The fog cleared almost as quickly as it had descended. The sun sat high in the sky, but at these high latitudes, it never offered any warmth. The dark waters of the Barents Sea lapped lazily at the hull of my small whaleboat.
I sit here now, huddled against the floorboards as I write these last pages, wrapped tightly in thick woollen blankets. But they do little to stave off the bitterness of the northerly breeze. It cuts through them as if they didn’t exist. It gnaws at my bones and it stiffens my joints.
One small mercy is that the pain has finally gone from my fingers and toes, the burning prickles have faded to nothing; although I’ve been out on the ice for too many years not to understand what that foretells.
The ice surrounds me now, floating sluggishly on those same currents that drag my small boat south.
Every now and again, the blow of a passing humpback sprouts against the horizon.
For most of my life, I had seen those animals as nothing but prizes. Every catch, every life taken was another coin in my pocket. I never saw them for what they really are. I never realised their beauty until now. How many lives am I responsible for? How much blood stains the hands of this old whale captain?
The Håpet has vanished behind a glistening wall of ice, yet the thinnest thread of black smoke still rises lazily into the brilliant blue sky.
The draugen is dead, its soul consumed by the fire. But at what cost?
Twenty-nine crew members embarked at Tromsø. Twenty-nine women waved from the pier as the ship disappeared into the distance. And of course, my wife, my beautiful Freja. How I have failed her. How I have failed them all.
My arrogance and greed had led to this. I told them that I cared for them, that it was my duty as captain to protect them. It had all been a lie. Whale oil and wealth were what drove me. They are what have always driven me.
That boy was no Jonah. He was innocent, just another life needlessly lost.
I am the Jonah. I, Captain Torstein Grøn of the Norwegian whaler, The Håpet, brought the evil of greed and selfishness aboard every time I sailed. I tempted the draugen with every voyage, and eventually it caught up with me.
What will become of me now? I drift in this boat, praying that I’ll reach the cliffs of Bear Island. My only hope is that I’ll find a group of Russian trappers to overwinter with. But my fate is in the hands of God. What happens to me now will be by His will.
One small grace is this old logbook and pencil, secured in the bow locker. But now my hands grow tired. My cramping fingers are no longer able to grip the lead.
My only hope is that if I don’t see Norway again, someone will find this. They’ll read it and know the fate of The Håpet.