earth for a single snort of Brodie's watered-down Cape brandy.
I'm a drinking man by nature, I know that now. From the very first taste of the hot whisky coming drop and trickle from the copper tubing of Sam Slit's still, I knew I'd found me true love. I did not come to drunkenness from despair, though I haven't said this to Hawk, what believes I am become a drunkard because of what happened to me in the wilderness. And without the whisky jug to fuel me through the bitter cold and rain of them days, the loneliness and the mongrels, I'd have surely died. But I sees it clear now - if I'd been born a prince, I'd still be a drunk. Now I'm just plain thirsty! Desperate for a drop!
I got a plan, though. I been collectin' raisins from the plum duff. On good days, there be as many as twenty a serve, and in not too many weeks I'll have a handy store. I'm gunna dry them and soak them, and then when I'm on galley duty, which is often enough, steal some of the yeast used for baking the skipper's bread to add to 'em. Sam Slit be of value to me at last! There were nothin' that bastard did not know about the fermenting of grog and I reckon a tolerable good brandy will come from these raisins yet. Yours truly shalt not be denied his grog by these God-gobbing Yankees.
Hawk is much pleased that his little brother eats more now. He is patient and tender to me when I sulks, dreaming of the drink. In our spare moments, he teaches me to read and write again from books and a slate he brought aboard with him.
Hawk is a fine teacher to me. When he hears something it remains in his noggin forever after. He can remember each and every word spoken by Captain O'Hara when he pronounced sentence on Billy Lanney. He's made me a copy of the captain's sermon on his slate as a means of me learning to write again, which is why I can now recall it word for word. Hawk reckons I must write to be educated and read so me mind might be alive to the world beyond the inside of a brandy bottle. The fact that I don't want to see nothin' but the insides o' that bottle don't worry him! Anyways, Hawk likes to teach me and I likes to learn from him. And on board ship I finds out something else - I can be a great help to him too, translating his hand language to the other men, though they's picking up a bit of it anyways.
Because Hawk is dumb, there's many reckon him deaf as well, and they shouts and hollers at him, so that I needs remind 'em he can hear as well as they. But being mute, he can't much talk to no one in his language save me, so we've asked to work together. To me great sadness, though, we ain't allowed to man a whaleboat together because I were declared too small to row with the strength of t'other men. I fights back on this, as I've rowed since childhood and also on the Gordon and the Franklin when I were in the wilderness. But the fourth mate, Mr Seb Rawlings, takes one look at yours truly and that be bloody that! 'No whaleboat for you, lad,' he says right off.
But with Hawk it were different. A week out to sea, Seb Rawlings set a whaleboat over the side with a crew including Hawk. This were to see if Hawk's amazing size and strength would serve him well with the harpoon.
All of us what watched from the deck could see that Hawk were quite steady in the boat with the twenty-five-pound harpoon held above his shoulder, even though the sea were less than calm. A barrel with a white circle painted on it were cast from the whaleboat with a light line attached, and allowed to drift away, bobbing up and down amongst the waves. Hawk were then told to aim the harpoon at the barrel while standing full upright in the bow.
At first the crew laughed as Hawk launched the harpoon and were thrown on his back again and again, and once even up-ended into the sea. But Hawk don't give up easy and with a little instruction, he soon improved.
By Hawk's fifth outing, we watched as he threw the harpoon a good distance. He were most accurate too, often spearing the
I'm a drinking man by nature, I know that now. From the very first taste of the hot whisky coming drop and trickle from the copper tubing of Sam Slit's still, I knew I'd found me true love. I did not come to drunkenness from despair, though I haven't said this to Hawk, what believes I am become a drunkard because of what happened to me in the wilderness. And without the whisky jug to fuel me through the bitter cold and rain of them days, the loneliness and the mongrels, I'd have surely died. But I sees it clear now - if I'd been born a prince, I'd still be a drunk. Now I'm just plain thirsty! Desperate for a drop!
I got a plan, though. I been collectin' raisins from the plum duff. On good days, there be as many as twenty a serve, and in not too many weeks I'll have a handy store. I'm gunna dry them and soak them, and then when I'm on galley duty, which is often enough, steal some of the yeast used for baking the skipper's bread to add to 'em. Sam Slit be of value to me at last! There were nothin' that bastard did not know about the fermenting of grog and I reckon a tolerable good brandy will come from these raisins yet. Yours truly shalt not be denied his grog by these God-gobbing Yankees.
Hawk is much pleased that his little brother eats more now. He is patient and tender to me when I sulks, dreaming of the drink. In our spare moments, he teaches me to read and write again from books and a slate he brought aboard with him.
Hawk is a fine teacher to me. When he hears something it remains in his noggin forever after. He can remember each and every word spoken by Captain O'Hara when he pronounced sentence on Billy Lanney. He's made me a copy of the captain's sermon on his slate as a means of me learning to write again, which is why I can now recall it word for word. Hawk reckons I must write to be educated and read so me mind might be alive to the world beyond the inside of a brandy bottle. The fact that I don't want to see nothin' but the insides o' that bottle don't worry him! Anyways, Hawk likes to teach me and I likes to learn from him. And on board ship I finds out something else - I can be a great help to him too, translating his hand language to the other men, though they's picking up a bit of it anyways.
Because Hawk is dumb, there's many reckon him deaf as well, and they shouts and hollers at him, so that I needs remind 'em he can hear as well as they. But being mute, he can't much talk to no one in his language save me, so we've asked to work together. To me great sadness, though, we ain't allowed to man a whaleboat together because I were declared too small to row with the strength of t'other men. I fights back on this, as I've rowed since childhood and also on the Gordon and the Franklin when I were in the wilderness. But the fourth mate, Mr Seb Rawlings, takes one look at yours truly and that be bloody that! 'No whaleboat for you, lad,' he says right off.
But with Hawk it were different. A week out to sea, Seb Rawlings set a whaleboat over the side with a crew including Hawk. This were to see if Hawk's amazing size and strength would serve him well with the harpoon.
All of us what watched from the deck could see that Hawk were quite steady in the boat with the twenty-five-pound harpoon held above his shoulder, even though the sea were less than calm. A barrel with a white circle painted on it were cast from the whaleboat with a light line attached, and allowed to drift away, bobbing up and down amongst the waves. Hawk were then told to aim the harpoon at the barrel while standing full upright in the bow.
At first the crew laughed as Hawk launched the harpoon and were thrown on his back again and again, and once even up-ended into the sea. But Hawk don't give up easy and with a little instruction, he soon improved.
By Hawk's fifth outing, we watched as he threw the harpoon a good distance. He were most accurate too, often spearing the
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