PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast
Moonlight broke into a thousand bright strips on the rolling ocean. The lamps had been lit, the smell of burning whale oil mixing with pipe tobacco and brine. From somewhere came the rasp of a squeeze box, a mournful song of home.
‘Do we have a heading, Mr Harrison?’ Captain Nash looked flushed even in the dim light, the smell of brandy seeping from him. A good man, if not a sober one.
Harrison stared down at the compass, broken in the storm. He shook his head.
Nash nodded and lumbered away. ‘Mr Guinea! Extra grog ration for every man.’