interesting one. I am not entirely sure, to be honest.

I do think playing a game where Matt Mercer DMing would be fun. I would also would love to sit in on a session with Todd Stashwick or Deborah Ann Woll because they just always look like they are having an absolute blast when they play.

But in truth I'd rather just play a game with some of the guys I used to game with. More on that one tomorrow.

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

 Ok, this one is a bit of a cheat, but I enjoy the Google dice roller app.

I can be anywhere and have access to all sorts of dice. It is not as nice as real dice and really only pseudorandom, but it works in a pinch.

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

 I think following up on yesterday's post I have to go with HeroForge as a Great Gamer Gadget. 

Even if you never get a mini from them (and you should get at least one, they are great) their mini designer is one of the better Character design tools out there.

Come to think of it. I don't have a mini of Omar yet!

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

 This one is rather easy. I am completely in love with the miniatures from HeroForge.

These all sit on my desk.

I was an early backer, and backed it again for their color print process. Since then I hove picked up quite a few. What can I say, I love them.

Here is my "mini-me" and my alter ego Johan.

I have a few Larinas. A printed one and few I did on our home printer.

Some to commemorate my best Baldur's Gate 3 run, Sinéad, Karlach and Shadowheart.

The mini standees of Duchess & Candella. I wanted to try it out.

And Willow & Tara. Because of course I did.

Not to mention all the screen shots I have used over the years.

Likely not long before I get an itch and want to make another one.

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

 GM's Screens are tools and I usually don't think about them much.  But there is one that stands out. The AD&D Dungeon Master's Screen.

There are couple of good reasons for this.

First the screen was on very heavy cardstock so it was durable and stood well on it's onw. There were some very, very flimsy ones that came out in the 90s and even into the 2000s that really were not very good.

The second was it collected a lot of must have information in one place. AD&D 1st Edition is notoriously bad for how it organizes information. You can see this if you step away from the game for any length of time, but come on, we knew it back then too.  The DM's Screen puts most of the most needed information in one place.

There are also a lot of nostalgia reasons too.

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

Lucy continues in her diary.

25 August.—Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to my proposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears to worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while; but when the clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must have been falling asleep. There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the window, but I did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I must then have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I could remember them. This morning I am horribly weak. My face is ghastly pale, and my throat pains me. It must be something wrong with my lungs, for I don’t seem ever to get air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes, or else I know he will be miserable to see me so.

Notes: Moon Phase: Waxing Crescent

Lucy's mother is not doing well.

The symptoms Lucy is describing here are very accurate for someone with significant blood loss. 

 I have eBay alerts out for various dice sets, but mostly I am looking for original Dragon Dice. You know, like the kind that use to cost about $4 or so at Waldenbooks?

Here is mine, kept in the package. 

The markup on them now is about x100 what they were in the 1980s.

Thankfully I also found some new ones from Threshold Diceworks. They are new, resin cast dice, but they look very much like the old ones for a fraction of the markup.

These retro dice were made by Threshold Diceworks. Which you can find on Facebook and their Etsy store. He was taking pre-orders a while back and mine finally came in yesterday and I am very pleased with them!

They compare very favorably to the sets I had with my Expert set, the Dragon Dice polyhedrals, and the sets that came with the Mentzer Basic boxes.

Yes. Those are my Mentzer dice still in a bag and unopened and unmarked.

Now I just need to score an Orange d8.

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

Mina writes to Lucy to give her an update on Jonathan.

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra.

“Buda-Pesth, 24 August.

“My dearest Lucy,—

“I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since we parted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my dear, I got to Hull all right, and caught the boat to Hamburg, and then the train on here. I feel that I can hardly recall anything of the journey, except that I knew I was coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do some nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could.... I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask. He has had some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor brain if he were to try to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good creature and a born nurse, tells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. I wanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself, and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she should respect her trust. She is a sweet, good soul, and the next day, when she saw I was troubled, she opened up the subject again, and after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved about, added: ‘I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be, have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat of.’ I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my poor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea of my being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me whisper, I felt a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no other woman was a cause of trouble. I am now sitting by his bedside, where I can see his face while he sleeps. He is waking!...

“When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get something from the pocket; I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought all his things. I saw that amongst them was his note-book, and was going to ask him to let me look at it—for I knew then that I might find some clue to his trouble—but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for he sent me over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite alone for a moment. Then he called me back, and when I came he had his hand over the note-book, and he said to me very solemnly:—

“‘Wilhelmina’—I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him—‘you know, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.’ For, my dear, we had decided to be married as soon as the formalities are complete. ‘Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let me know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.’ He fell back exhausted, and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him. I have asked Sister Agatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this afternoon, and am waiting her reply....

 

“She has come and told me that the chaplain of the English mission church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour, or as soon after as Jonathan awakes....

 

“Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very, very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was ready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered his ‘I will’ firmly and strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was so full that even those words seemed to choke me. The dear sisters were so kind. Please God, I shall never, never forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilities I have taken upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When the chaplain and the sisters had left me alone with my husband—oh, Lucy, it is the first time I have written the words ‘my husband’—left me alone with my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax, and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh, Lucy, it was the first time he took his wife’s hand, and said that it was the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go through all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant to have said a part of the past, but he cannot think of time yet, and I shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only the month, but the year.

“Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him that I was the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to give him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these went my love and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed me, and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a very solemn pledge between us....

“Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only because it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me; so that in your own married life you too may be all happy as I am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises: a long day of sunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for that can never be; but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am now. Good-bye, my dear. I shall post this at once, and, perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan is waking—I must attend to my husband!

“Your ever-loving
“Mina Harker.”

Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker.

“Whitby, 30 August.*

“My dearest Mina,—

“Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in your own home with your husband. I wish you could be coming home soon enough to stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore Jonathan; it has quite restored me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am full of life, and sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite given up walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of my bed for a week, that is when I once got into it at night. Arthur says I am getting fat. By the way, I forgot to tell you that Arthur is here. We have such walks and drives, and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing together; and I love him more than ever. He tells me that he loves me more, but I doubt that, for at first he told me that he couldn’t love me more than he did then. But this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me. So no more just at present from your loving

“Lucy.

“P. S.—Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear.

“P. P. S.—We are to be married on 28 September.”

Lucy Westenra’s Diary

Hillingham, 24 August.—I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is the change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and horrid to me, for I can remember nothing; but I am full of vague fear, and I feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn’t the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in mother’s room to-night. I shall make an excuse and try.

Notes: Moon Phase: Waxing Crescent

Mina is now Mina Harker. She married Jonathan right away in the hospital in Buda-Pesth (Budapest). The wedding was Catholic, though Jonathan and Mina were most likely to have been Anglican. In fact we have seen evidence, especially in the beginning of this tale, that he was not Catholic. 

While we have details about their wedding, the wedding night goes without much of a mention. I can see why people want to paint Mina as the love of Dracula; they certainly have more going on than Mina and Jonathan.

* Lucy's letter to Mina is misdated. We know from future interactions that Lucy will be in very bad shape on August 30. Her return to sleep-walking, like Renfield's strange behavior, is due to Dracula returning from London.

Lucy's diary entry seems to be correct.  Plus it seems obvious that after hearing the good news from her friend Lucy would seek to emulate her more.

Both Lucy and her mother are not doing well. Lucy's mother, also a victim of Dracula I speculate, is doing much worse, but both women are of a fraily constitution.  We will see which one fares for the worse.

Hillingham does not exist on any street map of the time, nor of the present day.

 Acclaimed Advice. I have had so much over the years it's hard to remember what was advice and what was things I learned on my own.

But I do know one that is pretty recent. Characters should not be perfect from Ginny Di.

She wasn't the first to say it. Not by a long shot. Nor was what she was saying particularly original (which was also her point), but it is solid advice all the same. 

Her advice in a nutshell? Build the character to be fun. For you that might mean optimal builds, or min-maxing. For me it cool magic and a bunch of other things.

Regardless of hearing it in 2024, 2014 or 1984 the advice is still good. 

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

Dr. Seward continues to monitor Renfield.

23 August.—“The unexpected always happens.” How well Disraeli knew life. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all our subtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have proved one thing; that the spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall in future be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have given orders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the padded room, when once he is quiet, until an hour before sunrise. The poor soul’s body will enjoy the relief even if his mind cannot appreciate it. Hark! The unexpected again! I am called; the patient has once more escaped.

 

Later.—Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until the attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out past him and flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants to follow. Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house, and we found him in the same place, pressed against the old chapel door. When he saw me he became furious, and had not the attendants seized him in time, he would have tried to kill me. As we were holding him a strange thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his efforts, and then as suddenly grew calm. I looked round instinctively, but could see nothing. Then I caught the patient’s eye and followed it, but could trace nothing as it looked into the moonlit sky except a big bat, which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel and flit about, but this one seemed to go straight on, as if it knew where it was bound for or had some intention of its own. The patient grew calmer every instant, and presently said:—

“You needn’t tie me; I shall go quietly!” Without trouble we came back to the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm, and shall not forget this night....

Notes: Moon Phase: Waning Crescent

There is no evidence of Benjamin Disraeli (or any other Disraeli) ever saying the quote above. It is an English proverb recorded for the first time in the 19th Century; when Dracula was published and Disraeli was PM.

Renfield is obviously a lot smarter than Seward is giving him credit for.  He is also focused on something that Seward doesn't quiet yet see.

There are so many choices again here as well. Hard to narrow it down really.

So I am going to with "Amazing Anecdote" instead.

A couple years back we were all at Gen Con waiting to get into the Dealer room. I had been commenting to my wife and kids that the crowd seemed younger, and far more diverse than in previous years. We also noted more families.

As we were walking by two young women, likely in their late teens or early twenties, were going the other direction. One was telling the other, "I love it here, this is one of the few places I can really feel like I am being myself."

I can completely relate!

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

 I have a lot of characters. Often times, the difference between a PC and an NPC is only "Am I running this game."

One of my favorite NPCs is my unquestionably evil necromancer / warlock Magnus. 

I have had this guy for a few decades now really. He began as a Death Master from Dragon Magazine #76, expanded on him a bit more when Quagmire came out, and he got a big boost in college when he became my big bad for my "Atlantean" campaign. 

I created my Death Pact Warlock to make sure I could use him in my Basic-era games, too. 

One thing I've never done is play Magnus as a PC. However, I'm now experimenting by using the Dread Lord mod for Warlocks in Baldur's Gate 3. He's currently a 2nd level warlock, but I plan to give him some levels in Wizard (Necromancer). I'm playing him as a 'Dark Urge', which is a change from my usual preference for good characters fighting evil. 

Maybe I'll even hire some NPCs and mod them to be Runu and Urnu. I have a witch mod (naturally) for BG3, so that actually might be fun. I'll have to see if I can manage that.

I'll have to keep you all posted. 

--

I am participating in Dave Chapman's #RPGaDAY2024 for August. 

 Letter detailing the delivery of Dracula's boxes of Earth.

Letter, Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co., London, to Messrs. Billington & Son, Whitby.

“21 August.

“Dear Sirs,—

“We beg to acknowledge £10 received and to return cheque £1 17s. 9d, amount of overplus, as shown in receipted account herewith. Goods are delivered in exact accordance with instructions, and keys left in parcel in main hall, as directed.

“We are, dear Sirs,
“Yours respectfully.
“Pro Carter, Paterson & Co.”

Notes: Moon Phase: Waning Crescent

The biggest question here is, how do we know about this letter? All correspondences are assumed to have been collected by Mina and organized.  But how did she obtain these letters?

Were they discovered by our hunters when they went and searched for clues? I mean I am sure Holmwood could demand to see them, he was a Lord afterall.

In any case they got them and it helped to track down the boxes.

The story of Demeter is told in full after it runs a ground.

CUTTING FROM “THE DAILYGRAPH,” 8 AUGUST

(Pasted in Mina Murray’s Journal.)

From a Correspondent.

Whitby.

ONE of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood’s Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips in the neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers Emma and Scarborough made trips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of “tripping” both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from that commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of “mares’-tails” high in the sky to the north-west. The wind was then blowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometrical language is ranked “No. 2: light breeze.” The coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured clouds, that there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its downward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour—flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold; with here and there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of the sketches of the “Prelude to the Great Storm” will grace the R. A. and R. I. walls in May next. More than one captain made up his mind then and there that his “cobble” or his “mule,” as they term the different classes of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The wind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there was a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on the approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature. There were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers, which usually “hug” the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and but few fishing-boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signal her to reduce sail in face of her danger. Before the night shut down she was seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of the sea,

“As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.”

Shortly before ten o’clock the stillness of the air grew quite oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a discord in the great harmony of nature’s silence. A little after midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow booming.

Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose in growing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till in a very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster. White-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up the shelving cliffs; others broke over the piers, and with their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour. The wind roared like thunder, and blew with such force that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to clear the entire piers from the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the night would have been increased manifold. To add to the difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came drifting inland—white, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort of imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were touching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many a one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.

Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and of absorbing interest—the sea, running mountains high, threw skywards with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away into space; here and there a fishing-boat, with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast; now and again the white wings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On the summit of the East Cliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet been tried. The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of the inrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing-boat, with gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance of the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the piers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout of joy from the mass of people on shore, a shout which for a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush.

Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been noticed earlier in the evening. The wind had by this time backed to the east, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as they realized the terrible danger in which she now was. Between her and the port lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have from time to time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that she should fetch the entrance of the harbour. It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so great that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost visible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such speed that, in the words of one old salt, “she must fetch up somewhere, if it was only in hell.” Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater than any hitherto—a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all things like a grey pall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing, for the roar of the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the booming of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour 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 correspondent is a fairly good runner, and came well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on board. By the courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted to climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman whilst actually lashed to the wheel.

It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied had cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note was made of the state of things, and a doctor—Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place—who came immediately after me, declared, after making examination, that the man must have been dead for quite two days. In his pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a little roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum to the log. The coastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with his teeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save some complications, later on, in the Admiralty Court; for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already completely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of the statutes of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand. It is needless to say that the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place where he held his honourable watch and ward till death—a steadfastness as noble as that of the young Casabianca—and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating; crowds are scattering homeward, and the sky is beginning to redden over the Yorkshire wolds. I shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour in the storm.

Notes: Moon Phase: Full Moon

This is the start of Chapter 7.  I have already placed the Demeter's logs in chronological order in this series to get a full reckoning of all events. 

This is a rather picaresque bit of prose to describe the Whitby environs. While newspapers of today are more direct and to the point, this style was very common.  

Stoker invokes Coleridge here for "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner." This won't be the last time. His descriptions of Lucy later on are similar to Coleridge's Specter-Woman. 

The captain of the ship, steadfast to the end, is discovered dead at the helm. 

Even now, the storm that would inspire so many artists (as claimed) is abating. 

The question I have remaining. Did Mina paste this into her Journal right away, or did she add it after the event were known to her? 

 I picked these up last week but forgot to mention them here.

These are the first class "Forever" stamps and there are 20 stamps of 10 designs. At 73¢ each this sheet costs $14.60.

Given the amount of letters I send, this might last me till D&D's 60th anniversary!