This journal belongs in the possession of one Jenn Harmon, former cabin boy to the ships Peacock and Ayesha. If it is ever found outside of her possession, do not show it to anyone. The events contained in the following pages are only for certain eyes and should never be revealed to anyone else.

- J.H.

"Land ho!" came the shout from the crow's nest aboard the Peacock. With the cry of our destination being announced, the crew suddenly came alive with anticipation of dry land and exploration of new territory. We had been sailing for weeks en route to the islands on a mission to trade with the natives and possibly bring new, yet valuable, goods to the mainland.

I ran about taking care of my chores in anticipation of my adventures that were just within reach. I had dreamed about these islands every night as we sailed closer and closer to the final destination.

While completing my daily chores, I heard the captain's voice ring out loud and clear. "Cabin boy!" Dropping my broom, I ran to the side of Captain James Marksby, who was standing at the helm of the ship. "Yes'ir!" I proudly said, as I saluted him.

Turning to look at me, Captain Marksby held a stern look on his handsome features. A man of middle-age, the captain had started his sailing career as a cabin boy when he was barely ten years old; continuing up through the ranks, he had finally gained command of his own ship right after his twenty-third birthday. I felt a special connection with the captain, even regarding him as a father, a brother, and a friend.

True enough, I had some family, but since I lost both of my parents when I was no more than three, I had been raised by an aunt in Liverpool. She made no bones about the fact she thought of me as one of her own and raised me the best she knew.

Yet…I never felt like I belonged with her. I never felt like I belonged anywhere. I knew I would never be able to be a woman of society, having to attend functions and wear fancy clothes. I could never function in the world as a woman. I just could not. The spirit of adventure ran too deeply in my veins for me to try and be something in society's eyes.

My father, William, had been a lawyer in London and was well-known throughout the city as being fair and just; he had dreamed of practicing law since he was a young boy, so I know he would understand my lifelong passion for adventure. I had dreamed of seeing the world since I was a child, although now I am not old by any means (I am a strong thirteen years as of this writing).

Since he and my mother died when I was but three years old, I do not remember what their faces looked like.

Or how they sounded.

Their touch…I do not remember it at all.

I wish I could remember my mother. I am sure she was beautiful. I have even created an image of my parents in my mind since no portraits exist of them; my aunt once told me that my mother (my aunt was my father's elder sister) was a raven haired beauty with the clearest violet eyes she had ever seen.

Of course, Aunt Felicity would talk about my father more and even though she did, she did not dislike my mother; she simply had more stories about my father. She would often tell me stories about his childhood and how he loved playing a captain of a sailing vessel, as she called it. He made her tie up the rigging many times or he would tie her to the mast (which was a large tree in the yard) or make her pretend to be a savage of some sort. Those stories always made me laugh with delight. Even now, I feel a strong connection with my father because of hearing Aunt Felicity's childhood memories.

I have often wondered what they would think if they knew their only child had sailed with pirates…