Akers scanned the waters, as if he expected the girl to reappear. Moore looked at me, and I knew that he and I had the same thought. We were miles from any known shore. What girl could be this far out to sea, all alone, no sign of another ship anywhere on the horizon? Akers was clearly mad. But we’re a man short already, and I am loath to lock him up.
Perhaps I am making a grave error. Either way, I fear for the men.
July 29
41° 20′ N, 66° 52′ W
A banging at my chamber door startled me out of sleep. I was jolted from a vivid dream, and for a moment, I even forgot where I was. I’d dreamt that I was alone on the ship in the middle of the sea. The waves lapped like a cat’s tongue at the side of the boat. Above me was blue sky, around me the wide waters. A feeling of dread stole over me like the coming of the night. I scanned the horizon, but perceived no threat. It was then that I noticed a tarpaulin at the foredeck. It appeared to be covering something, perhaps a barrel. I leaned forward to inspect it more closely, and the tarp lifted slightly, as if with a breath. Fear clutched at me, squeezing my lungs. It was with that feeling still upon me that I awoke.
The banging persisted, and someone let out an incoherent shout. In my disoriented state of mind, I leapt from the bed and rushed to the door. Outside was a horror—a haggard face stared at me with bulbous eyes, their whites exposed, like a vision from the grave. It was Akers. Moore was with him, as was Walters. They stood behind Akers, looking serious. Akers cried that “she dragged ’im down!” He then grabbed my arm and tried to force me from my chamber. Moore pinned Akers’s arms behind his back and warned Akers of the consequences of his actions.
But Akers continued to screech, and he looked so frightened that I motioned for Moore to unhand him. Moore half dragged, half shoved Akers into my chambers and I motioned toward a seat. His face contorted as he struggled to control himself. I could see that he was in agony of an almost physical sort. Akers insisted that Michaelson had seen the girl, too.
I glanced at Moore and Walters, and Moore reported that Michaelson had disappeared. The watchman heard a splash, like someone falling overboard, and Moore found Akers abovedecks.
I stole a glance at Akers, who was squirming in his chair. I poured him a glass of stiff whiskey, and he drank it straight, gratefully. He closed his eyes and sat back, then held out the glass again. I hesitated, unwilling to part with it. It’s fine stuff, a gift from a dear friend. But it was clear that I would never hear the story if I didn’t make another offering. I poured another glass, and Akers downed it. He managed to collect himself somewhat, and finally continued his tale.
He said that the girl in the water sang to him in the voice of an angel. She spoke some strange language—perhaps it was the language of heaven, he didn’t know. He said that every now and again, she would put her face into the water and her head would bob below the surface. But then she would appear again. After a time, she called to him and Michaelson. Akers feared that she was drowning. He started over the rail to save her.
At this point, I interrupted him, to ask how he planned to get her back to the ship. It is hard to describe the expression that came over Akers then. He looked simply shocked, as if I had risen from the dead to offer this query. He put his hands to his temples. He said that his head was full of fog. As if he had been under an enchantment. He shook his head twice, as if to clear the mists.
He said that he was about to climb over the rail when he head a splash and saw that Michaelson was swimming out to save the girl. He was no more than fifteen feet from the girl when she bobbed below the surface of the water again and disappeared. But there was something in the tilt of her head—she placed her face in the water right before she dropped beneath the surface. As if she was WATCHING for something. But before Akers could let out a shout of warning, Michaelson was dragged below. Akers said that Michaelson didn’t even protest. “Ee sank like a stone and didn’t come up again.”
His voice had gone quiet by the end of the tale. He looked like a man overwhelmed by fear. I understood his emotions, for it had chilled my bones to hear his tale. There is no doubt about it—Akers has gone quite mad. He’s killed Michaelson.
I told Moore to secure Akers in irons belowdecks for the remainder of the voyage.
Akers pleaded and cried, but Moore and Walters were already dragging him away.
I pray to God that we have no more trouble from him.
July 30
42° 20′ N, 68° 30′ W
Still a fine breath of wind. Not a gale, but enough to fill the sheet. The sails are puffed out now, like the chest of a proud father. And that is how I feel, indeed, as I walk the decks and I see the men hard at work securing the lines and running up the rigging.
I have taken to strolling the deck several times during the day and at night. This morning, Braithwaite was singing as he climbed the rigging to the crow’s nest. It was a low, mournful tune, but it made me smile to hear it. The men were singing again.
Moore stood near the railing, looking out at the choppy sea. Some of the waves wore white, blown by the breeze.
I stood beside him, watching the blue sky as it paled to near white where it touched the horizon. There was nothing but sea in any direction. I noted that it made one feel as if one was alone in the world.
Moore noted that we aren’t.
His words struck my ears like a blow, and I asked him for an explanation.
“Just that we’ve a whole crew, don’t we? And a universe offish below us, too, and God knows what else.”
I did not like to hear those words, and I said so. Then Moore asked if I was certain we had done right by Akers. I asked if he had cause to doubt it. Moore said that Akers has gone quiet as a clam since he was shut down belowdecks, and is gentle with everyone. He said the men are curious why he is locked up, as we are three men down.
I protested that Akers is mad, and killed Michaelson. Besides, I told him that I feel as if the men have drawn a new breath, a deep sigh of relief, now that Akers is secured belowdecks.
Moore said that perhaps they would, if it weren’t for Hawken.
I fear I lost my temper, then, and I boxed Moore’s ear rather sharply. He looked at me—a look of shame and disgust. I felt it cling to me like warm candle wax. Or perhaps that was merely what I was feeling. I’d never struck one of my men before, and I didn’t know what to say in such a situation. With much struggle, I managed to collect myself.
Moore was staring off at the horizon. He did not look at me, but said that he had overheard the men talking. They fear that Hawken cursed us. That when we left him behind, he placed a hex on the ship. The words spilled out and seemed to slip below the water like a leviathan.
Braithwaite’s tune floated down to me. It sounded like a dirge.
Moore added that the sailors feel that this is a ship of death.
The cool wind blew across my face. Sailors are a superstitious lot. I knew this, even when I decided to pull up anchor while Hawken was still on the island. I should have known that the men’s simple minds would turn this way.
Hawken had been out with a small party collecting firewood when he disappeared. Roberts said that he was there one moment, and the next—gone. Vanished.
We searched for three days while we laid up stores for the trip. There was fresh water on the island, and a strange large fruit with orange flesh. We’d collected many of them in barrels. Walters had even managed to catch some sort of pig with a spear. The flesh was gamey, but savory, all right, and the men had feasted well. But there was no merriment among them. I could tell that they were worried about their comrade.
But by the fourth day, when we had not found Hawken, I decided that we could not wait forever. Hawken was dead, I was sure of it, fallen off a cliff or attacked by a wild animal. The island had claimed him, and we had to move on. Our shipment of port and silk was expected, and I had been warned by my superiors that they would brook no delay.
And so, on the morning of the fifth day, we loaded th
e lifeboats and rowed back to the ship. The men were angry, I could see, but it was only Akers who protested. He insisted that Hawken would come back. But he didn’t, and we had to leave.
We pulled up the sail and it filled taut, and I watched the shore recede as the ship started out onto the open sea. Just before it disappeared from view, I could have sworn that I saw a movement near the shore—a flash of red among the thick trees that grew at the edge of the island. But it disappeared.
I told no one.
I couldn’t take the risk. I thought the crew could mutiny if they thought Hawken might be alive. And I couldn’t afford to be wrong, could I? Just as I couldn’t afford to be wrong now.
I told Moore that I would not release Akers.
Moore nodded and gave me a salute, then turned to go.
A leader must be firm. That is the one lesson I have learned as captain of this ship. Doubt is the enemy. There is no room for it on this ship.
July 30
42° 22′ N, 69° 15′ W
Another hand—Iverson—has gone missing. And with Akers chained safely below.
No time to write my suspicions, as there is a noise outside my chamber.
Later
It was Moore. My God, but he looked like a madman when I came to the door. He was babbling something about the children, how we had to save the children. He dragged me abovedecks, but when he pointed over the port side, there was nothing but smooth sea, like a bolt of black silk beneath a silver moon.
He cried out that he saw them. I asked how many there were. He looked at me as if he didn’t quite know who or what I was. His face appeared unshaven and the white flesh on his face seemed to sag, like a slack sail. His collar was undone and he looked altogether ragged, not like the creased and tidy first mate I’d known for years. It occurred to me that I hadn’t noticed him becoming so unkempt, and I wondered how many other signs I’d missed from the rest of the crew. Had my own head been in a fog? What was the matter with me?
Finally, Moore said that there were seven of them. They were in two lines. Just their heads above the water, their long hair fanning around them like strips of seaweed. And they were singing. Sobbing, he said that he could still hear them. He tore at his hair, gnashing his teeth like a rabid animal.
I grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake.
He cowered a little and looked up at me. His voice was a whimper as he repeated that he could still hear them.
The moon is on the wane, and the light was weak. But still, I could see how pale Moore was. He looked like a feeble version of his former self, as if the Moore I had known had been locked away in a prison for years.
And now it has become clear that Moore has gone as mad as Akers. I am at a complete loss. How can I sleep? Moore might strangle me in my bed. I must protect the crew. But this madness seems to be spreading. Who knows who might be the next to fall victim?
We must make the rest of this journey quickly. I pray to God for fair breezes.
August 1
42° 25′ N, 69° 41′ W
The wind and sea have conspired against us. The sail is as limp and calm as a sheet on a featherbed. Only the men are restless. I feel their eyes on me as I walk the deck. They look haggard and tired. We have gone to four-hour shifts. That means they only rest four hours at a time, then they work four, and on half rations.
I do my best to keep up a good front. If they sense weakness in me, I know that they could turn, like snarling animals.
August 2
42° 29′ N, 70° 02′ W
May God in heaven protect me, there is no one on this ship but myself and two madmen. I had convinced Moore to sleep in my quarters under the pretext that I wanted the protection. But while we slept—or, rather—while he slept, and I kept watch, four more hands were lost.
At dawn, I went abovedecks to see to the changing of the shift, but the deck was completely deserted. There was nothing but the creak of the sail and the sound of water lapping at the sides of the ship.
It was eerie, like a ship of ghosts.
I called for the men, but none answered me. I went belowdecks, and there was Akers, alone in a corner with his chains. He was humming the same mournful tune that I’d heard from Braithwaite days earlier. I asked Akers where the men were.
He replied that “the child had taken them.” His face was completely affectless—it was as blank as the page on which I write. There was no fear in his eyes—there was no expression at all. It was as if the fear had devoured him, and left nothing. He predicted that the child would take us all.
When I returned to my quarters, Moore was gone. Where, I know not. There was no one to see me as I ran up the steps. I felt sick, like I needed to cast something from my guts.
I cannot sail this ship alone!
As I looked over the bow, I saw a small splash. Could it have been a head? Or was it just a jumping fish?
My God, this madness is affecting me now. I fear it won’t be long.…
August 3
42° 29′ N, 70° 01′ W
Heaven help me—I’ve seen it. I know not whether I am mad—I think it is likely that I am. But I will describe here what I have seen. That thing on the water is no child. Perhaps it is a ghost, I know not. It is luminous—the reason the men could see her face in the light of the half moon is because she shines with a light of her own. As I stepped to the bow of the ship, she called to me. She sang, and it was with the voice of an angel—all the while dipping below the surface, as Akers had described. The music called to me, and I felt paralyzed. And yet I wasn’t, for my feet were moving forward of their own accord. I was overwhelmed with a need to go to the child. My mind was infected with the desire to save her, although I knew the danger. She was calling me, and I WOULD go to her—it was as if I had become a river rushing forward with its own unknown force. I was at the edge of the ship, imagining the satiny feel of the cool water, and it seemed to me that it was like the lining of a coffin, and yet what struck me was not the fear of death, but the infinite rest, the comfort. But before I could take the final step, there was a horrible crash below. A moment later, Akers appeared abovedecks. His wrists were bloodied, and he trailed a thick chain that ended in screws and splinters. He had pulled the chains from the wall. When he saw the child, he let out a cry and leaped from the side of the ship. And then, something—I know not what it was—pulled him down. The ghost child tilted her head and smiled at me, and I would have followed Akers, but in that moment, she disappeared.
Slipped below the surface like an eel.
I know now what I must do. I must lash the helm in place, so that we keep a straight course. Then I will lock myself belowdecks, so that I cannot jump overboard. I will pray that we run aground while I am still living. If not, please give my love to my wife and son.
I hope that I may yet make it home, and back to sanity.
Will flipped through the pages that followed, but they were all blank. At the back of the journal was tucked a brittle old newspaper clipping, yellowed with age. A corner broke off as Will unfolded it, gently flattening it against the page. He let his palms rest against the book for an extra moment, hoping they would stop shaking.
He looked down at the newspaper clipping.
Ship Runs Aground Near Walfang
The Eliza Thomas was found yesterday near the port of Walfang, run aground on a sandbar. It was half sunk, and authorities fear that it will take a great effort to remove it from its mooring place at the edge of the bay. The ship left port four months ago from Portugal with eight hands, plus captain and first mate, and was presumably on its return voyage. The hull was loaded with port, silk, and fine silver, all unmolested. And yet there was not a soul aboard. There were signs of a peculiar struggle in the men’s main quarters, as if something had been ripped from a wall, but aside from that, the ship was pristine. A captain’s log has been found, and authorities hope that it will help reveal the cause of the missing crew.…