Reading Help DRACULA by Bram Stoker Ch.1-12
the harbour. A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through `
` which the view seems somehow further away than it really is. The `
` valley is beautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are on `
` the high land on either side you look right across it, unless you are `
` near enough to see down. The houses of the old town--the side away `
` from us, are all red-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other `
` anyhow, like the pictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is `
` the ruin of Whitby Abbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is `
` the scene of part of "Marmion," where the girl was built up in the `
` wall. It is a most noble ruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful `
` and romantic bits. There is a legend that a white lady is seen in one `
` of the windows. Between it and the town there is another church, the `
` parish one, round which is a big graveyard, all full of tombstones. `
` This is to my mind the nicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over `
` the town, and has a full view of the harbour and all up the bay to `
` where the headland called Kettleness stretches out into the sea. It `
` descends so steeply over the harbour that part of the bank has fallen `
` away, and some of the graves have been destroyed. `
` `
` In one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches out over `
` the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats beside them, `
` through the churchyard, and people go and sit there all day long `
` looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. `
` `
` I shall come and sit here often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing `
` now, with my book on my knee, and listening to the talk of three old `
` men who are sitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all day but `
` sit here and talk. `
` `
` The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite `
` wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of `
` it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy seawall runs `
` along outside of it. On the near side, the seawall makes an elbow `
` crooked inversely, and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two `
` piers there is a narrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly `
` widens. `
` `
` It is nice at high water, but when the tide is out it shoals away to `
` nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running between `
` banks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour on this `
` side there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp of `
` which runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end `
` of it is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in `
` a mournful sound on the wind. `
` `
` They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at `
` sea. I must ask the old man about this. He is coming this way . . . `
` `
` He is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is `
` gnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he is `
` nearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishing `
` fleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very sceptical `
` person, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Lady `
` at the abbey he said very brusquely, `
` `
` "I wouldn't fash masel' about them, miss. Them things be all wore `
` out. Mind, I don't say that they never was, but I do say that they `
` wasn't in my time. They be all very well for comers and trippers, an' `
` the like, but not for a nice young lady like you. Them feet-folks `
` from York and Leeds that be always eatin' cured herrin's and drinkin' `
` tea an' lookin' out to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder `
` masel' who'd be bothered tellin' lies to them, even the newspapers, `
` which is full of fool-talk." `
` `
` I thought he would be a good person to learn interesting things from, `
` so I asked him if he would mind telling me something about the whale `
` fishing in the old days. He was just settling himself to begin when `
` the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up, and said, `
` `
` "I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My grand-daughter doesn't `
` like to be kept waitin' when the tea is ready, for it takes me time to `
` crammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of 'em, and miss, I lack `
` belly-timber sairly by the clock." `
` `
` He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he could, `
` down the steps. The steps are a great feature on the place. They `
` lead from the town to the church, there are hundreds of them, I do not `
` know how many, and they wind up in a delicate curve. The slope is so `
` gentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them. `
` `
` I think they must originally have had something to do with the abbey. `
` I shall go home too. Lucy went out, visiting with her mother, and as `
` they were only duty calls, I did not go. `
` `
` `
` 1 August.--I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a most `
` interesting talk with my old friend and the two others who always come `
` and join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I should `
` think must have been in his time a most dictatorial person. `
` `
` He will not admit anything, and down faces everybody. If he can't `
` out-argue them he bullies them, and then takes their silence for `
` agreement with his views. `
` `
` Lucy was looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn frock. She has got `
` a beautiful colour since she has been here. `
` `
` I noticed that the old men did not lose any time in coming and sitting `
` near her when we sat down. She is so sweet with old people, I think `
` they all fell in love with her on the spot. Even my old man succumbed `
` and did not contradict her, but gave me double share instead. I got `
` him on the subject of the legends, and he went off at once into a sort `
` of sermon. I must try to remember it and put it down. `
` `
` "It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel, that's what it be and `
` nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' bar-guests an' `
` bogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy women `
` a'belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an' all grims an' signs `
` an' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome berk-bodies an' `
` railway touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an' to get folks to do `
` somethin' that they don't other incline to. It makes me ireful to `
` think o' them. Why, it's them that, not content with printin' lies on `
` paper an' preachin' them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin' them `
` on the tombstones. Look here all around you in what airt ye will. All `
` them steans, holdin' up their heads as well as they can out of their `
` pride, is acant, simply tumblin' down with the weight o' the lies `
` wrote on them, 'Here lies the body' or 'Sacred to the memory' wrote on `
` all of 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 less sacred. Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of one kind or `
` another! My gog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the Day of `
` Judgment when they come tumblin' up in their death-sarks, all jouped `
` together an' trying' to drag their tombsteans with them to prove how `
` good they was, some of them trimmlin' an' dithering, with their hands `
` that dozzened an' slippery from lyin' in the sea that they can't even `
` keep their gurp o' them." `
` `
` I could see from the old fellow's self-satisfied air and the way in `
` which 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 `
` not all wrong?" `
` `
` "Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they `
` make out the people too good, for there be folk that do think a `
` balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing `
` be only lies. Now look you here. You come here a stranger, an' you `
` see this kirkgarth." `
` `
` I nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quite `
` understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with the `
` church. `
` `
` He went on, "And you consate that all these steans be aboon folk that `
` be haped here, snod an' snog?" I assented again. "Then that be just `
` where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these laybeds that be `
` toom as old Dun's 'baccabox on Friday night." `
` `
` He nudged one of his companions, and they all laughed. "And, my gog! `
` How could they be otherwise? 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 coast of Andres, April, 1854, age 30." When I came `
` back Mr. Swales went on, `
` `
` "Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off the `
` coast of Andres! An' you consated his body lay under! Why, I could `
` name ye a dozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above," he `
` pointed northwards, "or where the currants may have drifted them. `
` There be the steans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the `
` small print of the lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowery, I knew `
` his father, lost in the Lively off Greenland in '20, or Andrew `
` Woodhouse, drowned in the same seas in 1777, or John Paxton, drowned `
` off Cape Farewell a year later, or old John Rawlings, whose `
` grandfather sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of Finland in '50. Do `
` ye think that all these men will have to make a rush to Whitby when `
` the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums aboot it! I tell ye that `
` when they got here they'd be jommlin' and jostlin' one another that `
` way that it 'ud be like a fight up on the ice in the old days, when `
` we'd be at one another from daylight to dark, an' tryin' to tie up our `
` cuts by the aurora borealis." This was evidently local pleasantry, for `
` the old man cackled over it, and his cronies joined in with gusto. `
` `
` "But," I said, "surely you are not quite correct, for you start on the `
` assumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will have to `
` take their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you think `
` that will be really necessary?" `
` `
` "Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me that, miss!" `
` `
` "To please their relatives, I suppose." `
` `
` "To please their relatives, you suppose!" This he said with intense `
` scorn. "How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies is `
` wrote over them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be `
` lies?" `
` `
` He pointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, `
` on which the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. "Read `
` the lies on that thruff-stone," he said. `
` `
` The letters were upside down to me from where I sat, but Lucy was more `
` opposite to them, so she leant over and read, "Sacred to the memory of `
` George Canon, who died, in the hope of a glorious resurrection, on `
` July 29,1873, falling from the rocks at Kettleness. This tomb was `
` erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly beloved 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 spoke her comment very `
` gravely and somewhat severely. `
`
` which the view seems somehow further away than it really is. The `
` valley is beautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are on `
` the high land on either side you look right across it, unless you are `
` near enough to see down. The houses of the old town--the side away `
` from us, are all red-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other `
` anyhow, like the pictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is `
` the ruin of Whitby Abbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is `
` the scene of part of "Marmion," where the girl was built up in the `
` wall. It is a most noble ruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful `
` and romantic bits. There is a legend that a white lady is seen in one `
` of the windows. Between it and the town there is another church, the `
` parish one, round which is a big graveyard, all full of tombstones. `
` This is to my mind the nicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over `
` the town, and has a full view of the harbour and all up the bay to `
` where the headland called Kettleness stretches out into the sea. It `
` descends so steeply over the harbour that part of the bank has fallen `
` away, and some of the graves have been destroyed. `
` `
` In one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches out over `
` the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats beside them, `
` through the churchyard, and people go and sit there all day long `
` looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. `
` `
` I shall come and sit here often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing `
` now, with my book on my knee, and listening to the talk of three old `
` men who are sitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all day but `
` sit here and talk. `
` `
` The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite `
` wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of `
` it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy seawall runs `
` along outside of it. On the near side, the seawall makes an elbow `
` crooked inversely, and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two `
` piers there is a narrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly `
` widens. `
` `
` It is nice at high water, but when the tide is out it shoals away to `
` nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running between `
` banks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour on this `
` side there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp of `
` which runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end `
` of it is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in `
` a mournful sound on the wind. `
` `
` They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at `
` sea. I must ask the old man about this. He is coming this way . . . `
` `
` He is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is `
` gnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he is `
` nearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishing `
` fleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very sceptical `
` person, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the White Lady `
` at the abbey he said very brusquely, `
` `
` "I wouldn't fash masel' about them, miss. Them things be all wore `
` out. Mind, I don't say that they never was, but I do say that they `
` wasn't in my time. They be all very well for comers and trippers, an' `
` the like, but not for a nice young lady like you. Them feet-folks `
` from York and Leeds that be always eatin' cured herrin's and drinkin' `
` tea an' lookin' out to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder `
` masel' who'd be bothered tellin' lies to them, even the newspapers, `
` which is full of fool-talk." `
` `
` I thought he would be a good person to learn interesting things from, `
` so I asked him if he would mind telling me something about the whale `
` fishing in the old days. He was just settling himself to begin when `
` the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up, and said, `
` `
` "I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My grand-daughter doesn't `
` like to be kept waitin' when the tea is ready, for it takes me time to `
` crammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of 'em, and miss, I lack `
` belly-timber sairly by the clock." `
` `
` He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he could, `
` down the steps. The steps are a great feature on the place. They `
` lead from the town to the church, there are hundreds of them, I do not `
` know how many, and they wind up in a delicate curve. The slope is so `
` gentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them. `
` `
` I think they must originally have had something to do with the abbey. `
` I shall go home too. Lucy went out, visiting with her mother, and as `
` they were only duty calls, I did not go. `
` `
` `
` 1 August.--I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a most `
` interesting talk with my old friend and the two others who always come `
` and join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them, and I should `
` think must have been in his time a most dictatorial person. `
` `
` He will not admit anything, and down faces everybody. If he can't `
` out-argue them he bullies them, and then takes their silence for `
` agreement with his views. `
` `
` Lucy was looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn frock. She has got `
` a beautiful colour since she has been here. `
` `
` I noticed that the old men did not lose any time in coming and sitting `
` near her when we sat down. She is so sweet with old people, I think `
` they all fell in love with her on the spot. Even my old man succumbed `
` and did not contradict her, but gave me double share instead. I got `
` him on the subject of the legends, and he went off at once into a sort `
` of sermon. I must try to remember it and put it down. `
` `
` "It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel, that's what it be and `
` nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' bar-guests an' `
` bogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy women `
` a'belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an' all grims an' signs `
` an' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome berk-bodies an' `
` railway touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an' to get folks to do `
` somethin' that they don't other incline to. It makes me ireful to `
` think o' them. Why, it's them that, not content with printin' lies on `
` paper an' preachin' them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin' them `
` on the tombstones. Look here all around you in what airt ye will. All `
` them steans, holdin' up their heads as well as they can out of their `
` pride, is acant, simply tumblin' down with the weight o' the lies `
` wrote on them, 'Here lies the body' or 'Sacred to the memory' wrote on `
` all of 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 less sacred. Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of one kind or `
` another! My gog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the Day of `
` Judgment when they come tumblin' up in their death-sarks, all jouped `
` together an' trying' to drag their tombsteans with them to prove how `
` good they was, some of them trimmlin' an' dithering, with their hands `
` that dozzened an' slippery from lyin' in the sea that they can't even `
` keep their gurp o' them." `
` `
` I could see from the old fellow's self-satisfied air and the way in `
` which 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 `
` not all wrong?" `
` `
` "Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they `
` make out the people too good, for there be folk that do think a `
` balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing `
` be only lies. Now look you here. You come here a stranger, an' you `
` see this kirkgarth." `
` `
` I nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quite `
` understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with the `
` church. `
` `
` He went on, "And you consate that all these steans be aboon folk that `
` be haped here, snod an' snog?" I assented again. "Then that be just `
` where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these laybeds that be `
` toom as old Dun's 'baccabox on Friday night." `
` `
` He nudged one of his companions, and they all laughed. "And, my gog! `
` How could they be otherwise? 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 coast of Andres, April, 1854, age 30." When I came `
` back Mr. Swales went on, `
` `
` "Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off the `
` coast of Andres! An' you consated his body lay under! Why, I could `
` name ye a dozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above," he `
` pointed northwards, "or where the currants may have drifted them. `
` There be the steans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the `
` small print of the lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowery, I knew `
` his father, lost in the Lively off Greenland in '20, or Andrew `
` Woodhouse, drowned in the same seas in 1777, or John Paxton, drowned `
` off Cape Farewell a year later, or old John Rawlings, whose `
` grandfather sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of Finland in '50. Do `
` ye think that all these men will have to make a rush to Whitby when `
` the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums aboot it! I tell ye that `
` when they got here they'd be jommlin' and jostlin' one another that `
` way that it 'ud be like a fight up on the ice in the old days, when `
` we'd be at one another from daylight to dark, an' tryin' to tie up our `
` cuts by the aurora borealis." This was evidently local pleasantry, for `
` the old man cackled over it, and his cronies joined in with gusto. `
` `
` "But," I said, "surely you are not quite correct, for you start on the `
` assumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will have to `
` take their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you think `
` that will be really necessary?" `
` `
` "Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me that, miss!" `
` `
` "To please their relatives, I suppose." `
` `
` "To please their relatives, you suppose!" This he said with intense `
` scorn. "How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies is `
` wrote over them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be `
` lies?" `
` `
` He pointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, `
` on which the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. "Read `
` the lies on that thruff-stone," he said. `
` `
` The letters were upside down to me from where I sat, but Lucy was more `
` opposite to them, so she leant over and read, "Sacred to the memory of `
` George Canon, who died, in the hope of a glorious resurrection, on `
` July 29,1873, falling from the rocks at Kettleness. This tomb was `
` erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly beloved 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 spoke her comment very `
` gravely and somewhat severely. `
`