Torpor has set
in! The smell of alcohol wafting down the breeze from
Peter's Bar in Horta would likely wake 'em up but such breeze as there
is - not very much - is wafting in the opposite direction. So
FS presses on under her own steam (diesel) on automatic pilot while
her crew lie about doing nothing very much. Yesterday's threats to
withhold rations unless the decks were scrubbed clean met with
very limited success - insubordination even. There was damn near
a mutiny. I was all for throwing the beggars down below in
chains for the rest of the voyage but Mrs. Trouble pointed out that the
Admiralty might take a dim view and, in any case, there would be nobody to
do the night watches. So, today nothing much has change as FS inches
onwards endlessly burning fossil fuel. Yesterday's noon-sight
showed us to be 60 NM closer to land than the GPS. The sun never lies and
I'm inclined to believe him rather than all this new-fangled stuff. So, I
have switched off all electronics and given instructions
that they must not be switched on again. According to my calculations,
based upon the movements of the heavenly bodies, we should make
landfall some time Tuesday afternoon.
One other thing; all the
remaining chocolate in the Captain's
store has disappeared! This has become a very serious matter. What's more,
a Cadbury's Fruit and Nut (my favourite) wrapper was found in
Richie's bunk yesterday. He has been very quiet on this subject so far,
which makes me think he could be guilty. On the other hand; is he being
stitched up??
Log authored by Peter.