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.