Awaking from the bottom of the apple barrel.... I grab an apple and me fiddle, at the morning shifts bell.
Tis my day for the mast watch. A rest for my hands and time to retune the strings with a gob of cat gut from the galley.
As we toe the line, the officers review passes and I grab another apple to stuff in me shirt.
The bell chimes to stations and p the mast I go passing the reafers to the nest. The last here left a half full pot of
puke, which I quickly stamp straw into to clear the stench. I stretch me eyes to the horizon and call "all's well" to the men below.
I strain my neck over the edge and see young william nearby and ask him to send up a fresh bucket when he can. With a nod and a
wave he finishes his check of the stay guides and scurries down to the next to be mended.
Tis a fine ship, and a crew deserving more than fate has dealt her lately. With no sails in sight, No prospect for pay we mutter and
gripe of fickle fortune but never lose hope. For Pirates we be heart and soul.
I check the fiddle and her string ring true. While watching the surrounding sea I begin to play Cheron's lament, for it seems a somber sea
this morning and less like the Jigs and reels of last evening. Tis a good mornings beginning and a feeling of fortunes turning comes over me.
I only hope it is well and not ill that will visit this ship as we cruise the SE swell in the Caribbean shoals north of Tortuga.
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toothless McGee member of the Corsairs of Douglas County (Oregon) a lover, bard, warrior, and adventurer.
