Chapter Three - EREBUS

The silver swan, who living had no note,
When death approached unlocked her silent throat.
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sang her first and last and sung no more:
Farewell all joys, O death come close mine eyes,
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.

Grimleigh Rock was scarcely more than a splinter jutting from the North Sea - one hundred and twelve yards at its widest, covered in lichen and sea-battered stone. The lighthouse stood at its highest point, squat and wind-scoured, surrounded by little more than iron grating, gull droppings, and the perpetual hum of waves gnawing at the base. There were no trees. No soil. No true shelter but what the masons had laid in 1851, and even that groaned in protest when the weather turned. The sea came in from every side—sometimes as mist, sometimes as shrapnel. On clear days, Gray could see as far as the Dogger Bank. On others, he could scarcely see his own boots.

There were four buildings: the lighthouse itself, a low-lying storage shed of rusted tin, a water-collection tank mounted on a chipped stone pedestal, and the signal house - more window than wall - from which Gray could deploy flags, flares, or the great brass fog bell when visibility dropped. Between them ran a jagged network of walkways: some timber, some iron. All slick with sea-rime. The builders had fashioned a crude handrail from old mooring rope, now already stiff with salt and bird droppings. It helped little. On clear days, one could just make out the slower coal steamers heading north-east towards Bergen, or the leaner packet ships that cut across to Esbjerg. Once or twice a week, a trawler from Whitby or Leith might pass to the south, closer than strictly safe, ignoring the Rock altogether. The lane was never busy, not yet, but the intention was there. A lighthouse was a statement as much as a safeguard: this way is known, and watched.

The quarters inside the tower were narrow and circular, three floors of stone, iron, and the slow drip of condensation. Gray’s cot was pressed against the southern wall, his trunk beneath it, his teacup and shaving mirror balanced on a ledge once used for navigational logs. The floor sloped slightly towards the sea. Everything did. There was no hearth, only a small iron stove for boiling water and an oil lamp nailed to the wall above the bunk. Most warmth came from the blankets he had brought from land, and even these stank faintly of tallow and damp wool. Every sound carried. A dropped spoon on the bottom floor echoed like a pistol shot in the lantern room. And when the wind picked up - as it did, nearly every night - the whole tower thrummed, like a finger run round the rim of a giant’s glass.

Gray had no illusions about comfort. The re-supply vessel was scheduled every fifth week, weather permitting, and would bring oil, letters, perhaps even news of the world. But he knew enough not to trust a calendar at sea. He had brought a rod and two handlines, just in case - not for sport, but for the simple reassurance of having food he had caught with his own hands.

He wrote like a naval officer and moved like one, too, pacing the tower at set intervals, recording sea-state with the detachment of a surveyor. Gray boiled tea at 0700, checked the flame at 0800, polished brass at 0900. If nothing required doing, he cleaned something that didn’t. The steps between his duties were measured unconsciously: twelve from bunk to stove, nineteen from hatch to platform rail. He had begun muttering these numbers aloud, though he never wrote them down. He swept the stone floor even when there was nothing to sweep, and wiped dry the inside of a window that had not fogged.

***

The following entries are transcribed from the lighthouse logbook recovered from Grimleigh Rock during a routine inspection in late June 1852. The volume was kept by Finnegan Gray, the first appointed keeper of the station, who arrived on site in early April of that year and was last recorded in official correspondence dated 2 May.

The logbook itself is standard issue for the period: canvas-bound, thirty-two leaves, water-stained along the outer edges, with several pages warped by damp. It bears no title page, nor any introductory remarks beyond the initial entry. The handwriting remains consistent throughout, showing the confident angular style typical of naval clerks and merchant officers. Although the ink fades markedly in the latter half, there is no evidence of multiple hands.

Not all entries are dated. Some appear to have been drafted hastily, or appended to earlier notes. In several places, the writing trails off mid-sentence or ends with a single line or mark. Where the text is ambiguous or incomplete, it has been left unaltered. Editorial annotations are confined to footnotes where necessary, but for the sake of continuity, the entries are presented here in approximate chronological order, grouped by week.

The final dated entry is from mid-May. Sister Mercy, the supply vessel, originally scheduled to reach the station during the fifth week of Gray’s rotation, was delayed by severe storms that swept the northern corridor for more than eight days - a duration considered uncommon even in the waters around Grimleigh. When the crew eventually made landfall, the lantern was still lit, yet no keeper was observed upon approach. The dock was unguarded. Upon inspection, the tower was found unlocked. The stove was cold. No disturbance or sign of intrusion was recorded. A cracked mirror lay beneath the cot.

No other personal effects belonging to Mr Gray were recovered beyond his standard-issue trunk, a cracked shaving mirror, and the rod and handlines he is believed to have used in place of formal rations. There were no surviving letters or journals beyond the logbook itself. A second, older notebook, believed to have been carried by Mr Gray during a prior expedition to the Arctic, was noted in earlier accounts but was not recovered. Its whereabouts remain unknown. The remaining pages are blank.

Week One Log Entries — April 5–11, 1852

(3 entries total)

April 5, 1852

Wind: NNE. Visibility seven miles. One brigantine westbound. No reply to salute.

Completed lens polishing. Bearings true. Barometer falling slightly but within margin.
Cleaned residue from outer lens. Applied fresh sealant to upper ring.

Light remains constant. Spirits steady.

— F.G.

April 7, 1852

Wind: variable. Light fog. Visibility reduced by afternoon. No vessels sighted.

Lantern rotation smooth. No signal required.
Noted faint metallic groaning from stairwell at 02:10.
Inspected all levels. No obstruction found.

Possibly temperature shift.

— F.G.

April 9, 1852

Weather calm. Visibility good. No activity on water.

Re-checked stores. Oil levels consistent.
Began assembling handline rig for potential use off southern grating.
No immediate need. Weather favourable.

Silence unusually complete today.

— F.G.

Week Two Log Entries — April 12–18, 1852

(4 entries total)

April 12, 1852

Wind: westerly, rising. Intermittent rain. Visibility reduced.

Cleaned inner lantern glass and reflectors. Flame steady.
Noted build-up of lichen on northern stair rail.
Removed with wire brush.

Oiled door hinges. Sound carries more than it ought.

— F.G.

April 13, 1852

Rain persistent. No vessels sighted.

Recorded barometric fluctuation thrice. No storm formation observed.
Floor of lantern room damp near southern sill. May need to re-check sealant.

Woke at 03:47 with sensation of movement. Tower secure. Possibly a dream.

— F.G.

April 15, 1852

Skies clearing. Barometer rising. Visibility full.

Two-masted schooner eastbound. Returned salute.
Threw handline briefly from southern platform. No catch.

Waves unusually rhythmic. Could hear them even in upper stairwell.

— F.G.

April 17, 1852

Conditions fair. Wind from NE.

Polished brass and re-checked alignment of signal flag mounts.
Hung oilskins to dry. Noticed faint smell of seaweed in tower corridor.

No visible source. Possibly blown in from west vent. Seemed stronger at night.

— F.G.

Week Three Log Entries — April 19–25, 1852

(4 entries total)

April 19, 1852

Wind: steady from SE. Moderate chop. Visibility good.

Cast line twice before noon.
Caught one dab - undersized, but fresh. Fried over stove with vinegar and hard biscuit.

Smell reminded me faintly of Stromness. Brief, but sharp.

— F.G.

April 21, 1852

Fog at dawn. Cleared by midmorning.

Cleaned lantern lenses and platform rail.
No ships sighted.

Noted hollow thud from supply shed at 02:12. No wind.
Checked interior. Nothing fallen. Nothing inside appears moved.

— F.G.

April 22, 1852

Clouds low. Rain intermittent.

Spent most of day indoors. Polished signal bell. Inspected western moorings.
Slight corrosion around the third bolt. Applied sealant.

Felt watched while working near the shed. No visible cause. Lasted ten seconds.

— F.G.

April 24, 1852

Clear skies. No wind.

Read aloud from Blake’s Songs of Innocence to break silence. Wished I’d brought Religion Medici instead. Meant to pack it, forgot.
Threw handline at dusk. No bite.
Sea extremely still.

Heard tapping beneath lantern floor around 04:00. Three quick, two slow. Did not repeat.

— F.G.

Week Four Log Entries — April 26–May 2, 1852

(5 entries total)

April 26, 1852

Mild breeze from WSW. Overcast. Swells low.

Sighted coastal steamer eastbound, likely bound for Gothenburg.
Smoke column visible before hull. Returned signal with brass mirror.
No reply.

Cleaned platform grating. Found gull feathers caught in lower vent. No sign of gull.
Smell in corridor persists.

Dreamed of bells. Not ours.

— F.G.

April 27, 1852

Rain, but fine-grained. Barely felt it. Visibility good.

Caught two whiting. Fried one, salted the other. Tasted of iron.

Saw reflection in lantern glass while polishing. Moved, though I had not.
Assumed angle trick. Stood still. It did not reappear.

— F.G.

April 29, 1852

Wind sharp. Skies fractured. Sun brief.

Trawler from Leith passed west of shoal line - too close. Waved.
No response. Crew visible. Looking up.

Polished fog bell. Twice thought I heard footsteps behind me on gantry.
Only wind and rusted chain.

Considered speaking aloud during evening meal. Decided against.

— F.G.

April 30, 1852

No vessels sighted. Fog off Dogger Bank.

Scrubbed water tank lid. Re-wrapped rope rail on southern walk.
Noticed rust patterns resembling script. Faded by morning.

Tapping returned. 04:11. Two short, one long. Pause. Then again.
Marked it down. No source found. Sound definite.

— F.G.

May 1, 1852

Fog thick. Visibility poor. Barometer falling.

Saw ship in fog, eastbound. Black hull. Tall stern. Did not answer signal.
Name not fully legible. Could swear it read —

— No. Not possible.

Retired early. Checked fuel. All lamps accounted for. Sleep uncertain.

— F.G.

Week Five Log Entries — May 3–May 9, 1852

(4 entries total; entries become erratic)

May 3, 1852

Storm on horizon. Swells mounting. Visibility: 100 yards at best. Barometer lowest yet.

Expected resupply today. Nothing. No lantern on the sea. No horn.

Cleaned signal glass. Double-checked oil stores. Polished compass housing.
Ate salted whiting with dry biscuit. Tea bitter.

Heard voice at stairwell during night. Muffled. Could not place words.
Assumed dream. Left log open by mistake.

— F.G.

May 5, 1852

Storm worsening. Lantern flickered twice. Corrected wick. Fuel levels holding.

No vessels sighted since Monday.
Rain entered corridor through eastern sill — wiped dry with shirt.
Moved cot away from wall.

Silhouette visible on mid-platform at 03:00. Could not identify.
Was not mine. Stood near bell. Motionless. Gone when I returned with lamp.

No entry sign of trespass. No wet prints. No rust disturbed.

Must rest. Brain racing.

— F.G.

May 6, 1852

Could not sleep. Wind scraped tower like a file. Cold sharp.

Read through old notes. Found Arctic journal. Pages damp at edge.
Thought I’d left it on desk. Was in trunk. Cannot recall moving it.

Saw ship again at 04:50. No fog this time. Hull black. Shape wrong for this century.
Lantern struck metal at prow — visible flash. Name confirmed: Erebus.

No signal. No wake. It drifted, not sailed.

I know that name. I know that ship.

I know I saw it burn.

— F.G.

May 7, 1852

Slept in shifts. If at all.

Cleaned mirror. Cracked. Not from fall - fracture moves overnight.

Oilskin figure returned. Not storm gear from this post. Coat is old Navy issue - Royal Arctic, 1840s.
Collar too stiff. Face not visible. Was standing on south gantry at lantern sweep.

Did not move. Wind blew. Coat did not.

Still feel watched. Cannot trust light anymore. Reflection doubles and lags.

Writing this by hand. Not trusting voice.

No ship. No sun. No calendar.

Will sweep lamp again.

— F.G.

Week Six Log Entries — May 10–May?, 1852

(4 entries — unraveling, fragmented)

May 10?

Storm passed. Lantern relit. Oil supply lower than expected. Must have overused.

Cleaned lens twice. Smudge returns. Not soot. Fingerprint? Mine?

Bird on gantry. Not gull. Black. Watching window. Still there at dusk.

Heard laughter in stairwell. Thin. Childlike. Wind, surely.

Slept on floor. Cot feels wrong.

— F.G.

Date Unclear – Red Ink Begins

The ship is closer now. Not passing. Waiting. No anchor. No line. Just there.

Oilskin again. At fog bell. Same place. No eyes.

I rang bell. He did not flinch.

Fog came in behind him. Clear sky above. Only fog near tower.

Woke with bell-rope in hand. Don’t remember going up.

Bread moulding. Tea metallic. Fish gone.

No smell.

No smell at all.

— No signature

No Date – Written on Torn Page Edge

Cannot tell what hour. The ticks are wrong. The lamp is wrong.
I think I am wrong.

Tried to pray. Forgot words. Tried to sing. Farewell all joys… O death, come close mine eyes… Voice echoed wrong shape.

The glass fogs from outside now.

I saw the ship’s name again. It moved closer but did not sail.

E R E B U S

No crew. No sails. No noise. Just the name. Just the name. Just the name.

Cracks in wall behind mirror. Counted them. Ten. Now twelve.

— fg

Unfinished Entry – Final Page

I looked into the lantern room glass - saw light, but it was not mine.
The lamp is out.
The light is still on.
The bell is—

inksmeared, page ends

~ to be continued ~

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