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Weekly Contest #74
7 November 1854 I grow increasingly weary of our arduous passage aboard the Penelope. Despite having resupplied two fortnights previous at the Cape of Good Hope, we have all but exhausted our food stores, save the salted meat, which, being as yielding as a hunk of shoe leather, is unsatisfying to say the least. On a more favorable note, it has not rained for quite some days. On this night, like most others, I prefer my solitary place on the rear of the weather deck, pondering the vastness of life in the dark waters of the slow moving sea. ...
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