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* * * * *
_28 July_.--Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom,
and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out. Hardly
know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go on. Second mate
volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch a few hours' sleep.
Wind abating; seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is
steadier.
* * * * *
_29 July_.--Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, as crew too
tired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one
except steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough search,
but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate
and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause.
* * * * *
_30 July_.--Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather fine,
all sails set. Retired worn out; slept soundly; awaked by mate telling
me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only self and mate and
two hands left to work ship.
* * * * *
_1 August_.--Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped when in
the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in somewhere.
Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind. Dare not lower,
as could not raise them again. We seem to be drifting to some terrible
doom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger nature
seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear,
working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are
Russian, he Roumanian.
* * * * *
_2 August, midnight_.--Woke up from few minutes' sleep by hearing a cry,
seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, and
ran against mate. Tells me heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on
watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits
of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as
he heard the man cry out. If so we are now off in the North Sea, and
only God can guide us in the fog, which seems to move with us; and God
seems to have deserted us.
* * * * *
_3 August_.--At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel, and
when I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we ran
before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted for the
mate. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He
looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given
way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my
ear, as though fearing the very air might hear: "_It_ is here; I know
it, now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin,
and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind
It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the
air." And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into
space. Then he went on: "But It is here, and I'll find It. It is in the
hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and
see. You work the helm." And, with a warning look and his finger on his
lip, he went below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could
not leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool-chest
and a lantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark,
raving mad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those
big boxes: they are invoiced as "clay," and to pull them about is as
harmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, and
write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears.
Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind that is, I shall cut
down sails and lie by, and signal for help....
* * * * *
It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that the mate
would come out calmer--for I heard him knocking away at something in the
hold, and work is good for him--there came up the hatchway a sudden,
startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck he
came as if shot from a gun--a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and
his face convulsed with fear. "Save me! save me!" he cried, and then
looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in
a steady voice he said: "You had better come too, captain, before it is
too late. _He_ is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save me
from Him, and it is all that is left!" Before I could say a word, or
move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately
threw himself into the sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was
this madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has
followed them himself. God help me! How am I to account for all these
horrors when I get to port? _When_ I get to port! Will that ever be?
* * * * *
_4 August._--Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know there is
sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not go
below, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I stayed, and in
the dimness of the night I saw It--Him! God forgive me, but the mate was
right to jump overboard. It was better to die like a man; to die like a
sailor in blue water no man can object. But I am captain, and I must not
leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie
my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with