ey interpreted yt;--after a pretty while
he dived downe and appeared no more.'

This strangely detailed account says that instead of a voice the Sea Man
'skreaked,' but this is of small interest compared to whether he had a
tail or any fish-like attributes. The fact that he escaped would suggest
the presence of legs, but the historian is silent on this
all-important matter.

The lofty coast-line we have followed all the way from Sandsend
terminates abruptly at Huntcliff Nab, the great promontory which is
familiar to visitors to Saltburn. Low alluvial cliffs take the place of
the rocky precipices, and the coast becomes flatter and flatter as you
approach Redcar and the marshy country at the mouth of the Tees. The
original Saltburn, consisting of a row of quaint fishermen's cottages,
still stands entirely alone, facing the sea on the Huntcliff side of the
beck, and from the wide, smooth sands there is little of modern Saltburn
to be seen besides the pier. For the rectangular streets and blocks of
houses have been wisely placed some distance from the edge of the grassy
cliffs, leaving the sea-front quite unspoiled. It would, perhaps, be
well to own that I have never seen Saltburn during the summer season,
and for this reason I may think better of the resort than if my visit
had been in midsummer. It was during October. The sun was shining
brightly, and a strong wind was blowing off the land. The wide,
new-looking streets were spotlessly clean, and in most of them there was
no sign of life at all. It was the same on the broad sweep of sands, for
when I commenced a drawing on the cliffs the only living creatures I
could see were two small dogs. About noon a girls' school was let loose
upon the sands, and for half an hour a furious game of hockey was
fought. Then I was left alone again, with the great expanse of sea, the
yellow margin of sand, and the reddish-brown cliffs, all beneath the
wind-swept sky.

The elaborately-laid-out gardens on the steep banks of Skelton Beck are
the pride and joy of Saltburn, for they offer a pleasant contrast to the
bare slopes on the Huntcliff side and the flat country towards
Kirkleatham. But in this seemingly harmless retreat there used to be
heard horrible groanings, and I have no evidence to satisfy me that they
have altogether ceased. For in this matter-of-fact age such a story
would not be listened to, and thus those who hear the sounds may be
afraid to speak of them. The groanings we