Father Malone: The celebration tonight is a travesty. Sandy Fadel: You're grandfather had a way with words. Blake's gold will be recovered tomorrow, but may the Lord forgive us for what we've done." I couldn't read any further. We were aided by an unearthly fog that rolled in, as if Heaven sent, although God had no part in our actions tonight. Blake followed our false fire on shore and the ship broke apart on the rocks off Spivey Point. I tell myself that Blake's gold will allow the church to be built, and our small settlement to become a township, but it does not soothe the horror that I feel being an accomplice to murder.
From midnight until one o'clock, we planned the death of Blake and his comrades. I must balance my feelings of mercy and compassion for this poor man, with my revulsion at the thought of a leper colony only a mile distant. He has purchased a clipper ship called the Elizabeth Dane with part of his fortune and asks only for permission to settle here. December 11: Blake's proposition is simple, He wants to move off Tanzier Island and re-locate the entire colony just north of here. He is a rich man with a cursed condition, but this does not prevent him from trying to better his situation and that of his comrades at the colony. He stood in the shadows to prevent me from getting a clear look at his face. Sandy Fadel: Do we take that as a "no"?įather Malone: "December 9: Met with Blake this evening for the first time. Kathy Williams: Are you going to give the benediction tonight, father? Father Malone: Antonio Bay has a curse on it. 12:00, the 21st of April.ĭialogue Kathy Williams: Sandy, you're the only person I know who can make "Yes, Ma'am" sound like "screw you".
But it is told by the fishermen, and their fathers and grandfathers, that when the fog returns to Antonio Bay, the men at the bottom of the sea, out in the water by Spivey Point will rise up and search for the campfire that led them to their dark, icy death. And above, as suddenly as it come, the fog lifted, receded back across the ocean and never came again. At the bottom of the sea, lay the Elizabeth Dane, with her crew, their lungs filled with salt water, their eyes open, staring to the darkness. The wreckage sank, with all the men aboard. The ship crashed against the rocks, the hull sheared in two, masts snapped like a twig.
By God, it was a fire burning on the shore, strong enough to penetrate the swirling mist. For a moment, they could see nothing, not a foot in front of them. Suddenly, out of the night, the fog rolled in. One hundred years ago on the 21st of April, out in the waters around Spivey Point, a small clipper ship drew toward land. In five minutes, it will be the 21st of April. One more story before 12:00, just to keep us warm. To the ships at sea who can hear my voice, look across the water, into the darkness. But if this has been anything but a nightmare, and if we don't wake up to find ourselves safe in our beds, it could come again. Something came out of the fog and tried to destroy us. I don't know what happened to Antonio Bay tonight.