The crew froze as he wiped the blood off on his coat
And threw the helmsman ruthlessly overboard. In 
defiance of
the storm, that kept them anchored for so long, he 
swore an oath to
forfeit right and wring. irreverent he cussed loudly: 
"I will round the cape, even if I have to sail until 
doomsday!"
Their petrified facial expressions could tell: their 
master was like a devil on this floating piece of hell. 
There and then he
gave the signal of departure. "Make sail and weigh the 
hook!" And so they left the harbor. Hear the Easter 
bells tolling
through the roaring sound of a rough sea, accompanied 
by the sight of a ship sailing towards her destiny. 
What a spectacle of
Blasphemy. There was no rejoice after his mad choice. 
Sails were lost, decks were flooded and lightning 
turned their ship into a coal-
black carcass. Anxiety replaced vainglory. The storm 
for the daylight came no
more. Floating in unending dusk, adrift on liquid 
ground. Months went by and land was never found. Food 
supplies putrefied and pestilence broke out. Suicide 
became routine, some chose suspension, others jumped 
and drowned. The dead were sown in hammocks
and disposed of in the sea, buried in a watery grave, 
after a short ceremony. The crew froze as he left his 
cabin with knife and gun,
slaughtering what was left of them one by one. There 
was an evil murderous glimpse in his eyes. By the time 
he was done, the ship was
desecrated by death and demise. Van der Decken lashes 
himself to the wheel, swearing at Christ: "I shall not 
yield!" All at once a new
storm rose and lightning struck. The top mast broke 
off, impaling him, a shard of the crest piercing his 
chest, in a standing position
nailed to the deck. And so a man dies, and a ghost 
resurrects.