thirteenth of november
the winds have been fast and cold, and the rain has been constant for two days now. at one point this early morning it turned to snow, till it cleared up in the late afternoon. normally a storm will set me in good spirits, the energy that comes with a storm is incredible, the feeling of it pulsing through your body. its enough to spark a life in any sailor, but when the temperatures are cold, the winds slash like daggers and the rain is a thousand darts against the dartboard that is your neck. its a harsh time.
the number of crew lost during the squall was unbelievable. well....lost is the wrong word. out of commission, though a few have gone to davey jones. Paul has had his hand smashed to bits beneath a rope weight, poor soul, though the injury is minor, and he will be up and about in a few days. The master gunner sprained an ankle while trying to climb to the kings nest. needless to say he never made it up. dear kaitlin, the galley maid, had a fit due to the rocking of the boat, and was put into isolation until recovered. but the worst loss of all went to our first mate robin.
during such turmoil, the likes of which many of the young sailors strait off the Mediterranean trade routes have never seen the likes off, much panic ensued. Robin jumped to command the masts, as shed been raised on a boat, knew the rigging up and down. well during the course of the storm, robin slipped just as part of the sail broke loose. the ropes from the sail got tangled in her waist-length blond hair. i was panicked but helpless, having taken the helm after robin leaped to the rigging. robin however did not panic, but grabbed for her dagger, and with one short wince chopped the tangled hair away from her head. the look on her face was one of relief and mourning at the same time, for she lost almost 16 inches of hair in a matter of seconds, and her hair color fetches quite a price too. her angelic locks blew away with the torn sail, and with them her last ounce of regret it seemed.
today, after the storm in the late noon, we rigged and raised a replacement canvas and drew up new colors to fly. the flag of her majesty was lost, and all we had was the flag my father had flown under. The privateer flag of the Jolly Rodger. My fathers seal was that of a traditional scull and crossbones, though the scull on our banner has a lame eye and eye patch to cover it. many of the younger crew members were not aware they were sailing on a privateer ship. they believed they were on a trading mission. well that is partially the case, but once the payment is collected on the shipment of silk the ship is rightfully mine, and we sail under my colors, and we become pirates in the name of our queen, may she rule for many a year!
the past four days have brought us to the dead middle of the atlantic, our course now is to raise the fore and aft mast sails, and use oars on calm days. hopefully our pace will double and we will reach the west indies ahead of schedule.
the number of crew lost during the squall was unbelievable. well....lost is the wrong word. out of commission, though a few have gone to davey jones. Paul has had his hand smashed to bits beneath a rope weight, poor soul, though the injury is minor, and he will be up and about in a few days. The master gunner sprained an ankle while trying to climb to the kings nest. needless to say he never made it up. dear kaitlin, the galley maid, had a fit due to the rocking of the boat, and was put into isolation until recovered. but the worst loss of all went to our first mate robin.
during such turmoil, the likes of which many of the young sailors strait off the Mediterranean trade routes have never seen the likes off, much panic ensued. Robin jumped to command the masts, as shed been raised on a boat, knew the rigging up and down. well during the course of the storm, robin slipped just as part of the sail broke loose. the ropes from the sail got tangled in her waist-length blond hair. i was panicked but helpless, having taken the helm after robin leaped to the rigging. robin however did not panic, but grabbed for her dagger, and with one short wince chopped the tangled hair away from her head. the look on her face was one of relief and mourning at the same time, for she lost almost 16 inches of hair in a matter of seconds, and her hair color fetches quite a price too. her angelic locks blew away with the torn sail, and with them her last ounce of regret it seemed.
today, after the storm in the late noon, we rigged and raised a replacement canvas and drew up new colors to fly. the flag of her majesty was lost, and all we had was the flag my father had flown under. The privateer flag of the Jolly Rodger. My fathers seal was that of a traditional scull and crossbones, though the scull on our banner has a lame eye and eye patch to cover it. many of the younger crew members were not aware they were sailing on a privateer ship. they believed they were on a trading mission. well that is partially the case, but once the payment is collected on the shipment of silk the ship is rightfully mine, and we sail under my colors, and we become pirates in the name of our queen, may she rule for many a year!
the past four days have brought us to the dead middle of the atlantic, our course now is to raise the fore and aft mast sails, and use oars on calm days. hopefully our pace will double and we will reach the west indies ahead of schedule.