Story A:
07/21/1903
I must admit, my journey hasn't quite gone to plan.
When my feet first touched the deck of the Odyssey, I had grand dreams of doing fantastic works in the name of Jesus Christ, teaching his word and love to the Indian people. No doubt inspired by my zealous reading of the works produced by John Peter Jones. The seminary this man has created, the miracles he has performed for the Indian people in the name of God and church...
If I were to put stock in the Indian idea of reincarnation, I would say this man is the Apostle Thomas returned. I planned to reach the shores of India and immediately begin converting the locals. The souls that cry out for nourishment, not knowing what they yearn for. I would bring them the Word of God, and it would be their bread and water.
Admittedly, after two months at sea, these plans and dreams had been somewhat dampened. We were rounding the southern coast of Africa, and while we were due to stop in the port of Durban in a few days for some much needed supplies, I found myself praying more than a few times for something to break the utter blandness of hardtack and beer, the monotony of looking out at the horizon and seeing the same thing day after day.
In hindsight, perhaps I should have been more grateful it wasn't worse, and prayed for our safety instead.
The storm arrived around 6 pm. At first, the lightning and rain proved to be a welcome change, a way to relax as I lay across my cot, listening to the music of nature that our Lord had seen fit to create with his Hands. Soon, however, the boat began to rock violently, causing my cot to move away from the wall for a few moments, then slam back into it with a surprising amount of force.
With a growing panic, and not wishing to see my belongings strewn across the room, I seized my Holy Bible and my journal, and I wrapped them in cloth and crammed them in my jacket, as I blew out my lantern. Worried, and wishing to know what was happening, I hurried up to the top deck with all due expediency.
Upon reaching the top deck, I briefly wondered if we had capsized already, as the crew was wading to their stations in an attempt to keep the ship afloat. Despite my complete lack of sailing experience, I thought perhaps they may be able to use me in some capacity. All hands on deck, as they say.
As I began to approach the quartermaster, stumbling through the water up to my knees, I heard a shout that, somehow, was muffled against the storm. Looking over, I saw what could only be described as the largest wave I had ever seen in my life, climbing in height and intensity as it barreled towards the battered Odyssey, reaching for us as if it were the hand of a giant.
I felt myself screaming, yet I could not hear anything over the roar of the ocean, as it smashed into us with the force of a hammer, the raw force of it casting myself and countless men into the black abyss below.
Once I was in the ocean, the situation became even more impossibly dire, if such a thing could be considered. I found myself spinning and thrashing without anchor nor direction, and as I blacked out, I wondered why I could not see the light of my eternal resting place, for I was certain it was my time.
When I awoke, my entire body was wracked in pain, and my face stung as though it had been swarmed by bees. It seems saltwater and sunburn is an unpleasant combination. When I sat up to take in my surroundings, I immediately fell onto my side, coughing and retching, as my lungs expelled the last of the sea. I lay there, dazed, before a realization took hold of me: in order to feel pain and vomit, both biological functions necessary to aid survival, I had to be alive. What, then, could possibly ruin my joy? The Lord had delivered me! My purpose was not yet fulfilled! I tell you, I would have jumped for joy if I was capable of doing so. Alas, my ribs still felt as though they had been beaten with a mallet.
Once my initial reaction to this wonderful news faded, I began to reflect upon the gravity of my situation. After all, I had no idea where I was. If there was not some kind of water source nearby, I would die of thirst. And hunger? No, no. Whatever else, there had to be birds or turtles... some kind of food source. I began to look around. There was a large group of trees to the back of me. Tropical plants. These require lots of water, which meant there had to be a water source nearby, or at least rainfall. What they were doing so far from the Equator, I still have no idea... although to be honest, it's entirely possible, although unsettling, that the ocean may have carried me a great distance. I decider then that fire must be my first goal. I would need light once it got dark, and with no matches, I would need to create a fire with a stick and plough, which would no doubt take hours. After all, I was a man of faith, not of the wild.
With muttered prayers and hours of constant encouragement to the small embers I had managed to conceive, a fire finally burst to life, just as the sun was setting. The view of the sunset's light across the water looked as though there were flames streaking across it, matched in a flawless dance with the flame I had made. I carefully unwrapped my Holy Bible, and my journal. My Bible was completely unharmed, if a little wet. Further evidence of the strength of God, as if my survival alone was not enough. Praise Him! My journal, unfortunately, did not fare so well. While it had been in roughly the same state as the Bible, my writings over the last few months, from the day I purchased it in a London shop to just a few hours before the storm that swept me away, had become smeared across the paper, illegible. Thankfully, once both books had dried, I was able to take a small stick, and used it to scrape ash out of the fire, hence why I am writing this now. I am grateful to be alive, and in such circumstances, the situation could indeed be much worse. However, I cannot help but be concerned. How long will I be here? Will I eventually go mad, destined to be alone?
7/22/1903
The Lord always has a plan, and my being here is part of it!
Today, I woke up, thirsting so deeply I awoke thinking a stray coal from the fire had wandered down my throat. Thankfully not. After throwing more kindling upon it, and building a stockpile of firewood for when I got back, I proceeded to enter into the forest, searching for a water source. As much as I hate the nasty little buggers, within ten minutes of entering, a swarm of mosquitoes began to bite at me. While I began to swat them away, fearing malaria, I remembered something very important: mosquitoes usually nest near bodies of water. For there to be this many...
Tearing through the forest as if I had been possessed, I soon stumbled upon the water in question. Although perhaps "stumbled in" would be more accurate, as I quite literally landed into the water with a large splash. For a brief moment, I was wary. The water was still, which meant a higher risk of disease. Then I began to drink my fill, cupping the water into my mouth, disregarding the bites forming down my arms. After all, those parasites must drink from the same water supply, and they had bitten me many times over. I decided I would find a way to carry the water down to my fire and boil it. Perhaps carrying a homemade torch to produce smoke would scare them away?
Once I was no longer completely focused on the desire to sate my thirst, a fact made itself readily apparent: I was not alone.
Watching me nearby were two natives, with skin the color of red clay and white skull facepaint. Their dumbfoundee expressions amd lack of modern dress only cemented their status in my mind. While I was taken aback at first, I realized there was an opportunity present. After all, had I not been on a voyage to save souls? What makes these people any different from the Indians in need of salvation? Perhaps even more so! After all, I did not see anybody else on this island preaching the Gospel.
"Friends!" I called out to them, flashing them a wide smile that won over so many of my fellowship back in London, and spreading my arms in a gesture of goodwill. "I love you! And Jesus loves you! And his Father in Heaven has sent me to teach you his word, so that you may be with him forever in the Kingdom of Heaven!"
They shot me with an arrow.
I have quite a strong constitution, and am empowered by the strength of God. Therefore, I am slightly ashamed to admit that at this time, the sinful flesh took over my mind, and I thought of nothing but my own safety as I fled back to camp. Once I arrived, and had gotten the arrow out, I began to ruminate on the possibilities. After all, had Simon the Zealot not been cut in half? Had Saint Peter not followed the Lord Jesus in death with crucifixion, only requesting to be killed upside down as he was not worthy to be compared to Christ? How, then, could I claim to serve God when all it took to frighten me away was a single arrow to the shoulder?
Now, as I write, I have made up my mind. I will ignore my hunger. I will ignore my pain. I will go to search for these natives, and I will lead them to salvation. The Good Shepherd does not abandon his flock.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Once the women had finished shaving and disemboweling the body of the Pale One, Chief Wawan gave the order for it to be spitroasted and placed over the fire with a wave of his hand. His mouth was salivating at the thought of such delicious meat. Occasionally, one of the Pale Ones, devils from the other side, wandered onto their land with the intent of corrupting their way of life. Of course, the only way to prevent such corruption was through ritual sacrifice, consecration through burning, and then devouring the flesh.
The Old Gods aided the people in their own way: by making the Pale Ones so succulent and tender. Truly, were he not a spiritual man, he would wish they would come more often.
One of the people had brought him a strange item. It was black, with a golden symbol on it. Two crossed lines, and words in a language he could not understand. No matter. The people could use another way to wipe down their faces and hands after they ate in order to save the much softer palm fronds for the next time they needed to relieve themselves. O how the Old Gods provided!
With a chipped smile, Chief Wawan began to tear the pages from the book and disperse them to the people.
