The Call of the Sea

The Call of the Sea

I stood at the rail, amazed to be alone on the promenade deck. Only yesterday, we had lined this rail, two deep, as friends and family stood on the docks and waved their farewells. Today, most passengers were seasick below deck.

Beyond our storm-tossed ship, the sea was a sharply peaked range of rolling gray hills and valleys – immense wave crests capped with foam that the wind sliced free, then shaped into clouds of mist that stung my skin with cold. While my face grew numb, the hooded mackintosh and waterproof trousers kept most of me dry.

One day out of Southampton, our titan of a ship – the Irkutsk – plowed into headwinds that would double the length of our voyage.

According to my steward, the weather forecasters predicted a full week of stormy weather. A huge Atlantic low pressure system – par for the course in early winter. While most passengers lamented their misfortune, I, with my adventurous spirit, had purposely chosen this time of year for my first-ever Atlantic crossing. I was traveling first class, and my stateroom, the cuisine, and the service were impeccable.

The wind rose to fever pitch, and a strange howling moan sounded off in the distance. As if the sky, itself, were crying out in some mournful tone across the waves. The haunting sound repeated, raised goosebumps on my skin.

How odd, then, that this sound drew me like moths to a lamp. I leaned over the rail, stared down into towering waves sliding by, the crests less than ten feet below deck level. My skin began to tingle, itch, my muscles tensing. I imagined how it might feel to slide over the rail, dive down beneath those –

There was a flicker of movement to my right. Then a strong hand gripped my shoulder, and someone pulled me up and back. A rugged older gentleman, garbed, like me, in a hooded mackintosh, stood against the rail, observing me closely. His face went pale when the moan sounded a third time.

“Shut yer ears to that infernal noise!” he shouted. His face was gaunt, deeply lined, and stubbled with gray whiskers. Trembling, ice-blue eyes stared into mine.

I asked what caused the strange phenomenon, my voice straining above the wind.

“That’s a story for later. A dark tale, too. And if ya wanna sleep soundly tonight, don’t ask me again. But I saw its hold on you, lad. Hypnotic – and there’s the danger, the risk!”

His face was grim, his jaw set. Despite the dismal, thickly clouded sky, light reflecting in his eyes seemed unnaturally bright. The moan sounded again, and he drew closer to me, his manner urgent.

“It ain’t safe out here! Come on – time we head inside and get outta this storm.”

He turned to leave, then paused, as if insisting I join him.

Two hours later, I sat at the illuminated bar in the lounge, sipping on two fingers of Macallan. I relived my unnerving experience, over and over. Now, instead of feeling drawn toward the sea, my stomach wrenched at what had come over me. Had I been seconds from doom in the stormy sea?

There – off in the farthest, darkest corner of the room – sat the man at the rail, the man who probably saved my life. A minute later, my drink in hand, I approached his table. He glanced up, then motioned for me to join him.

We introduced ourselves and shook hands.

“Nat Skiff,” he said. His palm was calloused, rough. He appeared to be in his seventies. Several scars punctuated his face, one of them, a deep nick in the flesh above his right eye.

“You seem to be handle these rough seas as well as anyone,” he said. “You a sailor?”

“No,” I said. “As for seasickness, I’m just lucky, I guess. Looks like most of the passengers aren’t so fortunate.”

I glanced about at the nearly empty lounge as evidence.

“How about you?” I said.

“Oh, I’m an old salt,” he said, eyes glinting beneath his bushy, beetling brows. “I worked the family fishing fleet for nigh on forty years. Now I pay others to do it. Same with sailing. These days, I enjoy traveling the world in first class.”

I listened for a while, sipping on my drink. He’d been sailing the seven seas for many years, and, according to him, winter storms in the north Atlantic were the scariest of all. At one point, I considered bringing up the strange sounds we heard, but decided now wasn’t the time.

We conversed amiably for the next half hour, on our lead-up to supper. Then we dined together and discussed ancient sailing lore. I was an avid reader, and a bit of an armchair historian. The sea and seafaring had always fascinated me, especially the dark mythologies in several compendia I’d read. Stories the old timers had passed on – tales I enjoyed near the dying embers of a fire in the hearth.

On our way back to the lounge, as night fell, we glanced out through windows and across the promenade deck, where sailors were knocking free chunks of ice that had built up on the rail. It looked bitterly cold out there, and I didn’t envy those sailors one bit. Soon, we were back at the same lounge table, both of us sipping on warmed brandy.

“So,” I said, “it’s time you explain that strange moaning sound we heard earlier. Song of the Sirens, perhaps?”

He froze, the snifter halfway to his mouth, and set it back down, his face turning grave.

“First time I heard it was off the north coast of Ireland. We lost two crew, God rest their souls.”

Nat crossed himself.

“What, they got swept over in a storm?”

“No. I saw one of ‘em – Tucker was his name – leaning over the rail, just like you did. And then he just slid over and was gone.”

"He slipped when a wave hit?”

“I could see that same look on his face – like you I saw on you. Those unearthly sounds were going on a half hour by then, all of us wondering what dark magic the sea might be workin. Then Tucker – he up and dropped what he was doing, walked to the rail, leaned over it, and purposely went overboard. By the time I ran over, he’d already disappeared beneath the waves.”

I was about to call his bluff, but saw the wetness in his eyes and knew he wasn’t joking.

“That must have been terrifying, and so tragic for all of you.”

“It was hardest on his family, especially his boy, Liam. But he wasn’t the only one. There was Simon, too, late that night.”

“What happened?”

I sipped my brandy and waited while Nat fully composed himself.

“We couldn’t turn back after Tucker. Not right away, at least. Storm was too bad, and we were having boiler trouble. We were all sittin around that night, in the mess, none of us able to eat one solitary morsel. So we took to whiskey and remembered poor Tucker. Gradually, as the night wore on and our boat pitched in the storm, those sounds came again.”

Nat paused for a gulp of his drink.

“We cursed the sea that night – something men of the sea don’t do easily. We tried to ignore those moans, by drinkin more and more to numb ourselves to it. Then we began to fall asleep. I was just nodding off when I felt someone brush by me. I looked up from my bunk and saw Simon, that same glazed look in his eyes, barely visible in the lantern swingin over his head. I thought nothin of it until he went clompin up the steps, then I heard him open the hatch. That storm just howled through, along with a deafening moan that hummed through my skull. That’s when I knew he’d gone out on deck. In a storm like that, alone at night, can ya believe it?”

“Did you chase after him?”

“O course I did. But by the time I burst out onto the deck, he was already gone. Never found a trace of him. Soon after, those infernal sounds ended.”

As Nat continued, he began to raise his voice a bit.

“Hadn’t heard those cursed moans for decades, lad, decades – until this afternoon, when I saw you at the rail.”

“Nat, thank you, more than I can say. I lost my sanity, I think. The water below me, ice cold, somehow seemed warm and inviting to me. Like it would feel good to dive in. It makes no sense of course, but that’s what I experienced. Once, as you say, I’d come under the sea’s spell.”

Nate nodded solemnly, and then I called our waiter over and ordered us more brandy.

We soon drifted off to other topics, but Nat’s recounting of the deaths of his shipmates had put a damper on things. By midnight, we parted ways, and I proceeded, slightly drunk as I was, back to my stateroom.

Soon, I was tucked into bed, the lights out, as I fought the “spins” from drinking so much. But at last the sensation calmed, and I grew drowsy. The impact of storm waves rumbled through the riveted double hull of the Irkutsk, and shrieks of wind were audible through the closed porthole window. Then I heard it.

At first I thought I’d fallen asleep and was dreaming, until I sat bolt upright and realized I was awake. There it was, the distant moan, from somewhere far out at sea. I felt haunted all over again and began to tremble.

Then, taking Nat’s words to heart, I decided to plug my ears. I always carry clay-based ear plugs whenever I travel, and, once placed into my ears, completely sealing off both ear canals, I was immersed in silence. The rumble of waves against the hull was still audible, but the distant moans were gone.

At last I calmed and drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Some time later, I was jarred awake by a loud pounding at my stateroom door. I got out of bed, threw on my robe, and opened the door. An officer stood there and told me that every stateroom was being searched after several passengers went missing not long after midnight. I admitted him at once, while I heard other doors being pounded on, as the staterooms on either side of me were also searched. A sort of pandemonium had enveloped the whole corridor, as people commiserated and conversed with each other about what was happening.

Then my blood ran cold, as I wondered if the missing passengers had heard the strange, mournful moans from the sea. Perhaps they’d been lured out on deck and had jumped overboard. With my earplugs removed, I no longer heard the strange sounds. I considered relating my own experience, including what Nat told me, but I knew they’d think me mad.

Within a half hour, folks calmed and returned to their rooms, but I had trouble sleeping after that. Nonetheless, I re-packed my ears tightly with the clay plugs, as protection.

Next morning, I awoke from several hours of troubled sleep. I hurriedly dressed and went to the Grand Salon, where breakfast was being served. I found Nat sitting alone, his eyes downcast, and, when he saw me, we shot each other a knowing look. Soon, the Captain paid a visit in the salon. He told us that three people had mysteriously vanished during the night, and that all searches of the ship had proven fruitless. They were presumed missing at sea, and the crew had abandoned all hope of finding them alive or dead, given the heavy seas and the storm.

Nat and I just sat there, speechless, our faces in our hands as our breakfast plates cooled on that fine, white, linen tablecloth…