A
group of hunters were sailing by Ship Trap Island on Wednesday, August 6th, 2003. The night was thick and dark, "like moist black velvet," described Rainsford.
Rainsford was puffing on his favorite brier, when suddenly he heard a faint gunshot. Twice. Thrice. Curiosity leapt through his mind just like the bullets. He jumped onto the railing, but as he was doing so, a rope snatched the pipe from his mouth.
"As I reached for my pipe, I lost my balance as the warm sea devoured me in. I swam less than fifty feet and realized I had no hope of getting back. My partners were already in deep sle…
