Corazon del Mar

Our first two weeks of sailing had been uneventful. We left Gibraltar on the 28th of June 1972 headed for Florida, USA. There had been no unusual weather patterns for the first two-thirds of the journey. As expected, there had been mostly sunny and blue skies. The guests all seemed to be happy. At most, we’d had a couple of complaints due to a few unruly children and one couple arguing too loud for their neighbour’s comfort.

This one was my second favourite to have commanded as far as cruise ships went. Five years ago I had served aboard the Cancion. Captain Fernandez was a good man who kept everyone aboard, crew and passengers alike, content. Now, however, all I can think about is what he told me on the day he retired:

“We do not control the ocean. It controls us. We only make it through thanks to her grace.”

I used to think of these words as humbling. Now they fill me with fear. On the tenth day of our voyage, these words rang in the back of my mind. The sky was no longer blue. The ocean was no longer vibrant as if life had fled in fear. Then came the fog, that damned fog, as if Poseidon had laid a blanket of lifeless grey upon my ship and the waters around it.

Despite my apprehension, I was the captain, so we had to stay the course, and keep focused on where we were heading. I made sure that the compass was functional. It was. I sent out a radio broadcast, a warning to anyone who may also be blinded by this fog.

We didn’t receive any response, so at the very least, we had no reason to be concerned about colliding with other ships. However, out of concern to avoid running aground I ordered us to slow down until we exited this fog and regained our sight.

The first three hours were eerily quiet. The crew on the bridge rarely spoke outside moments of absolute necessity. The passengers had expressed some muted concern by the fifth hour but they were reassured by my calming insistence that the fog would soon pass. It was already nightfall and I informed them that we were still on course and that the fog would surely pass by morning. Although concerned, my confident outward persona seemed to alleviate their fears. I was bluffing.

Shifts changed amongst my crew but I remained. I would not be capable of sleeping for even one minute until I was secure that my ship had left this fog and I saw the clear sky with my own eyes again.

Morning came, though it would be hard to tell for one who had not spent the night vigilant or constantly checking the clocks. Each tick of that damned contraption felt like a nail being hammered into my skull. My first mate, Abrahan, expressed concern over the fact that the fog was still present. He suggested we pick up speed to leave the area, but I disagreed. The risk of a collision was still too dangerous even with the sonar active. However, to appease him, I ordered one of the crew to send out another radio broadcast to contact the closest ship or port possible.

Passengers were now expressing their concern with a heightened sense of fear, but thankfully the majority of them kept themselves entertained with the luxuries of the ship. The crew were becoming increasingly anxious, reacting to the slightest sound of even the smallest of orders with jolts of surprise or nervous ticks.

I asked one cabin boy who crossed my path along a hallway, whose name I could not remember. He appeared sickly, his hands were shaking slightly and his complexion was unusually pale. Thin, almost emaciated, the boy stared vacantly ahead, not looking at me but through me. I felt pity, pity and an unexplained need to walk away came over me. He told me that he was not sick. He was as healthy as ever. I asked him why he was shaking.

He could not give me a concrete answer. He told me that he felt a strong sense of dread and apprehension. Feeling sympathy for the boy, I told him to go back to his quarters and to get some sleep to ease his nerves.

He declined my offer telling me that the idea of being alone in his quarters terrified him. I asked him why. He hesitated for several moments before he told me that, even when he was alone in his shared quarters, he felt like he was being watched and that he wasn’t alone.

'In every corner, there are eyes,' he said. 'Behind my back, there is a cold breath.'

Naturally, I found this to be absurd, I dismissed this as the ramblings of a nervous youth who clearly needed some rest. I ordered him to take some time off to relax. Once the boy had left, I dwelt on his words. Remaining in this blasted fog for so long must have affected the young lad. I reassured myself that his youth and inexperience had created this reaction, so hopefully, no other member of the crew would be affected.

Later I was subjected to a strange feeling and noticed a movement that would surely, to anyone who reads this, cause them to question my mental state, and assume I was not in a right state after not having any sleep. Something in the hallway was seen in the corner of my eye. Momentarily I thought that the young boy had returned. However, once I turned to look, there was no one there.

On the third day in the fog, passengers began to grow restless and anxious. Petty squabbles and arguments erupted amongst them as well as between some of my men. It was on the fourth day, however, when the passengers began to show visible signs of panic. They now voiced their concern to anyone who would listen, showing signs of unease. They would question me on a daily basis as if I knew the answers as if I was the one who could control the weather. The nights began to become deathly quiet, there were many who felt uncomfortable wandering out at night. To appease them, I had as many passengers as possible gathered in the large mess hall.

Once there, I assured them that we were merely traversing through a particularly large cloud of fog, but we were still on course. There were outcries of suspicion and worry but I told them that we had warnings of odd weather before leaving Gibraltar, but we did not think it was likely that we would encounter any. I told them that there were no signs of danger in the weather and that we will still arrive in Florida on schedule.

I doubted that I was able to calm all of the passengers but I do think that the majority of them were calmed at the very least to the extent that the majority would not lash out unnecessarily. Yet amongst those passengers whose faces I could clearly see, in their eyes the screams of terror were still visible but being held back by the will to avoid panicking.

During the next two days, there were a few more confrontations caused by some frustrated passengers and stressed crew members. I was particularly disillusioned to hear that on more than two occasions some of my men had started the confrontations. Naturally, I had these men suspended and restricted to their quarters for the time being. It is worth noting that while I was disillusioned at the actions of my men I was not entirely surprised, it hadn’t gone unnoticed that the crew, much like some of the passengers, were starting to be affected by their time in the fog.

There were still numerous complaints from the passengers, ranging from the mundane to the more peculiar. One incident, in particular, is still fresh in my mind. A young couple had arrived on the bridge, frustrated by what they presumed was a lack of help from the crew. I myself was still too focused on navigating our way out of the fog so I had Abrahan talk to the couple to calm them down.

As my first mate attended to their needs, I overheard their conversation. Apparently, the anxious woman had made several complaints regarding her fears that some unpleasant character had been stalking her. She insisted that she felt hidden eyes boring into her at each corner. That any moment alone gave her the sense of being prey in an open plain. Despite all the complaints, my crew’s investigations proved fruitless. Regardless, she stuck to her story and now rarely allowed her husband to leave her side.

Clearly, despite my words of assurance, the mood on the ship had only marginally improved and the anxiety was clearly starting to affect the passengers’ mental state as evidenced by the young woman. To give her a sense of comfort and safety I invited both her and her husband to join me at the Captain’s table that evening’s dinner party. They accepted and the woman seemed to forget her worries momentarily in excitement.

The passengers had all paid to come aboard this ship for a luxury voyage and to enjoy themselves. For that reason, I organised a party that evening to change the mood and to give the passengers and crew a moment, even if a short one, to forget their worries. Food of the highest calibre, wines of the most exquisite taste and naturally champagne, added to that, an authentic 1940s swing band led by a smooth-voiced Sinatra lookalike.

Surprisingly the event was a success, more so because I found myself enjoying it and forgetting the events of the last few days. The couple whom I had invited to my table, once their worries were put aside, I found to be charming and well educated. The husband claimed to have studied history at Harvard and the wife seemed like quite the socialite. We ate, drank and danced the night away without a thought about what lay outside. However, my good mood was short-lived.

The woman innocently mentioned the fog. She stated that her father had been a meteorologist and had talked to her often about how the weather was never stationary. A storm or even a fog such as the one they were experiencing, was moving at the same pace as the ship and perhaps that was why we were still inside the fog. She then suggested that perhaps they would be better off if they just stopped for a couple of days and let it pass over.

Obviously, I dismissed her suggestion treating it as the joke I presumed she intended, until the fifteenth day of our voyage.

Six days in this dammed fog, I finally felt an inkling of despair. I had the head engineer explain the situation again and again. I understood what he said the first time, but a part of me wanted to deny it with all my soul. The engines had stopped. Overnight, all the engines which powered this mighty vessel through the waters had ceased their functions and we were now stranded.

As if God himself were testing me, I was told soon after that there was no reply from the radio broadcasts we had been giving out for the past few days. My first mate even speculated that the radio signal may not even be leaving this fog. He theorised that the fog may have some odd electromagnetic properties which may also be what has affected the engines.

I felt no inclination to dwell on these theories Abrahan had provided. The ship was adrift. We had no contact with the outside world. I felt myself nearly collapse from the overwhelming news and excused myself, leaving Abrahan in charge in my absence. I needed some rest. I needed some sleep. My whole body was trembling. The world felt like it was collapsing.

On my way to my quarters, I walked out onto the deck, thinking that some fresh air my at least calm my nerves. It didn’t. I looked out into that wall of grey which had been all I could see for nearly a week. I loathed it. I cursed it.

As I gazed into that grey abyss, I saw it begin to change. It twisted and coiled into shapes that could almost be called faces. Their eyes black like chasms. Faces screaming in agony and fear. I could hear them screaming. The shrill wails like a banshee begging for salvation. Begging for death. The fog wouldn’t let them go. It wouldn’t let them die.

I stumbled and grasped the rail on the deck. Sweat poured down from my brow. I wished to run, but I couldn’t. I felt it. The fog coiled itself around me, suffocating me in its demonic embrace.

My eyes opened. I stared at the ceiling of my private quarters. I was in my private domicile on this ship, yet I still felt like a prisoner. I was still its prisoner. The fog won’t ever let us leave. It won’t even let us die.

As long as I was alive, this ship would be my eternal prison. I left my sleeping quarters for my office, where I removed a revolver from a drawer in my desk. I loaded the weapon before I placed the barrel in my mouth. I hesitated. Death was something all men feared and I was no exception, but I knew the truth. I knew that death would be a blessing. I pulled the trigger.

There was a click and then nothing. I pulled the trigger several more times yet nothing happened. I pulled the barrel out of my mouth and inspected the gun. There was nothing visibly wrong with it. I pointed the gun at my desk and pulled the trigger yet again. Still nothing.

It was the fog! The dammed fog must have sabotaged the gun just as it did the ship! But I would not give in. There were other ways to die. Above my desk, there was a scimitar, which was given to me as a gift. I brought down the weapon but before I could unsheathe the blade I heard a knock on my door. I opened the door only to encounter the young cabin boy. I impatiently ordered the boy to tell me what he wanted.

He informed me that Abrahan had ordered him to check up on my condition. Apparently, it had been four hours since I had left Abrahan in charge. I realized then my foolishness and irresponsibility as a captain. Once I was dead, I would be leaving my crew and the passengers at the mercy of the fog.

I thanked the boy and told him to inform Abrahan that I would be returning to the bridge shortly. However, I told him that I needed assistance so I ordered him to help me and allowed him into my quarters. Being an obedient crewmember, he complied and entered. I locked the door behind him.

What I did next leaves me conflicted. He was a young boy and a good seaman, but what I did was kindness compared to the alternative. Perhaps I will be dammed for my actions. But an eternity in Hell is a kind alternative.

I left my quarters, locking the door behind me, and with my cleaned blade sheathed headed towards the bridge. I reached the bridge soon after, keeping the sheathed weapon hidden behind me. Abrahan saluted me and informed me that he and several other officers had been speaking about the possibility of taking a lifeboat and attempting to escape the fog to search for help. If they failed to find anyone, they were considering having the whole ship evacuated.

Oh how foolish! They would never escape. IT would not let them escape. I told them it was foolish and they should not bother. Naturally, he protested, stating that it was a better option than waiting for the odd weather to pass by. There was no helping him. He’d never understand the truth. It’s truly a pity, he was such a good seaman. I told him as such as I buried my blade into his heart.

There was much struggle afterwards. There were shouts and screams, blood was spilt and finally, there was darkness.

Once I regained consciousness I noticed that my hands were tied and that my head was aching and throbbing. It seemed that during the fight, some of my crew had managed to knock me unconscious and lock me in a small room.

I am unsure as to how long I spent in that room, but occasionally some crew members would come and leave me food to eat. I refused to take one bite. I wanted, needed, to die.

I woke from my slumber and saw that the door was open. How long had I been sleeping? I ventured out of my prison to find the ship to be deserted. No matter where I looked, I couldn’t find a single soul. I was perplexed until I noticed that all the lifeboats were missing. The crew and passengers must have boarded them in some hope to find salvation. Fools.

In the end, I will be the only one to escape this hell.

As I document the events on this ship, I hope that if any poor fool should find this ship, they know what to fear in the ocean and above all else make them understand;

I died sane.

I died sane.

I died sane.