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NOVEMBER 15

 

Have I mentioned that I dislike going to sea? And here is the reason: if it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Today it is fog, all day, socked in over us like – well – like a sock! A heavy, sodden, white woolen sock. It even smells a little like sheep. And as we can’t see a thing and as the sea is wide and plied by ships, we must ring a bell constantly and hang out lamps, and creep along with every sailor squinting into the mist and every officer taking a turn at the scope to see if he can detect a sail in time to get out of its way. They are rotating the sick German’s watch and B. did two in a row, because he said he wouldn’t sleep anyway, and came in tired to death, but of course, he still couldn’t sleep. I took Sophy up to have a look and she said, “Clouds.” “Fog,” I said, and she gave a nod, though she didn’t try to say it. Gloom is universal, as it is common knowledge that these fog banks on the Atlantic presage a storm.

Mr. Head and I got together in the pantry and decided to cheer everyone up with a plum dessert, as I’ve got two dozen jars put up and we may as well eat them. He only knows duff, but I suggested something more elegant, since there are only nine of us plus Sophy, so I amused myself in mixing up a cake in the cabin and Mr. Head came later to take it off to his oven. It came out well, with the plums all knit into the top in a pattern, and B. smiled to see it for the first time today. Mr. Head said the Germans wolfed it down. Mr. Lorenzen is still suffering, but B. said his fever is down. It is revealed that he has brought thirteen books on board, two of which B. recognized as navigation texts. Well, he will have plenty of time for reading, though I doubt he’ll navigate much beyond the galley for the near future.

After supper Sophy wanted singing, so I played and sang the old tunes I know she likes, and B. joined in on the ones he knows. I always end with “There Is a Happy Land,” which is soporific, and also a favorite of Olie’s. It made me think of home and of Arthur, who is, God willing, asleep in his bed. He’s afraid of the dark. It gets dark so early now, and he has to go out to do the evening chores. I used to go with him to get the milk, but I doubt Mother B. will indulge his childish anxiety. She’ll advise him to pray.

 


Date: 2015-02-16; view: 650


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