White Harbor itself was a long, narrow island shaped like a scimitar with an exaggerated curve. Viewed from far out at sea, its spine faced west into the prevailing trade winds, while its blade pointed east.
The main town was crowded into the sheltered bay on the eastern side. Houses climbed in overlapping tiers along the coast, packed tightly together from the low wooden buildings of the dock district to the white stone walls of the governor's residence on the hilltop.
The bay's deepwater channel was half enclosed by a gigantic natural rock bridge shaped like an arch. Countless years of sea winds and tides had eroded the rock walls on either side, leaving their surfaces riddled with honeycomb hollows and patches of dark brown moss.
Any ship wishing to enter port had to pass beneath this rock bridge. No other route was deep enough to avoid the shoals and submerged reefs.
With no sailors left aboard, and De Leon needing to finish the ship's log and tally the damage sustained during the Sahuagin attack and the internal fighting, the Hispaniola's final stretch toward shore was exceptionally slow.
The previous evening, the first and second mates had worked together to lower the mainsail, leaving only a small triangular sail to hold their course as the ship drifted slowly with the current.
Not until noon the following day did the lookout at the masthead spot flag signals from White Harbor, indicating that the pilot was in position and ready to guide them into port.
As the ship approached the outer side of the rock bridge, two longboats rowed out from the harbor. Each carried sixteen oarsmen, their bare upper bodies gleaming with oily sweat in the afternoon sun.
Towlines were thrown from the longboats onto the Hispaniola's bow. The sailors secured