Clothes finally dried. Sewed on ship flags. Such good apples. Off we go on a course towards the Cape Verde Islands to make our easting and catch the northeast trades for the slant to Rio. A stiff westerly is scudding us along at a good rate. Made cornstarch ice cream. There’s plenty of ice!
Rough and tumbly sea. Finished a pillow slip. Tired. Vessel too jumpy to do much sewing. At least it’s a good excuse to read.
No ice cream today. Main boom gone overboard and mizzen sail followed it, flying. Mountainous seas running all day. No chance for sights. Hoisted storm trysail. Crew bent new mizzen. All hands got soaked.
(44°34’ West Longitude, 34°04’ North Latitude)
Storm trysail parted in center at midnight. No sails on until morning. Finished embroidering my new initials on nightgown and will wear it to show Fred tonight.
—from Dorothea Moulton’s journal
Read more in The Log of the Skipper’s Wife, by James W. Balano, Down East Books: Camden, Maine (pp. 64-65).
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.