"Harborside..."

From the journal entries of Benedict Marlowe.

This day I quitted the ship Bluefin and set my boots upon the harbor front of this new world colony, which men call Queens Quay and the Old Jetty. The press of humanity there is such as to make one reel, a continual bustle of men and carts, bales and barrels, shouts and curses, all mingling with the creak of cordage and the groan of timbers. It seems the very air is thick with the smells of tar, pitch, salt, fish newly drawn from the sea, mingled most curiously with the stench of dung, sweat, and rum.

(The Harbor Waters of Port Dominion)

To my left hand as I stood, I marked a sight most doleful and yet fitted to the place. Beyond the harbor, where the coast juts forth into the sea, lies that headland called Widow’s Point, and further still the grim promontory styled Bleaks Bluff. And upon that bluff, in full view of all who enter this roadstead, there swings a gibbet, its grisly tenant swaying to and fro at the mercy of the sea-breeze, a blackened warning to such rogues and sea-thieves who might otherwise think this isle a safe retreat. Truly it struck my heart with a chill, though I am no pirate, but a man of lawful occupation. The people of this place would make plain their hatred of that accursed race.

The quay itself is lined with warehouses, stout and serviceable, though built with more haste than elegance, each attended by sweating negroes and pale Irish bond-servants, who heave and haul under the overseer’s lash. Here and there stand rough taverns and houses of trade, their signs creaking on rusted hooks, inviting both seaman and landsman to drink away their wages. I spied one with the sign of a red cock, and another painted with a ship in full sail, both with doors gaping wide and a rabble of sailors already tumbling forth though the sun was yet high.

The main way from the quay leads upward, as I was told, to Dominion Square, where the better sort conduct their commerce, and where the shops, houses, and counting rooms of the godly and respectable are to be found. It is said that from thence one may spy the Governor’s House, and the fort called Hemmerly which commands the harbor. But all that I shall see in good time.

For now, I cannot shake from my thoughts the sight of that dangling carcass on Bleaks Bluff, and how the sun struck upon its bones. It is as though the very island itself whispers of blood and ruin, even as it promises profit and advancement. A man must tread warily here, lest his ambition carry him the same road as the poor wretch who swings as carrion for the crows.