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My First Five Years at Sea

Updated: Oct 17



Excerpt:

"Jonas raised Western Star on radio, “Captain Cabot, can yah hear me?” “Aye Jonas tis I, John, your closest friend and confident…confidarnt….confidan…oh yah knows what I mean,” in background was snickering, giggling…..and snoring.” “John, have yah been sipping when yah shouldn’t have?” “Now Jonas don’t be getting on yer high horse. A wee dram isn’t a sin, and I can’t say I appreciate yer tone.” “My @#%#$ tone! Yah crazy #&!@? Scotsman, you’re goin to get us all killed.” “Agh an exaggeration at best Jonas, we’re just having a little toast-up and takin our boat fer a ride. Wait, I feel a prayer comin-on, aye, should be doozy!” John Cabot’s predilection to the Good Word seemed apropos given our state of affairs, however, his recitation of well known verses got tangled into one boisterous singing and crying jag, accompanied by someone playing a fiddle. Up and down, sobbing and praying, screeching till I thought tubes in our radio would burst. On he went hurtling out of control, could have been a funeral, or a wedding for lunatics. Purves had been appointed warden of the mental hospital, but someone neglected to give us the keys. Cabot went on and on and on and on, but was beginning to run out of steam, winding down like an ole watch, “and, if ya could see fit to answer me prayers, Lord, I promise to put a fiver on the winning pony for ya, next time I make Aqueduct,” and those were last semi-intelligent words we heard over the radio. From then on transmissions were from raving drunken sailors. Half-finished ballads sung until words forgotten, or interest waned, followed by sordid ditties, and Scottish limericks. None of it made any sense, but had the effect of elevating fear for our own lives.”


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