I was always an ambitious man at heart, having been through everything I did for the last couple years, my heart had grew bitter, but remained nevertheless ambitious. So I had made up my mind to return to Scotland a rich man by the hook or the crook.
Now, to the northwest of Fort Royal lay a mountain towering over a river and a flat grassy plain (Today Cherry Hill). One day, while rowing around to the beach on the other side, I looked up and saw the entrance to a cave. However, there was no sign of any tracks that led to it. One would have to suspend down a rope to access it. At that moment, lost in thought, the boat struck a reef, jolting me out of my observation.
I had forgotten that area had a large reef that jutted out far into the sea and other areas were very shallow. Somehow, I managed to pull free of the reef and continue on to the beach.
That night, as I lay in bed, I reflected over the day's events and was suddenly stricken by a devious plan. I would lure ships at night onto the reef or onto the sand banks. On their destruction, I would loot them as everyone would be scrambling for shore.
A month later, I heard that a merchant ship would be docking later that night to pick up sugar and to drop off supplies and money. I had already prepared two large lanterns with mirrors to amplify the light, for oil lanterns produce a low glow.
Later that night, I, along with two trusted Negroes, made our way under the cover of darkness to the plateau under the cave entrance. I then carefully went over the instructions on how I wanted them to carry out my plans.
They were to walk back and forth across the ridge with the lanterns as soon as the ship’s light was spotted on the horizon. This would give the ship's captain the false sense that other ships were moored safely there and were just bobbing up and down with the ebb and flow of the tide leading them to approach.
I watched patiently as the ship drew closer; my heart was thumping so hard in my chest that I thought I was going to faint. The ship's light got brighter and brighter until there was a sudden thunderous cracking sound that echoed against the mountain shattering the peace of the night. Then came the screams of panic on board. This was our cue to head down to my little boat and row out to the distressed ship.
As we drew close, I could see men swimming to the shore. Drawing alongside the ship, I could see the men frantically lowering the lifeboats. I yelled loudly over the commotion.
“Ahoy there! No need to panic; the water is shallow and the town is to your starboard. The townspeople are now making preparations to come to your aid.”
The captain, upon hearing such good news, ordered the men to disembark in an orderly fashion. I sent one of the Negroes who had accompanied me to show the captain and his crew to town, while I volunteered to stay with the ship until the soldiers came to help.
The men, after being at sea so long, and, the captain in distress, quickly agreed. As soon as they pulled off, I immediately went searching. I found a good amount of Spanish gold coins, silver coins, gunpowder, gin, whiskey, cheese, and clothes.
We loaded the boat and headed to shore. There, we climbed the mount where the Negro who had gone on with the captain into town was awaiting us. Together the three of us loaded everything into the cave, knowing that no one would ever find it.
In return, I promised the Negroes I would buy their freedom and lessen their work on the plantation; this, of course, was a promise I had no intention of keeping, except in lessening their toll until I had no further use of them.
The next day, the town was up rocked by the news of the disaster. There was a big salvage operation going on. The captain and his men kept swearing that they saw lights of ships moored there. That was why they headed there. Everyone in town knew that there were no houses there, so there could be no lights. Then there was talk about the man in the rowboat who sent them with a Negro to the town, who vanished on the outskirts, along with the white man who was supposed to be guarding the ship.
Then there was the lost money and other items. The story became more bizarre by the day. The consensus around town was that the captain and his crew were drunk and ran aground. Then they stole the money and buried it somewhere around the town.
Three months later, the story soon died down and life returned to normal. Then I heard the news that another ship was expected in two days with plenty of coin, for it had to buy sugar from La Grenade, Barbados and two other islands.
I was so excited. This was to be my last evil act, then I would repent at confession back in Scotland, as a rich man, of course.
The three of us took up our positions and waited, but no ship turned up. Three nights of vigilance passed and we were about to give up when a light finally appeared on the black horizon. The previous plan was quickly executed and the same results was attained; well, not quite.
When the Negro and I made it to the top of the cave, there was an ambush awaiting us. We were surrounded by six soldiers with muskets and pistols trained on us.
It was later that I found out that a solider was stationed above the cave on orders of the governor to look out for any foul play whenever a ship was due. So he had observed us on the first night of our vigilance and had reported to his captain, who reported to the governor, and with that, a trap was set. Apparently, the governor, when he was stationed on another island in the northern West Indies, had witnessed a similar ploy, so he was the only one that had believed the captain's story.
Two soldiers had stayed put on the mountaintop to see which direction we would take after robbing the ship. The other soldiers intercepted the Negro on the outskirts of town before he could escape. With a sound beating and the threat of death, he quickly gave us up.
The gold and silver was recovered on the spot. The two Negroes were hanged before the sun could rise. I was taken to the very fort I help build and was interrogated and beaten to give up the loot of the first robbery. I cried my innocence over and over.
Unknown to me at the time was that the Negroes had given up the cave location and that it was searched and dug up, but of course, nothing was found because I had removed it a month prior. I trust no one.
So the evil governor had them cast a block of concrete into the cave floor and, two weeks later, I was shackled to it. Nor was I given a court trial; I was to be shackled in the cave with the three oil lamps that I used to wreck the ships, three loafs of bread, and a jug of water. I was provided with ink and paper and I was to remain there until I gave up the gold.
Now you know what brought about my current predicament. I know if I give up the gold, I will still be executed, so I have made up my mind to die on my terms, a wealthy man with spending power but without the liberty to do so, which I feel to be very ironic under such duress.
It is these thoughts I ponder daily. You see, when a man stares death in its face, the illusions of life fade away, and the truth rubs him boldly.
Last night, I saw a bat fly into the cave. It flapped around for a while and then darted out into the darkness.
This left me wondering, is the life of man similar to what I witnessed? We come from an unknown place, flap around in the light/life, and then fade into the dark night, back into the unknown, no one ever knowing where we came from or where we were going.
I thought about how I was born in such a faraway place to have come thousands of miles to die in a cave. Never in my wildest of imaginations would I have thought of that. Is destiny independent of man's will and action? So what is the point of trying to plan one's life if it is only to be scorned and mocked by the gods?
The road we choose echoes with promise, but sooner or later, we begin to doubt, then we look for easier angles, which take us into web after web of illusions. We begin to daydream our way through life, mistaking it for thinking.
Was the evil I did for my selfish aims worth the cost? Is it worthwhile to gain the world and lose my soul?
As I look deeper into my mind, I notice that there are many minds that make up man. Most of those minds seldom agree with each other. Take mine, for example.
I promised to only rob the ship, get the money, and leave for Scotland, and I really meant it.
Then, when that gold fell into my hands, its cold, metallic surface sparked latent desires, which burned like a wildfire with unbridled freedom, stirring up greedy and covetousness. It said to hell with what you promised back then, this is now and I am in charge. I helplessly followed.
Now I know better. I should have used my willpower to overcome the temptation, but willpower is something to exercise in youth, for it is a hard force to cultivate later on in life.
Ten days have since passed from the last time I wrote. Today is September 3rd 1658. I am beginning to see an ominous pattern with the 3rd of September dates.
There was a huge storm and I have not had any food and water. I am weak and not sure how much longer I can go on, so today, I will disclose the location of where the gold is buried. I hope that in doing so, I find reprieve for my soul and free myself from the heavy yoke of guilt.
The gold is buried under a huge boulder with the name Scotland etched into it. To find it, round the cove of the cave, oar pass the long beach, at the end round the cliff to a little beach that sits between another long beach on its right.
Be very sure to line the boat dead center of the beach, then walk…
Jack O' Conner never got to finish the instruction to the treasure. His body was found a week later, decomposing. They buried him in the cave along with the three lanterns and one of the gravediggers wrote on the back wall of the cave, using it as a headstone, the following....
Herein lies the body of old Jack O’ Lantern, now gone on to light the devil's way.
Why is there always tragedy at the end of great adventure? I pondered at the same time downing a shot glass of brandy. As the liquid burned and warmed its way down my esophagus, reaching my stomach, and changing sensations to one of a soothing and calming effect that left me in a somewhat mellow disposition.
I thanked my host and left for home in his carriage. That night, I dreamt of myself as a pirate plundering towns and ravishing the women. It was so realistic that I awoke sometime before dawn with my cock throbbing with blood and stiff as a cannon.
I had awoken just as I was about to shoot my hot juice into the banker's wife, which happened to be the president of the bank I was working at.
How did she end up in my dreams? I really don't know; dreams have a way of not making sense. However, my cock was throbbing and lustful thoughts of ravishing her body saturated me. I rolled over onto my back and my cock stood proudly at attention as a sentry at the governor’s house.
I started to caress it, using both hands. As my hands roamed its rugged contours, I moaned softly. I moved one hand to pinch my nipple, which had become so taut under stimulation that it felt like a pebble. My breathing began to get labored as I stroked my pole up and down.
I pictured her dainty little mouth stretched to its limit, trying to contain my manhood. Her pale milky breast rose and fell as waves on the beach.
“Aaaah, ooooh, suck meeee, ooohhhh, yes, don't stop,” I moaned loudly.
Now both hands were needed to prime that sixteen-inch cannon before it could fire. I started to rotate my hips as one of the black young girls at our estate had taught me; this made me even hotter.
“Woooo, ooooh, aaaah, I want to cummmm.”
I then thought about the president of the bank coming home to catch us; he was turning the doorknob as his wife begged me to fill her mouth with my sweet juice. The idea of getting caught and the trouble that would befall us triggered the explosion.
“Aaaaaaaah, I am cummmmming, ooooooh aaaaaah,” I screamed while twisting and bucking, my ass lifted off the bed and my hot cannonball of juice shooting forcefully out and hitting the partition at the back of my head with three thud-like sounds.
With the last squeeze and blast, I lowered my ass back to the bed and rolled over to my side, pulling the sheet up. My toes cold as ice and curled down, I could feel the periodic spasms rocking me. My eyes were still tightly closed; now darkness returned slowly, for on ejaculation, I had seen a bright blinding light and I swore I had entered the pearly gates of heaven.
The rest of the year would pass without incident or anything exciting to journal, until three days before New Year's Day of 1839 when I received an invitation to attend a masked ball at the banker's house.
Arriving just as the sun was setting, I was greeted by the butler, who directed me through an enormous archway that opened into a grand ballroom. Everyone turned to glance at my entrance for a second or two and returned to their conversations.
I could feel the festive spirit in the air; there was lots of laughter and clinking of crystal glasses against each other. I walked over to the refreshments area and was quickly poured a generous shot of brandy.
I then stood to the side, sipping my drink and trying to identify the people behind the masks by their walk, laughter, and speech. Within an hour or so, I had successfully identified about ninety-five percent of the people in the room.
I myself was wearing a simple black velvet mask that covered around my eyes, cheeks, and came to rest on the bridge of my nose.
The banker would give a little speech about thanking God for health and strength and for blessing our little island with prosperity and congratulations to Queen Victoria on her coronation and that it was the most attended coronation ever. There were estimates that over half a million people lined the streets to see the new queen. This was only possible because of the new railways. May God save the queen.
The band struck up and soon we all were dancing away. I felt the tensions and stress of the year dissolve into the collective merriment.
I took a break to go relieve myself when I bumped into the banker's wife. She was attired in a blue silk plain weave dress with silk embroidery, glazed cotton weave lining, with cotton plain weave gauze sleeve lining and metal hooks.
Quickly stepping back, I apologized for my clumsiness. She laughed and replied, “Maybe I should punish you for your clumsiness.”
It was then I realized that she was not wearing her mask, that it hung loosely in her hand.
Then I felt it. That subtle pull from her eyes, the unmistakable quiver of her lips, and the sudden heaving of her bosom with the change of her breathing.
It must have been the brandy – it had to be. I suddenly pulled her into me and kissed her. She hesitated for a second or two and then surrendered her lips to my assault. Then the tables switched and she became the aggressor. Her tongue searched each millimeter of my mouth; she was like a ravenous animal who had cornered its prey.
Time stood still while everything became a blur. Then the kiss ended. Taking my hand, she pulled me into the guest room and locked the door. Then began the stripping of our clothing until we both stood naked.... and I heard her gasp.
"Oh Christ!"
Her eyes were glued to my stiff manhood that used all the available blood in my body. Then she took my hand and led me to the bed, where she sat on the edge.
Taking my cock in both hands, she stroked it back and forth while looking up at my face. "Take it off; I want to see your face."
I then realized that I still had on my mask. She did not have to ask twice. I ripped it off.
A huge smile lit up her face, temporarily dulling her lust-filled eyes. Then it passed as quickly as a West Indian rainstorm.
I then watched as she put her wet mouth on it. Her mouth was so warm and wet that my cock gave a quick throb.
With one hand stroking back and forth, she used her other hand to caress my ass and to pull me closer. I could feel the back of her throat; my ass was clenched tight and I kept going up and down on my toes. My hands caresses her beautiful face.
“Mmmmmmh, oh God, oooooh, aaaaaah,” I cried.
Realizing that I was nearing my point of explosion, I quickly pulled out of her mouth. She protested, but I silenced it with my tongue in her mouth again.
Pressing her flat on the bed, I continued to kiss and caress her body. Her
skin felt so smooth, as I stroked her from her breast to her knees.
Lowering my mouth, I kissed her neckline all the way to her earlobes. That drove her crazy. Her ass lifted off the bed and she grabbed my stiff cock and squeezed hard.
My mouth soon arrived at her voluptuous breast, which rose and fell as the swells in a tide. Cupping each one individually between my palms, I licked her taut nipple slowly in a clockwise manner, then, closing my lips around it, I sucked softly while raising my head until it popped out of my mouth. Then I repeated this over and over at least six times before I moved over to the other one.
By the time I got to the other breast, she was trying to angle her body so that she could fill her craving pussy with my stiff cock. However, I would let her get it to her entrance and pull away, and she would moan out loudly in frustration.
Spreading her legs wide, I took my tongue and kissed the insides of her thighs. With each kiss they trembled. She grabbed my head, trying to pull my mouth to her pussy, and when I resisted, tried lowering it to my mouth, but I ignored it.
I kissed all the way down to the insides of her knees and all the way up to her ass. Then I repeated on the other leg.
"Why, huh, huh, why are you, huh, doing this to me, please stop; I can't take any more," she cried loudly.
I then decided to ease her pain. I dipped my tongue into her dripping wet pussy. Then I unfolded her petals and, taking the broad side of my tongue, I stroked the length and breadth of the contours. Her hips started thrusting up and down. I then dipped my tongue back into her wet hole and swirled it around and around. I could feel the tremors in her stomach building.
Then I spread her lips open and revealed the seat of her pleasure throne. Kissing it with my wet lips, I slowly circled it with the tip of my tongue. She held my head tightly with one hand and, with the other, pinched her nipples.
The Mandingo Diaries: A Case of Taboo Page 5