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.
Chapter 16
Sea and Song
; 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!
Ahoy! Ahoy!
To the island blue
If you don’t drown
Where the women swim
In fish-mail gown.
So trade your feet
For a fin of weed,
The Merfolk gold
Is a Pirate’s greed!”
When the song ended, the old Shanty rested his lute on his lap. “You see, me boy. The old seamen always know a song or two about the Merfolk. Some say that the Merfolk wrote them, stuffed the parchments into bottles and let the bottled tunes loose o’er the waves. They say that men found these bottles driftin’ and hence learned the songs. Alas, it’s just an old yarn from an old seaman.”
~~~~~~
Night fell around the sloop. We were close to Grenada, but the enveloping darkness forced us to anchor for the night. Grant and I made our way to the small cabin. I locked the cabin door, retrieved the journal from its hiding place and relaxed in my bed. I turned down the lantern so Grant could sleep. The yellow light dimmed to a soft glow. Shadows filled the room. I opened Owen’s journal.
The vagrant in the cell next to mine has died. The buzzing of the flies woke me. The stench made me wish I, too, had ceased to live on this day. At the very least, the sun is hot in the sky. A lovely gold ray of light pours in through my barred window and in its warmth I now write.
The guards have not brought me any food or any drink. I suppose I do not deserve it, but dying slowly is a horrible thing to endure. The unending pains in my stomach and the dryness in my mouth are making me wish I had taken the noose. There is no looking glass in here but when I look down at my hands and arms, I see the beginnings of the skeleton that I am destined to become. I used to be strong. I used to be a lot of things…
Chapter 17
Owen’s Yarn
As it were, I was left on the shore of the Nicaraguan Bay with a tribe of Darien natives. The elders amongst them concurred with the chieftain, and it was decided that I was to be told the secrets of the Mer. To be schooled in the way of the Water People was a privilege few outsiders ever received. My lover and I sat around a great red fire and the elder tribesman shared all that he knew and believed.
Trying not to sound disrespectful, I asked him a few questions.
“How have you come to know so much of the Water People?”
“The Chief of the Mer told them to me.”
“The Chief of the Mer?”
“Indeed. Lord Sydin is his name. He is wise and has led his tribe of Merfolk for over a hundred years.”
“Tribes? You say they live in tribes?”
“That is what I say. Merfolk have always lived in tribes. Territorial they are, as we humans tend to be. The Mer of this part of the world rarely venture beyond the fringe of their domains. For example, a Mer tribe that inhabits the waters of the north will not be welcomed down in the tropics. The reverse is also true.”
“There are different races, then?”
“Of course. Just as there are different races of humans. Why wouldn’t there be different races of Mer? Humans that dwell in the lands of Asia resemble the Mer that inhabit the surrounding waters. The same can be said for the people of Africa and the people of the north. We are all exposed to the same elements, such as the sun and wind. These things change us, and so it is that ethnicity is not a trait exclusive to land.”
“When he spoke,” I asked, “this Mer Chief, this one you call Lord Sydin, what was his voice?”
“The Mer speak in the local tongue of the humans. Here, in the Caribbean, there are many languages, hence, the Merfolk understand them all. As far as Lord Sydin is concerned, well, he speaks all tongues with ease. The Mer that dwell in the Caribbean are the most intelligent. In my opinion, they are also the most beautiful.”
“I see. I understand that the ocean is their home, but surely they cannot swim all of the time. What of sleep? What of food?”
“The tastes and customs of the Caribbean Mer are simple. They eat meat from birds and fish, as well as many types of seaweed. They are keen marksmen and skilled hunters rarely bested by other ocean beasts. Even sharks are no match for a team of Merlords.
“They need rest, just as we do. For example, a man is able to run, but does he run everywhere he travels? Nay. Such logic applies to the Mer. They swim but they have their places of comfort. There are small islands, uncharted and unknown to seaman, which they guard and protect. As I have already said, the Mer are territorial. They prefer islands that rest in rising waters, islands containing grottos and a portion of sandy beach. They love rock formations because rocks provide places to hide as well as warmth.
“The island dwellings are important to the Mer society for other reasons. Certain islands are reserved for raising the Merchildren, sanctuaries of learning and growth. Other islands are cache islands used to store collected valuables and food.”
“Valuables?” I asked sharply. “Like what?”
“Rope, wood, metal, bone, rock, coral, and shell. They are skilled in working these materials into items that help them survive. They create arrows, swords, and spears of bone and shields of wood and stone. They use these hidden islands to store what they recover from sunken ships as well.”
“You’ve captured my interest,” I said rather smugly. “Is it safe to assume these Merfolk would gather lost gold and silver from a shipwreck, then?”
“Of course. Metals such as gold and silver can be re-forged to make great armor, weapons and even jewelry. I forgot to mention how much the Mermaidens love jewelry!”
Upon hearing the old Darien say this, I nearly leapt to my feet with excitement. To think, the Merfolk gathered Jean L’Ollon’s gold! That must have been why Captain Shanley couldn’t find it.
I asked as calmly as I could, “Do you know the location of any of these Mer Islands? Have the Merlords privileged you with such knowledge?”
He stared at me for a moment. The orange glow of the firelight illuminated his omniscient eyes. He was studying me as if trying to read my thoughts. I smiled to conceal my eagerness.
“I know of one. It is the largest and most sacred of the Merfolk Islands. Though let it be known, I have sworn an oath of secrecy.”
“Oh, come now, your secrets are safe with me,” I assured him.
“I can say no more. Ask me
anything else, please.”
“Where is the island?” I nearly shouted. My lover, who up until this moment hadremained calm, turned and glared disapprovingly at me. I released her hand and asked again, “Where is it?”
“What need to know have you, seaman? Do you now show your true heart? Does the thought of an island of treasure stir your greed?”
While the Darien Chief glared at me, I slowly reached for my knife. The hard handle met my fingertips without anyone knowing. With immeasurable quickness, I drew it from the sheath, snatched my beautiful lover and pressed the steel to her throat. There was a small trickle of blood; she was squirming, and I was holding her too hard.
“Answer me or she dies! Where is the island? What is it called?”
The tired and worn old man seemed to crumble with defeat.
“Forgive me, Sydin, forgive me,” he whispered. He looked into my eyes. I could see the regret, the fear, and the betrayal in his stare.
I was not swayed.
“It is called Cerulean Isle. The island is northeast of Puerto Bello, west of Aruba. It is southeast of Old Providence. It is not easy to find and the rocks and coral are treacherous when the water is low. Please, lower your blade!”
It was at this moment that an incredible splash erupted from the dark shore. It sounded like cannon fire blasting into the water. I shoved the girl away, snatched a burning branch from the fire and ran for the shore. It was one of them…I was certain. The Mer were listening the whole time and now they had fled!
Once at the water’s edge, I waved my makeshift torch, casting its yellow light onto the wet sand. The black waves lapped over my feet. I noticed something odd. A cluster of shiny black seashells was piled neatly on a patch of dry sand as if waiting to be found. I approached the pile of perfectly stacked shells and knelt close to examine it. Each one was smooth and clean. The old man’s voice startled me.
“Look at what you have done.”
I turned to him and saw my lover cowering behind him. The chief fell to his knees in the sand.
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