Cerulean Isle (10 page)
I slipped on a new pair of black cotton pants. The soft leggings were breathable and, like the blouse, covered my entire leg to prevent sunburn. Once dressed, and sure that our belongings were hidden, we left the small cabin and made for the galley.
We walked a few paces down a narrow hall and came to a large door. We opened it and stepped out onto the main deck of the sloop. The single mast stood strong and boasted a triangular fore and aft rigged mainsail. We had been resting in the quarters built under the raised quarter deck. The night overhead was clear. Crewmates rested about the deck as the anchored ship rocked on the water. Some men played cards atop an overturned barrel; others sat in groups and talked while passing around a bottle. The men paused to stare at us as we made for the hatch to the lower deck.
The galley was easy to find. The scent of spiced stew and boiled potatoes was our guide. Soon, we came into a small room with a round wooden table nailed to the floor. Christoff stood to greet us.
“Master Christoff!” exclaimed Grant. “I am glad to see you.”
“Aye, lad. Now sit, both of you. You need to eat.” He brought two large bowls of stew and split a loaf of bread between us. He then poured two tall mugs of water. We accepted the meal graciously and ate. Christoff and Waylin each took a bowl of stew and joined us.
When Grant finished, he wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. “We saw you battling the crew. What happened?”
“I’ve spent my life on the sea and have sailed with many pirate captains. However, I keep a moral standard, to be sure. When L’Ollon killed Shanley’s son, it was more than I could tolerate. My allegiance to him ended with that boy’s life. I chose to help you, lads. And for turning against L’Ollon, I was subdued, knocked unconscious, and tied up. It was night when I came to. I cut my restraints with a bit of glass from a shattered bottle and dove overboard. I swam back to the harbor and met with Waylin, a man with whom I’ve sailed in the past. We boarded the sloop and sailed off under the cover of night. I had been planning on abandoning L’Ollon and his crew for some time. With his money, I paid Shanley for the sloop and here we are.”
“The other night,” I began, “Waylin said we were enroute to Grenada. Why?”
Waylin pushed aside his empty bowl. “I have a friend there who can help you begin a new life. We must hurry, though.”
“Why?”
“Because, lads,” replied Christoff, “L’Ollon’s crew is after you. You killed their captain and by their code, you must die.”
Chapter 15
The Madman’s Journal
Grant and I stood at the bow of the sloop. It was a hot day, not a cloud in the blue sky. The endless ocean surrounded us, but on the eastern horizon the peaks of tropical mountains rose up from a distant island. I took a deep breath. The salty wind filled my lungs.
We gazed toward the land that waited in the distance. The rails of the bow were warm under my grasp.
“We are rich,” said Grant. “We’ve got an entire pouch full of gold and silver!”
Grenada,
I thought,
my new home.
It was odd; I did not feel excited. I felt the same—rigid and somewhat lost. The mighty ocean comforted me and when I thought of my mother’s spirit dwelling forever in the waves, I knew I could indeed make Grenada my home. The same water that smoothed the shores of Santiago splashed over the coral of Grenada. My mother had kept her promise to watch over me. I looked over the bow and into the rushing water. I imagined the Mermaiden swimming beneath the surface of the sea, cutting the water as easily as our ship.
“How much gold will it take to rid my memory of all the terrible things I’ve seen? Blood, war, death. Will these things be with me forever?”
“I don’t really know,” Grant replied. He gave me a reassuring smile. “Let’s stick together and figure it out in time. We’ll see what the land life has to offer, but there is always the sea. We could buy our own ship and sail the world. Our luck has changed and for that, I am relieved.”
“You’re right, but I think our troubles are far from over.”
I stepped away from the bow and went below deck to our quarters. I closed the wooden door and retrieved the worn leather journal from under the floor board and loosened the ribbon. I opened the front cover. The pages were yellowed and stained around the edges, and much of the ink had bled and smeared. I made out the first line. Written in black ink and with a shaking script, it read:
It can only be God’s will that I have survived to document what I have seen and learned.
As I turned to the next page, the paper crinkled.
I write only truth and do so on this stormy day from my cell. I am uncertain of the year. I am uncertain of the day. Though, for the benefit of this record, I will pen that it is Seventeen Thirty Two, yes that will do. As for the day…oh, I will choose Saturday, I do love Saturdays!
Wild this may seem. As wild and as full of lunacy as the townsfolk believe me to be. I will be proved of sound mind one day even if that day should come long after I am bone in the earth. Secrets never remain so for long, hence, I shall be survived by the truth and perhaps one day revered and named a hero for this work.
Imagine that. Me, Owen, a hero.
The rain is falling and it is drafty in my cell. The iron bars are moist. I am used to conditions such as these. After all, I am a man of the sea. Though locked away like a parrot or a monkey, I remain a great pirate. Many colorful lands I have seen and many men I have killed. I have sailed under many flags, but the most feared captain I have served flew no banners. I have called many ships my home but have loved none greater than the one with a dead Spaniard on the bow. Oh, I remember how she swam over the waves…the great and powerful Obsidian.
This was the diary of one of L’Ollon’s men. I closed the book and went to the door and secured the lock. I continued reading.
As treacherous as I used to be, Captain Jean L’Ollon was more so than any man. I hardly escaped that treachery. The other men who sailed the Obsidian with me cannot speak the same. They are all dead. L’Ollon poisoned them. Not me…as you see. I did not drink the tainted stew. Nay! I pretended by pressing my lips to the bowl but allowing nothing to pass. I watched them all groan and tumble to their faces. They gagged and choked. I mimicked this. My ruse was a success! L’Ollon believed me to be dead. Ha! As I wrote earlier…secrets never remain so for long. I tell now the secrets that Jean L’Ollon believes have died.
His fleet, Obsidian, Hydra, and Cutlass, were bested by two cruelties of the ocean: a vicious storm and those who dwell in the depths of the sea. The Water People are real! I fired my pistol at the man in the waves. I will never forget the light that shone from his eyes. It was like the very light of the moon. I will never forget the gleam of his golden plates of armor or the spray of water as his great fin broke the cresting waves, sending him arching above the gunwale and back into the black sea.
Mermaidens! Merlords! Merfolk!
That is what I write of as the rain pours outside. That is what I must tell before I succumb to the hardships of prison and surrender to Death. The Merfolk defeated L’Ollon, and he lost his empire of gold.
I have been deemed mad and locked away for both my ravings and my crimes. A criminal lunatic. A vagrant thief. A killer. Yes! That is who I am but it shall not be my legacy. I have been sentenced to life in a cage. How be it that I was not adorned upon the gallows? Bribery is how. The judge accepted two pieces of eight to keep the noose from my neck. Money well spent, indeed, and proof of the world’s corruption. Onward to corruption, ahoy!
Captain Jean L’Ollon murdered his crew to ensure that the truth of the Merfolk would not make land and be his ruin. He feared the soiling of his legacy, a legacy built by his father and grandfather. Once Jean had recovered and restocked his only ship, Obsidian, with a new crew, quartermaster, etcetera…I watched him sail away from San Juan. I remained on the island and tried to tell my tale. No one would listen. I was homeless. I could not gain entrance to even the worst of taverns. I spent my days at the edge of the harbor staring out at the unending sea. I waited to catch sight of the Merfolk so that someone would believe me. None came.
I decided to leave San Juan. I journeyed south, hopping the island chain of the Lesser Antilles. I bargained my way aboard merchant vessels and private ships until I ended my travels on the island of Curacao. This island was no different than the others. No one believed my story of L’Ollon and the Merfolk. Once more I found myself alone on the shore watching the waves for any sign of the Water People. To my surprise, another great pirate, a man with a respected reputation, met me. Captain James Shanley.
Captain Shanley had a yarn to share. He told me that he heard the people whispering my story and he admitted my claims intrigued him. He confessed to meeting with Jean L’Ollon prior to the ill-fated voyage. He claimed to have a copy of Jean’s sea chart. Shanley then told me his plans to follow L’Ollon’s route in search of the lost gold. The thought of such a voyage seemed ridiculous, but he offered me a place among his crew if I agreed to provide a certain service. I asked what service he spoke of and he said he wished me to be the night watchman aboard his ship Eternity. I was to watch the night water for any sign of the Mer. My stipend would be more than the other crewmates. Reluctantly, I agreed and it wasn’t long before we set the sails on the Eternity.
For this old salt, it felt lovely being back on the rolling sea. Eternity was a fine ship. Shanley was a fine captain. The nights were long and frightening for me, however. I kept watch over the blackness, waiting to spot the ghostly glow of the Merfolk. They did not come. The voyage was uneventful. No Merfolk and no gold. Shanley was frustrated.
Soon, the stock was low. We needed to re-supply the Eternity. Shanley ordered us to sail west to the Mosquito Coast. We obeyed and in three days we dropped anchor along the Nicaraguan shore. We hiked inland, set our camp, and spent the next few days gathering fruits and water. We were not alone on this distant land. Darien Indians confronted us but meant no harm. Our captain was skilled and quickly won their trust. I too won the trust of one of the natives. She was beautiful. With dark hair, black eyes, and olive-toned skin. We quickly fell in love. I was a fool.
This tribe had secrets they guarded closely. I sensed this, as did Captain Shanley. He spoke to their chieftain and asked about the Water People. I had never witnessed such uproar! They worshipped the creatures of the sea. Shanley laughed at this. The chieftain was insulted and commanded that we depart at once. Shanley refused to leave. He wanted more time to stock the Eternity. Alas, he had dishonored the tribe and lost their hospitality. The Darien’s drew spears, but Shanley drew a pistol. I stepped in front of the tribe leader and ordered Shanley to lower his weapon. He laughed and fired at me, wounding my left arm. I fell and a violent, bloody battle began. Shanley and his men were driven back to the Eternity. I lay in the sand bleeding. I watched the Eternity hoist anchor and sail away. My love cared for me. She dressed my wound and the tribe honored me.
My beautiful lover shared the tribal legends of the Water People with me. This is how I have come to know so much about the Merfolk. Oh, yes. There is much more to write.
Ah, ha! Joy for me! The rain outside has ceased. The air remains dank, however. This cell seems to be shrinking around me, but they have been kind and have given me a window. Though barred, the light and wind come through freely. I will escape this cell. When I die, my body will rot to nothing more than a skeleton clutching this journal. Brittle will my bones become. To dust they will turn and when a warm wind blows into this wretched, stinking cell, the dust of me will ride the air and out I will go…through the barred window! Ha! Yes, I will escape then.
I am tired. I need to rest. I need to eat, but they bring me food as they see fit. Perhaps tonight they will bring me bread. It has been many nights since I have eaten. I shall continue this work on the morrow…if I wake.
My eyes heavy with sleep, I wrapped the blue ribbon around the cover and returned the journal to the hole in the floor.
One of the pirates aboard the sloop was older than the rest and could always be found sitting near the mast. They called him the Shanty. He played a small lute and sang with a coarse voice. When he saw me standing by listening to his melody, he waved for me to come close. “Aye! A lover of sea and song?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. In my village we cherished music.”
“Sounds like a fine place to hail from, me boy. You be one o’ the lads who overcame L’Ollon and his men, aren’t you?”
“Yes. My name is Jacob.”
“Well then, Jacob,” he shouted. “Cause for a song if I e’er heard one. Have you any requests? I would be much obliged to play that which’ll lighten your heart.”
“Come to think of it,” I said, a smile spreading on my face, “I’ve never heard any songs about…oh, never mind. Any song will do.”
“Nay, nay. What is it you meant to ask? You ne’er heard a song about what?”
“I’ve never heard any songs about the Water People.”
He burst into a loud laugh. “You be speakin’ o’ the Merfolk, me boy. Come now, I know a cheerful tune about them. Indeed. Me old father learned it to me.” He cleared his throat, then yelled out to the crew, “Ahoy! Lend an ear to
Fathoms Blue.”
The Shanty pressed the fingers of his left hand to the neck of the small lute and with his right he strummed the strings. The instrument filled the air with a stream of sweet, repetitive notes. He began to sing.
“In darkened tide,
In fathoms blue,
There’ll be eyes
A’ watchin’ you.
Just jump right in,
Go overboard,
And swim beside the ole’
Merlord!
