This story is dedicated to Roryboy

Pierre had been there longer than Sam. He was more used to the situation they lived in and knew it was only a matter of time now. Sam, of course, had seen his share of action and he was as hard as any other Royal Marine. Their mutual but independently strong force of will had kept them from cracking under the insane circumstances in which they now found themselves. Indeed, others had simply gone mad around them while they maintained serenity. For a time, Sam had hoped for escape. Those thoughts were dashed with several other Royal Marines, a few U.S. Navy sailors and an assortment of other conspirators from an assortment of other nationalities had been killed. Sam and Pierre had been forced to watch.

Now, with everyone else gone, escape was impossible. Perhaps it always had been. Both men knew it but both men had not gone insane with the impending doom closing around them.

  It had been Pierre who had found the diary, wedged under a support of the wooden cage they occupied, half buried but still legible. Pierre had not been able to read much of the diary as his knowledge of English was founded on discussions between other sailors in seaports and moldy holds below decks of ships with anyone who spoke a bit of the English tongue. His education in the written hand of his own language was rudimentary at best, and nonexistent in English. With Sam here however, the diary was accessible.

The two men had already swapped old sailing stories, told each other of their loved ones and generally gotten to know each other pretty well. Their conversations had kept both men sane. The strain would have been too much for any man to bare alone, Sam had thought. This was despite the fact that he possessed in his blood the extraordinary courage of the Scots, not to mention the supreme disciplined toughness of the British Marines drilled into him.

With a deep breath, Sam gazed down at the weathered book in his hands. It had a dark blue cover, stained with dirt. The pages were uneven from water and the spine was somewhat weak. Despite the fragile condition of the manuscript, Sam began to read aloud to his friend:

I write this in the hope it may prove useful to someone someday. If it is indeed read by human eyes I beg to Heaven that the reader does not find himself in the same position I am in as I scroll these words on the old notebook. I am sitting in a box meant to contain a large quantity of men. There are a fair amount of people left here from a slew of nations. I set down these words as quickly as I can for none of us knows how long he has.

Of course, no one ever really knows how long one has does one? But here in this box, the understanding that Death waits for us all, with his bloody sickle, is reaffirmed daily.

Let me start at the beginning. My Name is Edward Sharpp. I signed aboard a whaling vessel in New Bedford called the Destiny. It is impossible for me to stay ashore as there is as much salt water in my veins as there is blood. A sailor cannot bear to be parted from his true love, the sea, for any long stretch of time. I had been born in a fishing town and had served my country, The United States, with distinction in our second war with Great Brittan. This was an odd thing as I had sailed before the mast with the British some time before the war. Now, afraid I was beginning to loose the exuberance of youth, I returned to that fair and effervescent maiden, the open ocean, for excitement. Had I known what was to befall the men of the Destiny, I would never have set foot on that ship.

She was a standard whaling ship, as they go. The captain was rumored to be well seasoned and the crew able bodied. Many of them were Portuguese men who spoke little English but there was seamanship present, which all true men of the sea can recognize in each other quickly enough.

The captain had heard of good whaling in Pacific waters so rather than sail to the icy North Atlantic we too a different coarse.

I will spare you the particulars of our journey, sufficed to say that we traveled down the American coasts and around Cape Horn. After this baptism into sea life for inexperienced hands, we sailed into the blue waters of the Pacific. We had made progress on a northwesterly course for some time when the whether changed so suddenly, as it is prone to do in this part of the world, and we found ourselves battered by the fiercest gales that I or any other aboard could recollect. It was even fiercer than those of Cape Horn if you believe me. Still we might have prevailed against the tempest. We were running with the waves when the seas picked up even more might than they initially possessed. We rode atop the giant swells with our stern and bow out of water when a wave was amidships. It was no longer advisable to run with the waves as we were loosing helm control and we would have been far better off to point our bow towards them, but our skipper (correctly in my mind) judged that we should not come about and drive into the sea as such a course change may capsize our vessel before we had opportunity to complete the maneuver.

Imagine our consternation when all hands on duty saw giant waves break before us upon some vast reef. The helmsman was ordered to bring her about but it was too late. We were propelled onto the rocks with such force as to stove in much of the bow of our poor ship. It was havoc and destruction as I have never seen it before, not even in combat against the mighty Royal Navy. We struggled to launch the boats and gather our comrades for a frantic attempt at escaping the Destiny, which was stuck aboard the rocks and being broken up by the booming waves thundering about us.   

We saved as many able men as we could and rescued many more who were injured. It was by the work of Providence and stout seamanship that our tiny boats were not dashed against the rocks themselves. We lashed ourselves together and deployed sea anchors to try to stabilize ourselves.

The next day the whether had broken and we saw not several miles away, what appeared to be an island.  We made haste towards it, arriving not much before midday. As soon as we were within close proximity to the island, we spied a sandy beach which afforded us an ideal place to land.

Once there we took stock. There were sixteen men who had survived the storm. The master was gone but the first mate remained as did the boatswain. We had a barrel of fresh water only, no food and one musket with a few rounds. It was there at that beach that we set up camp and set to the task of searching out food and fresh water.

As I strolled along the beach, contemplating my narrow escape from Davy Jones and not I confess laying an eye to my course, I rounded a bend and overheard the noise that I assumed could only have been caused by an enormous set of bellows. I looked up startled and gazed in complete shock at what my eye told me.

Before me was a sharp rock cliff. Lying with one leg above it and the rest of her on the ground below, was a giant woman. Had she been standing, she would have dwarfed the masts of the tallest warship I had ever come across. I heard her take in great breaths of air.

I gawked at her. She was a slender woman (in proportion to her size of course) with strong, well defined muscles throughout her body. She had a beautiful face and long dark hair. I recall thinking that she was the most fetching lass I had clapped an eye to, and you’ve hear the truth of it when I tell you that I’ve seen many a girl in the past.

 It was not long before my shipmates joined me in beholding this wonder and called for their companions to come see. Men stood transfixed at her beauty. Slowly, the giant head turned our direction and the lady spied us. None of us knew quite what to do at that moment. She smiled the most beautiful smile at us and stretched her arms as one does when waking from pleasant dreams. We all watched her scantly clad chest move beneath her covering at this action. The sight was indeed Heavenly.

This seemed too much for the female-deprived Portuguese sailor to my left. With a cry he ran towards her. His action seemed to galvanize the crew into movement for we were close on his heels. The woman for her part, seemed to welcome the company with gesture and expression.

What we planned to accomplish I know not but I remember reaching the woman as men climbed up her hair and the slight fabric she wore. Soon much of the crew was astride her. Suddenly there was a cry. She had grabbed up a young sailor who was being held between her pointer finger and thumb. There while we all watched, she scrutinized him for a brief spell and then opened her mouth wide and dropped him in. To swallow the lad was for her the work of a moment. There were shouts and suddenly a mass migration off the woman took place, even faster than our dash onto her. I myself ran for her feet which as I have said were placed on a cliff. Most of the crew was running the other way but I took the road less traveled.  Upon reaching the bottom of the cliff I began my assent. The rocks were slippery but to tolerably skilled semen such as myself I made good progress up the cliff face.  I chanced a look behind me and saw to my dismay that the giantess had gotten to her feet and started after my comrades who she caught with ease and swallowed with great enthusiasm. I turned from the despicable acts and concentrated on scaling the rocks. It was about ten minuets later when I reached the top, tired but relishing the feeling of life and the smell of the sea breeze that blew over me. There was no sign of the giant woman except for her huge tracks in the sand. I hope you understand the size of the woman when I say that I could have comfortably laid down in the print of the woman’s little toe.

I made my way into the jungle, hoping to come across any of my fellows who may have made good their escape. Unfortunately after the day of ceaseless wanderings I came across no human life, giant or otherwise.

It was with much emotion that I ended the day, thanking God for my deliverance but praying for guidance and safety in this new land in which I found myself. What unseen dangers awaited me? What if I happened across the giantess again?