The scent of salt parched by the sun, the fishy smell of rotting seaweed, and the acrid stench of gunpowder wafting from a flintlock pistol that could go off at any moment.

This was the true air of the Caribbean faced by those who survived the tail end of the glorious Age of Discovery. Under the tropical sun beating down as if to scorch the skin, sun-blackened men risked their lives to chase myths and treasures that might lie beyond the horizon, throwing themselves into this merciless sea.

Neither the red uniforms of the Navy, representing law and order, nor the massive anchors of the East India Company, expanding its power as if to swallow the entire ocean, could calm the rough waves. Sea superstitions sometimes became bloody realities, and even in moments of raging storms, the eyes of the men gripping the helm never went out.

As long as the horizon stretches endlessly, the romance of the sea will never sink.

Step aboard, into that romance.