But Jack knew the presence of land brought its own set of problems. For the inexperienced pilot, a ship could run aground on a hidden sandbank or strike an underwater reef. Sudden changes in wind direction caused by a nearby land mass could capsize a boat. And he was already aware of the major influence that tidal currents played in this region. Jack wished he had a pen and ink, so he could note down his observations in the rutter. This seafaring knowledge could prove invaluable with time. He remembered his father always jotting down notes in the logbook wherever they sailed. It was second nature to him. Observe, write, remember, he would always say. Jack felt compelled to follow his father’s lead and tried to commit his observations to memory.

‘Bit of a seaman, are you?’ grunted the captain, noting the ease with which Jack rode the pitch and roll of the deck.

‘I … sailed with my father,’ replied Jack, hastily adjusting his hat to shield his face.

‘A fisherman, eh?’

‘No. A navigator.’

‘Hmm,’ said the captain, reassessing the pilgrim before him. ‘What’s our current bearing?’

‘North,’ replied Jack. ‘And before that, north-west.’

The captain smiled for the first time. ‘Take the tiller,’ he ordered.

Before Jack could protest, the captain let go and strode over to the guardrail. ‘Hold her steady!’ growled the captain as he relieved himself over the side.

Jack leant his weight against the long arm of the rudder. He could feel the rush of the sea vibrate up the wood and the power of the wind as it thrust the boat through the waves.

Turning back, the captain caught a glimpse of the wide grin on Jack’s face.

‘The Golden Tiger may not be much to look at, but she fair flies with the wind, eh?’ he said with pride.

Jack nodded, although he feared the ship would disintegrate in anything more than a strong breeze.

‘Why doesn’t the Golden Tiger carry a flag?’ Jack asked.

‘Pirate tolls are costly,’ replied the captain indignantly. ‘Besides, her looks make her an unappealing prize.’

Considering the sheer amount of cargo on-board, Jack wondered if the boat’s poor condition wasn’t more of an incentive to a pirate. But he sensed that the captain was more interested in profit than protection. Fortunately, there were no pirate ships in the vicinity. The forested slopes of Omishima’s mountain drew ever closer. Surveying its rocky shore, Jack couldn’t see any obvious harbour.

‘Bear north-west,’ ordered the captain, pointing to a gap between the headland and a nearby islet. ‘Beware that outcrop, though. There’s a vicious current that’ll drag you across if you’re not careful.’

Jack leant on the tiller until the Golden Tiger’s prow was aimed dead centre of the gap. The lead edge of the sail started to flap in the wind.