Voyage to the White Island [English]

Voyage to the White Island ::
A Folktale in the North Sea Tradition
by
Oscar Strik
Death of Winter 2007

The fisherman took a breath of salty morning air as he stepped out of his little house. Raising his nose to the wind, he savoured the feeling for a while. He always hated the stuffy smell of his house, and though it was most certainly cosy together with his wife and children, he could not bear the air in there for longer than the nights he slept. Taking in the early day like this, he couldn’t help but stretch out his arms and close his eyes, letting the sun wash over his face. Though it was a cold day, the shortest one of the year, to be precise, the warmth of the sun gave the fisherman strength. With a content heart, he made his slow way towards where his ship was moored. Only now, as he neared the sea, did he notice that there were many seagulls out over the water today. They screeched at the top of their lungs, as if hailing both the new day and the fisherman himself.

All the while looking at the skies, the fisherman did not notice the lady standing near the mooring of his ship. “Good morning!” she called out to him. Snatched from the daydream, the fisherman directed his attention to her, and upon realising she was a customer, he lifted his blue hat in greeting.
-“Hullo, there, milady! What can I do for you?” he shouted. She answered when the fisherman had properly reached her.
-“I hear tell that you are the ferryman of the village. Is that the case?”
-“Aye, you’ve heard right. In between catching the slippery sea dwellers, I also take fine young ladies such as yourself over the pond. Where to? No sad tidings I hope?” The fisherman had noticed the lady was clad in black.
-“Oh, but sadly there are. My godfather has passed away. He was lost at sea near here but a few days ago.”
-“Indeed, I had heard a ship had disappeared on these waters. You’ll be going to the funeral in the village on the other side, then?”
-“That I am. I live in the city, but my godfather was very dear to me. I want to pay my final respect to him. I do hope your ship will fare better on these treacherous waters.”
-“The storm hasn’t come that triumphed over me!” the fisherman boasted, though he immediately regretted stating the obvious.
-“I can have you across right now, if that’s your wish. I reckon you’ll be in time for the service.”
-“Yes, that would be very kind of you,” she said, and she handed a couple of silver coins to him. “Will this suffice?”
-“That is more than enough, dear lady. Let us be off!”

They boarded the fishing boat, which doubled as ferry for those wanting to go to the village on the other side of the river quickly. It was a profitable source of income on the side, as the nearest bridge was miles away. The lady and the fisherman enjoyed each other’s company during the couple of hours of sailing that made up the trip. Her godfather had been a fisherman as well, and though he had never met the man, there had always been a sense of brotherhood among the fishers of these waters, and he mourned the loss of his colleague. During the voyage, the fisherman dragged his nets through the water, doing two jobs at the same time. Halfway to the other side, he decided to haul them in, to inspect today’s prospects. There was a fair amount of herring caught in the ropes, and the fisherman was pleased. Just when he was heaving the last piece of the net aboard, a seagull swooped down and pinched a fish from the net.
-“Hey, what are you up to?” the fisherman shouted. The lady smiled, but her face quickly shifted to surprise as the seagull set itself down near her, and laid the fish at her feet. The lady and the fisherman looked on in awe as the seagull sped off into the sky again.
-“Looks like I have competition!” the fisherman laughed. “He seems to know the trade as well as me!” The happy mood remained until the voyage was at an end, and they had reached the village on the other side. The fisherman let off the lady in the small harbour, but he briefly went ashore with her. She looked saddened again by the fate of her godfather, and the idea that his body would not rest in the soil.
-“The sea gives and the sea takes, milady. I hope your godfather will find peace in the hereafter. Here, I want you to have this back. I could not bear the idea of demanding payment for your virtuous journey.” He pressed the two silvers back in her hands, and closed them with his own.
-“Fare well, milady. I shall pray for his soul.” She looked up at him with tearful eyes.
-“May your generosity be rewarded many times over!” With that, she walked off slowly into the village. The fisherman went back aboard gently, shaking his head at the thought of being swallowed by the sea. A fate he’d wish on no one.

The voyage back home was unremarkable, except for the catching of more herring, which made the fisherman very pleased. Though he could have used the two silvers for the ferry, as a fisherman’s life wasn’t always all that easy, this morning’s catch had been very good. He was also glad to be going home for a warm and solid afternoon meal. When he had reached the mooring on his home side, he laid fast the boat, and proceeded to gather the caught herrings into a large basket. With a big smile, he walked through the front door, arms full.
-“Look here! It’s been a fine morning!” he called out to his wife and children.
His wife came out of the kitchen and smiled heartily.
-“Ah, you’re home! Just look at that basket… we’ll have some fine eating the coming days. If only all catches were like this! Let me start on our meal.”
After a short time, the family was sitting around the table, enjoying their meal together. After this, all sorts of other tasks beckoned, but this was always a moment when they would enjoy each other’s company. Everything went as usual, until there came a loud rapping on the door. The fisherman and his wife exchanged looks, both wondering who would come and visit at this time of day.
-“Come in!” the fisherman shouted with a mouth full of food.
The door swung open gently, and with the glare of daylight entered a man. He was dressed in black, in the fashion of a nearby city merchant. His broad hat, which he tipped in greeting, was decorated with white feathers.
-“Good afternoon, Sir,” the visitor began, “You are the ferryman, are you not?”
The fisherman finished his mouthful slowly.
-“Aye, that I am.”
-“Splendid. Then I assumed correctly. I have a proposal, if you would listen.”
The fisherman got up from his meal to converse with the black visitor away from his family.
-“What sort of proposal are we talking about, then?” he asked.
-“I have a freight that needs to be put across. At midnight. To the White Island.”
The fisherman’s face went pale at these last words. He looked at the visitor gravely.
-“The White Island, you say? What could you possibly want shipped to there?”
-“That, my good man, I can not tell. But, I offer you a thousand silverlings for the voyage.”
At that, the fisherman swallowed. A thousand silvers would set him well on his way to retirement, offering them wealth for years.
-“That is an awful lot. It must be very important, then.”
-“Indeed, it is. That is why I am asking you for the job.”
-“Well, I shan’t do it, unless you can offer me something to go on.”
The visitor took a small bag out of his pocket and held it out to the fisherman.
-“Three hundred up front. I trust that will suffice.”
The fisherman pondered the offer for a bit, but he was quickly decided. He took the bag.
-“Very well, I’ll take your cargo across, sir.”
-“Thank you, my good man. Have your ship ready by the shore at midnight, and take up your position at the helm. I shall take care of all else.”
The visitor tipped his hat once more to the fisherman and his wife in farewell, and left. The fisherman stood in silence for a while, and then rejoined his family, trying to explain to them what he was going to do as best as he could. As would be expected, they were worried, as the White Island was known as an uncanny place, which all fishermen and sailors avoided at all cost, lest they call bad luck upon themselves and the sea rise up stormy and take them. They too, however, rejoiced at the prospect of being able to live a more secure life. Besides, the fisherman had made his decision; all they could do now was pray for his well-being.

When night had fallen, and the hour was nearing midnight, the fisherman left his house, bidding his anxious wife and children farewell. As he walked slowly towards his ship, he noticed the absolute silence in the air. The full moon was out to light his way. When he arrived near the appointed time, there was no one there. But, he remained faithful to his instructions and went up to his position at the steering wheel. Thankfully, the air was clear, and he was able to find the star that would guide him northward to the island. As he stood gazing at the skies, a fog began to creep around the ship, drifting slowly from land. The fisherman felt the cold in the air and turned around to see what was happening. In a few moments, the entire ship was enveloped in mist, and he could barely see his hand in front of his eyes. To his horror, he began to hear soft whispers and whimpers from the back of his ship, and from below deck. In the dark and cold, he was not so sure of his sanity any more, and he felt an unnatural chill drag its way across him. He barely believed it, but the ship seemed to settle deeper and deeper into the water, as if it was being loaded bit by bit. He could hear feet shuffling across the floorboards, but when he looked around, all there was was mist; thin, trailing, white wisps, together obscuring all vision. At that moment, the ship’s bell rang, and two determined steps came toward him. Out of the fog, the visitor from that afternoon came to stand beside him.
-“Well, my good man. Are you ready to set sail?”
The fisherman’s heart skipped a beat, but the sight of the merchant, this time wearing an additional black cloak and hood, reassured him. A little.
-“Aye, I am. Let us be off.”
-“Very well.”
The ship’s sail was being hoisted, though the fisherman knew not by whom. He kept his hands at the wheel, hoping he would make it through the night, and across the water. He looked to the black-clad man for support, but he merely smiled back, and turned his eyes to the sky. The fisherman followed his gaze, and only now noticed that he was able to view the sky clearly. He beheld the stars, and planned his course. At that moment, the ship set sail. The waters were deathly quiet, and the fog remained the entire journey. Though the fisherman remained uneasy, the voyage was nevertheless uneventful, and after a couple of hours of brisk sailing, the white cliffs of the Island suddenly loomed ahead through the fog. The fisherman made for a narrow beach that gave passage to the inland, and moored his ship securely in the sand. The man in black took the fisherman by the hand, and presented him a bag.
-“Here you are, my good man, you’ve done an admirable job. You’ve surely earned this thousand. In a moment, you will be free to set sail for home again.”
A grateful smile briefly pierced through the fisherman’s uneasy grimace, and he accepted his payment. Then the cloaked man raised a finger.
-“Ah, I almost forgot. Generosity is always rewarded.” He handed a couple of silver coins to the fisherman, saying: “I believe this will suffice.”
As the man finished speaking, the fog slowly began to clear, exposing the dark waters of the sea behind. The island, however, remained immersed in mist. Bowing his head and tipping his hat, the mysterious man departed, disappearing into the obscure lands of the White Island, which no living woman or man had ever seen. The fisherman was left in silence. Without hesitation, he made ready his ship and set off back to home. The seas were equally calm on the return voyage, and the boat approached the shore near his house, just as the new day began to dawn.

When the pale sun had risen, the slight warmth of a winter morning descended on the lands. Softly, the first snow of the season began to fall. There were no more gulls to be heard this morning.

~

It is said by wise men and women that the souls of the deceased find their final resting place on an island somewhere in the sea. Once a year, while the sun dies and is reborn again, a lonely sailor voyages out to the island, with a full cargo and taut sails, granting eternal peace to those who had died in the year before.

It is also said that the souls of those who are lost at sea dwell as ghostly seagulls in our lands, before they are taken across to the island. Therefore, one should not harm a seagull. Thus whisper the ages…

~

Voyage to the White Island is based in part on the story of Vedder Fiskerman, a folktale from the North Sea island of Norderney, Germany. The version used here was taken from Wadden Legenden by Henk de Weerd, published in 1942 in Overveen, the Netherlands, by De Librije.

This version of the story appeared in Hex Magazine 2, Fall/Winter 2007, pp. 31-34.