Mate says we must be past the Straits of Dover. When the fog cleared for a moment he saw North Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. So we are now in the North Sea. The fog seems to move along with us. Only God can guide us, and God seems to have deserted us.

3 August. At midnight I went to take the place of the man at the wheel and when I got to the wheel there was no one there. The wind was steady, and because we ran before it the ship sailed smoothly. I dared not leave the wheel, so I shouted for the mate. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his pajamas. He looked wild-eyed and haggard. I greatly fear that he might have gone mad. He came close to me and put his mouth to my ear. Then he whispered hoarsely, as though afraid that even the air might hear.

'It is here. I know it now. On the watch last night I saw It. It looked like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was at the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and stabbed it my knife, but the knife went through It, as though there was nothing.' As he spoke he took the knife and drove it savagely into the empty air.

Vocabulary:

Straits: Land close on each side of the sea
Deserted: Abandoned, left without help
Pajamas: Sleeping clothes
Haggard: Tired and stressed
Hoarse: With the throat under strain
Ghastly: Horrible like a ghost
Stab: Push a knife hard into something