The White Devil

Dracula

side and to frown down upon us. We were entering on the
Borgo Pass. One by one several of the passengers offered
me gifts, which they pressed upon me with an earnestness
which would take no denial. These were certainly of an odd
and varied kind, but each was given in simple good faith,
with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that same strange
mixture of fear-meaning movements which I had seen
outside the hotel at Bistritz—the sign of the cross and the
guard against the evil eye. Then, as we flew along, the driver
leaned forward, and on each side the passengers, craning
over the edge of the coach, peered eagerly into the darkness.
It was evident that something very exciting was either hap-
pening or expected, but though I asked each passenger, no
one would give me the slightest explanation. This state of
excitement kept on for some little time. And at last we saw
before us the Pass opening out on the eastern side. There
were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy,
oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the moun-
tain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we
had got into the thunderous one. I was now myself looking
out for the conveyance which was to take me to the Count.
Each moment I expected to see the glare of lamps through
the blackness, but all was dark. The only light was the flick-
ering rays of our own lamps, in which the steam from our
hard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now
the sandy road lying white before us, but there was on it no
sign of a vehicle. The passengers drew back with a sigh of
gladness, which seemed to mock my own disappointment.
I was already thinking what I had best do, when the driver,

looking at his watch, said to the others something which I
could hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low
a tone, I thought it was ‘An hour less than the time.’ Then
turning to me, he spoke in German worse than my own.
‘There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after
all. He will now come on to Bukovina, and return tomorrow
or the next day, better the next day.’ Whilst he was speaking
the horses began to neigh and snort and plunge wildly, so
that the driver had to hold them up. Then, amongst a chorus
of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing of
themselves, a caleche, with four horses, drove up behind us,
overtook us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from
the flash of our lamps as the rays fell on them, that the hors-
es were coal-black and splendid animals. They were driven
by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat,
which seemed to hide his face from us. I could only see the
gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red in the
lamplight, as he turned to us.
He said to the driver, ‘You are early tonight, my friend.’
The man stammered in reply, ‘The English Herr was in
a hurry.’
To which the stranger replied, ‘That is why, I suppose,
you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive
me, my friend. I know too much, and my horses are swift.’
As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-
looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth,
as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to an-
other the line from Burger’s ‘Lenore”.
‘Denn die Todten reiten Schnell.’ (“For the dead travel
fast.’)
The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he
looked up with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned
his face away, at the same time putting out his two fingers
and crossing himself. ‘Give me the Herr’s luggage,’ said the
driver, and with exceeding alacrity my bags were handed
out and put in the caleche. Then I descended from the side
of the coach, as the caleche was close alongside, the driver
helping me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of
steel. His strength must have been prodigious.
Without a word he shook his reins, the horses turned,
and we swept into the darkness of the pass. As I looked back
I saw the steam from the horses of the coach by the light of
the lamps, and projected against it the figures of my late
companions crossing themselves. Then the driver cracked
his whip and called to his horses, and off they swept on their
way to Bukovina. As they sank into the darkness I felt a
strange chill, and a lonely feeling come over me. But a cloak
was thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees,
and the driver said in excellent German—‘The night is chill,
mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me take all care
of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum brandy of the
country) underneath the seat, if you should require it.’
I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was
there all the same. I felt a little strangely, and not a little
frightened. I think had there been any alternative I should
have taken it, instead of prosecuting that unknown night
journey. The carriage went at a hard pace straight along,
then we made a complete turn and went along another
straight road. It seemed to me that we were simply going
over and over the same ground again, and so I took note of
some salient point, and found that this was so. I would have
liked to have asked the driver what this all meant, but I re-
ally feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any
protest would have had no effect in case there had been an
intention to delay.
By-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time
was passing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my
watch. It was within a few minutes of midnight. This gave
me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition
about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I
waited with a sick feeling of suspense.
Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far
down the road, a long, agonized wailing, as if from fear. The
sound was taken up by another dog, and then another and
another, till, borne on the wind which now sighed softly
through the Pass, a wild howling began, which seemed to
come from all over the country, as far as the imagination
could grasp it through the gloom of the night.
At the first howl the horses began to strain and rear,
but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted
down, but shivered and sweated as though after a runaway
from sudden fright. Then, far off in the distance, from the
mountains on each side of us began a louder and a sharper
howling, that of wolves, which affected both the horses and
myself in the same way. For I was minded to jump from
the caleche and run, whilst they reared again and plunged
madly, so that the driver had to use all his great strength