A Diamond in the Trough.

“Sink me!” The loud exclamation echoed through the air. “I reckon’ if you be serious about hiding your treasure, then this be the place where not many would dare to look.”

Captain Horatio Cutlass and a handful of his crew peered into the deep cesspit of the island village’s main latrine. Following the procurement of a pillaged treasure map’s directions - sloppily left open on a tavern table by a drunk sailor, Cutlass quickly rallied his crew - leading them on a hunt for what was believed to be the lost treasure of The Ortega – a Spanish Galleon reportedly plundered by the notorious Captain Blackbeard. In hot pursuit of the famous pirate, a small armada of Spanish ships pursued him around the Eastern side of the Americas. Eventually cornered, Blackbeard ordered five of his men to hide and guard the treasure on a small island, then wait for his return – once he had slipped through the Spanish gauntlet. However, due to unknown reasons, the five men were never heard from again. Rumour spread that the local natives took umbrage to the rude and aggressive pirates that continually turned away their attempts to be friendly, so they killed and ate them, throwing their bones into the village’s human waste repository.  

“I need three volunteers to go down there and bring up that chest,” the captain announced. “There be extra rations of rum for thee, and shore leave for a week upon our return to Nassau.”

The pirates – an array of cutthroats, educated drunkards, strongmen, and youngsters looking for adventure – all hesitated. The stench of the cesspit and its murky brown liquid - at least six feet deep by estimate, was repulsive enough to make the most hardened of stomachs, wilt from disgust.

“Is there not one of ye willin’ to plunge into the mud for a share of the booty?” Cutlass indignantly asked.

“Cap’n,” said John Bonham – a pirate of seven seas, and just as many brain cells. “That be no mud pit.”

The grimaces on each of the six men’s faces, two of which, were physically retching from the gaseous odours wafting up in the tropical heat, vexed the short and ill-tempered Cutlass.

“Gargh!” He growled. “I know it be no mud pit! This be a trough of at least several generations of cannibal-consumed waste of eaten humans – some, I dare say, old friends of ours.”

“It smells like the bilge water from the bottom of a hundred ships,” Will Foye, the ship’s doctor retched.

“I’d rather be keelhauled,” Percy Philpot, the smallest of the group added. Keelhauling was a form of pirate punishment where a person would be dragged back and forth under the ship – often with deadly consequences.

“Is there not one of you lily-livered laggards willing to go down there?”

Avoiding eye contact with Cutlass, the motley crew of fearsome-looking men, just shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to another, until the largest pirate ever to sail the seven seas, raised a timid, giant hand.

“Yes, Little Bill.”

“Cap’n, what if we draw lots.”

“Gargh! What if I just prick you with my dagger until you fall into the pit, ye barnacle-covered son of a biscuit eater?”

Little Bill towered over Cutlass by at least a head, shoulders, and chest length, and most likely could easily crush the angry captain before he stuck him. However, the captain’s reputation of being one not to irritate – even a tad, outweighed the bulk and strength of the giant man, who just bowed his head like a scolded schoolboy.

“A trench!” Interjected One-eyed Jack Robinson.

“What mean ye?” Cutlass snarlingly enquired.

“We dig a trench, Cap’n all the way to the shoreline.”

Cutlass took a few breaths to mull over the eye-patched thinker’s suggestion, before issuing his reply.

“Aye, Jack. We drain it! Behold someone with some sense between his ears - which is more than I can say for the rest of ye weak-kneed whelps. Little Bill, take the rest of these spineless cretins and fetch the spades from the boats.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Little Bill led the others in a trot back towards the beached rowboats - some fifty paces away, leaving One-Eyed Jack to keep the vexed captain company until their return.

“How do ye plan on using this trench of yours?” Cutlass asked Jack.

“Well, Cap’n,” Jack began to explain. “We first dig a channel parallel to the pit – without breaching it. Then, we stretch it along the beach, down toward shore. When everything is completed, we dig out the remaining partition to the pit and breach the dam. See this here pit? It’s above sea level. All we need to do is wait for gravity to drag the belch from the well and drag it down to the sea.”

“That’s smart thinking, Jack. How do you come to such intelligent abilities?”

“My father was a diamond miner. Taught me all about Newton’s Law of Gravity. Diamonds are heavier than most other rocks, so he devised a way to wash away the loose dirt surrounding the deposits - to a lower elevation, leaving the gems still in place. I see this as no different. We wash away the filth, and that chest will gladly show itself to us.”

“That may be, young Jack, but it’ll not be shining like a diamond. More like a crusted turd.”

Cutlass took an instant like to the intellect of the young engineer. More commonly surrounded by non-thinkers, Jack’s innovative approach to problem solving was a breath of fresh air in the nauseating stench, now swirling around the men with every change of the trade wind.

Settled into a calmer state of mind, Cutlass was quickly pulled back into the disorganised mayhem of his crew returning empty handed.

“Cap’n,” advised John Bonham – who had drawn the short straw to inform Cutlass that an error had been made. “It appears we forgot to load any type of shovel or spade onto the boats before casting off.”

Cutlass let out a slow, rumbling growl. As his eyes narrowed to form tiny angry slits, a nervous bead of perspiration ran down Bonham’s face.

“Let me get this right. Ye’re tellin’ me that ye forgot the tools t’ dig up somethin’ we knew needed diggin’ up?”

Before Bonham could answer, he felt a sharp prick in his left ear, and silently watched his big-looped, golden earring fall from his head and drop into the cesspit. As blood dripped from his split earlobe, he fought desperately to not cry out in pain, knowing it would further rile Cutlass.

“Make ye just one wee sound – just one small cry of a baby’s complaint,” Cutlass threatened. “And yer tongue will follow, ye blasted, foul maggot, Garghh!”

“The oars, Cap’n!” Jack interrupted.

“Wharght?” Cutlass growled, attempting to control his gargled, incensed response.

“We can use the oars to dig.”

Spitting out the trapped phlegm, Cutlass unnerved everyone with his silence, before his mood surprisingly brightened.

“Splendid idea, Jack. Right ye scabrous, salty seadogs, back to the boats to fetch the oars.”

In unison, the same group of men trotted off to do the captain’s bidding.

“You know, Jack. I might be needing a mind like yours on my quarterdeck. Consider yerself the new quartermaster.”

“Thank you, Cap’n,” was Jack’s delighted but shocked response. “But don’t we already have a quartermaster?”

“Nay more, lad. I’ll be retiring him as soon as we’re back on board. Anyways, he has the breath of an old Kraken, with a stench no longer tolerable to this old sea dog. Though, after a whiff of this cesspool below us, I’d say his breath more so resembles its disgusting smell.”

“Well, let’s hope we can retrieve that chest quickly, Cap’n – if it’s there at all,” Jack impudently stated.”

“Don’t ye worry yerself none, Jack. This here map I hold, precisely marks its location. It be down therearrr. I guarantee it.”

The convivial conversation was abruptly interrupted by several panting, out-of-breath crew members, carrying four shovel-sized wooden paddles. Confused, Cutlass queried the short, wooden tools.

“What have we ‘ere then? Are those…?”

“Little Bill had his hatchet with him, Cap’n.” Bonham replied. “So, we put our thinking caps on and reckoned the oars would be more useful if they was cut in ‘arf,” he added with verve.

“Yer thinkin’ caps, ye say?”

Cutlass momentarily held back his anger to process the convoluted reasoning.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“And how many oars did you cut, then?”

“Four, Cap’n.” Percy chimed in.

“And how many oars did we have on the two boats… John?”

“Four, of course, Cap’n.” Bonham pleasingly replied.

“Come here, Mr. Bonham. Let me show you where I want you t’start diggin’.”

As Bonham approached Cutlass’s position at the edge of the pit, he felt a violent tug on his shirt. Then, perilously, he found himself being dangled over the sandy edge, listening to a diatribe of insults and threats roaring at him.

“I be cursed, is what I is. Cursed by a crew that seeks to maroon us on this ‘ere island of human excrement, up a shit creek without as much as a longboat paddle’s chance in hell of getting back to our ship!”

Turning to direct the rest of his fury at the lambasted crew, Cutlass suddenly halted in mid-tirade. Something had caught his attention beyond the men’s cowering heads.

“Which one of ye gave the order to raise anchor…? Will?”

“Don’t look at me, I’m not a deckhand,” the doctor declared.”

Intrigued, the men all turned to witness their ship slowly wedging itself between two jagged rocks at one end of the bay, precariously bobbing in the crashing surf the recent upturn in wind was causing.

Shooting a silent accusing glance toward Little Bill, Cutlass’s dagger-like stare was returned with a shake of the giant man’s head.

“I believe that was the quartermaster’s call, Cap’n,” Little Bill added. “Now I come to think of it, upon arrival, we did have unusual calm waters. Maybe, he thought there weren’t any need for anchoring,” he added, before getting a sharp dig in the ribs from Percy.

“Where be the quartermaster today?” Cutlass coolly enquired, while calmly watching some of the ship’s rigging come loose, followed by the foremost-mast bend to the point of snapping itself in half, and the anchor rope loosely dropping its large metal weight onto the hard rock.

Still teetering on the edge of the cesspit, John Bonham raised a free hand to answer his captain’s superfluous question.

“He was sleepin’ off a pounding head after last night’s rum fest on that small island we camped on,” Bonham nervously mentioned.

“Who is next in command to relay that order?” The composed Cutlass enquired. “Hmm?”

Bonham anxiously gulped a mouthful of air, before regretfully answering.

“The Boatswain, Cap’n.”

“And who be the ship’s elected Boatswain… John?”

“…Tha… that would be… me… Cap’n, sir.”

Overhearing this, the crew’s attention quickly diverted toward Bonham, terrifyingly struggling for balance at the edge of the pit – his arms flailing like a featherless bird trying to fly. It was a survivalist reaction to being immediately released from Cutlass’s tight grip on him. There was nothing anyone could do but watch him losing his battle against fine balance and the pull of gravity. Not wanting to fall flat into the cesspit – for fear of being covered in human waste, Bonham did the only thing he could, and launched himself feet first into the murky liquid. He had only travelled a leg’s length when the thudding sound of boots on wood, alerted the men to a different outcome. To everyone’s surprise, Bonham stood tall in the mucky pit, mess swilling about his ankles.

“Well, I’ll be,” Cutlass declared. “That there sounds like the sound a wooden chest would make – if ye landed on it boots first. I’d say John, that ye couldn’t hit water if ye fell out of a boat in a storm. That’s how charmed ye are. Is the top ring attached? Move yer feet around and feel fer it.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” was Bonham’s immediate response.

Turning to his crew, Cutlass ordered them into action.

“Fetch me a rope, men. We be pulling another kind of nugget from this pit today.”

Like headless chickens, the men ran around looking for a rope, causing Cutlass’s impatience to eventually intervene in the idiotic scene played out before him.

“Belay that, ye feculent, grog-shy cur! Little Bill, where’s the rope?”

“I’m sorry to say, Cap’n, that it be still be on board ship, struggling amongst the rocks. In our haste this morning…”

“In our haste this morning,” Cutlass mockingly mimicked, before once again tongue lashing every one of his hapless crew.

“Ye squiffy-brained lummoxes! What did I do to deserve such a poor showing of scabby cuttlefish pretending to be pirates. Ye’ll all be getting’ a taste o’ the cat – should we ever free our ship…”

“The oars!” Jack blurted out. “The oars, Cap’n. We can use one of them to pass through the ring, then lever the others under the first one, and lift the chest out.”

Like a swirling southern wind, the scowl on the pirate captain’s face immediately changed to an expression of enlightenment.

“Why, if I were not the cap’n of yonder foundering ship, I’d vote for you to be the new one. Only one eye, men, but Jack sees more than all you feckless simpletons put together… Well, what are ye waitin’ for? Pull that box up and give the Boatswain a hand getting out of that stink!”

With a surprising demonstration of proficiency, the crew managed to haul both John Bonham and a healthy-sized wooden chest from the pit. The tell-tale heavy weight of the box lent a joyful air of anticipation to the subsequent chore of cleaning the sludge from it. The crew were only too happy to lug buckets of water up from the beach to rinse the brown stains from the wooden chest.

“This be the prize of pirates,” Cutlass announced, while prying the padlock from its locked clasp. “It’s what we fly the Jolly Roger for. By all accounts, there be more than just gold in here. There be shiny jewels too.”

Giggling and rubbing their hands together like children, the crew watched as Cutlass opened the lid to the chest, then stood in disbelief as he produced a large rock painted gold from the chest’s hold. Skepticism overcame the men, so they all crowded around the chest to see for themselves. Several more painted rocks lay packed tightly in the chest. On top of them was a folded piece of parchment paper that the doctor annoyingly snatched up into his possession.

“What’s it say?” Little Bill eagerly enquired.

“It’s a note with a rough drawing of what appears to be a diamond,” Will Foye replied.

“Yes, but what’s it say?” Little Bill repeated.

“Hear ye, you plunderers of nought,” he began to read.

“Be it not fer wants o’ trying

that ye pursued an empty promise written on flimsy paper

found carelessly discarded on the April day o’ fools

Let ye discover in this box

that fool’s gold n’ paper gems

carry but a child’s value of wealth

So, as ye read this note

Be reminded that the real prize is long spent

Signed,

Edward Teach,

Alias Dictus,

Blackbeard the Pirate.”

“What does this mean?” Bonham bewilderedly asked.

“It means we need to vote on a new captain,” Little Bill answered.

An uneasy feeling suddenly gripped the crew. Not from being victims of a cruel prank, but because they quickly realised that they were no longer alone on the island. Out of nowhere, several dozen natives had descended upon the men - some armed with clubs, others with pointy wooden poles.

“What you do here?” The only gold-adorned native asked in broken Spanish.

“Cap’n,” said Jack. “I speak some Spanish. He wants to know what we’re doing here.”

Still seeing the ironic side of Blackbeard’s joke, Cutlass flippantly motioned toward the cesspit.

“Tell him we’ve unclogged his poop.”

Explaining in slow Spanish, Jack spent some time conversing with the man that looked like their leader. After some quick discussions back and forth, the native leader relayed the message to his own men, who spontaneously broke out in cheers. However, further discussion between Jack and the happy native, caused Cutlass to query the worried frown stretched across Jack’s single brow.

“What’s he said?” The exasperated Cutlass demanded to know.

“He says thank you for helping his village by removing the blockage on their drain, and that in gratitude, he invites us to join them for dinner tonight.”

“Has he grog to spare?”

“All you can drink,” Jack answered, while keeping a worried eye on the natives.

“Then, tell him that I accept his kind offer – after this hungry and thirsty bit of disappointing business,” he mumbled to himself. “What has he for food?”

Without hesitation, Jack suddenly sprinted past Cutlass, heading directly for the longboats.

“Avast Jack! What’s yer hurry?”

“It’s us!” Jack yelled back, as he high-tailed it out of there. “We’re the dinner!”

The cold realisation of their predicament staring at them from the unnerving smiling, painted native faces, caused an immediate exodus of Captain Cutlass and his small band of pirates, hastily trying to catch Jack up.

“How are we to row the boats without oars?” Cutlass pantingly yelled out - as he took lead position in the race to safety.

Little Bill yelled back, “We’ll use the half-oars as paddles, like they do in the South-Sea Islands.”

“Forget that, ye nattering, flea-bitten sea bass,” Cutlass’s insult trailed in the air. “We’ll just use yer oversized shirt as a sail!”

Watching curiously on, the chuckling natives listened to their leader explain the comical flight of terrified pirates from their company.

“Works every time,” he joked. “The most daunting thing these men of the sea fear, is being eaten. All you need to do is lick your lips while talking to them and they run away. Now, who’s for some roast coconut…?”