You always knew the legends about the sirens. Conventional naval wisdom dismissed it as superstition. But sailors didn’t question why, all they knew was things that were. And in these waters, in one particular part of the Atlantic, you didn’t listen to strange sounds if you could help it. As midshipman on a frigate, you found out why.
Bad weather forced you closer to a small atoll all the old mariners said not to go to. The music began.
You remember it clear as day. The others were moving as if in a trance. The helmsman's hands were slack on the wheel. The captain waddled drunkenly in place. The boatswain, his hand outstretched, leaned forward, his usual barking abuse faded into a slur. The ship begins to list in a hard turn. The nearby island loomed in your vision as it grew larger and larger.
You looked around. Half the crew was affected. The topmen above you in the rigging were still scrambling, and anyone below decks was probably unaffected. You were a midshipman, what qualified you to take over? You couldn't see the third or fourth mate anywhere. The first was on the bow and the second amidships. They were staggering like they were drunk; so were most of the seamen on deck. A few here and there looked around, trying to get the others to snap out of it. You're the only officer on deck unaffected. A man younger than you falls to the deck as his companion staggers to the edge of the ship. It's the gunner's mate. "He won't stop, sir, you gotta do something!" He shouts, his voice cracking.
"Stand to, gunner!" You shout at the large man. He's big, burly for handling the cannons. He could split you in two.
He spares a lazy gaze at you, showing dim unfocused eyes, "I cannot, sir," He says in his thick Austrian accent.
You look around. More of the crew, and several passengers, are headed for the sides. Some of the topmen are getting lazy now. You’ve been drowning it out so far. That compelling and eerie music. You don't know how you're unaffected. Perhaps it only affects a certain number of people? Of course. Only a few would be required to wreck the ship.
The gunner's mate scrambles to his feet. "I'll get the third mate!"
You nod. You try to think. Your thoughts are painfully slow. Perhaps the music is affecting you in other ways. You go to the railing, careful to shield your eyes. Beside you, other men had looked at the mystical sirens. They were still looking.
A wild idea strikes you. You take a breath, open your mouth, and you begin to sing back.
All at once, the music skips, like a violinist startled in an orchestra. But like an orchestra, the show must go on. You join in the choir, trying to get the pitch right. It was like a nightmare, only a silly one, showing up to a music class not studying for the exam. Your efforts are croaky and hoarse from bellowing at the others. But you continue to sing. You feel like a bug under a thousand watchful eyes. They're all glaring at you, aren't they? For ruining their orchestra.
Then the pitch changes. The song gets deeper. It is not stretched or contorted, it doesn't grind into your ears anymore. It's...familiar.
"What the devil are you doing?" A voice asks. You look around, and find the big Austrian's deadly eyes are focused on you. He's just as surly and defiant as ever.
You shake your head and gesture at him then at the creatures you won't look at. He blinks, opens and closes his mouth.
Another thought strikes you. You sing, "Don't forget your old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-doe!"
The gunner’s mate looks at you in confusion. Then the carpenter nearby shakes his head as if recovering from a hangover. He began to mumble, "Since we sailed from Plymouth Sound, four years gone or nigh, Jack. Was there ever chummies, now, such as you and I, Jack?"
The gunner's mate started, then joined in. Several crew members took up the song, singing the chorus. They roused from their stupor. You could only watch in astonishment, and switch out what you were singing.
Then a loud voice began to belt behind you. "Long we've tossed on the rolling main, now we're safe ashore, Jack. Don't forget your old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-doe!" The captain is conscious and alert. He gives you a grin at the corner of his mouth, and keeps singing. Soon, the entire ship was roused. The helmsman blinked, and shook his head. He heaved the wheel, and the ship finally peeled away from the island, tacking into the wind.
Below you, in the water, something was swimming. You put your hand up to cover your eyes, only to be hit in the face with a clam.
The gunner catches it, and pries it open. It has a single fine pearl. "I believe this is yours," He says, and hands it over.
"What happened, midshipman?" the captain asks you. "What gave you the idea?"
You consider the pearl. "They don't like us because we're landlubbers," you say slowly. Then you look at the others, "But think about it. They're sailors too! Sailors sing! They recognize us as sea folk now because we can sing!"
The captain frowned. "We prove we're people to them by...singing?"
"What creatures sing? Only the fish, the birds, and us. The only things that can cross the ocean," The gunner's mate says.