1745 - I became a pirate hunter when I was 13 years old. These twenty some-odd years since I began my life on the seas have made that time feel like another age. My closest companions have urged me for years to pen the tale of my first voyage. They say the tale is too fantastic to keep it sequestered to retellings around the tavern fire. While my story certainly has its exciting moments which would entertain any reader, I have always avoided recording it because of the deep regret it always stirs up in me. My failings were frequent and costly. What compels me now to share the story of what happened on the Isla de Oro is the birth of my son. In due time, I hope he finds in these pages lessons to learn but also truths to treasure.

            Growing up, I loved hearing the stories of pirate hunters, and never missed a chance. I know some pirate hunters who rarely fired a shot. Captain Fitzhugh famously captured a pirate ship using a fake cannon; no blood was shed. My father even kept a pirate ship from leaving port by drinking the captain under the table. Sometimes I wonder what they would have done in the course of events which I’m about to relate.  

            I knew to take this occupation one had to have a strong enough will to risk their life. I felt eager for the test. I just didn’t know that sometimes you would face things you didn’t understand. I didn’t recognize that your soul, as well as your body, were at hazard.