The Black Marlin

The sea had been empty for twenty-seven days when Captain Elias Crowe stepped onto the deck of the Black Marlin and stared into the morning fog.

“Anything?” he called.

“Nothing but gray water,” shouted Finn, the young lookout high above them.

First Mate Mara Vale leaned against the rail. “If we don’t find land today, Captain, we’ll be drinking rainwater and arguing over the last three potatoes.”

“I already claimed the big one,” said Briggs, the ship’s cook.

“You claimed all three,” Mara replied.

From beside the mast, old navigator Tobias Reed unfolded a worn chart. “There should be an island somewhere west of us.”

“Should be?” asked Lena, the ship’s doctor.

Tobias frowned. “Maps are more suggestions than promises.”

“That is not comforting,” Lena said.

A sudden shout came from above.

“WAIT!”

Everyone looked up.

Finn leaned dangerously far from the lookout platform. “I SEE SOMETHING!”

Gunner Rosa Flint rushed to the bow. “Another ship?”

“No!”

“A storm?” asked Briggs.

“No!”

Cabin boy Oliver Pike jumped onto a barrel. “A sea monster?”

Finn laughed. “LAND!”

For one silent second, nobody moved.

Then Mara grabbed the spyglass from the captain’s hand.

“He’s right,” she whispered. “Palm trees. Cliffs. There’s an island out there.”

Rosa raised both fists. “LAND!”

Briggs threw his hat into the air. “I’m cooking the potatoes!”

“You are absolutely not cooking my potato,” Oliver said.

Captain Crowe finally smiled.

“Turn us west.”

Tobias folded his map proudly. “Exactly where I said it would be.”

Lena stared at him. “You pointed east.”

Tobias quietly turned the map around.

As the Black Marlin broke through the fog, a bright green island appeared beneath the rising sun.

Oliver grinned. “Captain, do you think there’s treasure?”

Crowe looked toward the unexplored shore.

“There’s only one way to find out.”