At midnight, I went to relieve Abranoff at the wheel. When I got to it, I found no one there.

The wind was steady and, as we ran before it, there was no yawing. Any attempt to change course might rip the rigging free, make us list in the water.

I dared not leave the helm, so I shouted for Vlahutza. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his flannels, indifferent to the fierce, icy drizzle that whipped us.

He looked wild-eyed and haggard. He glanced down at the deck and then at me, and I realized he saw shadows that I could not.

Though he saw me struggle with the helm, he did not rush to my aid, but climbed slowly, carefully up the rungs to where I stood, pulling a huge knife out from his flannels.

He slid up behind me.

I couldn’t see him. All I could do was wait for ...

the blade ….

And I felt his breath for a second sliding down my neck, reaching my ear.

I clearly felt his deep breathing, the warmth of his mouth, brushing my flesh.

He whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my ear:

“It is here.”

Not a gesture of love, but of terror. He feared the very air might hear.

“I know it, now. On the watch last night, I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale, lit by the sickly glow of mushrooms. It was in the bows, looking out. It made a gesture and the fog dissolved at Its command. I could see the stars above us. I saw It move Its lips (swollen, red), which twisted as It muttered some obscure spell. I crept behind It, as I have behind thee, and gave It my knife.”

His voice vibrated, falling and rising in tone, from a hoarse whisper to nigh-on a girlish scream: His reason had given way.

“Dost thou see this blade? Dost thou? Should I bury it in thine eye … dost think thou couldst feel how cold it is in the midst of thy living blood? I always believed it so. I believed in the voice of steel ... yet it failed me. I do not know how. I gave It my steel, I tell thee, but the knife went through It, empty as the air.”

And as he spoke, he took his knife and drove it savagely into space. I felt a sudden burn and blood slid down my cheek. He had just cut me without knowing.

And, with a warning look and his finger on his lip, he went below.

“I know where It hides.”

He started laughing.

“What is not normal aboard this ship?” he asked.

you

“The cargo, the damned boxes of earth in the hold, savvy? It must hide in one of them. One of the covers must be false. I’ll unscrew them one by one and see. Work thou the helm.”

He peeked over my shoulder, then touched my lips with his feverish fingers, giving me a warning look.

“Shhh.”

He went below. 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 there is no use in my trying to stop him.

What damage can he do to the cargo? Nothing could matter less than the clay we transport.

I can only trust in God and wait till the fog clears. Then, if I can’t steer to any harbor with the wind that is, I shall cut down sails and lie by, and signal for help ....

Thus was I thinking when Vlahutza screamed.

Lord, may I never hear another man scream again!

Not like Vlahutza, not like Mikhail.

My blood froze and I was about to go to his aid.

But the hatchway burst open 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. I could see he had pissed himself.

“Save me!” he cried. “Save me!”

He looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair. And all of a sudden, he was once more simply Vlahutza. He saw me standing there, alone and terrified, pathetically clutching the wheel.

Whom could I have saved?

“Come with me,” he said in a steady voice, a sane man for the last time. “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 onto the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into the sea, shouting as he condemned himself to exploding lungs and endless suffocation.

Without hesitation, he chose the black face of the drowned, a mouth unhinged by despair, hands that tear bloody grooves in a throat closed forever by the sea.

He jumped toward that end, eagerly.

I suppose I know the secret, now, too.

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?