Tainted Treasure

Year of our Lord 1632

15th March

Today we set sail on the early morning tide. The sun was barely bleaching the horizon when I had heard Captain Horatio of the Annalise calling me a fool. He was not the only one on the docks to feel this way but I am not one to listen to naysayers.

It may as yet turn out that his slander is accurate but until I attempt the journey who is to say it will fail?

Perhaps I should outline the reason for this voyage. 

An unfortunate man washed up onto the shore nearly a week gone now. The man was crazed and weak from drinking salt water and scurvy and rambled endlessly about a small string of islands to the east that were full of treasure but cursed. Mind you, this was not verbatim and, with his mind gone as it was, I put little stock in his supposed curse.

I sat by that man's side for days to unravel the mess of his mind. The sisters caring for him had looked at him with undisguised pity and had almost as much for me but I have made a tidy fortune by listening to the garbled words of many a broken sailor. There is always some truth amidst the chaos.

In the end, only time will tell.

March 19th

The wind died yesterday morn. The current is strong here. Stronger than it should be and I fear it pulls us off course further than we realise. Tonight will tell. The stars have never led us astray unlike the sea and its endless lies.

March 24th

There is still not a touch of a breeze and we have drifted further than I'd like. 

Some of the men have fallen ill. The food and water are clean and all men were well when we pulled anchor. However, all fell ill in unison, hearty one day, waylaid the next. It has unsettled the men.

Not a fortnight into our journey and the men already grumble. It is concerning. Dissent has never been in their natures. We have been through hell and back together and each one of them has been stalwart and true. My men would laugh into any storm yet now at the slightest sign of difficulty, they grouse.

March 26th

Sad tidings today. Three of the five men have died from whatever ailed them and the remainder look soon to follow. We gave them a sailors funeral and sent them down to Davy Jones. Peter, our new ship's boy, we have discovered, has a lovely falsetto voice and gifted our fallen men with a proper song.

We remember Marcus Trello, Vincent Barbara and Nathaniel Carver. Each and every one a kind and loyal soul. We salute you.

March 26th

The remaining ill died last night and whilst I am sad to lose more good men, I am glad to be free of the sickness. They also received the appropriate burial and as we laid them to rest a breeze bellied our sails. I cannot help but feel that the sea was waiting for a sacrifice though what we could have done that she would ask for such a high price, I do not know. I pray she does not require more.

We remember Michael Baker and Phillipe Duvon. Each and every one a kind and loyal soul. We salute you.

March 30th 

We finally managed to get the Henrietta back on course today. Our days of drifting, of being slaves to the current, has lengthened our trip significantly but I have allowed for this when stocking the ship. The madman was not entirely specific with his directions and I am no fool. We are still well stocked and the absence of five mouths has extended it somewhat.

March 31st

Our high hopes at resuming our journey may yet be dashed. There is a storm on the horizon spreading from north to south. It roils black and green with more lightning than I've ever seen. It is a beast and there is no safe harbour in sight. We are at its mercy.

April 3rd

We have endured but not without losses. It seems that the sky also desired payment. Campbell was ripped from the rigging as we were blindsided by a wave that almost sank us. Cook Daniels took a spill and cracked his head wide open. We had no men spare to see to him though I doubt he would have survived if we had. The crew is thinning and we have not slept in days. It will be difficult to keep spirits high at this point.

We remember John Campbell and Marcus Daniels. Each and every one a kind and loyal soul. We salute you.

April 5th 

Not once in my entire sailing life have I ever been so relieved to hear the words ‘land ho’. 

We've come upon a small chain of islands I believe to be our destination. They are not big enough to be inhabited. They barely stick out of the water at all during high tide.  Rocky shoals surround the island that barely allow the shallow draft of a row boat to pass. The landscape offers no protection, it would be foolish to remain near them during bad weather, and therefore, most captains give these islands a wide berth.

I believe it to be the perfect place to hide treasure.

We will anchor as close as we dare and I will take a few men ashore at high tide. A search will be conducted throughout the low tide and we will return on the next high.

April 6th

We have done it. 

We found the madman's treasure and what a hoard it was. Gold and gems and trinkets of all kinds. It was concealed in a hollow that only revealed itself at the lowest of the tide. It was a mad scramble to haul it higher beyond the waters reach and we spent the next tide ferrying what we could.

Some of us have stayed on the meagre cluster of islands for the night to guard the remainder of the treasure, though who would come in the middle of the night for it I couldn't guess, but it feels right to do so.

But for tonight we enjoy our victory around the campfire and toast with rum.

Something is happening on the ship. Shouts ring out across the water. I fear for my men.

It is silent now.  Sleep seems ill-advised.

April 7th

My men were gone. Not a soul aboard the ship.

We struck out from the island as soon as the tide allowed to find nothing, no blood on the desks, no sign of a fight, simply nothing. There was no sign that anyone had been there at all. It was as though they had leapt from the rails never to be seen again.

Was this the curse the madman had spoken of? Have I been a fool to ignore his fevered warnings and doomed us all?

Shouting has raised me from my bed, though Peter was quicker. He has barred the door to our cabin. He is terrified. We both are.

They are screaming.

All has gone silent but I feel a presence, like a weight pressing on my soul. Peter has taken to weeping on his cot and it is all I can do to keep myself from joining him.

If you find my ship, take her home to my family.

It is getting in.

If you find my ship, sink her. Forget the treasure, it will bring you doom. Flee. Now.

—----

“That's the last entry, Captain.”

Horatio looked at his first mate clearly disconcerted by what he had heard. His gaze travelled to the cabin door that they themselves had kicked in. There appeared nothing untoward beside the eerie emptiness of a room locked from the inside.

But Horatio was not the fool he accused Captain Blackstone of being and he was more than a little superstitious.

“Bring the logbook and any record of who was aboard. No man is to take a single thing from this boat bar that.” Horatio eyed his mate, making it clear that it was not to be challenged. “When you're done, set some powder.”