The Lady of the Shroud E-Book

Bram Stoker

• Herausgeber: Bram Stoker
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

"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.”

Leseprobe

Bram Stoker

The Lady of the Shroud

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Table of contents

FROM “THE JOURNAL OF OCCULTISM”MID-JANUARY, 1907.

BOOK I: THE WILL OF ROGER MELTON

BOOK II: VISSARION

BOOK III: THE COMING OF THE LADY

BOOK IV: UNDER THE FLAGSTAFF

BOOK V: A RITUAL AT MIDNIGHT

BOOK VI: THE PURSUIT IN THE FOREST

BOOK VII: THE EMPIRE OF THE AIR

BOOK VIII: THE FLASHING OF THE HANDJAR

BOOK IX: BALKA

Footnotes

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 look-out 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