Treasure

The warm ocean breeze surrounded me. Around me, the chatter of bored and tired men filled the air and mixed with the white noise of the waves. I breathed in deeply, the salt from the sea stung my nostrils. Clear blue skies spread before us without an end in sight. Today was the day, I just knew it.

“Captain!” One of the men shouted. “There’s the island, dead ahead!”

The rest of the men quickly clamored to the bow of the ship muttering excitedly. There it was: Isla del Niño Perdido. The Island of the Lost Child. Legend says that long ago a bastard child was abandoned on the island. The child spent his last days on the island, completely alone. When death came for the child’s soul he took pity on the poor creature and instead started to bring the souls of all children to the island to play with the lost child for eternity. 

An old seaman’s tale for sure. The kind of thing where old sailors in taverns have claimed to hear the laughter of children or find abandoned toys scattered along the shore. Rumors, stories, and nothing more.

What wasn’t a story, however, was that almost a year ago a very wealthy naval officer chartered a private boat to the island. Sailors being a superstitious kind of people, few were willing to venture there, but they said the officer only brought one item onboard: a large wooden chest with a diamond carved in the top. 

This tale had been spreading around the taverns for months. Luckily, the man chartered for the job was an old crew member of mine. An old man, not fit for further battles, but still spry enough for sea travel. He came to me confirming the story was true, and that when he finally asked the officer what was inside the trunk he would only say it was his “most precious treasure” and he wanted to put it somewhere safe. He told me the trunk was so heavy it took both of them to lift it.

 The most precious treasure of a wealthy officer. I could only dream of what it might contain. Rubies, pearls, gold, the possibilities danced around in my dreams. That dream was quickly becoming a reality as our ship struck the shallows of the island. My men jumped over and began securing the boat. We didn’t need it listing away while we were searching.

I took a good look around as I descended the ship. The classic “abandoned island.” A large, sandy beach stretching for miles in either direction, pieces of wood and debris were scattered along the shoreline. I saw that, true to their word, there were remains of old toys everywhere. Perhaps offerings tossed from ships to the children of the island. The large coconut trees seemed to reach toward the sun and crowded together in such a way that it was nearly impossible to see between their trunks.

“Captain,” my first mate said, approaching me, “the ship is secured. Which way should we head?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a hand-drawn map. The old man might have been frail, but his memory was still sharp, at least I hoped it was. I glanced around the island until I saw the first landmark he listed: a large horse-shaped rock. As I squinted around I saw a vague shape toward the East. Yes, it definitely resembled a horse. I folded the map back and pointed in the direction.

“This way, make sure they bring the shovels,” I said.

I walked off toward the rock, my crew followed closely at my heels. As we approached the rock we noticed even more forgotten and broken toys scattered around the base, almost as if someone had placed them there, and even the horse itself closely resembled a child’s toy horse. I heard a couple mumbles from among the men. As I said, sailors are highly superstitious people, I had no doubts these strange occurrences were frightening a few of my men. A Captain, however, shows no fear. I pulled out the map again and looked it over.

“Roughly three thousand paces north,” I said, pulling out my compass. “Skip, Will, Danvers, you three keep count.”

I heard their grunts of affirmation and began walking toward the crowded jungle. While I trusted my men to do their job a Captain should always oversee everything, I made sure to keep a silent count in my head as we walked. Sure enough, around two thousand paces, the men started to disagree about how far we’d gone. I paid it no mind and kept walking. Walking three thousand paces is nothing on an average day, but we still had a long way to go. It was difficult staying straight in the twisting trees and I had to constantly check my compass to ensure we didn’t wander off course. What should have taken only an hour or so took several, or at least that’s how it seemed. The men began to mutter about going in circles. However, right at that moment, an odd tree caught my attention. I signaled the men to stop and pulled out the map. Yes, a tree with a sharp bend toward the west. This was what we’d been looking for.

“Men!” I shouted.  They went silent and turned to me. “Another four thousand paces to the east. Then we walk around a steep hill until we reach a special marking. Then, the treasure is ours!”

The men erupted into cheers. I marched eastward. They followed, singing shanties and whooping like children. Again, the trek was long and the path nonexistent, the sun was already beginning to set. I worried if we would need to stop before we reached the next landmark. It would be impossible to travel at night with our dependence on the compass and I feared we might get turned around or lost if we tried to continue in the morning. No, it had to be tonight.

It seemed the men had the same worry. Those who had been singing the most passionately only hours ago were now muttering under their breath about the dark. They could tolerate the ghosts and spirits that came with this place during the day, but night? That was the domain of the spirits, where they were their most powerful. I heard whispers questioning if the officer had hoped the children might guard his treasure for him. Morale was fading as fast as the light, but just when it seemed we were doomed to spend the night on the cursed island an image appeared.

Dark and looming in the last rays of light, but still as clear as day. The cliff. Excitedly, I hurried towards it, the men followed dutifully. I reached out to the cliff and felt its slopes, rough and jagged. I went to pull out the map, but it was already too dark to see. I muttered a curse under my breath, but it didn’t matter. The old sailor told me the marking had been carved into the side of the cliff. All I had to do was feel for it.

“Men! Hug the cliff so you don’t get lost, but follow me. We’re finding this thing tonight come hell or high water!” I shouted.

They muttered enthusiastically, but it was still obvious being here at night wasn’t ideal for them. The sooner we found this treasure the sooner their spirits would be restored. I crept along slowly, feeling every crack and crevice before moving to the next. I couldn’t tell if time was passing slowly or I was just growing impatient. Then, suddenly, I felt a crevice very different from the others in the cliff. Its edges were sharp and clean as if they’d been carved. I gasped and felt around with both hands tracing out the shape. A diamond.

“Scotty, get the flint out! Roberts, Perch, get some wood! The rest of you men, get your shovels ready! This is it!”

My men moved with a speed I didn’t believe was possible. It seemed like only moments had passed before they had a fire roaring. The pile of disturbed dirt was still easily visible nearly a year later. Several men rushed the pile and began digging with vigor. It seemed as though everyone had caught their second wind. The moon rose higher and higher in the sky. The men took turns digging, those who weren’t digging were searching around for food and firewood to get us through until morning. 

Everyone was talking, laughing, bragging about what they’d do with their share of the treasure when we got it. Everyone’s mind was filled with gold, their eyes shone in the dark like the diamonds they sought. A sharp thunk suddenly silenced the whole crew. The men in the hole threw out their shovels and began digging desperately with their hands.

“Captain, this is it!” One shouted as the others scrambled to pull it from the hole. 

We brought it close to the fire. Everyone crowded around, desperate to see the thing we had been searching for, the thing we sailed nearly half a year to find. A large chest of good quality. The dark, polished wood gleamed in the firelight, but the diamond shape was carved in by hand. I took out my knife and dug at the lock on the outside, it came off easily. It barely seemed enough protection for a treasure, but as I opened the lid I realized why.

The stench hit us hard. I covered my mouth, gagging. A few men even vomited. What laid inside the trunk wasn’t gold or rubies. It was the remains of a child.

The last bits of dried flesh clung desperately to the small bones, and the clothes, though obviously once of great quality, were now stained with the decay of rotten flesh. The men all muttered anxiously, to disturb the grave of a child on the island of children, what could be more cursed? As a cloud moved away from the moon some etchings on the inside of the lid became clear:

My most precious treasure,

When it is my time I will come to lead you to Heaven's glory. Until then, I pray the souls of these children will watch over you in my absence. May you never be left alone.

Love,

Father