by D G Rose
And all averred I’d killed the bird that brought the fog and mist. Just as predicted, ‘Twas right, they said, such birds to slay that bring the fog and mist.
A fair breeze blew and the ship almost flew over the face of the water. We traveled that way for some days and the mood onboard was bright. Surely now the helmsman would plot us a speedy course to our destination.
One day, as I polished a rail, Daggoo came alongside. “Ay, these waters are beyond me ken.” And then his body went rigid and his eyes scanned the empty space between us as he prepared to speak in the sing-song voice that marked a recitation of the words. “The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea.”
And almost as if his use of the word ‘silent’ were the cause, the wind dropped down, the sails went slack, and the ship slowed to a lazy drift.
As I stood watching the glassy sea, Stubbs came along. “Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.”
“Hey!” I said, “I know that line! As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean!” And while Stubbs seemed particularly unimpressed with my recognition of what I can only imagine must have been a line from a late 18th Century – early 19th Century English Romantic poem, I felt more than a little proud.
A new danger came on us when an inspection of our water barrels showed that leaks had left us almost dry. “Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink,” said Daggoo, taking in the infinite expanse of the unquenching salt sea.
But, I wasn’t worried. I knew that we would reach land or it would rain or something, since all of this was some kind of theater put on for my benefit. And what is the point of putting on a play if the audience doesn’t make it out alive?
That same day the third mate, Flask, cornered me her face twisted up in anger. “I had a dream.” She spoke. “And in my dream I clearly saw the Spirit who plagues us! He follows the ship, nine fathoms deep from the land of mist and snow. He loved the bird, who loved the man, who shot him with his bow!” It was clear that she wasn’t reciting, and I thought it was odd, that Flask, who had never previously shown any facility with language, should come up with this poetic little speech.
But, while I was wondering about Flask’s newfound gifts, Flask’s dream was working its way through the crew. It was enough for them to cast me with the blame and nobody seemed to remember that I’d been hailed as a hero for the exact same killing. From below, Daggoo produced the rotting corpse of the albatross and the crew strung it on a cord and hung the stinking thing about my neck.
Days passed without water. Our tongues were dry and withered, our lips blackened and cracking and even our eyes glazed and dusty. I saw these word, but I couldn’t speak them. “When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.”
I went to the westward rail and I saw a something in the sky. At first it did seem a little speck and then, sure enough, perhaps, a mist, but with time it resolved into a shape I knew. I tried to shout, but my dry throat could produce no sound. I saw these words, “With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail!”
Well, I was unwilling to bite my arm, but I was desperate and mad with thirst and I knew that sooner or later the director of this divine comedy would compel me. So, yes, I bit my arm, I sucked the blood. I cried, “A sail! A sail!” Although I would have words with the author about his forcing me to bite my arm, I smiled inwardly, knowing that I had been right all along, this was an imitation of life. Unable to kill me off, the puppet master had been forced to save us.
And all the crew smiled through their cracked lips and laughed soundless laughs. We watched and waved and waited as the tiny sail grew big. It was sundown, with the sun touching the western sea when Flask came beside me, her arm dribbling thick blood from a bite matching mine, she pointed to the approaching ship. “Are those her ribs through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate?”
I pushed Flask away “What are you talking about, Flask?” But I looked closely and as the ship crossed between us and the sun, it did seem like the approaching ship was all rib with no plank.
As the ship came ever closer, more details emerged. Then Flask recited again, “And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a DEATH? and are there two? Is DEATH that woman's mate?”
And sure enough, a closer examination did reveal the ship to be a peopled by just two. One a woman and the other a, somewhat stereotypical, Death, skeletal, black-robed, and bearing a gleaming scythe.
I pulled away from Flask and ran forward to get a better look. I was impressed by the costume. It seemed that no expense was being spared on this production. The truth is, I am trying not to be scared, but I am.
“Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.” Said Flask, who had come alongside me.
The woman, on the other ship, did have golden hair and red lips and leprously white skin.
But I wasn’t worried. It was all smoke and mirrors, and everything would be alright. “Did you really just use the word ‘thick’ as a verb?” I asked, pedantically. “Ignoring the already existent verb ‘thicken’?”
The third mate shrugged. “It’s got better meter.”
While Flask and I were talking verbs and meter, another crewwoman approached us, “The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; 'The game is done! I've won! I've won!' Quoth she, and whistles thrice.”
And sure enough, the naked hull came alongside our ship. And her crew were casting dice. After a final throw, the woman swept the dice into her hand. “The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!” and she did, in fact, whistle three times.
I turned to Flask. “Don’t you think that ‘alongside came the naked hull’ works better than ‘The naked hull alongside came’?”
But Flask didn’t want to engage in literary criticism with me. The sun, suddenly, drops completely below the horizon, in the sky above us, a crescent moon appears, with a bright star nestled in its lower horn. It was pretty, I must admit.
The words appeared in the sky, black against the moon. “One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye.”
And the crew, in fact, were not in a star-gazing mood. They only had eyes for me. Eyes full of hate. I think they would have killed me then or thrown me, Jonah-like, into the sea. But, at that moment, we were all gripped by a paralysis and the horrid pair leapt aboard.
The deathly pale woman drew her companion by the hand to the first crewmember and she looked him in his eye. She shook her head, “Not him.” She said. And the Death drew back his scythe.
“No! No! No! No! Nooooooo!” I thought! But my inner scream had no effect and the Death slashed him down.
“The souls did from their bodies fly,— They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my cross-bow!” The words appeared.
They visited each crewman, and She would look into their eyes. She’d shake her head, “Not him.” She’d say and Death would strike them down. I strained to lift my hands or scream as the pair cut through the crew. At last they came to me, and the Death raised up his scythe but she stilled him with a hand and She looked into my eye. She smiled then. She smiled, so beautiful and cold. “It’s him.” She said. And I was not dead as they leapt aboard their boat.
CHAPTER 17 - But death had no use for me.
“Alone, alone, all alone, all alone on a wide-wide sea!” And yet, not alone. The corpses of my crew-mates lay all around me. Each one dead where they had stood. Many at the rail, who’d been gawking in ho
rror at the deathly pair, but some at their posts. Some few with ship’s lines still grasped in their hands. Some below in the crew’s quarters.
There was an odd thing about the dead; they were shockingly beautiful. Even Daggoo’s giant ugly nose gave his face a beautiful dignity in death. Death surrounded me. Death hung from my neck.
I wandered the ship, mad with grief, but no matter where I went, their eyes followed. “An orphan’s curse could drag to hell a spirit from on high; But oh! More horrible than that is the curse in a dead man’s eye!”
I raved and ran and raved some more, but dead they were and dead they would remain. I ran to the bow and shouted, “I don’t like this anymore! I want out!” But the sea held no answers and the puppet master guarded his silence.
As the terror and the helplessness and the horror gripped me I had an idea. The Captain! I hadn’t seen the deathly pair visit him in his cabin! He might still be alive! I jumped for hope! And ran to his door. It was locked and my frantic pounding raised no reply. Still, I was convinced that he lay within, sick perhaps, but certainly alive. I grabbed Daggoo’s harpoon and using it as a pry bar and when that failed, as a battering ram, I forced the door open.
The cabin was empty. There was no Captain. Perhaps there had never been a Captain. In my madness, this explained it all. How could a ship sail without a Captain? We had needed a Captain all along, and we needed one still! How to find a Captain? Well, if we couldn’t find a Captain, we would have to make one. I imagined that this problem must have arisen, more than once, in the past. There must be a protocol for this kind of thing. I decided to convene a meeting of the ship's officers. We would elect a Captain.
I dragged Flask, who as third mate certainly qualified as an officer, into the Captain’s cabin and sat her on the bunk. Then I realized that I had met neither a first nor second mate. Everything on this ship was fucked up! So, I dragged the helmsman in as well. Then, feeling like we needed a fourth for a quorum, I dragged the mighty bulk of Daggoo, whose position as harpooner probably qualified him to take part in the considerations.
The group arranged, as well as the tight space allowed, I stood to address them. I had my speech well-rehearsed, I planned to start with apologies. I was aware that my lowly position on the crew hardly qualified me to call such a council. Then I planned to call their attention to the terrible lack of officers and suggest a plan of action. I planned to propose that the helmsman take the role of Captain (on the theory that the Captain should know how to guide the ship), promote Flask to first mate and move Daggoo into the role of second mate. The ship, being as it was, short of crew, probably could sail without a third mate, and, if we were being honest, the lack of whales seemed to make the position of harpooner superfluous at best.
But I did not deliver my speech. I didn’t deliver my speech because I was distracted by something. I was distracted by a bead of sweat that formed just above the helmsman’s left eye. It glittered in the flickering light of the Captain’s cabin and it traced its slow path downward. In a moment it would be lost in the thicket of the helmsman’s eyebrow, perhaps never to be seen again. I couldn’t allow that! So, rather than deliver my careful speech, I sprang forward and fastened my lips on the helmsman’s forehead and sucked that bead of cold sweat into my mouth. It was ecstasy! Then I saw another bead on the nose of Daggoo. That great and beautiful nose was to be my salvation! I rushed to the deck and saw that all the sailors, were beaded with the same cold marvelous sweat. I licked them all. It was a strange and comforting intimacy, although it made me half-cannibal and filled my mouth with the taste of death. And each and every one of them still cursed me with their eye.
The ship stayed all becalmed and even if I’d had a wind, I couldn’t sail her. I roamed the ship, more wild and mad than man. I taunted death a thousand times, but death had no use for me. I climbed the rigging. I walked, tight-rope style, on the ship's rails. I took to laying on the bowsprit (the long mast that juts out from the front of the ship) hoping a sudden swell would jostle me into the waiting depths. But the sea was as smooth as glass, as smooth as a shot of whiskey. I was trying to sleep on the bowsprit when I saw a strange thing in the water. All around the sea was dark and still, but where the ship cast a dim shadow in the feeble light of the moon, I saw the sea begin to boil and burn. And in the boiling water, swam dozens or hundreds or thousands of water-snakes. They played and twinned, a rich pageant of colors, blue and glossy green and velvet black. And where they swam they left tracks of white light in the water. No words can describe how beautiful they were. And, even surrounded, as I was, by the countless dead, I laughed to see them play. And as soon as I did, the albatross fell off my neck and sank, like lead, into the sea.
I slept then, for the first time in days, and I dreamed that the silly buckets we had placed on the deck in foolish hope were filled with dew and when I awoke it rained!
I stood in the pouring rain, mouth open, like a child, drinking my fill. I thought: ‘I’m saved!’
Then the wind began to blow and the sails, which we had left unfurled in hope, filled and the ship began to buck and spin with no hand at the wheel. I wasn’t saved, this was just more torment! I couldn’t sail the ship. The rain would only provide water to keep me alive until some worse death could claim me.
Lightning flashed, striking the sea around the ship, leaving balls of St. Elmo’s fire dancing on the waves. I ducked down and hid my head for fear of the lightning.
“They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise.”
What could that mean? I wondered. I knew, I knew, I had to look, so I raised up my head. The many balls of lightning dancing on the sea turned the night to day and my eyes shied away from the unfamiliar brightness. Then, all in concert, the balls of fire lifted from the sea and drifted over the ship, each ball found a lifeless body and silently melted inside.
Beneath the lightning and the moon the dead did groan. And they stirred and all uprose in silence and began to work the ship. It would have been strange, even in a dream to see those dead men rise. For me, it was worse. Although I was already crazed with grief and fear, I found my horror tuned to a higher pitch.
The helmsman took the wheel, the sailors worked the ropes. Their limbs were lifeless tools. We were a ghastly crew. The body that had been Daggoo stood by me, knee to knee, we pulled together at one rope, but he said nothing to me.
“For when it dawned—they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed.”
The storm abated with the setting of the moon and the sun popped up and the dead dropped their arm and stopped work. They formed a circle around me. But in the place of violence they began to sing and as they sang, one by one, a ball of flame would separate from the body and fly off into the sky. And as each ball of flame flew off, its body would slowly sink to the deck as if asleep, until I stood in a circle of the dead.
But even though the ship was uncrewed, it sailed on as if propelled from beneath by a giant hand.
I looked at the crowd of dead all around and tried to find a path out, but I could see no clear way and unwilling to disturb them, I lay down where I was to sleep. As I slept I had a dream, or maybe it was a vision.
Two angels hovered near my head. I idly wondered if they could have been soldiers who I might have seen on the Tower stair, having now exchanged their armor for wings of silver.
In my dream, the angels also recited the words, which I could see, too.
“Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow. ”
“The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.”
I couldn’t
help thinking that I probably had done enough penance and I didn’t like the sound of doing any more. I woke to find myself, again, alone upon the ship. The dead men were gone, the angels too but the ship sped on as if it sailed in gentle weather.
Then these words appeared to me, “Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree?”
I didn’t even stop for a moment to reflect on the odd spelling of ‘country’ as if the author was afraid that I would otherwise be inclined to pronounce it in some way that it wouldn’t rhyme with ‘see’. I jumped into the rigging and climbed aloft to look. “Land ho!” I cried to no one.
The ship slowed but never deviated. We crossed the harbor-bar. I prayed that it was no dream and I was safe at last.
“But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the Pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away And I saw a boat appear.”
I heard, below, the dash of oars and a shout of welcome. I hung over the rail to see. It was a small boat and within it, Amy and Christabel come to rescue me! But no! I see now, it is (as predicted) the pilot and the pilot’s boy come to guide the ship to port. I cried out, but it was as if I was a ghost.
“The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead.”
That didn’t sound good. All this suffering and now, when salvation was in sight, the ship was to sink!? I looked wildly around for something to hold on to; something that might float. Then I heard the terrible sound, and a giant wave tossed both ship and boat into the air. And when the ship touched the water again, it broke in two and sank.
As the deck sloped away toward the sea, “Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat.” So, I was to be saved.