Lost Voyage by Chris Tucker Page A

path of the blast and was instantly decimated, covering any trace of the town and its people. The mudflows altered the flow of the river from the lake and the river was cut off entirely. Now, it only runs from just west of here to the Pacific.”
    “And what of this old port log?” Mercer asked. “How did it come to be in your possession?”
    Mendoza sat there, sipping his coffee and continued on with the story. “My great, great grandmother came upon it some time after the volcano erupted. There were very few remains of the town, and what was left of it was scattered throughout the forest in bits and pieces. As people scoured for any trace of what was left, they were met with the unfortunate realization that the tiny community was gone forever. They decided to rebuild a new town a few miles downstream to where it is now. My ancestors believed the town must live on and not be forgotten with all those souls that were lost there on that fateful day.”
    “A very noble thing to do,” said Mercer.
    “Take a look at the last entry in the journal,” Mendoza said eagerly.
    Mercer turned the pages very carefully as not to damage them. He was surprised to see the book was in such good shape considering it was worn and battered. He scrolled through a few of the entries and found nothing overly exciting other than just routine entries of ships entering and departing port. He came to the last two entries in the log as suggested by Mendoza and glanced at them with peculiar interest. It read:
    12 September, 1857, 22:20 Hours
    S.S. Alyssa Marie, a U.S. mail steamship, pulled into port this evening. Captain Thomas Mackie, Commanding Officer, has informed me the storm was too powerful for him to continue. He has made provisions for his ship and passengers to stay in port until storm subsides.
    13 September, 1857, 16:30 Hours
    Very large earthquake early this morning. Mt. Momotombo has been smoking with greater intensity throughout the day. Eruption seems imminent. Captain Mackie has offered us safe passage on his vessel. We will be departing within the hour.
    After waiting a minute to ensure Mercer had read the entry, Mendoza offered, “Now do you see how valuable this book is? This could very well be the last known documentation of any event that took place in the town before the volcano erupted. There was also speculation that the ship might not have made it out in time since the harbor master was never seen or heard from again.”
    Mercer was intrigued. “Very interesting, Mr. Mendoza. Very interesting indeed.”
    The men talked for a little while longer before deciding it was time to head back. There was a stiff breeze in the air, but it provided little comfort from the sun’s rays glaring down on the Nicaraguan jungle. As Mercer and Vigil stepped out of the cramped living quarters, they exchanged pleasantries and thanked the old gentleman for his time and hospitality.
    Mercer was intrigued by what he had read in the port log and was curious about what had happened to the U.S. mail steamship that was forced to dock in the town.
    They took a few minutes to take in their surroundings and were about to head back when Vigil asked, “You up for a little hike to the lake?”
    “Six miles is more than a little hike. I say we head back to town and get the truck. We can go to the lake from there. Besides, I want to make a call and do a little checking into this boat that may have disappeared.”
    Vigil agreed, “Yea, a truck ride sounds better than walking in this heat anyway. What do you think happened to the ship?”
    Mercer thought for a moment. “I don’t know. But whatever it was, the answer to that question might be lying out there, somewhere under a pile of rock and dirt and inside a ship that hasn’t been seen in over a hundred years.”

7
     
    Dallas Marks was sitting in his study overlooking Eagle Harbor. From his vantage point, he could see the Seattle skyline on the other side of Puget Sound. His home on Bainbridge