Diary Entry 12 -- June 9, 1778

I can feel a vicious storm swelling on the sea, the intensity and lust of the ocean growing and raising from the water to wreak havoc on those that oppose her... It is a beautifully dangerous thing indeed.

Regardless of my passion, I am no fool, and I know the potential for danger. Mr. Smee informs me that we should bypass the storm and that we are not by any means to change course. I wish I could say I share his confidence, but I can't. I feel that his arrogant and impervious attitude will surely get us all killed, if not now, soon.

Diary Entry 11 -- June 7, 1778

I wish I had never embarked on this journey, especially now, knowing what I know.

In the few days since my last entry, four men under my command have died from undernourishment. Despite Mr. Smee's strict orders, I visited the cargo and peaked inside a few crates. As a man familiar with the transportation of cargo across seas, I immediately noticed there had been no wear on the crates from the insertion of goods, as there commonly is when moving goods of this quantity. There was also no powder residue along the brim of the containers. I took the liberty upon myself to pry the first crate open. What did I find?

Nothing. No food. No guns. No jewels or gold. No money. Just empty, dry air.

Surely there has been some mistake, correct? This voyage cannot be for bloody nothing, can it? What would be the point?

I just approached Mr. Smee with my discovery. I admit, I approached him a bit violently, but having been sailing for weeks and honestly having no clue where we are anymore, I believe this reaction is justifiable. However, when I informed him that I would no longer put up with his insolence and that I planned to sail back to London, he would not allow it. He told me to have faith in Mr. Darling's commands. "Things are not always as they seem," he said. What does that mean? What does any of it mean?

Diary Entry 10 -- June 4, 1778

Our food supply is running dangerously low, I fear. One crewman by the name of Joseph Biggs has already taken ill. He suffered and groaned all through the night and finally fell unconscious early this morning. Hopefully we will have made port by the time he awakens.

I spoke to Mr. Smee about searching the cargo for food, but he refuses to allow me to make that order. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I was under the influence that I was the captain of this ship. However, he insisted that the Darlings would not take kindly to stealing from their cargo, so I will listen to him for now. 

At least I can count on the sea to remain a calm and gentle force until we arrive in Carrickfergus.

Diary Entry 9 -- June 2, 1778

To my amazement, we have not yet reached our destination. I chose to set sail to Carrickfergus, which only made sense to me as it is where all of this began. I allotted my crew one week to sail the Encounter to the port of Carrickfergus, and it has now been nearly two weeks since we have embarked on this voyage.

Perhaps I have misjudged my bearings? No, I don't believe so. I know my way around these waters all too well to make such a mediocre mistake.

I have ordered the crew to take smaller food rations for their meals, as this venture is lasting much longer than originally intended. A few men, however, have not had the chance to eat as much as others and have shown symptoms of illness. I expect to arrive at our destination within the next day, so I am off to inform my men they will find nourishment soon.

Diary Entry 8 -- May 26, 1778

Moments ago, I awoke from a nightmare. The silhouette of a man was standing in my home, in my absence, watching and listening to Rose and Frederick. Neither spoke. They roamed aimlessly around the house as this horrifying man concentrated his leering gaze on the two of them. Suddenly, Frederick collapsed to the floor and lay motionless. Moments later, Rose fell as well. There was no movement, no noise. Complete silence. The veiled man parted his lips slightly, and a grotesque mixture of putrid green and deep red dripped from his mouth down his chin to the floor. Suddenly, Frederick disappeared, faded into nothingness. It was in this moment I forced myself awake. It has only just set in that I truly miss my family and, in an irrational way, I worry about their safety from this mysterious being.

The thought, however, is nonsensical. It was only a dream.

Diary Entry 7 -- May 22, 1778

I had nearly forgotten how magnificent it was, the sight of the setting Sun on the boundless sea. I could watch endlessly as the Sun falls from the sky over the horizon and takes with it all the light that illuminates my way through this voyage. Now, I am guided only by the peaceful moonlight, reflecting and twinkling in the calm waters so subtly and elegantly. I could write on and on about Poseidon's great kingdom and all its majesty.

It is the first night aboard the Encounter. The captain's quarters are quite spacious, and have an almost royal design. Strong red banners line the sides of the room, while a deep, contrasting black covers the floor. The bed, centered delicately in the center of the room, seems large enough to fit all the women I've ever loved, and maybe even some that I haven't. A French armoire opened up to display several fine sets of clothing that only a nobleman would wear. While they are not quite to my taste, I won't be making any fuss about it.

I have made introductions with my crew of roughly sixty men. Prior to boarding, I spoke with Mr. Smee about our departure and where we are going, and he persisted to be just as vague as ever. He said slyly, yet deliberately, "Choose whichever direction fancies you, but never stray from course." He assured me that he would accompany me on this journey so that I do not wind up lost. Surely he knows that I, a man born and raised by the sea, could never get lost on her waters.

The dockers carried aboard several tons of cargo that I am meant to deliver to...wherever it is I am going. I assumed these crates were filled with food and other such goods, but when I questioned Mr. Smee about the contents, he sternly told me that I was getting paid to transport these crates, not to know what was inside them.

There has been almost complete silence on deck since nightfall, and I am compelled to write more on this exciting day, but I believe I will turn in early so I may catch the first light of morning.

Diary Entry 6 -- May 22, 1778

I truly despise this city. Every aspect of it. The horrid smell of this place, the dank atmosphere, and each and every filthy, grimy citizen that lives in this wretched place. London...

Mr. Smee and I finally arrived an hour before this writing. It is still the wee hours of the morning, so I suppose I should get some rest to prepare for the coming day.

I feel as though I should write about our trip to this miserable city first, though. It was all quite bizarre, really. Mr. Smee struck me as a talkative man during our introductions, but he and I traveled for nearly two days on the turnpike, and nary a word was spoken by that man, despite my best efforts to make conversation. "How long have you been working for the Darlings?" I would ask, and "Where is our final destination on this voyage?" Perhaps it was the subject of these conversations he was avoiding, or maybe he had been given strict orders not to speak to me until we arrive in London.

A man in my position should be afraid of the uncertainty of this whole scenario, or saddened by the idea of being away from his family, or even ecstatic about the potential wealth to be gained from it all. While those feelings certainly exist in my mind, the most prominent thought in my head is that after worrying I may never see her again, I finally am able to return home to the sea.

I do not mean to confuse the idea of "home" with the common meaning of the word. Home is not a place a person lives. Sure, a man may own a house, he may even have a family that lives with him in that house, but this is not a man's home. The idea of "home" is different for everyone. For a sailor, such as myself, my home rests in the sea. An actress has her stage, an artist has his canvas, and a writer has his imagination. We all find our homes through different means, and it is at home where we are most comfortable.

That annoying monstrosity of a clock has warned me of the hour, so I believe it is time I turn in for the night. Tomorrow is the day that I finally return home.

Diary Entry 5 -- May 20, 1778

This entry will be kept brief, as I'm unsure when Mr. Smee will arrive to meet me. 

I paid a visit to my Rosie early this morning, just to inform her of my whereabouts. I tried with all I had to stress to her that I am trying to get my life back on the correct track, for her and for Frederick. I assumed, or hoped, she would understand that in order for me to tend to my family the way a man should, I would be forced to work a few odd jobs here and there. Once I told her I was leaving, though, she turned from me and wouldn't face me for several minutes. Although I never saw her face, I know she was crying.

I did not understand. I had left for months at a time during my years of service, but she never acted like this. No, something else was wrong. I attempted to pick her thoughts from her head, but all I managed to get from her was her faint voice muttering "Frederick" repeatedly. As the boy's father, this of course worried me. After the fourth or fifth time she spoke his name, I dashed up to my son's room to find him asleep in his bed. Nothing was amiss. Everything was as it should be, I believe. I tried asking Rosie what was wrong with Frederick, but her lips would not allow her to say what her eyes seemed to be screaming. She just stood there, silent, still, and finally shook her head. 

I turned to walk out the door, but before I closed it behind me, I looked into Rose's eyes and told her "I will be back one day, and you will be proud of me."

Right on cue, Mr. Smee.

Diary Entry 4 -- May 19, 1778

I believe my luck may make a turn for the better very soon. William, the dock hand I met in Carrickfergus, strolled into the very same pub in which I drown my sorrows nightly. He immediately approached me, almost as if he knew where to find me when he needed me. He had come to follow up on the business we had previously dealt with together, the same business that ultimately ruined my life, or so I thought. I am unsure that I should have trusted him, but at this point, I honestly have nothing else to lose. 

Before I stray too far into the specifics of this visit, perhaps I should explain the origin of our deal. While at the harbor in Carrickfergus, William told me of this wealthy family, the Darlings. He carried on and on about the kind of business this family conducted. Largely, they made their wealth from illegal black market deals. They would ship varying quantities of goods, weapons, tools, and slaves to anybody that had the money to pay. William told me of a job soon to be carried out by the Darling family, but this job was special, he said. According to William, this job paid enough to feed a man for ten lifetimes. The Darlings hired William to find a sailor that knew the sea better than the sailor knew himself.

After telling me of these details, William escorted me to a nearby pub to meet a representative of the Darling family. The man we met was very tall and slender, and finely dressed in a clearly expensive garment. He looked down past his long, pointed nose at me and asked William if I was the sailor he was asked to acquire. He explained the job, but did not go into great detail. He spoke of the ship I would use, a large merchant vessel known as the Encounter. He gave very specific directions of how to arrive at my destination, but strangely, he did not give me the name of the port. The representative said, and I quote, "You will embark on your journey from London. You will travel in no specific direction at no specific speed. You will not stray from your original bearings. You will know when you have reached your destination. Have I made myself clear?" I had never heard such foolish orders in all my life, but for the amount of money this job was worth, I wouldn't dare turn it down. The representative instructed William to fetch me when it came time to embark. 

It would appear that time has come. William sought me out tonight with news that we embark in three days, and that I am to meet him tomorrow so that we may travel to London together. I asked him about the strange nature of this job, of the bizarre instructions the representative had given me, but William sternly said that we both must follow orders exactly as they are given. He was not being particularly informative. I did, however, manage to get one piece of information from William before he departed on his way. I explained to him that if we are to work together, I should at least know his full name. He rose from his seat, outstretched his hand to shake mine, and uttered the words "William Smee."

Diary Entry 3 -- May 15, 1778

It has been nearly two weeks since my last entry. I think now would be a good time to give a rather brief update on my progress. I believe I have finally taken my first steps to crawling out of this vermin infested hole and returning to my life of nobility and honour; sadly, those steps have been far from noble or honourable. 

Stealing has become second nature to me. Be it from young couriers or old merchants, I have learned how to pick what I need from their lined pockets and vanish quietly into the busy sea of citizens. Not to say I have acquired enough to purchase an estate, but I can afford nightly stays at the old inn, frequent visits to the barber, and occasional stops by the local pub. 

Every night, though, I pay my visits to the harbor and stare out to sea. Oh, how I long to return to her once more. It is at sea that I truly feel at home. If I never lay eyes on my dear Rosie again, I pray it is because I have become lost in Poseidon's magnificent wonderland. My heart yearns for the beautiful melody of crashing waves...the soft, seductive touch of cool mist on my cheek...and most of all, the spontaneous nature of her temper, how she can lash about and stir up the most amazing storms a man has ever seen. Simply glorious.

Diary Entry 2 -- May 2, 1778

I am unsure what actions I should take at this moment. I have become a completely different man than I was but a mere week ago. I can hardly bear to call myself a man anymore, really. In the days since my last entry, I have been pushed to commit horrible, despicable things that no man of my stature should ever dream of doing. I suppose this diary is the most apt way of confessing my sins...but, where to begin?

I suppose I should begin with the passed Wednesday, when I entered my home and was greeted not with the loving arms of family, but rather the disappointed glare of a woman so ashamed of her husband, that she could not bear to allow him sleep under the same roof. She did, however, do me the courtesy of letting me see Frederick before casting me out into the dusky street. He did not utter a word, nor did his eyes ever leave the floor beneath his feet. Surely Rose did not possess the indecency to tell my own son of his father's misdoings? No, there had to be something else wrong.

Hesitantly, I bid my farewell. I still remember the last words I spoke to my Rosie, and I swear to live by them. "I will be back one day, and you will be proud of me." 

Thus far, I have not taken the right steps to achieve this goal. Over the past few nights, I have lived on the streets, scoured the rat-ways for nourishment and shelter, until finally, I worked up the nerve to beg and steal enough coin to stay at this shoddy inn, but only for a single night. I should use this time to forge a plan of how I shall get back home to my family, and hopefully, I will manage to get a good night's rest.

Diary Entry 1 -- April 29, 1778

For those curious few who happen upon this, my name is James Hooks, and I am a captain of the Royal British Navy. I feel as though I should keep a sort of...memoir, especially after recent events. You see, I have made a mistake. Well, several mistakes, to be honest, but the mistake in question may actually have a negative impact on the entire future of my beloved country.

Seven days ago, I was assigned to the HMS Drake, the most beautiful warship of the Royal Navy, alongside my oldest and closest friend, Captain George Burdon. I lost track of the number of years that Burdon and I served together, but he has always been there for me, and I have tried my hardest to be there for him. In fact, he is the man that introduced me to my wife, Rose. Putting my thoughts on parchment has made me realize that if not for him, I would never have married my Rosie, and she never would have birthed my son Frederick. My life would be completely empty if not for that man, George Burdon.

I digress. There I go again, getting sidetracked with business that is irrelevant. Ironically, that is exactly how I got into this mess to begin with. You see, a few hours prior to boarding the Drake at the harbor at Carrickfergus, I was met by an Irish docker named William. This man's height fell a full head below my own, though he showed surprisingly little fatigue while he worked. We talked for a spell. I told him of my family and years of service, and he told me how he made his living. He was not quite clear on how he made his coin aside from being a dock labourer, but he did make me a very generous and intriguing offer that no man would be so foolish as to turn down. The specifics of the deal are not important, though. What is important is that it required the abandonment of my post, the abandonment of my duty, and the possible forfeit of my entire military career. 

Shame keeps me from writing more details on that subject at this time. What matters is that, like a fool, I took the deal. I am sure that by now, everyone reading this knows the result of my actions, but for the few uninformed, I did not board the HMS Drake that day, the Royal Navy relieved me entirely of my services, and, worst of all, the Drake was lost to the Continental Navy in a battle on April 24, where Captain George Burdon died. 

I realize that I am to blame for Burdon's death. I wish more than anything to go back and right my selfish wrongs. I am truly ashamed of my actions, and I do not know where to begin mending my life. I cannot even bear to face my Rosie. I sit here on the stoop wondering when, or if, I should enter. What will she say? How could she even stand to look at me? I feel rain coming soon. Writing in this diary has helped me muster the courage to enter. It has been oddly...therapeutic.