It's day three of my inadvertent sojourn in Barnacle Bay. And the town is swallowed up in the gossip of the Mistral's demise. Somehow word got out, the local newspapers have it smeared across their papers. While on my lunch break, I rushed to the local library where free newspapers were. I scanned through the nonsense of what purportedly happened. I looked for survivors - any survivors. Anyone besides myself who might have gotten away.
There was no one. The bodies of Captain Oliver Lawrence, and Patrick Blake, the bosun, had washed up on the coast of a neighboring island. By the accounts of the news, those that had survived were indentured. Though it was highly unlikely that enemy pirates would grant servitude - even in it's lowest degree. And I knew my men. They wouldn't go down without a fight.
I felt more of a coward than ever in my life. I should have stayed behind. I should have fought with them.
There's an emptiness in my heart where hope once dwelled. My good friends . . . my captain . . . All gone.
~ Tom Calico
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