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 the 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
