You climb the hill, headed towards the ocean. An old man is sitting
there, smoking his pipe. "Been awhile, it has been." he says quietly.
"Since what?" you ask.
"Eh? Since the commodore stepped free from the Dutch, laddie... We all
slipped ashore in dories, but he insisted on staying with the Snitch,
and they got him. I still hear his voice every day. Ten long years he
spent inside, with only the rats for company. Why they didn't hang him,
I don't know. Would have been kinder, it would have." The old salt
knocks his pipe against his wooden leg. "He sent word to me, my
commodore did, "I'm off to challenge Mr. Jones for what he done to me--
a gentleman's duel; first blood only -- and if I win, we'll set sail
once more." I came as fast as my bad leg would let me, but they told me
he climbed up here and was never seen again."
The old mate's eyes mist over so you leave him be and continue on
towards the worn path circling the pitted and weathered stone table at
the top. Clearly, the salty air erodes both men and stone.
E1 | J3 | |
F3 | D5 | |
J9 | G3 | |
B1 | B9 | |
C5 | B1 | |
H1 | E7 | |
D1 | F5 | |
F2 | I7 | |
I8 | G2 | |
H3 | A4 | |
C1 | H1 | |
F5 | C4 | |
G3 | F7 | |
F7 | H4 | |
D5 | I5 | |
C2 | E1 | |
A3 | E3 | |
J3 | J6 | |
B9 | C5 | |
I5 | J5 |