Captain Hugo Williams
12 December 1838
Winds WSW at 19 Kph
Overcast 0ºC

    The heavy fog of evening had come in thick waves over the jetty as I pulled my ship up to dock. The haze of dusk did nothing to alleviate the heavy exhaustion settling over my eyes. The journey to Belle-Île-en-Mer had not been an easy one. The Bay of Biscay gives no quarter, nor mercy. I consider myself very fortunate that any of my crew agreed to this contract at all, even if only my first mate, Lockwood. That man would follow me into death if I asked, though not without the promise of strong drinks and better stories in the aftermath.

    The seas had been kind to the Agamemnon, much to our great relief. None of our dredging equipment sustained any kind of serious damage, and the engine repairs made after our last expeditions seem to be holding well. I’m sure our client will be thankful for the kindness to his wallet, too.

    Speak of the devil and he shall appear, it seems. The client stood alone under the dim flickering of a streetlamp, his old fishing coat glistening with condensation. His shoulder length grey-blond hair hung in scruffy clumps around his face, clinging in places to his short cropped beard. He took a drag from his long wooden pipe before he approached.

    “You must be Captain Williams,” He said as I clambered down from the bridge.

    “Aye, sir,” I replied. “I suppose that makes you Dr. Dubois.”

    “Indeed. Follow me,” He turned on his heel and vanished abruptly into the fog.

    Man of few words, I supposed. I left Lockwood to finish securing the ship and started after him into the dark. The pathway curled up from the port like an aberrant whip of smoke, weaving in between the sparsely populated houses before straightening up towards a towering monument of stone and light: the new Port Coton Lighthouse. Dr. Dubois had stopped just beside the large wrought iron gate enclosing the tower, staring up at it with a sort of deep reverence. “My own little castle. Beautiful, is it not? I am fortunate enough to be her keeper.”

    “You’re a lucky man, Doctor. There are few jobs more important than a lighthouse keeper,” I said.

    A strange look came over his eyes for a moment, almost as if he was bothered by the comment. In the deepened shadows, I could have sworn the corner of his lips pulled back in a slight sneer. It passed quickly; the spell seemingly broken as Dr. Dubois turned away to pull the gate open. “Come, come, I’ll bring you to your lodgings and send someone to retrieve your first mate. It’s much too late to talk business, yes?”

    Such an offer was a welcome surprise for me. More often than not, clients care little about the journey to meet them. “Very well, sir, I’ve no mind to protest.”

    “Please, call me Carroll. There is little room for honorifics this far from the mainland,” he gives me a kind smile, or at least whatever passes for such a smile on a severe face. “Rest well. I shall meet you at your vessel on the morrow to continue our acquaintance.”

    Carroll led me then to the keeper’s lodge just right of the lighthouse itself, wherein I am currently writing this log. It is a fine little room just off the kitchen, with a pair of beds and a small writing desk. Lockwood found his way up a short while after I had gotten settled. Whatever lies in store for us tomorrow, I take great courage in knowing I am rested enough to face it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Hugo Williams
13 December 1838
Winds SW at 24 Kph
Clear, 2ºC

    The morning dawned clear and mild, and with it a new adventure to be had. Lockwood and I headed down to the docks just as sun crested over the distant mainland France in a brilliant display of pinks and reds. We had slept in a little, by our standards, yet we still did not expect to see Dr. Dubois already waiting for us by the Agamemnon.

    “Good morning, Captain. I trust you are well rested?” He asked. He wore the same battered coat he had last night.

    “Yessir, I did,” I said, pulling myself aboard. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but you had written us about some sort of treasure hunting?”

    He nods, “I did. It is no secret that sailing in this area is dangerous. It is why the lighthouse was constructed. However, before its construction, there were several ships had wrecked just off the island’s coast. I merely wish to investigate them to see what goods can be salvaged.”

    I glanced over to my first mate, who was grinning like a loon. “I like the sound of that. Should I fire up the dredge, Captain?”

    “You had better,” I offered my hand to Carroll. “Climb aboard, Doc, and we’ll be under way.”

    The weather was pleasant I maneuvered us out a few hundred meters out from the Port Coton Lighthouse. She was a rather intimidating sight from the sea, perched atop a cliff. Below her stood a sight that sent a violent shiver up my spine. Tall, black stone spires jutted up before the cliff, splitting the swells that came rushing towards a small sandy beach that lay beyond it. Beneath it, I could see the outline of similar dangers lurking in the water beneath the structures. I had to wonder at the sheer number of sailors who met their end here.

    Oblivious to my fears, the old keeper put a hand on my shoulder. “We’re here, Captain.”

    We dropped anchor as Lockwood worked to carefully lower the dredger. It was one of the functions of the Agamemnon that made us so successful. I had built it myself off of a design I won off a dutch merchant in a game of cards. Its relatively simple design made it easy to improve and alter things such as depth and the amount it could process at once. Such depth alterations are the reason it was able to reach the seabed with little issue.

    The gears kick to life with a start as the dredger starts to sift through the muck. Dr. Dubois tossed Lockwood his coat and rushed over to the sifting table, searching through the debris with the delicate touch of a surgeon...

    Nothing.

    Lockwood looked over to me in disappointment. "Are you certain we're in the right spot, sir?"

    "Patience." Dr. Dubois snarled. "I have stood guard on this cliff for years. I know these waters. Move us closer, Captain."

    Biting back my protests for our safety, I guided the Agamemnon closes to the cliffside. We waited with baited breath for what felt like an hour before Carroll pulled away from the sifting table with a triumphant cry. Clasped in his hands was a large gold nugget, roughly the size of a small apple. My jaw hit the deck in shock.

    "Good God!" Lockwood exclaimed. "Where did that come from?"

    "A Spanish merchant vessel crashed off this coast some decades ago, bearing all manner of precious cargo. Why no one has thought to dredge this coast is unknown to me." Dr. Dubois said with a proud chuckle.

    "Is there any more down there?" I asked, fear of the cliffside forgotten in my excitement.

    "I do believe so, Captain." Carroll reached a hand into the sifting table and tossed me a small still covered in muck. I snagged a towel from nearby and carefully removed the layers of sand.

    "It can't be," Lockwood exclaimed, examining it from over my shoulder. "This is a lighter, isn't it?"

    Dr. Dubois snatched it from me quickly. "Yes indeed, Lockwood. You never know what you're going to find on these old ships. Ah, this must be silver..."

    We combed the sea floor until the sun began to sink behind a large gathering of storm clouds, pulling up everything from boots to gold ingots (which Carroll deposited into a large burlap sack). I had never seen such a large amount of goods in one dredging field before It was as if someone had dumped their entire life savings into these waters for us to find.

    With Dr. Dubois still carefully sorting his finds at the sifting table, Lockwood sought me out at the helm. "Permission to speak freely, Captain."

    This puzzled me greatly, as he had never had an issue speaking his mind before. "Granted, what's on your mind?" I replied.

    He was silent for a while, staring back towards the lighthouse with an unreadable expression perched on his quizzical brow. "This Carroll fellow... I don't trust him."

    "He's been a reasonable man thus far, what makes you say so?"

    Lockwood hesitated. "It's just a feeling, sir. Didn't you find it odd how some of the so-called treasures we pulled out of this 'old wreck' were modern? The lighter is a new creation, it cannot be more than a few years old.”

    I hadn't really considered it, in truth. It is true that the lighter we discovered must have come from a more recent vessel, but wrecks still occur even with a lighthouse there to guide them. "Put it out of mind, Lockwood. Dr. Dubois has been perfectly reasonable, and we have no right to question him."

    "Aye, Captain," Lockwood said, eyes downcast. "I'll prepare for docking.”
He has been acting rather strange since then. The minute we reached shore, he jumped onto the dock like he was being chased. The lighthouse keeper followed after him, clutching a burlap sack of the day’s finds.

    “Same time tomorrow, Captain?” He called up to me.

    I give him a sharp salute. “Aye, sir.”

    He nodded and turned to leave, but Lockwood stepped into his path. “Your coat, Doc.” There was something hard in Lockwood’s expression, which Carroll met tenfold as he snatched his raincoat from Lockwood’s hands. Without another word, he brushed past my first mate and vanished up the road. I can only wonder at the source of this animosity. I hope it won’t affect Lockwood’s performance in the next few weeks…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Hugo Williams
14 December 1838
Winds SW at 50Kph
Storming, 1ºC

    I had no intentions of waking so soon, not after such a long day yesterday. We had planned to go back out to the coast to continue our excavation, and I wanted to be well rested, especially with bad weather brewing on the horizon. However, any illusions of a restful night vanished when I felt Lockwood shake me awake.

    “Captain, we need to go.” In the low light of the gas lantern, I could see that he was already dressed, and all of our things were packed away by the guest room door.

    I was confused, to say the least. “We’re still under contract for another three weeks, what is the urgency?”

    Lockwood tossed me a bundle of clothes along with a small white envelope. “Read this, sir, and quickly. I found it on the Doc's coat pocket when he tossed it to me yesterday. I’ll prepare the old girl for departure.”

    I pulled the letter from the envelope, smoothing out the creases as I held it up to lamp.

    14 Sept. 1838

    Mr. James Edgar,

    I received your letter and am pleased to hear of your interest in my ventures. The plan has been working splendidly: a Spanish Galleon has just crashed off the coast, loaded to the brim with goods for the taking.

    I have taken your concerns about retrieval into account. You will be pleased to know that I have recently come into possession of a small, dredging vessel, the Agamemnon, by means of inheritance. As a Scottish steamship, it is far more maneuverable than anything else I’ve seen on the market. Though I mourn for the sudden loss of my dear friends who gave me such a thoughtful gift, I trust they will rest well knowing their ship is in good hands.

    I will inform you of any further updates.

    Dr. Carroll Dubois

    "'Just crashed'?" I exclaimed, "But he told us it was several decades old!"

    "Aye, Cap. He's been playing us for fools since we arrived. He's the one crashing the ships and skeletalizing their bones." Lockwood said. "Don't take too long up here, yeah? I don't like the look of those clouds." With the silent elegance of a cat, he vanished out the door.

    That slimy git of a Doctor had been planning our demise from the very beginning. I should have trusted Lockwood sooner. He’s waiting for me by now, I’m certain. I will update again once we’ve reached mainland France.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Capt. Williams
14 Dec. 1838

    Lockwood is dead.

    I am soon to follow, I fear.

    The storm had worsened considerably during the night. We couldn’t light the nautical lamp in the deluge, making the already poor visibility next to nothing, barring what glow the lighthouse provided. I knew that we had to be southeast bound, so I had angled us to run parallel with the light and ordered full steam ahead. This is a strategy I have used many times before, and one Lockwood was very familiar with. With only two crew members aboard, we lashed ourselves to the ship to hold on (as the loss of either would mean the death of the other); me to the helm, and Lockwood to the engine. The relentless pounding of the waves made it near impossible to hold a steady course, and I found myself struggling against the wheel to keep our orientation.

    As we fought our way through the squall, I noticed a silhouette pass in front of the lighthouse lens. There, staring out at us from the balcony, was Dr. Dubois. His coat billowed out behind him like a specter of death as he watched our frantic escape.

    I could almost see his manic smile as he reached towards the lantern and extinguished our last lifeline.

    In that terrible instant, we were cast into darkness. With no guide, I had no idea which way to go, or if our course remained stable. The swells grew in size, crashing over the sides of the Agamemnon with a violent fury. After several minutes of constant battering, I feel a jolt at the back of the ship; as though a heavy weight had been tossed overboard. It was only after our forward momentum had slowed to almost nothing that I realized I could no longer hear the deafening roar of the steam engine.

    “Lockwood?” I screamed over the rain, but received no answer. Ice cold dread flooded my heart as I looked to the aft of the ship. The boards to which the engine was attached had been ripped clean off the ship, along with the engine itself. Lockwood was nowhere to be seen: evidently dragged to his grave along with the engine.

    With no way to steer and no momentum to drive me, I have resorted to hiding beneath the helm. Just ahead, those terrible jagged spires of stone I had so feared stand vigil; my silent executioners, axes primed above the only thing I have ever truly loved.

    To the rest of my crew: I am sorry. May we meet again in Fiddler’s Green.

    Remember me.

    Remember me.

    Remember