CHAPTER 7

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    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 he 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 the 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 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?