Page 15 - Three Adventures

Voyage of the Pomeranian

May 16, 1884. Lat. 9º 41’ S. Long. 16º 19’ W.

Tristan’s companion, whom I had facetiously named Isolde, was not
a female. Dinadan, more properly, evidently was a more important
individual than Tristan amongst their peers. He pointed this out by
way of analogy, comparing me to the master of this ship. Today I
identified the source of his anxiety, having made good progress in the
decipherment of his statements—it resembles in some respects
Morse code. He insisted upon being returned to the spot he was
captured as quickly as possible. I attempted to give him an idea of the
time and distance involved, but it did not calm his agitation. If I am
the superior of all others aboard the vessel, then, according to his
logic, I should be able to instigate that change in direction without
question. Having established my relationship to Casimir, I had no
ready reply to that. Could he have any notion of the vessel’s
capabilities? I must find out if he has any motive for his request other
than homesickness. Again I have no time to describe in detail this
period of intense mental activity on my part. It is exhilarating and
exhausting. The ship’s lantern overhead is running low and I have
not the strength to get up and fill it.

May 17, 1884. Lat. 10º 19’ S. Long. 16º 24’ W.

My refusal to accede to his wishes apparently forced Tristan this
morning to reveal more than he had originally intended. I had finally
managed to get across to him that the purpose of my voyage was not
to find an intelligent cephalopod but to catch a kraken and bring it
back alive to my original point of origin, many times farther away
than the waters a few leagues beyond the Pierhead in Georgetown. If
I had thought that such a declaration would chasten the rather
imperious animal, I was utterly mistaken. His response was either
astonishment or anger—I cannot distinguish those emotional states
in him, as he has already turned the same shade of reddish brown in
both contexts. Then for the second time he treated me to a
chromatophoric display on all eight of his arms and his mantle, no
more than five seconds of impossibly rapid alternating dots of color
in hundreds, perhaps thousands of discrete locations.
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