It is unusual for a man in my position to address himself to non-believers. I am a man of God, and so rarely spend time speaking with those whose outlook on the world is so contrary to that which I traditionally espouse. However, I consider it necessary to relate a warning to those who do not believe, and not in the manner traditionally associated with a man of the cloth.
The truth of the spiritual world is one too terrible simply to describe, and in mere description I should lose the opportunity of illustrating that which I must impart most assiduously to those of you who represent such a great and dreadful danger to the rest of us, though you do not know it. Instead I will relate what happened to me one night some thirty or more years past, on a vessel sailing between England and the colonies in the Americas.
I was not then a priest, nor a believer of any particular stripe or calling. I was merely a shipmate, a cabin boy charged with the attendance of the officers on board of whom there were but three. The vessel was for transporting cargo, the hold being empty but for four passengers we had picked up in Southampton before departing. This was before the War, when England and her colonies were still at peace and France had largely given up her pretentions to the continent below her holdings in the Canadas.
I was young, and capable, or so I thought, and had effected to carry a short blade which I fancied looked something like the beautiful sabres carried by the officers I had secret designs on becoming one day. No doubt they knew what a hopeless dream it was for a boy of my background, but none ever reprimanded me for it or saw fit to deprive me of my little sword. I was well liked, times were relatively prosperous and all seemed well. We set out to sea on the long Pacific crossing in high spirits.
The passengers we had picked up were not traveling together. Three were priests, dark-robed and tight-lipped. They said very little to anyone and kept themselves very much apart, peering intensely at the sky and muttering to one another. I did not like the way they watched everything so closely, as though looking for something fearful in each person, cloud or wave that went by.
The other was a middle aged man who'd purchased his way on board with a very large bag of coins. It had been clear to our shrewd and calculating captain that he wanted to be out of England and in the Americas no matter the cost, and the captain had ensured that he exacted the very highest price from the poor wretch. He called himself a philosopher and a writer, hoping to find an audience in the New World for his thoughts and revelations deemed too radical for that of the Old. Looking back, I sorely wish I had pressed him on what it was he wrote and preached, for it would serve as a useful enumeration of what to avoid for those whom I am attempting to warn.
In any case, the going was good for some weeks. The seas were fair and the wind was favourable, and the captain and officers needed little from me besides my usual routines. So it was that one day, having idly wandered below decks during a point when I seemed not to be needed, I came to a sudden stop, straining my ears to hear more clearly the peculiar chanting which was echoing around the dark wooden passage. The fear it struck into my heart was enough to blind my senses to the movement of the wooden floor, betraying a suddenly tempestuous sea.
I grew more frightened as I approached the room in which I knew the priests were staying, and the chanting grew louder. Candlelight flickered under the door, casting long shadows along the floor. It was then that I heard the muffled whimpering which could only be a man restrained and in distress. My fingers strayed to the hilt of my little blade, but my courage failed me even at its reassuring touch. I feared to approach the door, and so I fled, back up the stairs, hoping to reach the captain's cabin where he was holding court with his officers. The movement of the floor beneath my feet was now far more alarming, and I stumbled more than once.
Emerging on deck I found myself in the teeth of a gale, rain lashing at the sails and clouds blackening overhead. The storm had come out of nowhere, rocking the ship against great swirling waves the like of which I had never before seen. The captain and officers appeared shortly, and ran about shouting to the men as I stood staring up at the incomprehensible tempest. I managed to catch a junior officer, and shouting above the howl of the still-rising winds, which sounded increasingly like the screams of the damned, I informed him of the unholy chants and fearful whimpers below decks. Casting a look amongst the activity on deck to make sure his absence would not imperil the ship, the officer turned to follow me even as the darkness of night descended and baleful red stars began to burn overhead, though such should have been impossible with the rain harrying us with such fury even had it not been midday.
