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09 September 1665
Samuel came awake with the piece of the wooden figurehead still clutched in
his arms, and the gritty taste of sand in his mouth. He shook himself and sat up,
spitting and choking.
Alive! he thought. He had not expected to be so.
He took in his surroundings — a beach, palm trees, a pleasant floral scent
on a tropical breeze.
An island.
Captain Blade was right about one thing, he thought. I am lucky.
He stood up, shaking with hunger and thirst, and spied a village just in from
the beach. He could smell food cooking. Children played among the huts.
Now several people were heading his way. They resembled the natives
Samuel had seen along the coastline around Portobelo. They reached him,
exclaimed over him, brought him water.
“I’m English,” he tried to explain, pointing to himself. “English.”
They did not understand, nor could he make sense of their strange words.
But the message of welcome was clear. The feeling that welled up inside him was
something close to joy.
Samuel Higgins had never belonged anywhere. But this was a place where a
young man could make a life for himself. Start a family.
Leave a legacy.