When I opened my eyes, I could see! There was light, sha-dowed light, but light. I was not blind! I felt a tear run down my cheek, but could not brush it away.
I felt my body roll to my right and immediately felt strong hands seize my left arm and leg. I forced my heavy head up and looked to my left. Tan leather straps, not hands, gripped my arm and leg. My body rolled back onto my left side and the leather shackles held me in place. I was at sea!
As my eyes surveyed my surroundings, my brain tried to recall my recent past. Now I began to remember the Baby Blue, the patrol boat, the tall blond man, the red water and the dead bodies. Then I remembered the Marlin and the lifeboat! The voices in Spanish were not multi-lingual angels. I was not dead!
The ship was very old, maybe from the 1960’s. Gray plate-steel and stainless steel surrounded me. I saw a lavatory that folded back into the steel wall, an overhead surgical lamp on a long metal arm was above and behind me. Metal drawers ringed the walls with labels in Spanish and English. There were syringes, depressors, bandages, and other surgical items. Had I been so fortunate to have been spotted by a hospital ship? Maybe the Red Cross? It seemed unlikely, but then to me it seemed unlikely that I was still alive!
I listened for sounds of people or anything! I listened for and tried to feel the vibration from the ships engines. Something was wrong. Were we adrift? Was the ship anchored? I felt the rocking of the ship from side to side. It was constant, predict-able. The ship was either anchored or moored.
I tried to speak, to call out. My mouth was dry, my tongue swollen. I could barely move it around in my mouth. I could not swallow or speak. I breathed through my nose. Was I rescued or captured? Was I restrained for my protection or my captor’s? I saw the face of the tall man, grinning, as I had before when I was in the water and had fallen asleep. Was this his doing? No. It made no sense. I had nothing the tall man wanted. He had the two crates. He would just kill me, if he found me.
“Cómo está, Señor?”
I struggled to raise my head from the surgical table. I looked past my chest and between my tennis shoe clad feet. I blinked and tried to focus, but what I saw was still there. A young bare-chested girl with blue-black hair to her waist stood at the end of my feet, smiling at me.
“Agua! Agua por favor? Water?” I said, but the girl didn’t understand my guttural noises.
I tried to point to my mouth but my arms were still prisoners of the table I lay on. My head hurt, an ache that was beyond any headache I had ever had. I tried to keep my head up, but could no longer. I looked at the girl and tried to say, “Help”.
The girl said, “Agua Señor? Usted quiere agua?” She stepped through the hatchway and smiled and I felt my heart beat faster, felt I might live. The surgical table was to her right as she entered and came to my side. My head fell back to the hard cold table and rolled to my right, facing the girl. I could see she wore a grass skirt. A necklace of gold with a medallion fashioned like a seahorse, rested between her pubescent breasts. She wore gold and silver bracelets. One hand held a canvas bag. A water bag!
I nodded my head vigorously as I looked into the girl’s black eyes and dark blue pupils and back at the water bag. I felt as though I were suffocating, taking short quick gulps of air. In slow motion the girl unscrewed the brass cap on the water bag. Slowly the water bag moved toward me and I craned my neck, stretching my restraints as I tried to reach the water. I rolled my head and looked at the young girl as a suckling babe does. I opened my mouth wide and gulped air. The girl did not let me suck the brass spout, but held it just above my face and let a few drops at a time fall into my mouth. As I gulped, my lips, tongue, and throat were moist and then wet and I could swallow and breathe normally.
“No más, Señor. Más tarde.” My half-naked nurse told me. She pulled the sweet liquid from my cracked and swollen lips.
I shook my head, no. I forgot that I might be able to speak! “Más, más, por favor!”
“Más tarde, no hablar.” My nurse said sternly and I listened to her.
She leaned over me and squeezed her lips between her thumb and index finger, to sign what she meant. I opened my mouth to speak and her small hand the color of tanned buckskin, cupped my mouth gently. I felt a wave of vibration pass through my body from my head to my toes as though I were a tuning fork. I lay completely still as the tremor entered and left my body. The girl smiled and produced a banana leaf about six inches long and unrolled it. In a moment she had a thick white paste on her finger and began applying it to my lips, her touch gentle and competent. It tasted like coconut. The pain in my lips began to diminish rapidly and in a moment or two, my lips were numb and free of pain.
The girl stuck her tongue out and pointed to it. She then began licking her lips, stopped and looked at me and pointed. “No Bueno. No Bueno, muy malo.”
So, if I lick the ointment on my lips, my tongue and probably my mouth and throat would be numbed? I did not know what would happen if I did not heed my nurse’s warning, so I obeyed.
“Donde estamos?” I said quickly as the girl moved toward the hatchway. My words were now fully audible.
The girl looked at me with a puzzled expression, though I am sure my Spanish was correct and she did understand the words. She said, “Que?” She looked at me as though the ointment had numbed my brain as well as my lips.
“Where are we?” I said again in Spanish, as best as I could. I am sure I sounded like I had just come from a dentist office.
My nurse continued to look at me as though I were crazy. “Nosotros estamos, aqui!” She shook her head side to side and frowned at me.
I tried again. “Si, si, pero, cómo se llama este el lugar?”
Yes, I know we are here, but what is the name of this place.
I had said the words slowly, partly to be precise and because my throat burned like fire when I spoke.
The girl folded her arms across her naked chest and scowled at me. “Este lugar? Nombre? No tiene nombre, es la tierra! Nosotros estamos aqui!” The land has no name, it is the land! We are here!
I did not know what to say next. In my hesitation the girl was through the hatchway, her grass skirt swishing as she went, before I could speak. “Adiós Señor.” She called out without looking back.
I tried to sit up and tried to see what lay beyond the hatch-way. I saw sunlight and part of a blue sky and the top of a palm tree. I fell back. What was going on? At least I was dry, at least I was out of the Pacific Ocean, at least I was still alive. I fell asleep.

“Señor? Mi amigo, cómo está usted?” It was the voice of the authoritative baritone, not the naked girl. “Quiere comida?”
My eyes opened and I saw blinding light from the metallic arm above me. My hand went to shield my eyes, and it did. I was no longer shackled! The figure looming over me moved the light away, out of my eyes. He was about seventy-five I guess, had the girl’s blue-black hair, not loose like the girl’s, but tied back with a leather cord. He had the black eyes, but no blue pupils. His face was V-shaped and his skin the color of buckskin like the girl’s. He had to be her grandfather, so close was the resemblance. I hoped who ever he was that he could speak English. The extent of my presentable Spanish was almost at an end.
“Habla English?”
Surprise and then contentment shown on the man’s face.
“Indeed I do, old man!”
I pulled away from the man and sat straight and stiff. He had spoken England’s English, the King’s English! He even sounded a little like Alec Guiness! I laughed a little and then chuckled at the absurdity of it all, as did my host.
“Where am I?” I asked quickly, before the EnglishNative left.
The man cocked his head to the side, as if not sure of what he had heard. He straightened his holey khaki shorts. He put his hands in the pockets of his long tailed khaki shirt. He gave me the same look my nurse had earlier.
“I am afraid I do not follow, old chap.” The man said in his Downing Street accent.
Here we go again! I had the identical conversation I had had earlier with the girl. He too seemed to believe that I suffered from more than dehydration and fatigue. I decided not to push it. The man had mentioned food, and I was literally starving.
“It is of no importance. Pay it no mind.” I said, laughing as if I had tried a joke, my accent leaning toward the English more than the Texan accent I natively possess.
His black eyes glistened in the light of the surgical lamp and he chuckled as a broad smile came to his face. “Bloody good show, that! Well done, bloody well done, I say.” He said as though I had told the greatest yarn his ears had ever heard.
“My good man? You mentioned sustenance earlier, did you not?” I said, bringing the subject back to food and my growling gut.
“Indeed I did, Sir. Indeed I did. Fish and chips?” My host asked, as though a telephone call would have the meal delivered in no time.
“Yes, fine. That will do nicely.” I said continuing my perfor-mance, though my accent was leaning a tad bit toward my ancestors The Irish. It had gotten me miles farther than my Spanish had so far.
“Oh, by the by, my name is James, Grayson James.” I ex-tended my weak right hand to the man.
“Merryweather, Francis P, at your service Mister James.” The man shook my hand like a fundraiser, covering our right hands with his left.
“It is a pleasure Mister Merryweather.”
I almost burst out laughing, but held it to a wide grin. My God, where am I? Did I slip into a parallel universe? Had the Bermuda Triangle moved to the South Pacific? Had I drifted into a black hole? Had I moved into another time and space? South Pacific Natives speaking The King’s English!
Merryweather called out loudly. “London!”
He startled me. I looked toward the hatchway, my young nurse’s head, London’s head, popped into the opening.
“Yes, Grandfather?” She spoke in the same English as did Merryweather.
“This man is in need of nourishment. Fish and chips!” Mer-ryweather looked at me proudly and nodded officially.
I looked back at London but she was gone.
“I say, how is the arm, old man?”
Merryweather’s question took me by surprise, as I did not realize either of my arms was in peril. I inspected my right arm, or at least the part below my short sleeved t-shirt and found no damage. I looked at my left. It was bruised a purple and yellow color where the elbow folded the forearm back to the bicep. The vein was swollen.
“We, that is, London was vexed finding a vein.” Francis said calmly as though this was done everyday.
I wondered what was put into my veins, but did not worry, considering my health was improving. “How long have I been here? When did you find me?” I might not find out where I am, space, but maybe I could determine the time. Thank God that lost look did not veil his face at this question.
“Seven wakings of the sun.”
Seven days! The keg of freshwater and the saltwater soaked provisions on the lifeboat had lasted three days I remembered. I should be dead! No wonder I was starving. Fish and chips? I wonder if it has the same meaning here, as it does at Whitehall.
I felt my arm and the white ointment was there too. My arm at the inner elbow was numb, just like my lips were now. No wonder I did not notice the arm.
I took some water, with Merryweather’s assistance, from the water bag London had left behind before pursuing my first meal in, how many days? Eight days, nine?
I set the water bag on the table beside me, so it would not leave when I slept. The hatchway darkened. I looked and saw a tall, thin man with long curly red hair, grinning from ear to ear. I pulled my eyes from the stick figure. My eyes fell to his hands and what they held. Food!
The sterling silver ornamental serving tray, with what looked to be a King’s crest, did not contain fried codfish and fried potatoes, but a flounder as long as the tray and as thick as my arm. Red held the tray out and toward me but did not offer it, but displayed it, as though I had already had appetizers! My stomach growled and could be heard by all ears near by. There were no potatoes, but scallops as large as my palm ringed the beautiful fish with two eyes on one side of its head, looking at me. A seaweed resembling bean sprouts was the vegetable. My eyes were as wide as Red’s grin.
I almost let out a, Wow! My Ray Remington half reminded me I was not saved, but merely on another level of Dante’s playground. I looked at Merryweather who had a proud as papa look on his face.
“Good show! Quite the feast this is. Fit for the King.” I proclaimed.
If possible, Merryweather puffed up even more. “Nothing is too good for a fellow Englishman.” He announced and bowed with his right arm across his chest.
Why did these people presume I was English? I had spoken Spanish. Red cranked the surgical bed. I sat up and reached to take the tray from Red. I saw my chest. Now I knew why I had been mistaken for an Englishman! Fred and Larry gave me a t-shirt the night before I left Austin when we had drinks. The t-shirt had a red, white and blue Union Jack embossed on the front, the British flag!
London appeared at Red’s side, no taller than his hip, and handed me another silver tray, smaller than the first. It held a pewter mug with the crest of a lion embossed on it. Beside the mug of dark liquid lay a white lace dolly upon which lay my eating utensils. I should not have been surprised to see that my knife, fork and soup spoon, were as ancient as the silver trays they were served on. My stomach made another angry growl and I grabbed the white linen napkin from the tray.
I was reaching for the fork when Francis P. Merryweather cleared his throat abnormally loud, official sounding.
I said, “What about you three?” They had their heads bowed.
“We have had our nourishment.” Merryweather said flatly, his tone now serious, put out with me.
What had I done? Had I offended my rescuers? Prayer! It finally hit me as I looked at London bowing her head. I had not blessed the food! Only a heathen would eat before giving thanks to his God! I felt as though I imagine actors on stage do when that line refuses to come to mind. What prayer would people from old England say? I heard myself speaking.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory for ever and ever. Amen.”
A formal, “Amen!” sounded in unison from Merryweather, London and Red. I thanked God that I remembered the prayer I learned at vacation bible school!
“Praise be to God Captain Kidd!” Francis P. Merryweather said and both London and Red repeated the chant.
After only a slight hesitation, I said, “Praise be to God Captain Kidd!”
I looked at Merryweather whose proud look had returned as he glanced at London and Red.
“We shall take our leave Mister James. London will come for you in one hour’s time and prepare you to meet the Parliament. We shall wait with eager ears to hear what word God Captain Kidd’s ambassador brings his loyal servants.” Merryweather nodded, bowed officially and left, with London following and then Red.
God Captain Kidd? Where was I? Had Captain William Kidd sailed to this uncharted island in the late 1600’s, or one of his ships? Had a crew of Captain Kidd’s men been stranded on the island and intermarried with the natives? Had these people awaited Captain Kidd’s return for over three centuries! Had their faith in Captain William Kidd’s return, turned him into a god, their God?
All these things I pondered as I ate the baked flounder, scal-lops and seaweed. What word was Merryweather and his people looking for from God Kidd? What words was the Ambassador to speak, what words would I speak? Would my words please these people or anger them?
It took almost an hour to devour my feast. I ate slowly, knowing I could eat more that way. How long would it be before I would eat again? The numbness in my lips was subsiding, but I am sure I had gruel on my face and wiped my chin. My mind was busy trying to recall any information my brain had stored on Captain William Kidd. I had some knowledge of the English Captain that was falsely branded a pirate. I read a book about Kidd four years ago.
“The Pirate Hunter: The True Story of Captain Kidd”, by Richard Zacks, was not the fairy tale pirate portrait painted in books, poems and movies over the last three centuries. Zacks spent years researching the now available archives of the British Crown. Files sealed since the time of Kidd were now available and the true story could be told. Captain William Kidd was a well-respected Pirate Hunter and was labeled a pirate, only after British politicians and Parliament swindled the treasures intended for Kidd and the Crown. At sea sometimes for as long as two years, Captain Kidd’s news from America and mother England was sparse. Captain Kidd’s primary investor and partner was, Richard Coote, 1st Earl of Bellomont, also known as Lord Coote. Bellomont was, Governor of New York and Massachusetts. He was also stealing Captain Kidd’s plunder and framing him as a pirate and traitor to the Crown. Kidd was sentenced without formal charges being brought and rotted in jail for almost two years while waiting for his case to be heard. He was found guilty and hanged. Captain Kidd was also gibbeted. The steel cage hung above the headwaters of the River Thames, until only Captain William Kidd’s skeleton was caged.
Kidd had sailed these waters! Maybe Captain Kidd discov-ered the Lost Island. What was my host expecting to hear from his long lost God, Captain Kidd? What could I say that would pacify a people who had waited over three centuries for their God to return?
I could not tell them that their God had been hanged three hundred years ago as a pirate and traitor to the Crown. In Kidd’s day, one did not decide when to sail, Mother Nature did. Tides, storms, the Gulf Stream, the Trade Winds, all played a part in making the decision, when to sail and to where. Layovers could last as long as six months, if the winds, currents and storms conspired against a captain. Knowledge of the winds and currents could serve better at times than sextant or cannon, the wise captain. Did Captain Kidd layover here for a time? Had he visited the Lost Island multiple times? If he had, then surely he would come again, would the natives not believe?
Would Merryweather and his people know this and believe that was why it had been so long since their God had communi-cated with them? It was weak at best. Trouble in Heaven with the angels? Maybe Lucifer had been acting up again?
When asking what I should do next, as usual my questions were directed toward Ray Remington. What would he tell Merryweather? What would Ray Romero say? These thoughts brought more to mind, thoughts I had not taken time to examine since I was left adrift in the South Pacific. Now that I was safe from death and my belly full of fish and chips, I could look at them.
While lying on the old hospital bed I closed my eyes. I wound back the tape to when I had first seen the patrol boat. Whether from my ordeal at sea, or the numbing ointment or perhaps the flounder, my mind was clear, sharp. The events of that morning came readily. I was able to fast forward and rewind.
The tape got sort of stuck when it reached the ending scene for Ray Romero, my friend and namesake of my beloved character Ray Remington. Ray was on one knee leaning against the wheelhouse firing the AK-47 with one arm, his other arm hanging limp at his side. I saw Batman and Robin being ripped to shreds, the two sailors and the other man murdered and dumped overboard, the two wood crates, the Baby Blue as she slipped beneath the sea and the tall man as he sped away in the patrol boat.
Suddenly the tape broke. My cheeks were wet and I was sobbing. I could not look at it anymore.
“Tally ho! Mister James!”
I sat up quickly and saw Merryweather coming through the hatchway.
“I trust the meal was sufficient.”
Merryweather observed my condition, and looked away, a courtesy a gentleman shows another under such circumstances. A woman’s tears are hard enough to take, but another man’s, unbearable.
“Come. Please do come in.” I said in my best British accent as I wiped away my tears with the linen napkin.
“The fish and chips, I hope were sufficient.” Merryweather said, still not looking at me.
“Excellent. Excellent indeed Mister Merryweather. No finer have I had at Court.” I said and my words brought Merry-weather round to look at me. “Tears of joy, my good man. So happy shall God Kidd be when I tell him of his subjects’ commitment and love for him.”
I felt like a screenwriter who was on the set writing the script as the director shot the scene. I decided that I would play the part of Kidd’s emissary, who had been waylaid by ruffians while in route to the Lost Island.
Merryweather said with bright eyes and outthrust chest. “God Kidd’s subjects, as do I, treasure nothing more than fellowship with our God.”
“God save Captain Kidd!” I said for good measure.
“God Kidd saves us from all evil!” Merryweather joined the praises.
I felt a pang of guilt misleading this man who saved me from a death on the high seas. I did not want to give him false hope. If I did tell him the truth, it would be like telling Christians, Jesus was not coming back for them or Jews, their Messiah was never coming!
Merryweather cleared his throat. I had hesitated too long between words.
“I will relay your kind words to Captain Kidd when next I present myself at Court.”
So far, I felt pretty good about my performance as a ship-wrecked Englander. Is what they say about writers true, that we do yearn to be that actor who delivers that line all will remember but none will remember who wrote?
“Bloody good show, that. Bloody good!” Merryweather said triumphantly, as though those words could move Heaven or Hell. “Are you fit for a walk, a visit to Parliament?”
I considered the question. I had not gotten off the surgical table, but my legs seemed to be working correctly. I felt weak, my muscles stretched beyond their limits, the tendons and ligaments now shrinking back into their normal size. I swung my legs over the side and carefully eased my body off the table toward the steel deck. The weight of my body on my legs was too much. I wobbled and my legs began to crumple. Gripping the edge of the surgical table and railing, keeping as much weight as possible off my legs, I allowed them to slowly adjust to the weight.
Merryweather looked at me as a doctor does a patient, or was it the look that prays the wounded lives long enough to tell where the treasure is buried?
“London?” Merryweather called out.
London’s head popped into the hatchway.
“Yes Grandfather?”
“Fetch Red. Mister James is in need of assistance.”
“No! I can make it.” I protested as I put more weight on my legs and tried to stand. I did, not steadily but I was standing. In a few minutes, I would be ready to walk, ready to visit England’s Parliament in the middle of the South Pacific Ocean. I held onto the railing around the bed with one hand while massaging my calf muscles.
“Very well. London, make Mister James presentable.” Merryweather instructed. London entered as he left.
London made me presentable. I wore my Levis jeans and Union Jack t-shirt, both washed and dried in the sun. They were still warm when I put them on. I had my belt on, the one the Texas Rangers gave me in appreciation for one of my earliest books about the Rangers. I decided to tell Merryweather if he asked, that Texas was another of the many Colonies, England now ruled. I wore black high-top tennis shoes, Converse and no socks.
London put a wreath of freshly cut flowers on my head, the mixture of scents so sweet I felt light headed. There were orange flowers, for the red, pink for the white and purple, for the blue, in the British Union Jack. I grinned when I saw it. The innovativeness of these people was amazing.
As I approached the hatchway, Merryweather and Red ap-peared on the other side. I stepped through the opening into the noonday sun, shielding my eyes. Before I could adjust my eyes to the brightness, a chant rose from the crowd at the foot of the gangway.
“God Kidd save The King! God Kidd save The King! God Kidd save The King!”
As the third chant finished my eyes adjusted and I could see the throng of people who were singing their praises to God Kidd. The irony that, Kidd was the God over the King that had hung him, was too much and I tried not to laugh. I looked at Merryweather on my right, for direction.
Merryweather stood proud and puffed up and nodded once, I think my signal to speak. I cleared my throat and began.
“Followers, subjects of God Captain William Kidd, I bring you well wishes from your caring Father, God Kidd!”
The faithful chanted again. “God Kidd save The King! God Kidd save The King! God Kidd save The King!”
I noticed Merryweather’s surprise at my use of Kidd’s first name, William. He nodded slightly, as though I had passed a secret test. I thanked God I had read Zack’s book about Kidd!
“My name is Grayson Kidd James, God Kidd’s ambassa-dor.”
I saw out of the corners of my eyes, Merryweather on my right and Red on my left, stiffen at my words. I could not see London behind them. The mass of people before me became quiet and still, only the warm breeze rustling the palm branches could I hear. Had I gone too far?
As if commanded by an unseen force, God Kidd’s worship-pers fell to their knees and bowed their heads to their chests. A low slow murmur rose from the people at my feet on the beach.
“God Kidd save us, God Kidd save us, God Kidd save us.”
I waited, hoping Merryweather would prompt me again, but he continued the low guttural mantra, as did my audience. After the third, round of God Kidd save us, I spoke.
“Believers of God Kidd, hear my words. Much time has passed since God Kidd’s ears have heard the words of his people. The land beyond the big waters has been in great turmoil these many moons. Much of the land beyond the big waters has been consumed by the sea.” I paused, as I have seen other speakers do, and an awe came from my audience and my escorts. “England has been spared!”
“All that is done is done for Captain Kidd. God Kidd save The King!” The chanting began again and I stopped it with a wave of my hand.
“I was sent to you by Captain Kidd many moons ago, but peril crossed my path at every turn. I bring the words of God Kidd to you.”
“All that is done is done for Captain Kidd. God Kidd save The King!”
I let this chant go on. I was a hit so far. I looked at Merry-weather and then down the steps of the gangway to the beach. He nodded. I took my first step with both hands on the railings, letting a little more weight onto my shaky legs with each step. I wanted to look at my new surroundings, where I was, but my eyes guided my feet to each step.
I stepped onto the beach, the sand was like that in the Ha-waiian Islands, the grains hard and large, not soft powder like at Pensacola. This was lava rock eroded for many thousands of years until it became grains of sand. I glanced left and right before reaching the crowd in front of me, in search of those quaint little thatched huts like the ones I saw while on the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, but saw none.
Merryweather stood to my right, Red on my left, who now wore a tunic weaved from vines and carried a cutlass in his belt of hemp.
God Kidd’s followers were a rag tag lot. They wore a combination of straw, denim, khaki, cotton, silk, leather and fur. They looked like models from around the world displaying the ancient costumes of their ancestors. I assumed I was not the only castaway that had washed up on their beach. I noticed most wore necklaces, bracelets and rings. Apparently anything resembling British design was confiscated from lost sailors over the last three hundred years. One could collect a varied wardrobe.
The beach was about fifty yards deep and circled back to my left and right. I saw that the hospital ship was not moored to a dock or anchored but tied with a rope to a huge palm tree. I was in a lagoon! To my left the shoreline ran about a mile out into the ocean and on my left about two miles out. The lagoon was about three football fields wide, and apparently deep. The jungle was lush, natural. The palms were the largest in diameter, about five feet and the shortest I had ever seen, thirty feet tall at most. A stair and rails had been removed from the ship’s interior and placed outside the hatchway.
“If you will follow me, Mister James.” Merryweather said and took my forearm, guiding me through the crowd of people that was much smaller than I had imagined it would be, though I cannot say why I expected more EnglishNatives. It was a miracle there were any at all. A miracle, that had it not occurred, I would be dead. This thought made me think of the Butterfly Effect.
I felt something soft and cool in my hand. It was London’s hand. If there is an original mold that all angels are formed from, it is London. I looked down and she looked up at me with those black eyes and blue pupils, smiling at me. A smile that said, “It will be okay.”
Would it? Looking further left I saw Red, still with sword sheathed I was happy to see. I had not looked ahead of me as we walked the long shoreline of the lagoon, but now Merry-weather stopped and I stopped and looked around. My mouth fell open as I looked to my left where the beach rose and the jungle began. A clearing was cut back into the jungle about the width of the beach and as deep. Standing proud was a three-story Tudor style structure, with a flagpole in front displaying the Union Jack of Great Britain!
My wide eyes looked to my right at Merryweather and he looked like the King of his people, proud. I shut my mouth, shook my head, and grinned as I glanced at Red, who stood as rigid as a Buckingham Palace guard. His sword was curved back over his shoulder and he had a stern look on his face that betrayed a hint of a grin when our eyes met. London wore that look that said, “See, I told you it would be okay.” I picked her up, and held her on my hip so she could see the festivities. I had wanted children someday but it had not happened. A little girl would have been just fine.
I looked at the three-story structure. It was not built of palm logs or stone or brick or at least not red brick, but black bricks. I could not imagine how long it had taken to fashion the bricks from lava rock, one of the hardest rocks found on the planet. The bright sunshine reflected off the structure and into my eyes. I shielded my eyes as I approached the structure. It reminded me of a Royal Palace I saw in London when on vacation a few years back. It looked a lot like Hampton Court Palace in the London Borough of Richmond on the Thames.
I looked at the ten, ten feet tall pedestals cut from thick palm trees at either side of the walk. Atop Hampton Court’s five pedestals lining either side of the walk, are flying dragons, gargoyles, lions and other land beasts.
Apparently Merryweather’s ancestors had a greater fear of sea- monsters. Atop the palm pedestals sat a sculpture of either palm wood, palm leaves, lava rock, seashells, fish bones, or a combination of any.
A giant octopus sat on the first pedestal to my right. Its body was a palm trunk covered in palm leaves, the head was a tortoise shell wrapped with woven palm leaves, with painted clam shells for eyes. The tentacles were backbones of great fish, broken and wrapped in palm leaves. A gray coating that looked like it was a mixture of the coarse sand from the beach and a thick sap, coated the palm leaves until the surfaces were almost smooth.
Atop the pedestal on my left was anchored a rod of palm wood about the size of a man’s arm. The rod had the same coating as the octopus, but was a chalk white color. Wrapped around the rod was a black and white banded reptile, half snake, half lizard, with front legs and no rear ones. The reptile was a foot in diameter. As I looked up, it was hard to tell what was reptile and what was rod. Its tail was wrapped tightly about the base as its body coiled up the rod, the sea-dragon’s head resting atop the rod, peering down at its visitors. I thought of Charles Darwin and how he would have loved to see this. A transforma-tion in progress!
As I walked toward the structure I looked down and saw that the walkway was ten feet wide, was cobbled stones, lava stones. They glistened like glass in a sidewalk. The walk ran toward the Palace for about fifteen feet, past more sea monsters on pedestals, to an archway that was the full height of the first story. Above the arch was a window half as wide as the arch and reached the top of the third floor. To either side of the archway was a five-sided brick column that reached to the top of the three-story structure, and another ten feet higher, just like Hampton Court Palace. To either side of the brick columns, on all three levels were windows. A few feet left and right of these windows stood the twenty feet in diameter five-sided brick towers. This too was like Hampton Court. Apparently, Kidd or one of his men had a drawing or sketch of Hampton Court Palace, perhaps the only image the EnglishNatives ever saw of merry old England.
I suddenly noticed that my escorts had stopped walking and all was quiet. I saw the English Natives lining both sides of the glistening walkway to the Palace. I had wondered how many people were on the island and was afraid that I was looking at all there was. It took only a moment to take the census. Twenty-two, plus my escorts Merryweather, London and Red. They were mostly old men, as old as Merryweather or older. I saw only five women and they were beyond the child bearing years. There were two young boys, one about six years old, the other boy was three or four.
That pit in my stomach returned as I looked down at little London who was seven or eight. She was the EnglishNatives’ last hope to propagate. If she did not bare fruit, God Captain Kidd’s followers would become extinct.
I felt London squeeze me and I realized I had hesitated too long in my thoughts. A quick glance at Merryweather said he was irritated. I set London down and stood at attention and saluted him British style as I had seen it done in the movies. Merryweather quickly came to attention and returned my salute. I nodded at Merryweather and then turned toward the Royal Palace and nodded admiringly. Now, what would God’s ambassador say? People in power like to inspect things. Yes, I should proceed to the entrance and make my inspection.
“Shall we have a look see?” I said and gestured toward the Royal Palace and glanced at Merryweather. “Fine piece of work Mister Merryweather. God Kidd will be pleased!”
Red had moved to the center of the arch and held his sword across his chest. I approached the archway with Merryweather at my side. London stayed at the entrance to the walk with the EnglishNatives. I nodded to Red, who looked at Merryweather, who nodded at Red, who sidestepped to his left and allowed me entrance to God Kidd’s memorial.
Darkness nor even dark shadow greeted me when I stepped through the archway, but brilliant sunlight. My first thought before looking up was, skylights? I looked up and did not see skylights in the roof. The Royal Palace had no decorative mosaic tiled ceilings or ornate hardwood floors, but the sky for the roof and beach sand for the floor. As I glanced about I realized the structure was a building facade, like were used on the back lots of Hollywood. My lips parted but my mouth did not fall open as I saw Merryweather eyeing me.
I looked about as an engineer might, nodding and fondling my chin and nodding more as I looked about the vacant building. Apparently, the image of Hampton Court Palace was a two dimensional view of the front. Not able to envision what a god like Captain Kidd might furnish his hut with, the EnglishNatives had left it bare. Time had eroded the lava rocks and now they had not edges as sharp as glass, but were polished smooth. Trunks of thick palm trees were secured into the ground at 45-degree angles to the lava rock walls, shoring the structure. Dovetail jointed palms penetrated the exterior walls and connected to horizontally installed palm beams at each floor, securing the structure. Decorative woodcarvings were installed at these connections.
After a walk around the interior of the Royal Palace, having slapped a palm or three, I nodded vigorously. “Very well. Very well, indeed! God Kidd will be pleased Mister Merryweather.”
Merryweather beamed with pride and looked at Red, who did not smile and I am not sure if he ever did, at least did not look like he could kill at any moment.
“Well done, Sir!” I said as Merryweather and I took our leave of God Kidd’s temple. Red followed and resumed his position at the archway.
The EnglishNatives were still standing at attention in the hot sunshine, still expectant. I should do something. Christen the monument to God Kidd? I had no bottle of champagne or plaque. Should I give a speech? Yes, I think so. I took a step forward.
“His Majesty, God Captain William Kidd, bestows his bless-ings upon his people by way of I, his humble and faithful servant.”
I did well I could tell. God Kidd’s worshippers began their chanting. “All that is done is done for Captain Kidd!”
The chanting continued and my mind pondered my next move. No matter where I was or what calendar was in use here, I had to get back to real time. The image of the tall man was burned into my brain after my days adrift at sea, when my alter was his death. I would not forget the careless manner in which he killed.
As speakers are apt to do, I raised my hand to quiet the crowd. The chanting faded away as all eyes met mine. What power! I thought of the, half English half South Pacific Natives. I did not know by what name to call them! Do people name themselves or do visitors after having visited? Would North American natives, Indians, be called such, if Columbus had not believed he was on the other side of India?
“Followers of God Kidd, hear me. As I speak, His Majesty is making preparations for a voyage across the great waters. God Kidd wishes to visit his wayward people!”
I paused as eyes widened and jaws dropped. Murmurs rose from the English-speaking natives. “I say, did he say?”
Again, as though it were the Rod of Jehovah, I raised my hand and stilled the masses. “Soon God Kidd will be among you.” I spoke more rapidly now, not wanting to hush the crowd again. “I will inform Mister Merryweather of the preparations that will be required by you. I will leave you shortly and deliver to God Kidd your wishes that he favor you with his presence.”
Now the crowd roared and cheered, chanting the praises of God Kidd. I saw a few of the old men dancing jigs as if at the Mucky Duck in Liverpool. I looked toward Merryweather, who was receiving accolades for showing good sense in not killing God Kidd’s ambassador when he was found in the lifeboat. I joined in that praise. I wondered how many before me, who had not worn a Union Jack t-shirt, had been killed.

“Drink, man! It is good for one’s soul.” Merryweather said and put the largest, half of a coconut I had seen in my hand, it hollowed out and filled with a liquid, the color of piss, at least in the half light dusk was bringing to the island. Fires along the beach were being lit. The liquid was bittersweet, the bitter being amazingly like scotch and the sweet, the taste of coconut. I took a long swallow and passed the coconut back to Merryweather who sent it on its way through the crowd of revelers.
Darkness engulfed the blue Pacific, it and the sky becoming a darker blue and then black. I was guided to a fire-pit on the beach in front of the Royal Palace. I drank more of the yellow liquid as thick as Guinness and as strong as Ever Clear, my aches and pains began to subside.
Now Red, still wearing the cutlass, joined Merryweather and me at the fire pit, a hole in the sand ringed with lava rock. We drank and I asked questions about the island. My specific question was, why was the island uncharted? Why did sailors not see it?
The story, the best I could determine from the primitive de-scription from both Merryweather and Red, was amazing. I added what I knew about volcanic islands, piecing it all together.
All of the Pacific islands are volcanic, including the Galapa-gos Islands. The Lost Island is the same. It is located on the Galapagos Mantle Plume. Mantle plumes are columns of hot rock that rise from deep in the earth. These plumes rise to the ocean surface because they are hotter and less dense than the surrounding rock and can be 100 kilometers in diameter. This island must be much younger than the other islands in the area, because offshore about two miles there is a vapor upon the water taller than the trees on the island, much like a cloud and is the same color as the surrounding horizon. The hot rocks are still cooling and forming a continual steam cloud. Only by accident would one find the Lost Island, as had I.
After too many coconut drinks, Red slapped me on the back and then froze like a statue, realizing I was not another drunk, but God Kidd’s ambassador. His eyes sought mine and then Merryweather’s and mine again. As though we were the three monkeys that hear, see and speak no evil, we did not move. Both men were concerned whether it was proper to touch an emissary of God Kidd’s. I was sitting on the beach between the two men. I slapped Red and Merryweather about the shoulders. Red almost fell forward into the fire, more from the coconut juice than the force of my blow. I laughed aloud, this cry in the wilderness not contrived. My companions laughed and we drank more jungle juice. It was numbing my brain or at least that part dedicated to sobriety of security, fear for one’s life, always there but denied.
Merryweather took the coconut from me and took two long swallows, leaving two for me, two I knew I did not need. Good or bad for me, I drank.
The white orb rose from the sea and was lost in the black sky and I lost touch with the world and all was dark.