The sea is moving at last, and we’ve caught a fine breeze. I feel the spirits of the men lifting, like a dark curtain.
July 27
40° 40? N, 65° 43? W
There was a desperate knock at the door of my quarters this evening, and when I answered, there stood Moore, and Akers was with him. Akers was wild, shouting that we had to “save the girl.” I looked to Moore for an explanation, but he said that he couldn’t get Akers to make sense. Akers screeched that there was a girl in the water-that we had to save her. We rushed abovedecks and raced to the starboard side, where Akers had seen the girl in the light of the moon. But when we looked out, there was nothing but empty sea below a moonlit sky.
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
