Not for the squeamish of stomach...

This was the first time something bad has happened and it's MY fault. Me and my crew landed on this island overflowing with goats. YUM! Goat curry! I'll post that recipe sometime. I looked across the bay and saw a desert island. I wanted to see what's on the island, so I asked some crew members to join me. I truly regret this decision. My pride is bruised greatly. We sailed to the island and spotted a cave. I mustered my men and we entered the cave and had lunch. Soon, a great brute came in, lugging logs and herding goats. With a ginormous rock he closed the entrance and promptly milked his ewes. He then stoked up the fire and noticed us. After our introduction he scorned us, grabbed two of my men and promptly smashed their brains out onto the floor in a gruesome feast. We had to get out somehow. He wouldn't let us out the next day, so it gave me time to plot. In the end, we were saved by a stick and wine. We got him drunk, then pulled out a six foot long stake we had made earlier today. Working quickly, we heated up the point, then thrust the stake into his eye. "In a smithy one sees a white hot axehead or an adze plunged and wrung in a coold tub, screeching steam--the way they make soft iron hale and hard-just so that eyeball hissed around the spike. (IX, 435-429)" Huh, my trick! We escaped, and alls well that ends well, right?