In the Annals of Privateering, few names struck terror in the hearts of merchantmen and navigators like that of William Tobias FAULKNER. As his name describes, he would fall on his victims with the speed of a falling bird of prey, sails roaring like a pride of lions smelling blood on the wind.
His reign of terror in the East Indies came to a swift and sudden end as a small fleet of mercenary captains chased him from Jakarta through the Coral Sea in the late Spring of 1697. Unlike many a buccaneer captain pursued by a revenge fleet, Faulkner just vanished.
Legend tells that he had stolen the only existing map to the elusive Skull Island.
The Dutch claimed it but never landed there, because of the mist, hidden coral atolls, reefs and wicked currents that have claimed the most skilled of Flemish or Dutch sailors, save one Dutchman who rowed out alive with the ‘semblance of a map and fantastic stories in the 1650’s.
It is said that an ancient mythological race of one eyed giants, once inhabited the island. The race of Cyclops’ dug gold ore from the mountains deep in the lush interior of the ancient paradise. They carried their booty down causeways and stairs hewn from the living rock to be smelted in the fires of the lava. The same lava from the yawning maw of the Volcano that greeted shabby windtossed visitors like a face of fire.
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