May 15, 2005

HMS Father's Folly Voyage Log : Day Three afternoon

If you've not read the prologue, read it here.
If you've not read Day One, read it here.
If you've not read Day Two early, read it here.
If you've not read Day Two afternoon, read it here.
If you've not read Day Two early evening, read it here.
If you've not read Day Two late evening, read it here.
If you've not read Day Three morning, read it here.

Father's Folly
I must be a very wicked jack-dandy. Subsequent to our acts and offerings of obeisance to the Secret God the weather turned. The crew and I were overjoyed. Topside, we took the opportunity to scrub and swab and mend that which the days of neglect due to weather had made all the worse.

My Trimmer took the opportunity to stretch his arms and legs and monkey calls. Almost by necessity this meant that he swung away from me as fast as he could (and much faster than I could pursue). No amount of calling, cajoling, offering, or threatening could bring him down, until a promise of the stocks once we made landfall was made. That got his attention and (though short lived) attention for a moment.

My First Mate was incredibly helpful, even suggesting direction and approach at times, in ways that were both appropriate and showed a budding sea sense. She'll make a fine captain some day, that one.

My deck hand, the wee one, so overcome with joy at being top side and feeling the fun on her face decided to promptly soil herself. I can only account for this as excitement at our apparent turn of fortunes. The expression of joy and relief so profound upon her face. To tell the truth, I was a bit relieved to see (no, smell) that she had since the binding nature of our meager fare and the salt air of late had truly taken its toll on her small frame. The rest of the crew (myself included) shared her joy for quite a time.

Yet all this revelry was short lived as, going below decks to the galley to gather a nibble, I found that our cold-box was evidently overcome with joy as well since it had decided to spill its oil across the galley deck. This oil is important to keep the system cool, it is not olive oil for cooking, rather it is a black and sticky substance, the sight of which means trouble. And this is why I am convinced of my wickedness. The Secret God is taunting me, clearing the skies, giving us swift sailing yet causing the cold-box to belch forth it's black blood.

So I set about cleaning, the crew is topside, enjoying the feel of the breeze in their hair whilst I, on my knees, make another atonement for sins as yet, unknown.

This ship is cursed.

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