over this ship. Already a hand short, and
entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead,
and yet last night another man lost, disappeared.
Like the first, he came off his watch and was not
seen again. Men all in a panic of fear, sent
a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they
fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear there
will be some trouble, as either he or the men will
do some violence.
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 tonight, 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,
awakened 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 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
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