30 July. Last night. Everyone is happy that we are getting near England. The weather is fine. All sails are raised. I went to sleep worn out, and slept very well. I was woken up by the mate. He told me that the man on watch and the steersman were both missing. Only myself, the mate and two hands are left to work the ship.

1 August. Two days of fog. We have not seen another ship. When we reached the English Channel I hoped to be able to signal for help, or get into port somewhere. Without enough men to work the sails, we have to sail with the wind behind us. I dare not lower the sails as we could not raise them again. We seem to be moving out of control towards something horrible. The mate is now more unable to cope than either of the men. He was stronger, but his own strength seems to have broken him. The men are beyond fear. They work patiently and without emotion. They expect that the worst will happen and are just waiting for the end. They are Russian, he Roumanian.

2 August, midnight. I woke up from few minutes sleep because I heard someone cry out. It seemed to be right outside my cabin, but I could see nothing in the fog. I quickly ran on deck, and found the mate. He told me he had heard the noise and ran, but there was no sign of the man on watch. One more gone.