The wind was blowing through me as we negotiated a tricky wind around the Roseland peninsula. I was the worse for wear, having exceeded the permitted rations of grog after splicing the mainbrace. The new crew of raw press-ganged recruits was shouting. I had to close my eyes due to a pounding headache. “For Gawd’s sake, shut your racket, you weaselly, smelly lot. I’ve got news for ye.”
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