The Lady of the Shroud - Bram Stoker (phonics reader txt) 📗

THE LADY OF THE SHROUD

 

by Bram Stoker

 

FROM “THE JOURNAL OF OCCULTISM”

MID-JANUARY, 1907.

 

A strange story comes from the Adriatic. It appears that on the

night of the 9th, as the Italia Steamship Company’s vessel

“Victorine” was passing a little before midnight the point known as

“the Spear of Ivan,” on the coast of the Blue Mountains, the

attention of the Captain, then on the bridge, was called by the lookout man to a tiny floating light close inshore. It is the custom of

some South-going ships to run close to the Spear of Ivan in fine

weather, as the water is deep, and there is no settled current; also

there are no outlying rocks. Indeed, some years ago the local

steamers had become accustomed to hug the shore here so closely that

an intimation was sent from Lloyd’s that any mischance under the

circumstances would not be included in ordinary sea risks. Captain

Mirolani is one of those who insist on a wholesome distance from the

promontory being kept; but on his attention having been called to the

circumstance reported, he thought it well to investigate it, as it

might be some case of personal distress. Accordingly, he had the

engines slowed down, and edged cautiously in towards shore. He was

joined on the bridge by two of his officers, Signori Falamano and

Destilia, and by one passenger on board, Mr. Peter Caulfield, whose

reports of Spiritual Phenomena in remote places are well known to the

readers of “The Journal of Occultism.” The following account of the

strange occurrence written by him, and attested by the signatures of

Captain Mirolani and the other gentleman named, has been sent to us.

 

” … It was eleven minutes before twelve midnight on Saturday, the

9th day of January, 1907, when I saw the strange sight off the

headland known as the Spear of Ivan on the coast of the Land of the

Blue Mountains. It was a fine night, and I stood right on the bows

of the ship, where there was nothing to obstruct my view. We were

some distance from the Spear of Ivan, passing from northern to

southern point of the wide bay into which it projects. Captain

Mirolani, the Master, is a very careful seaman, and gives on his

journeys a wide berth to the bay which is tabooed by Lloyd’s. But

when he saw in the moonlight, though far off, a tiny white figure of

a woman drifting on some strange current in a small boat, on the prow

of which rested a faint light (to me it looked like a corpse-candle!), he thought it might be some person in distress, and began

to cautiously edge towards it. Two of his officers were with him on

the bridge—Signori Falamano and Destilia. All these three, as well

as myself, saw It. The rest of the crew and passengers were below.

As we got close the true inwardness of It became apparent to me; but

the mariners did not seem to realize till the very last. This is,

after all, not strange, for none of them had either knowledge or

experience in Occult matters, whereas for over thirty years I have

made a special study of this subject, and have gone to and fro over

the earth investigating to the nth all records of Spiritual

Phenomena. As I could see from their movements that the officers did

not comprehend that which was so apparent to myself, I took care not

to enlighten them, lest such should result in the changing of the

vessel’s course before I should be near enough to make accurate

observation. All turned out as I wished—at least, nearly so—as

shall be seen. Being in the bow, I had, of course, a better view

than from the bridge. Presently I made out that the boat, which had

all along seemed to be of a queer shape, was none other than a

Coffin, and that the woman standing up in it was clothed in a shroud.

Her back was towards us, and she had evidently not heard our

approach. As we were creeping along slowly, the engines were almost

noiseless, and there was hardly a ripple as our fore-foot cut the

dark water. Suddenly there was a wild cry from the bridge—Italians

are certainly very excitable; hoarse commands were given to the

Quartermaster at the wheel; the engine-room bell clanged. On the

instant, as it seemed, the ship’s head began to swing round to

starboard; full steam ahead was in action, and before one could

understand, the Apparition was fading in the distance. The last

thing I saw was the flash of a white face with dark, burning eyes as

the figure sank down into the coffin—just as mist or smoke

disappears under a breeze.”

 

BOOK I: THE WILL OF ROGER MELTON

 

THE READING OF THE WILL OF ROGER MELTON AND ALL THAT FOLLOWED

 

Record made by Ernest Roger Halbard Melton, law-student of the Inner

Temple, eldest son of Ernest Halbard Melton, eldest son of Ernest

Melton, elder brother of the said Roger Melton and his next of kin.

 

I consider it at least useful—perhaps necessary—to have a complete

and accurate record of all pertaining to the Will of my late grand-uncle Roger Melton.

 

To which end let me put down the various members of his family, and

explain some of their occupations and idiosyncrasies. My father,

Ernest Halbard Melton, was the only son of Ernest Melton, eldest son

of Sir Geoffrey Halbard Melton of Humcroft, in the shire of Salop, a

Justice of the Peace, and at one time Sheriff. My great-grandfather,

Sir Geoffrey, had inherited a small estate from his father, Roger

Melton. In his time, by the way, the name was spelled Milton; but my

great-great-grandfather changed the spelling to the later form, as he

was a practical man not given to sentiment, and feared lest he should

in the public eye be confused with others belonging to the family of

a Radical person called Milton, who wrote poetry and was some sort of

official in the time of Cromwell, whilst we are Conservatives. The

same practical spirit which originated the change in the spelling of

the family name inclined him to go into business. So he became,

whilst still young, a tanner and leather-dresser. He utilized for

the purpose the ponds and streams, and also the oak-woods on his

estate—Torraby in Suffolk. He made a fine business, and accumulated

a considerable fortune, with a part of which he purchased the

Shropshire estate, which he entailed, and to which I am therefore

heir-apparent.

 

Sir Geoffrey had, in addition to my grandfather, three sons and a

daughter, the latter being born twenty years after her youngest

brother. These sons were: Geoffrey, who died without issue, having

been killed in the Indian Mutiny at Meerut in 1857, at which he took

up a sword, though a civilian, to fight for his life; Roger (to whom

I shall refer presently); and John—the latter, like Geoffrey, dying

unmarried. Out of Sir Geoffrey’s family of five, therefore, only

three have to be considered: My grandfather, who had three children,

two of whom, a son and a daughter, died young, leaving only my

father, Roger and Patience. Patience, who was born in 1858, married

an Irishman of the name of Sellenger—which was the usual way of

pronouncing the name of St. Leger, or, as they spelled it, Sent

Leger—restored by later generations to the still older form. He was

a reckless, dare-devil sort of fellow, then a Captain in the Lancers,

a man not without the quality of bravery—he won the Victoria Cross

at the Battle of Amoaful in the Ashantee Campaign. But I fear he

lacked the seriousness and steadfast strenuous purpose which my

father always says marks the character of our own family. He ran

through nearly all of his patrimony—never a very large one; and had

it not been for my grand-aunt’s little fortune, his days, had he

lived, must have ended in comparative poverty. Comparative, not

actual; for the Meltons, who are persons of considerable pride, would

not have tolerated a poverty-stricken branch of the family. We don’t

think much of that lot—any of us.

 

Fortunately, my great-aunt Patience had only one child, and the

premature decease of Captain St. Leger (as I prefer to call the name)

did not allow of the possibility of her having more. She did not

marry again, though my grandmother tried several times to arrange an

alliance for her. She was, I am told, always a stiff, uppish person,

who would not yield herself to the wisdom of her superiors. Her own

child was a son, who seemed to take his character rather from his

father’s family than from my own. He was a wastrel and a rolling

stone, always in scrapes at school, and always wanting to do

ridiculous things. My father, as Head of the House and his own

senior by eighteen years, tried often to admonish him; but his

perversity of spirit and his truculence were such that he had to

desist. Indeed, I have heard my father say that he sometimes

threatened his life. A desperate character he was, and almost devoid

of reverence. No one, not even my father, had any influence—good

influence, of course, I mean—over him, except his mother, who was of

my family; and also a woman who lived with her—a sort of governess—

aunt, he called her. The way of it was this: Captain St. Leger had

a younger brother, who made an improvident marriage with a Scotch

girl when they were both very young. They had nothing to live on

except what the reckless Lancer gave them, for he had next to nothing

himself, and she was “bare”—which is, I understand, the indelicate

Scottish way of expressing lack of fortune. She was, however, I

understand, of an old and somewhat good family, though broken in

fortune—to use an expression which, however, could hardly be used

precisely in regard to a family or a person who never had fortune to

be broken in! It was so far well that the MacKelpies—that was the

maiden name of Mrs. St. Leger—were reputable—so far as fighting was

concerned. It would have been too humiliating to have allied to our

family, even on the distaff side, a family both poor and of no

account. Fighting alone does not make a family, I think. Soldiers

are not everything, though they think they are. We have had in our

family men who fought; but I never heard of any of them who fought

because they WANTED to. Mrs. St. Leger had a sister; fortunately

there were only those two children in the family, or else they would

all have had to be supported by the money of my family.

 

Mr. St. Leger, who was only a subaltern, was killed at Maiwand; and

his wife was left a beggar. Fortunately, however, she died—her

sister spread a story that it was from the shock and grief—before

the child which she expected was born. This all happened when my

cousin—or, rather, my father’s cousin, my first-cousin-once-removed,

to be accurate—was still a very small child. His mother then sent

for Miss MacKelpie, her brother-in-law’s sister-in-law, to come and

live with her, which she did—beggars can’t be choosers; and she

helped to bring up young St. Leger.

 

I remember once my father giving me a sovereign for making a witty

remark