A city laid waste...too many conquering armies have
come into me and carried off my treasures as spoils of
I shouldn' t think this way. For the first time in an
eternity, I'm away from El Ferrol, once again aboard
the Indy. Freedom has been restored to me.
Friendship in its purest form has been given to me.
Perhaps, if the Fates are kind, other things that I
have lost, and things I've never had, will become part
of my life.
But how do I begin to put myself back together?
So much lost...Is this where I should begin, with my
sadness over what has been stolen from me? Trust,
peace of mind and soul, feeling secure, hope,
happiness, these were my treasures. One by one they
disappeared, and I was powerless to stop the
Why was I created by God to be helpless? Why should
it be that any man who wishes can have power over me?
Simpson...One of Hell's chief minions had to be
visited upon me. I was made to suffer at his hands,
time and again. No matter what refuge I would use to
escape him, the bastard always knew how to break
through...And what acts he inflicted upon me! Yet
none of it had to happen! Couldn't someone have
spoken on my behalf? I fully understand the other
midshipmen were afraid of him but...they knew what he
did to me, especially at night! How could they turn
eyes and ears away from my cries?
Has anyone ever noticed my anguish? It seems not even
the angels heard my pleas to end the torture. If the
abuse and fits were meant to teach me a lesson...what
was I supposed to learn? Surely God doesn't intend
one of his children to suffer and learn only how it
feels to be alone, devoid of hope, and bitter at one's
lot in life?
Perhaps it would have been better if I had not let
Horatio persuade me to live. The future ahead of me
seems not to held much promise. I will continue to
have fits, I will never succeed at any endeavor I
attempt...Any friendships I may have will be based
upon pity. Yes, even Horatio is kind to me only
because of sorrow at my state. Did I really believe
what he told me in the sickroom? It is what I've
always wanted to hear; that I matter, that someone
needs my contributions to a group. Never once has he
ever treated me with anything other than kindness and
respect. Surely I must be wrong about him!
But why should someone so gifted feel a genuine
friendship for someone so pathetic?
Do I still want to die? Unlike in prison, I now have
the means to end my life. A razor...or I could simply
go over the side. Dr. Hepplewhite's remedies might
provide my ending...though I fear this method would be
far too painful. Would I have the courage to use my
sword for this illicit purpose? Am I willing enough
to leave this mortal coil to put a pistol to my temple
I have come too far...I will not die by my own hand!
For once, there is a chance to make myself into
something more than what I am. No matter what ordeals
have descended upon me, I always held on...and now
more than ever that is what I must do. Simpson
destroyed me once, yet I had enough strength to
continue living. My prison experiences nearly drove me
mad, but still I tried to escape...and it didn't take
much persuasion from Horatio to drink that cup of
So yes, I may be like a city in ruins...and my
treasures have been spirited away. But like a wrecked
city, there is still a deep foundation upon which to
rebuild. As for my treasures...I will discover new
ones, which will be more lovely and shine brighter
than those I've lost...
Anything is possible after all.