The Island: Chapter 2

The first night passed quickly but not quietly. Whispers in the dark pervaded every space. They seeped through the grains in the wood and crept into the cabins where the men slept. 

I slept apart–in the captain’s quarters, but even I could hear the murmurs of the men. It seemed that one of the officers had revealed the prisoner’s death, and they were busy trying to decipher his final message. 

“The Island, you said?” one of the crewmates asked.

“Yes, it was scrawled into the wood as clear as day,” the officer answered. 

“What does it mean?” another crewmate asked. 

I recognized his voice as Greg’s. 

There was a brief silence, and I could hear the men breathing through the walls. 

“It’s simple,” a third crewmate said. “It means Siren’s Rock is real.”

“Siren’s Rock?” Greg asked. 

“Yeah, it’s from an old sailor’s shanty. You haven’t heard it?” the third mate asked. “Well, I don’t remember how it went exactly, but I’ll tell you what I know. There was an explorer who was searching for islands in the Atlantic, and one day he came across something strange–an island that didn’t exist according to any of the maps or sailors’ accounts. So, naturally, the explorer decided to go on a little adventure. But as he sailed closer to the island, the sea changed, and everything went still.”

“What do you mean?” Greg asked. 

“Everything,” the man continued. “The wind and current went dead still, and the boat stopped moving. All of the clocks aboard the ship stopped ticking, and the compasses went flat. But they all pointed toward the island.”

“That’s ridiculous! A compass always points North,” one of the officers argued. 

“Unless there were magnetic fields,” the second mate said. “I’ve heard of places where compasses spin like a top because the Earth’s pull is all wonky.” 

“No, he said the compass stopped. There’s no way to explain that!” the officer stated. 

“Gents, this is an old sea shanty,” the storyteller said. “However, the sea is a mysterious place.”

The officer and second mate were silent, but Greg spoke up eagerly. “What happened to the explorer?” 

“He floated for many days with no wind and no waves until, one night, they crashed into the island. You see, the captain had fallen asleep, and when he woke up, his crew was nowhere to be found. He left the ship and searched the jungle for many days and nights, but he never found any sign of them. Eventually, he became restless. He knew that he couldn’t stay on the island alone, so he left.”

“That’s it? He just left his men behind?” the officer asked. 

“Yes, and the captain knew how it would seem–so, on the final night of his return voyage, the captain abandoned his ship, and it drifted back to the shores of Spain without a captain or a crew.” 

The men were silent. 

“It’s just an old story…” the second mate deduced. 

“Of course! How would the Spanish even know about the island if everyone who saw it died?” the officer asked. 

“Yes, just a story,” the third mate concluded. “Or… perhaps, it is a product of every sailor’s fear— that the sea will swallow him, never to be remembered, as if he’d never existed…”

The men were silent again, but it lasted the rest of the night. 

I sat awake, replaying the storyteller’s words in my head. I knew that I couldn’t let these tales get too out of hand, but it was difficult to deny them when they described something so real. Granted, there was no magical island that swallowed up men, but the sea could just as well accomplish the same goal…

When I woke the next morning, the sky was dark grey, and the men were still silent. I got up and checked my clock. It read 4:25 AM–still too early to get up, but I changed my mind when I heard movement on the upper deck. 

As soon as I climbed the stairs, I saw the crewmates walking frantically around the deck. They were pulling the sail and letting all of the lines and the block pulley loose. But no matter where they positioned the sail, it hung limp on the mast. 

“What’s going on here?” I asked. 

Greg’s eyes widened when he saw me, and he ran up to me. 

“Captain! There’s no wind and no current either,” he exclaimed. “We’re trapped!”

I watched the sky. Our ship was encased in a wall of black clouds, but there was no movement. 

I looked out into the sea, although I could only see a few feet through the fog. There were no waves, and the boat sat stagnant as if it were sitting on a slab of concrete. 

“And that’s not all,” Greg said. “Have you seen the clocks?”

I nodded. “Yes, it’s only 4 in the morning. I’m sure, as it gets later-”

“The compasses, too,” Greg interrupted, holding out his personal compass. 

I took it from him. It pointed towards the Southeast, but as I moved it, the needles stayed the same. 

Greg’s face was pale, and his gruff hands were shaking. “In all my years of sailing, I’ve never seen anything like this,” he admitted. “I just don’t know what to do, Captain. I can’t help thinking about the prisoner—what he wrote…” 

Neither could I, but I had to say something to calm him down. I knew that once one crewmate went hysterical, I would lose control of all of them. 

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I’m sure the wind will return soon, and as soon as it does, we’ll head straight to D.C. But we can’t lose our heads in the meantime, understand?” 

Greg nodded. “Yes, Captain.” 

“Good, now go straighten up the deck and get your mind off things,” I ordered. 

“Aye, sir,” he said and walked off toward the galley. 

I went to find the head CO. I had to talk to him about our next move. He seemed to be a relatively level-headed fellow, and I was in desperate need of reassurance. 

I found him by the center stairs. He was still diligently guarding the prisoner’s cell, as if the crew didn’t already know the truth. 

I wanted to tell him, but thought better of it. 

“Good morning,” I greeted him. 

“Morning, Captain,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we’re not getting anywhere—maybe not for a while—and I was wondering…” 

“Our next move?” he asked. 

I nodded. “The crew is anxious, and I don’t know how long this peace will last.”

“I see,” the officer said, scratching his chin. “I suggest we keep them busy and calm. If they start asking questions, we’ll tell them we have things under control.

“These clouds mean that a storm is coming. All we can do is wait for it to come, and we’ll use those winds to carry us,” the CO continued. 

I shivered. “Are you absolutely certain?” I asked. “Is there nothing else we can do?”

“It’s the only way,” he said and looked at me with a stern gaze. “And by no means can we use the rowboats.” 

I met his eyes and nodded. I wouldn’t risk their lives in that storm. 

I spent the rest of the day talking to the three crewmates and the two lower officers to distract them from the reality of our situation.

The second mate had a family—a wife and two daughters that he loved dearly. He was a family man at heart, but he was every bit as much a sailor. Each of his trips was meant to pay for a boat, which he intended to sail across the world one day with his family. 

The two lower officers had very similar lives. They spent the majority of their time in jail back in New York. They claimed to spend 23 hours a day there, while the last hour was spent with a different nightly visitor. But they were both young and hoped to settle down one day. 

However, the most interesting man was the third mate. He claimed to have traveled the world. He had been everywhere, from South America to Russia, and he collected stories from the people he met along the way. He told me about a man he had met who knew the late Tsar of Russia and was almost executed for sneaking around with the Princess. But it seemed to me that the storyteller had a flair for embellishment. 

Greg and I didn’t speak again that day. He was busy at the wheel—but perhaps that was an excuse on my part. In all honesty, I was afraid he would bring the island up again. I wasn’t afraid of it myself at the time, but I didn’t want Greg to lose himself to the rumor. Little did I know that his state of mind was already beyond my control.

After talking with the crew, I prepared to retire for the night, but as I was going down the stairs, I heard yelling. So, I turned around and ran toward the commotion. 

The men were all gathered port side. One of the COs was sitting propped up against the side of the ship, and the other officer was holding his hand to the first man’s gut. A bloody switchblade lay in the bleeding officer’s limp hand. 

“Damn it, James! Why?!” his friend yelled. 

James sputtered, coughing up blood. 

“What?! What are you saying?!” 

“Th-uh-isle…” he sputtered. 

Then, his head fell limp. 

The other officer closed his eyes, and tears began rolling down his face. He sobbed, and his hand fell from his friend’s torso. 

The head officer knelt beside him and brought his fingers to the bleeding man’s neck. “He’s unconscious, but his pulse is weak. He needs to rest. Help me bring him to the cabin.”

The second and third mates helped him pick up the officer and carry him to the lower deck. The rest of us stayed behind. The officer stayed on the floor while Greg and I stood motionless above him. Neither of us knew what to say. We couldn’t console him—we could barely console ourselves. I was beginning to fear the worst, but I knew I needed to keep my head for their sake. So, I touched Greg’s shoulder gently. He met my eyes and nodded. 

As soon as we were able to reason with the young officer, we took him over to the bow and kept him company for a while. 

That night, we all visited James one by one, even though he was still asleep. The head CO suspected that he was in a coma from blood loss, but we had no way of knowing for sure. The other officer stayed by his bedside while the rest of us gathered on the main deck for dinner. Nobody spoke. We couldn’t hide the truth anymore—we were trapped in the middle of the Atlantic, and it was killing us. But I knew one thing for certain: I wasn’t going to let anyone else get hurt.