In the Year of Our Lord one thousand five hundred and ninetyeight, five trader-warships left the Dutch city of Rotterdam as the first expeditionary force ever sent to ravage and plunder enemy Spanish and Portuguese possessions in the recently discovered New World.

The three-master is taut and proud -- the wind filling her canvas.

Protestant Holland has been at war with Catholic Spain for more 
than forty years, with Queen Elizabeth's England her only ally 
in the bitter and savage struggle.
The Spanish had discovered the vast riches of the Americas and,
legend had it, the even greater riches of mysterious Cathay.
Both Holland and England vere determined to share in this wealth. The problem was finding a way to get there.

Of the five Dutch ships, only one survived the violent and terrible
storms, the icy seas of the Cape of Good Hope, 
to breach the enemy secret of the Straits of Hagellan
and finally sail into American waters. 

The Erasmus.

There, pursued and outnumbered by Spanish fleets, her retreat 
cut off, this ship turned westwards and fled, alone, into the Unknown.

Now, almost two years outward bound from home, one hundred 
and thirtythree days from her last landfall in Chile.

Standing on the quarterdeck is JOHN BLACKTHORNE, 
an Englishman, 38, his hair tied back, his beard full,
Pilot-Major of the Erasmus. He balances easily on
the swaying deck, but his eyes are dark-rimmed, his
clothes torn and dirty and there is a great weariness on him.
He scans the horizon, not liking what he sees.

Darker, heavier clouds ominously low over the sea.

Blackthorne glances up wearily at the fevl sails. 
He is alone on the deck, except for the bow lookout, 
a wretched scarecrow of a man, who stares dumbly ahead.

The canvas ripples as the wind backs and shifts, spars whining.

The light is going fast now as the Erasmus lifts and plunges 
through the choppy sea, whipped by the gale. 
The ship rides under bare poles except for the storm tops'ls, 
lurching and shuddering as the storm carries her on.