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portugalisinsa · 2 years

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A quick skim through the BBC!Ghosts tag tells me that no one has spent too much time trying to decode the Captain’s service ribbons. Lucky you, I did!

The badge on his jacket lapels say that he was in the royal artillery

1939 to 1945 Star: This is awarded to anyone who completed operational service overseas between 3 September 1939 and 8 May 1945 for at least 180 days.

France and Germany Star: Awarded for at least 1 day of operational service in France, Belgium, Luxembourg, The Netherlands or Germany between 6 June 1944 and 8 May 1945.

Defence Medal: Awarded for non-operational service (like training bases, for example) in the UK or overseas. A minimum of 3 years service in either the UK (3 Sep 1939 and 8 May 1945) or in the Home Guard (14 May 1940 and 31 Dec 1944) are required; if stationed overseas, 1 year between 3 Sep 1939 and 2 Sep 1945.

War Medal 1939 to 1945: Awarded to all full time personnel of the armed forces who served at least 28 days between 3 September 1939 and 2 September 1945, no matter where. In Europe, WWII ended in May 1945; this medal was instituted in August 1945.

He doesn’t wear any other clasp, so he didn’t fight in the Battle for Britain or the Battle of the Atlantic (makes sense, those were RAF and Navy stuff mostly). The Africa Star was awarded for a minimum of one day of operational service in North Africa, the Arctic Star was awarded for any amount of time spent fighting in that campaign, and the Pacific, Burma, and Italy Stars were awarded upon entry into an operational area. He was awarded none of these medals, which means he only fought the France and Germany campaign.

He only wears WWII medals, which means he didn’t fight in WWI (it was unlikely he would have anyway, tbh, 41 was the the maximum age to fight in WWII, which would have made him 18 in 1916). The order I’ve written them out in (from top to bottom) is the order they should go left to right. For some reason, the Captain is wearing the ribbon band upside down. That’s a very huge big no good no-no. At first I assumed if was a mistake by the costume people, but it’s been three seasons and that hasn’t been fixed yet so I have to conclude it’s intentional. It could be some kind of BBC directive (idk, “non-army personnel has to wear the uniform in a certain way or it’s an insult to the queen” or some other silly nonsense) or it could be a genuine mistake the Captain made before dying, in which case I assume he’s spent sixty years being massively bothered by this. [ @lagoonnebula6523 said that the director of series 1 and 2 hinted that the reason for this mistake would be revealed in a future series, which I think points to an in universe explanation. Thank you for the info, this is super cool to know!] [Small aside, but I remember googling why the ribbons would be worn upside down and what i found was neat but probably unrelated. Check the tags if you’re interested]

I believe he’s in a service dress, which basically means he was at some kind of event when he died. He’s not in the army equivalent of the white tie, so we’re not talking about something too fancy. Maybe some sort of minor party?

So yeah, dude died after the war ended, and considering he seems used to saying “king” instead of “queen” I feel like he died either before Elizabeth was crowned or just after, so somewhere between August 1945 and around 1953-55

#bbc ghosts #ghosts bbc #bbc!ghosts #long story short; dude fought at least half a year in belgium and france #Could have been involved with d-day or he could have arrived later #he also doesn't have a Korea medal (the requirement for it is at least one day in korea if you're army)#that war started in 1950 and was established in 1951 #that could mean he died before that war begun... but i also have no fucking clue how the army works #like idk maybe they only sent six pople who drew the short stick for that one and he wasn't one of them #and i mean his knees are clearly in a bad way so maybe he was alive and just couldn't go #he could also have been too old (read: over 41) for that one #Okay now re: what i found out when i googled why a ribbon band would be worn upside down #I found were a couple of articles about some army guy wearing the ribbon band upside down by mistake and apologizing for it #(i seem to remember he was american but still i think the contriteness would be the same)#and the historical novel “The Reverse of the Medal” by Patrick O’Brian #remember the Master and Commander movie? It comes from a series of books the reverse of the medal is from #if you don't remember it: historical novels set in 1800 following a Navy officer and his friend #in the Reverse of the Medial a character goes through cashiering #(basically a ritual of shame in which you're dishonourably discharged)#the title is a reference to that and also probably to the flying the union jack upside down #flying the union jack upside down is a big no no but it's sometimes done (generally by people in the forces)#to signal distress #the title is obviously also a reference to the turn of phrase 'opposite side of the medal'#is this in any way relevant to the Captain? Probably not!

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nervouscupcakeinspace · 1 year

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BTS FIC RECS (PART 7)

GEN

Special Delivery by nicedress *

“Over the years, Yoongi had learned to live with Bangtan. Maybe most importantly, Bangtan had learned to live with him.”

Or: Yoongi can usually keep his cat instincts in check, aside from his tendency to knock dishes off the counter and occasional late-night zoomies. Sometimes, though, he loses control over something as simple as a laser pointer… or a refrigerator box full of packing peanuts.

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope

love at first scent by exarite *

Every three months, Jungkook buys a scent from ScentShare user HOPE. Even if he spends his heat alone, it helps to have the scent of an alpha with him during it.

It works, and it works well—and it keeps working until Jungkook's work moves him to Seoul and Jungkook meets user HOPE himself.

After all those heats with user HOPE's scent in his sheets...his omega's just a little confused.

No Other Homeland by clarz, swellow (WIP)

As a second son, Jungkook will never sit on the throne of Haeguk. No, his most important offering, his most sacred duty, is this: the offering of his body and heart in marriage. His whole self, made perfect.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM

Sugar Bunny by creambunkoo

The idea appeals to him instantly, almost intensely, how much he'd enjoy that. Spoiling Jungkook, and being the only one who gets to do so.

Namjoon takes interest in a hybrid camboy and ends up buying his virginity at an auction. Jungkook becomes his sugar baby, and they both get too attached.

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin

sweet creature by alphabusan

When Jungkook, a cheeky mermaid with a tendency to cause trouble, strays a bit too far from home, he finds himself lost in the deepest parts of the Pacific Ocean. He doesn't stand a chance.

Or; Jungkook winds up in the hands of a strangely familiar tentacle monster.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Park Jimin

three hundred sixty five by silklace

“Yo.” Hoseok nudges his head back, glancing up at Jimin. His ear is hot where it’s pressed to Jimin’s thigh, head in his lap. “Can I give you a blowjob?”

[Jimin has complicated feelings about his birthday. Hoseok goes down on him.]

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin

The New Head of Strategic Development Mr. Kim by Anna (pineconepickers)

To make life simpler at work, Seokjin lets his co-workers think that he has an alpha at home – this way people will focus on game development and not whether he as a handsome omega is single or not. This works well until the new Head of Strategic Development is hired: an alpha who does not seem to believe the lie about Seokjin’s relationship status – or, perhaps, Seokjin wishes Namjoon didn’t.

Touch: An Intermission by Anna (pineconepickers)

Seokjin returns to Korea after a decade abroad and (temporarily!) moves in with his old university friend Namjoon. On paper, however, this seems like a poor decision: Seokjin is struggling to get back on his feet, while Namjoon has his hands full with his ten-week-old baby. When Seokjin thinks about it, the two of them were never that close either – living together is unlikely to turn out well.

Namjoon leaned backwards and said, “Look, I know living with us is not what you want.” Seokjin relaxed – was Namjoon too going through the motions to please Yoongi and Hoseok? “However, here’s why I think you should,” Namjoon added, and Seokjin choked on the pineapple juice.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Taehyung | V

always by circumstance by disillusioned (miscalculated)

Namjoon set his pen down, leaned into his chair, and gave Taehyung a probing look. “You’re here to ask me to fuck you?”

Taehyung’s jaw slackened. He still had his arms tucked behind him, both hands on the handle like he was preparing himself to escape at any moment. Then, the uncertainty in his wide eyes darkened into something that matched Namjoon’s. “Would you?”

(These are disjointed thoughts: Bear. Not a tiger.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

The One by nicedress *

Every stamen lured into Yoongi’s bed leaves him with a new blossom on his skin and a new grave on his property. When he encounters Namjoon, a stamen who refuses to touch any pistil unless it’s his soulmate, all Yoongi sees is someone naive and easy to control.

Someone to help around the farm without complaint. Someone to dig holes without realizing they’re graves. Someone Yoongi’s not quite willing to kill—not yet.

Pistilverse AU — see notes for details.

What the Stars Look Like Under You by nicedress *

After building a porn career as a popular submissive, a scene gone wrong sends Yoongi spiraling. Switching roles gives him new purpose and shields him from the trauma he’s not willing to face, but having the world’s most pretentious, ecofriendly Dominant steal his spotlight isn’t making things any easier.

out of order by silklace

“Hyung,” Namjoon says carefully, “don’t you think it would help if we just, I dunno, talked it out a little?”

Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin

ignite the stars by tendershipping *

As a knight of the Jedi Order, Taehyung has sworn an oath against personal attachments.

Ten years after Jimin ran away from the Order, he resurfaces as a Sith apprentice, and calls all of Taehyung's loyalties into question.

(Fear of loss is a path to the dark side, and Taehyung refuses to lose Jimin again.)

we bleed it out by tendershipping

Kim Taehyung dies on a Friday night, and wakes up on trial in a court of vampires.

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin

guess i'll be the first by silklace

Jimin is there, because Jimin is always there.

POLY RELATIONSHIPS

OT7 - Relationship

From Me, The Moon by Oh_Hey_Tae (WIP) *

“Of course. You all—” Namjoon’s voice catches. He doesn’t admit to them that they’re the first people he’s spoken to in nearly a decade. He doesn’t tell them that their mingled scents remind him of his home that’s been long lost in a forest a lifetime away. He doesn’t share that here, with them, Namjoon feels as if there is sunlight pouring in through all the empty spaces of his chest.

(Or: Namjoon hasn't had a home in years and a strange pack in the mountains tries to change that.)

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin

belly up by silklace

The third time Jungkook slides a half-glance across the couch towards him, Hoseok says, “If you don’t just say whatever’s on your mind, I’m gonna come over there and sit on you.”

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin

dead star dragon by tendershipping

His name was Jimin, and for ten years, Jungkook has carried his lightsaber. Has watched him fall in a hail of blaster fire over and over again in his dreams.

Then the Inquisitor lifts his helmet, and Jungkook's world shatters.

(During the Purge, Jimin was cut down in a last stand to give Taehyung and Jungkook time to escape. Ten years later, an Inquisitor wearing his face finds them.)

(* Personal favorites)

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 1

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 2

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 3

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 4

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 5

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 6

#my fic recs #bts fic recs #jikook #yoonmin #namjin #hopekook #namkook #jihope #taejoon #namgi #bts poly #ot7 #mine

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literacywasamistake · 9 months

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“Then, after all of that, the people of the Marshall Islands underwent what Genz has described as one of the most violent histories of the twentieth century.

The Pacific War brought air raids and hunger, and when the war was over the American military began twelve years of nuclear weapons testing on the atolls of Bikini and Enewetak at the northern end of the island chain.

During those years, sixty-seven atomic and thermonuclear bombs were detonated; one of them, called “Castle Bravo,” created a blast a thousand times the magnitude of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki blasts. When Castle Bravo exploded on March 1, 1954, it completely obliterated three nearby islands, and the atoll of Rongelap some hundred miles away, which had not been evacuated, was hit with the radiation fallout. For a day and a night its islanders were blanketed in snowlike ash and began experiencing radiation sickness, including severe burns. After a few days, they were finally evacuated, then returned in 1957 despite the continued risks. Some three hundred people, many who had lived through the blast and were suffering from thyroid cancer, self-evacuated from Rongelap in 1985, permanently leaving their home behind.

Before the nightmare of nuclear testing, Rongelap had been the site of the Marshall Islands’ only navigation school.”

Excerpt From

Wayfinding

M. R. O'Connor

#nuclear testing #indigenous rights #genocide #oppenheimer #us war crimes #american imperialism

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littlequeenies · 1 year

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Patricia Julia Brose was born on May 10, 1949, in New York City, the daughter of Laura and Bill Ballinger, a writer of mystery stories.

At age 12, Brose was placed in a foster home because of her mother’s barbiturate addiction.

She went to San Marcos Senior High high school in Santa Barbara, and Pepperdine University college in LA.

Julia began snorting cocaine at 18 while she was dancing at the famous Whiskey a Go Go in Los Angeles. It was there she met John Densmore of The Doors, in 1967. He recalls: "This girl had LRP: Long Range Potential. Her name was Julia Brose, and her father … was remarried to a bubbly blonde who supposedy looked like Julia's real mother. Apparently the real mother drank quite a bit… Julia and I consummated our brand-new relationship that night. There were no male blue balls in the sixties!"

In 1968 she was working in the A & R department of Liberty Records.

By 1969 Julia got pregnant and John didn't know what to do, he recalls: "…on the way back to LA, Julia hit me with the news she was pregnant! Everything was great with us, and now she was pregnant! I didn't want to be a husband yet, let alone a father! I could tell by the look in Julia's eyes that she was hoping I'd say "Let's have it". I couldn't believe it – I was numb. I had asked now and then if Julia was using any kind of birth control, but in 1969, the assumption was that it was the girl's responsability, and we had little dialogue on the subject. Now we had a major problem. I was loaded with so much shame about sex, being raised a Catholic, I didn't inquire how it happened. Was it an accident? I didn't know. But I knew I was incensed. I didn't want a kid and I could tell she did." They didn't know what to do, and in the end John Densmore found a doctor and Julia agreed. They went to Mexico where abortions could be done and it was a place where The Doors could play as well. The doctor and the nurse of the hospital were very nice, and they came in the room where abortions were practised. "There was one of those tables with the stirrups at the end to hold up the patient's legs. Julia must have noticed them, 'cause she started crying. Before we came to Mexico she'd agreed it was the best thing to do. Her tears were like daggers in my heart".

Some months later, John asked Julia to marry, and she agreed. In October 1970 they exchanged rings in hte Pacific Palidases. Robby and Lynn Krieger where the best man and bridesmaid. Jim Morrison sang “Bridal Chorus" at their wedding, but the marriage was short lived.

Her mother died of an overdose in 1972 aged 47.

After five years of marriage Julia left Densmore for Berry Oakley, the bassist for the Allman Brothers band. When she was six months pregnant, he died in a motorcycle accident on November 1972. On March 30, 1973, their son Berry Duane Oakley was born. His godfather is The Doors guitarist Robby Krieger.

As a single mother in ther 20s, she turned to heroin to cope with the loss of both her mother and Berry.

In 1976 she married Chuck Negron, the singer for Three Dog Night. They both developed major heroin addictions.

By 1977, the year Julia Brose and Chuck Negron had their son Charles, Negron devoted his life to being a junkie. She herself snorted heroin in the delivery room before Charle's birth, according to Mother Jones magazine, they both did it. To pay for his habits, Chuck eventually sold everything he owned, including all of his gold albums. "Bit by bit, everything eroded," says Julia. "We took loans against the house, and eventually our telephone and power lines were turned off."

He blew through millions of dollars chasing the highs and she may have been worse. "When Chuck is asked if he ever knew anyone worse than him, he usually says me," admits Julia, a recovering drug addict. "But we had a great marriage because every drug we got was split 50-50." They were married 12 years.

She overdosed twice in her life, waking up in a hospital bed feeling like she’d been run over by a fleet of trucks. She lived.

Julia lost her sister Connie to an overdose in 1984, which prompted her to sober up and leave her husband in 1985, and she checked herself at Cedars hospital. Then she went to school and worked as a drug counselor for decades.

Julia is certified as an Addiction Specialist since 1990, supervising and training residential addiction treatment staff.

By the mid-2000s, she had become a prominent advocate of “harm reduction,” which emphasizes making illicit drug use safer so users may seek treatment.

On 2013 her youngest son was in life support because of an overdose, but luckily he went in recovery. As for 2013, she was a co-founder of “Moms United to end the War on Drugs” and a Board Member of “A New PATH (Parents for Addiction Treatment and Healing”) and lived in Sarasota, FL.

On 2015 she moved to Venice, Los Angeles, where she is devoted to her advocacy work in what’s known as “harm reduction.’’

On July 2017, her son’s fiancé overdosed, leaving an 8-year-old without a mother.

In 2017 she made headlines when she took issue with U.S. Sen. Marco Rubio at a town hall meeting in Manatee County on the opioid epidemic. She is an advocate for making illegal drug use safe in hopes that users will seek treatment. She runs the “Suncoast Harm Reduction Project,” which is a small group of volunteers who pass out Naloxone to addicts to counterattack opioid overdoses. Manatee County has the highest overdose rate in Florida. In 2014, according to Mother Jones magazine, there were 644 community programs in the nation that distributed free Naloxone and Florida had only one person doing it: Brose.

Julia finds herself driving to Manatee County too much as part of her group and says it is “ground zero’’ for drug overdoses, even worse than Los Angeles, where she used to live.

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freehawaii · 5 months

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KE AUPUNI UPDATE - DECEMBER 2023

Another Pearl Harbor? Yesterday, December 7, was the 82nd anniversary of Japanʻs devastating attack on the US military bases on Oʻahu. Remember, it was not an attack on Hawaiʻi or the Hawaiian people. It was an attack on the US military bases. The attack plunged America into World War II and Hawaiʻi served as the forward staging platform for the military operations of US and its allies throughout the Pacific and Asia — fighting WWII, the Korean War, the Vietnam/Laos/Cambodia War and the Cold War. Hawaiʻi is America’s sugar-coated fortress; the HQ for the Indo-Pacific Command projecting US might and will over half the globe. The US militarization of Hawaiʻi started in the late 1800s with the US Department of War greedily eyeing Puʻuloa (Pearl Harbor) for a US naval base to expand American enterprise and power in the Pacific. But the Hawaiian Kingdom was a sovereign, neutral country, and King Kalākaua refused to let a foreign navy operate a base at Puʻuloa. Queen Liliʻuokalani likewise refused. A Conspiracy On January 16, 1893, a company of fully armed US troops landed in Honolulu to support 13 greedy, disgruntled, white businessmen, to overthrow Liliʻuokalani and the Hawaiian Kingdom government. For its pivotal role as the muscle in the coup, the US Navy got the use of Pearl Harbor. Then, three years later, under cover of the Spanish-American war, and claiming “military necessity” (but driven by Manifest Destiny, a.k.a. US white supremacy), the conspirators execute a quasi-annexation of the Hawaiian Islands, the US takes possession, then launches a sixty-year pro-America indoctrination campaign, culminating in 1959 with Hawaiʻi becoming the the 50th State of the United States. The Awakening Hawaiʻi’s cultural revival of the 1960s gave rise in the 1970s to serious questions concerning the US military’s presence in Hawaiʻi: Why was so much of our ancestral lands controlled by the US military, and off-limits to Hawaiians? Why were they still bombing, shelling and strafing Kahoʻolawe? Why were they still conducting live-fire training on our ʻāina? Why is the US military allowed to destroy, contaminate and poison our land and water, stockpile vast amounts of weapons of mass destruction and occupy some of our best lands with impunity? Because it could. Very few questioned or opposed the United States’ presence in Hawaiʻi, including its military presence. After all, the US was here to protect us. This allowed America to do what it wanted to do, regardless of the harm it caused to the people and the lands. The US militaryʻs obligatory “public notices”, “briefings”, “community input” and “consultations” were a complete sham. The Biggest Threat Today, because of the US militaryʻs reckless presence in our islands, our very lives are in danger. Fortunately, the most urgent, immediate threat — the contamination of Oʻahuʻs drinking water by the US Navy’s giant leaking fuel tanks in Kapukaki (Red Hill) — due to public outcry and massive political pressure — is being remedied. Itʻs a good start. But, the other far more serious threat is another “Pearl Harbor”. Only this time, it would entail nuclear missile attacks on all the US military installations spread across the island. The devastation from such an attack will make all of Oʻahu look like Pearl Harbor on December 8th. Or like Lāhainā after the fire, but with almost no one of the nearly million people who live on Oahu surviving. The US Military in Hawaii does not make us safe, it puts us in harm’s way, at risk of annihilation. To the US, Hawaii and its people are expendable collateral damage. This is why it is urgent to do all we can to Free Hawaii and remove this clear and present danger before it is too late.

“Love of country is deep-seated in the breast of every Hawaiian, whatever his station.” — Queen Liliʻuokalani ---------- Ua mau ke ea o ka ʻāina i ka pono. The sovereignty of the land is perpetuated in righteousness.

------ For the latest news and developments about our progress at the United Nations in both New York and Geneva, tune in to Free Hawaii News at 6 PM the first Friday of each month on ʻŌlelo Television, Channel 53.

------ "And remember, for the latest updates and information about the Hawaiian Kingdom check out the twice-a-month Ke Aupuni Updates published online on Facebook and other social media." PLEASE KŌKUA… Your kōkua, large or small, is vital to this effort... To contribute, go to:

• GoFundMe – CAMPAIGN TO FREE HAWAII • PayPal – use account email: [email protected] • Other – To contribute in other ways (airline miles, travel vouchers, volunteer services, etc...) email us at: [email protected] “FREE HAWAII” T-SHIRTS - etc. Check out the great FREE HAWAII products you can purchase at... http://www.robkajiwara.com/store/c8/free_hawaii_products All proceeds are used to help the cause. MAHALO! Malama Pono,

Leon Siu

Hawaiian National

#Ke Aupuni #Leon Siu #Free Hawaii #Kingdom of Hawaii #Koani Foundation #Hawaiian Kingdom

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 1 year

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20k Leagues under the sea, Jules Verne

chapter 13-14

CHAPTER XIII THE BLACK RIVER

The portion of the terrestrial globe which is covered by water is estimated at upwards of eighty millions of acres. This fluid mass comprises two billions two hundred and fifty millions of cubic miles, forming a spherical body of a diameter of sixty leagues, the weight of which would be three quintillions of tons. To comprehend the meaning of these figures, it is necessary to observe that a quintillion is to a billion as a billion is to unity; in other words, there are as many billions in a quintillion as there are units in a billion. This mass of fluid is equal to about the quantity of water which would be discharged by all the rivers of the earth in forty thousand years.

During the geological epochs, the igneous period succeeded to the aqeous. The ocean originally prevailed everywhere. Then by degrees, in the silurian period, the tops of the mountains began to appear, the islands emerged, then disappeared in partial deluges, reappeared, became settled, formed continents, till at length the earth became geographically arranged, as we see in the present day. The solid had wrested from the liquid thirty-seven million six hundred and fifty-seven square miles, equal to twelve billion nine hundred and sixty millions of acres.

The shape of continents allows us to divide the waters into five great portions: the Arctic or Frozen Ocean, the Antarctic or Frozen Ocean, the Indian, the Atlantic, and the Pacific Oceans.

The Pacific Ocean extends from north to south between the two polar circles, and from east to west between Asia and America, over an extent of 145 degrees of longitude. It is the quietest of seas; its currents are broad and slow, it has medium tides, and abundant rain. Such was the ocean that my fate destined me first to travel over under these strange conditions.

“Sir,” said Captain Nemo, “we will, if you please, take our bearings and fix the starting-point of this voyage. It is a quarter to twelve; I will go up again to the surface.”

The Captain pressed an electric clock three times. The pumps began to drive the water from the tanks; the needle of the manometer marked by a different pressure the ascent of the Nautilus, then it stopped.

“We have arrived,” said the Captain.

I went to the central staircase which opened on to the platform, clambered up the iron steps, and found myself on the upper part of the Nautilus.

The platform was only three feet out of water. The front and back of the Nautilus was of that spindle-shape which caused it justly to be compared to a cigar. I noticed that its iron plates, slightly overlaying each other, resembled the shell which clothes the bodies of our large terrestrial reptiles. It explained to me how natural it was, in spite of all glasses, that this boat should have been taken for a marine animal.

Toward the middle of the platform the long-boat, half buried in the hull of the vessel, formed a slight excrescence. Fore and aft rose two cages of medium height with inclined sides, and partly closed by thick lenticular glasses; one destined for the steersman who directed the Nautilus, the other containing a brilliant lantern to give light on the road.

The sea was beautiful, the sky pure. Scarcely could the long vehicle feel the broad undulations of the ocean. A light breeze from the east rippled the surface of the waters. The horizon, free from fog, made observation easy. Nothing was in sight. Not a quicksand, not an island. A vast desert.

Captain Nemo, by the help of his sextant, took the altitude of the sun, which ought also to give the latitude. He waited for some moments till its disc touched the horizon. Whilst taking observations not a muscle moved, the instrument could not have been more motionless in a hand of marble.

Captain Nemo took the Sun’s altitude

“Twelve o’clock, sir,” said he. “When you like——”

I cast a last look upon the sea, slightly yellowed by the Japanese coast, and descended to the saloon.

“And now, sir, I leave you to your studies,” added the Captain; “our course is E.N.E., our depth is twenty-six fathoms. Here are maps on a large scale by which you may follow it. The saloon is at your disposal, and with your permission, I will retire.” Captain Nemo bowed, and I remained alone, lost in thoughts all bearing on the commander of the Nautilus.

For a whole hour was I deep in these reflections, seeking to pierce this mystery so interesting to me. Then my eyes fell upon the vast planisphere spread upon the table, and I placed my finger on the very spot where the given latitude and longitude crossed.

The sea has its large rivers like the continents. They are special currents known by their temperature and their colour. The most remarkable of these is known by the name of the Gulf Stream. Science has decided on the globe the direction of five principal currents: one in the North Atlantic, a second in the South, a third in the North Pacific, a fourth in the South, and a fifth in the Southern Indian Ocean. It is even probable that a sixth current existed at one time or another in the Northern Indian Ocean, when the Caspian and Aral Seas formed but one vast sheet of water.

At this point indicated on the planisphere one of these currents was rolling, the Kuro-Scivo of the Japanese, the Black River, which, leaving the Gulf of Bengal, where it is warmed by the perpendicular rays of a tropical sun, crosses the Straits of Malacca along the coast of Asia, turns into the North Pacific to the Aleutian Islands, carrying with it trunks of camphor-trees and other indigenous productions, and edging the waves of the ocean with the pure indigo of its warm water. It was this current that the Nautilus was to follow. I followed it with my eye; saw it lose itself in the vastness of the Pacific, and felt myself drawn with it, when Ned Land and Conseil appeared at the door of the saloon.

My two brave companions remained petrified at the sight of the wonders spread before them.

“Where are we, where are we?” exclaimed the Canadian. “In the museum at Quebec?”

“My friends,” I answered, making a sign for them to enter, “you are not in Canada, but on board the Nautilus, fifty yards below the level of the sea.”

“But, M. Aronnax,” said Ned Land, “can you tell me how many men there are on board? Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred?”

“I cannot answer you, Mr. Land; it is better to abandon for a time all idea of seizing the Nautilus or escaping from it. This ship is a masterpiece of modern industry, and I should be sorry not to have seen it. Many people would accept the situation forced upon us, if only to move amongst such wonders. So be quiet and let us try and see what passes around us.”

“See!” exclaimed the harpooner, “but we can see nothing in this iron prison! We are walking—we are sailing—blindly.”

Ned Land had scarcely pronounced these words when all was suddenly darkness. The luminous ceiling was gone, and so rapidly that my eyes received a painful impression.

We remained mute, not stirring, and not knowing what surprise awaited us, whether agreeable or disagreeable. A sliding noise was heard: one would have said that panels were working at the sides of the Nautilus.

“It is the end of the end!” said Ned Land.

Suddenly light broke at each side of the saloon, through two oblong openings. The liquid mass appeared vividly lit up by the electric gleam. Two crystal plates separated us from the sea. At first I trembled at the thought that this frail partition might break, but strong bands of copper bound them, giving an almost infinite power of resistance.

The sea was distinctly visible for a mile all round the Nautilus. What a spectacle! What pen can describe it? Who could paint the effects of the light through those transparent sheets of water, and the softness of the successive gradations from the lower to the superior strata of the ocean?

We know the transparency of the sea and that its clearness is far beyond that of rock-water. The mineral and organic substances which it holds in suspension heightens its transparency. In certain parts of the ocean at the Antilles, under seventy-five fathoms of water, can be seen with surprising clearness a bed of sand. The penetrating power of the solar rays does not seem to cease for a depth of one hundred and fifty fathoms. But in this middle fluid travelled over by the Nautilus, the electric brightness was produced even in the bosom of the waves. It was no longer luminous water, but liquid light.

On each side a window opened into this unexplored abyss. The obscurity of the saloon showed to advantage the brightness outside, and we looked out as if this pure crystal had been the glass of an immense aquarium.

“You wished to see, friend Ned; well, you see now.”

“Curious! curious!” muttered the Canadian, who, forgetting his ill-temper, seemed to submit to some irresistible attraction; “and one would come further than this to admire such a sight!”

“Ah!” thought I to myself, “I understand the life of this man; he has made a world apart for himself, in which he treasures all his greatest wonders.”

For two whole hours an aquatic army escorted the Nautilus. During their games, their bounds, while rivalling each other in beauty, brightness, and velocity, I distinguished the green labre; the banded mullet, marked by a double line of black; the round-tailed goby, of a white colour, with violet spots on the back; the Japanese scombrus, a beautiful mackerel of those seas, with a blue body and silvery head; the brilliant azurors, whose name alone defies description; some banded spares, with variegated fins of blue and yellow; the woodcocks of the seas, some specimens of which attain a yard in length; Japanese salamanders, spider lampreys, serpents six feet long, with eyes small and lively, and a huge mouth bristling with teeth; with many other species.

Our imagination was kept at its height, interjections followed quickly on each other. Ned named the fish, and Conseil classed them. I was in ecstasies with the vivacity of their movements and the beauty of their forms. Never had it been given to me to surprise these animals, alive and at liberty, in their natural element. I will not mention all the varieties which passed before my dazzled eyes, all the collection of the seas of China and Japan. These fish, more numerous than the birds of the air, came, attracted, no doubt, by the brilliant focus of the electric light.

Suddenly there was daylight in the saloon, the iron panels closed again, and the enchanting vision disappeared. But for a long time I dreamt on till my eyes fell on the instruments hanging on the partition. The compass still showed the course to be E.N.E., the manometer indicated a pressure of five atmospheres, equivalent to a depth of twenty-five fathoms, and the electric log gave a speed of fifteen miles an hour. I expected Captain Nemo, but he did not appear. The clock marked the hour of five.

Ned Land and Conseil returned to their cabin, and I retired to my chamber. My dinner was ready. It was composed of turtle soup made of the most delicate hawksbills, of a surmullet served with puff paste (the liver of which, prepared by itself, was most delicious), and fillets of the emperor-holocanthus, the savour of which seemed to me superior even to salmon.

I passed the evening reading, writing, and thinking. Then sleep overpowered me, and I stretched myself on my couch of zostera, and slept profoundly, whilst the Nautilus was gliding rapidly through the current of the Black River.

CHAPTER XIV A NOTE OF INVITATION

The next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know “how I had passed the night,” and to offer his services. He had left his friend the Canadian sleeping like a man who had never done anything else all his life. I let the worthy fellow chatter as he pleased, without caring to answer him. I was pre-occupied by the absence of the Captain during our sitting of the day before, and hoping to see him to-day.

As soon as I was dressed I went into the saloon. It was deserted.

I plunged into the study of the shell treasures hidden behind the glasses. I revelled also in great herbals filled with the rarest marine plants, which, although dried up, retained their lovely colours. Amongst these precious hydrophytes I remarked some vorticellæ, pavonariæ, delicate ceramies with scarlet tints, some fan-shaped agari, and some natabuli like flat mushrooms, which at one time used to be classed as zoophytes; in short, a perfect series of algæ.

The whole day passed without my being honoured by a visit from Captain Nemo. The panels of the saloon did not open. Perhaps they did not wish us to tire of these beautiful things.

The course of the Nautilus was E.N.E., her speed twelve knots, the depth below the surface between twenty-five and thirty fathoms.

The next day, 10th of November, the same desertion, the same solitude. I did not see one of the ship’s crew: Ned and Conseil spent the greater part of the day with me. They were astonished at the inexplicable absence of the Captain. Was this singular man ill?—had he altered his intentions with regard to us?

After all, as Conseil said, we enjoyed perfect liberty, we were delicately and abundantly fed. Our host kept to his terms of the treaty. We could not complain, and, indeed, the singularity of our fate reserved such wonderful compensation for us, that we had no right to accuse it as yet.

That day I commenced the journal of these adventures which has enabled me to relate them with more scrupulous exactitude and minute detail. I wrote it on paper made from the zostera marina.

11th November, early in the morning. The fresh air spreading over the interior of the Nautilus told me that we had come to the surface of the ocean to renew our supply of oxygen. I directed my steps to the central staircase, and mounted the platform.

It was six o’clock, the weather was cloudy, the sea grey but calm. Scarcely a billow. Captain Nemo, whom I hoped to meet, would he be there? I saw no one but the steersman imprisoned in his glass cage. Seated upon the projection formed by the hull of the pinnace, I inhaled the salt breeze with delight.

By degrees the fog disappeared under the action of the sun’s rays, the radiant orb rose from behind the eastern horizon. The sea flamed under its glance like a train of gunpowder. The clouds scattered in the heights were coloured with lively tints of beautiful shades, and numerous “mare’s tails,” which betokened wind for that day. But what was wind to this Nautilus which tempests could not frighten!

I was admiring this joyous rising of the sun, so gay, and so lifegiving, when I heard steps approaching the platform. I was prepared to salute Captain Nemo, but it was his second (whom I had already seen on the Captain’s first visit) who appeared. He advanced on the platform, not seeming to see me. With his powerful glass to his eye he scanned every point of the horizon with great attention. This examination over, he approached the panel and pronounced a sentence in exactly these terms. I have remembered it, for every morning it was repeated under exactly the same conditions. It was thus worded—

“Nautron respoc lorni virch.”

What it meant I could not say.

These words pronounced, the second descended. I thought that the Nautilus was about to return to its submarine navigation. I regained the panel and returned to my chamber.

Five days sped thus, without any change in our situation. Every morning I mounted the platform. The same phrase was pronounced by the same individual. But Captain Nemo did not appear.

I had made up my mind that I should never see him again, when, on the 16th November, on returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in a bold, clear hand, the characters rather pointed, recalling the German type. The note was worded as follows—

16th of November, 1867.

TO PROFESSOR ARONNAX, On board the Nautilus.

Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting-party, which will take place to-morrow morning in the forests of the island of Crespo. He hopes that nothing will prevent the Professor from being present, and he will with pleasure see him joined by his companions.

CAPTAIN NEMO, Commander of the Nautilus.

“A hunt!” exclaimed Ned.

“And in the forests of the island of Crespo!” added Conseil.

“Oh! then the gentleman is going on terra firma?” replied Ned Land.

“That seems to me to be clearly indicated,” said I, reading the letter once more.

“Well, we must accept,” said the Canadian. “But once more on dry ground, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a piece of fresh venison.”

Without seeking to reconcile what was contradictory between Captain Nemo’s manifest aversion to islands and continents, and his invitation to hunt in a forest, I contented myself with replying—

“Let us first see where the island of Crespo is.”

I consulted the planisphere, and in 32° 40′ north lat. and 157° 50′ west long., I found a small island, recognised in 1801 by Captain Crespo, and marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Plata, the meaning of which is “The Silver Rock.” We were then about eighteen hundred miles from our starting-point, and the course of the Nautilus, a little changed, was bringing it back towards the south-east.

I showed this little rock lost in the midst of the North Pacific to my companions.

“If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground,” said I, “he at least chooses desert islands.”

Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he left me.

After supper, which was served by the steward mute and impassive, I went to bed, not without some anxiety.

The next morning, the 17th of November, on awakening, I felt that the Nautilus was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the saloon.

Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me if it was convenient for me to accompany him. As he made no allusion to his absence during the last eight days, I did not mention it, and simply answered that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.

We entered the dining-room, where breakfast was served.

“M. Aronnax,” said the Captain, “pray, share my breakfast without ceremony; we will chat as we eat. For though I promised you a walk in the forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there. So breakfast as a man who will most likely not have his dinner till very late.”

I did honour to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish, and slices of holothuridæ (excellent zoophytes), and different sorts of sea-weed. Our drink consisted of pure water, to which the Captain added some drops of a fermented liquor, extracted by the Kamschatcha method from a sea-weed known under the name of Rhodomenia palmata. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began—

“Sir, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo, you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of any man.”

“But Captain, believe me——”

“Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction.”

“I listen.”

“You know as well as I do, Professor, that man can live under water, providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In submarine works, the workman, clad in an impervious dress, with his head in a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing pumps and regulators.”

“That is a diving apparatus,” said I.

“Just so, but under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is attached to the pump which sends him air through an india-rubber tube, and if we were obliged to be thus held to the Nautilus, we could not go far.”

“And the means of getting free?” I asked.

“It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use, and which will allow you to risk yourself under these new physiological conditions without any organ whatever suffering. It consists of a reservoir of thick iron plates, in which I store the air under a pressure of fifty atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by means of braces, like a soldier’s knapsack. Its upper part forms a box in which the air is kept by means of a bellows, and therefore cannot escape unless at its normal tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two india-rubber pipes leave this box and join a sort of tent which holds the nose and mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the other to let out the foul, and the tongue closes one or the other according to the wants of the respirator. But I, in encountering great pressures at the bottom of the sea, was obliged to shut my head, like that of a diver in a ball of copper; and it is to this ball of copper that the two pipes, the inspirator and the expirator, open.”

“Perfectly, Captain Nemo; but the air that you carry with you must soon be used; when it only contains fifteen per cent. of oxygen it is no longer fit to breathe.”

“Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the Nautilus allow me to store the air under considerable pressure, and on those conditions the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air for nine or ten hours.”

“I have no further objections to make,” I answered; “I will only ask you one thing, Captain—how can you light your road at the bottom of the sea?”

“With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax; one is carried on the back, the other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a Bunsen pile, which I do not work with bichromate of potash, but with sodium. A wire is introduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it towards a particularly made lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass which contains a small quantity of carbonic gas. When the apparatus is at work this gas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous light. Thus provided, I can breathe and I can see.”

“Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers, that I dare no longer doubt. But if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with regard to the gun I am to carry.”

“But it is not a gun for powder,” answered the Captain.

“Then it is an air-gun.”

“Doubtless! How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board, without either saltpetre, sulphur, or charcoal?”

“Besides,” I added, “to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and fifty-five times denser than the air, we must conquer very considerable resistance.”

“That would be no difficulty. There exist guns, according to Fulton, perfected in England by Philip Coles and Burley, in France by Furcy, and in Italy by Landi, which are furnished with a peculiar system of closing, which can fire under these conditions. But I repeat, having no powder, I use air under great pressure, which the pumps of the Nautilus furnish abundantly.”

“But this air must be rapidly used?”

“Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at need? A tap is all that is required. Besides, M. Aronnax, you must see yourself that, during our submarine hunt, we can spend but little air and but few balls.”

“But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this fluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could not go far, nor easily prove mortal.”

“Sir, on the contrary, with this gun every blow is mortal; and however lightly the animal is touched, it falls as if struck by a thunderbolt.”

“Why?”

“Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little cases of glass (invented by Leniebroek, an Austrian chemist), of which I have a large supply. These glass cases are covered with a case of steel, and weighted with a pellet of lead; they are real Leyden bottles, into which the electricity is forced to a very high tension. With the slightest shock they are discharged, and the animal, however strong it may be, falls dead. I must tell you that these cases are size number four, and that the charge for an ordinary gun would be ten.”

“I will argue no longer,” I replied, rising from the table; “I have nothing left me but to take my gun. At all events, I will go where you go.”

Captain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned’s and Conseil’s cabin, I called my two companions, who followed immediately. We then came to a kind of cell near the machinery-room, in which we were to put on our walking-dress.

#hellsitesonlybookclub #jules verne #bookblr #books

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eurydike-on-media · 10 months

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Pickles!

He's an octopus called Pickles and will have been released back to Neah Bay in Washington by the time I return to the Seattle Aquarium.

At the Seattle Aquarium, they have an octopus on display for a few months, captured from nature and nurtured until they mature. Maturation is marked by increased activity, an indicator that the octopus is ready to reproduce and is looking for a mate. When they reach this active stage, they are released back to where they were captured where they may live out their natural life.

Pickles is a male Great Pacific Octopus, the largest species of octopus. They live three to five years but in that time can grow to be over ninety or even a hundred pounds. Pickles is guessed to be about sixty to sixty-five in these photos. Sexing an octopus is surprisingly simple, a male octopus will not have suckers on the tip of his third arm, whist a female octopus will.

I am sad to see Pickles go but happy to have been able to volunteer with him to educate and inspire aquarium visitors on all things Great Pacific Octopus. If you're ever in the area, I promise it's worth the visit, and maybe I'll get to say hi.

#Eurydike's #Octopus #Giant Pacific Octopus #Pickles #Seattle Aquarium #Aquarium #Animal release #Marine life #Invertabrate #Tank #Seattle #literature #PNW #Washington

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rockislandadultreads · 10 months

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LGBTQIA+ Pride Month: Fiction Recommendations

The Skin and Its Girl by Sarah Cypher

In a Pacific Northwest hospital far from the Rummani family’s ancestral home in Palestine, the heart of a stillborn baby begins to beat and her skin turns vibrantly, permanently cobalt blue. On the same day, the Rummanis’ centuries-old soap factory in Nablus is destroyed in an air strike. The family matriarch and keeper of their lore, Aunt Nuha, believes that the blue girl embodies their sacred history, harkening back to a time when the Rummanis were among the wealthiest soap-makers and their blue soap was a symbol of a legendary love.

Decades later, Betty returns to Aunt Nuha’s gravestone, faced with a difficult decision: Should she stay in the only country she’s ever known, or should she follow her heart and the woman she loves, perpetuating her family’s cycle of exile? Betty finds her answer in partially translated notebooks that reveal her aunt’s complex life and struggle with her own sexuality, which Nuha hid to help the family immigrate to the United States. But, as Betty soon discovers, her aunt hid much more than that.

The Old Place by Bobby Finger

Billington, Texas, is a place where nothing changes. Well, almost nothing. For the first time in nearly four decades, Mary Alice Roth is not getting ready for the first day of school at Billington High. A few months into her retirement—or, district mandated exile as she calls it—Mary Alice does not know how to fill her days. The annual picnic is coming up, but that isn’t nearly enough since the menu never changes and she had the roles mentally assigned weeks ago. At least there’s Ellie, who stops by each morning for coffee and whose reemergence in Mary Alice’s life is the one thing soothing the sting of retirement.

Mary Alice and Ellie were a pair since the day Ellie moved in next door. That they both were single mothers—Mary Alice widowed, Ellie divorced—with sons the same age was a pleasant coincidence, but they were forever linked when they lost the boys, one right after the other. Years later, the two are working their way back to a comfortable friendship. But when Mary Alice’s sister arrives on her doorstep with a staggering piece of news, it jeopardizes the careful shell she’s built around her life. The whole of her friendship with Ellie is put at risk, the fabric of a place as steadfast as Billington is questioned, and the unflappable, knotty fixture that is Mary Alice Roth might have to change after all.

Your Driver is Waiting by Priya Guns

Damani is tired. Her father just died on the job at a fast-food joint, and now she lives paycheck to paycheck in a basement, caring for her mom and driving for an app that is constantly cutting her take. The city is roiling in protests--everybody's in solidarity with somebody--but while she keeps hearing that they’re fighting for change on behalf of people like her, she literally can’t afford to pay attention.

Then she gives a ride to Jolene (five stars, obviously). Jolene seems like she could be the perfect girlfriend--attentive, attractive, an ally--and their chemistry is off the charts. Jolene’s done the reading, she goes to every protest, and she says all the right things. So maybe Damani can look past the one thing that's holding her back: she’s never dated anyone with money before, not to mention a white girl with money. But just as their romance intensifies and Damani finally lets her guard down, Jolene does something unforgivable, setting off an explosive chain of events.

The Secret Life of Albert Entwistle by Matt Cain

Every day, Albert Entwistle makes his way through the streets of his small English town, delivering letters and parcels and returning greetings with a quick wave and a “how do?” Everyone on his route knows Albert, or thinks they do—a man of quiet routines, content to live alone with his cat, Gracie.

Three months before his sixty-fifth birthday, Albert receives a letter from the Royal Mail thanking him for decades of service and stating that he is being forced into retirement. At once, Albert’s simple life unravels. Without the work that fills his days, what will he do? He has no friends, family, or hobbies—just a past he never speaks of, and a lost love that fills him with regret. And so, rather than continue his lonely existence, Albert forms a brave plan to start truly living, to be honest about who he is . . . and to find George, the man with whom he spent one perfect spring and summer long ago.

One painful yet exhilarating step at a time, Albert begins searching for George and revealing his story to those around him. As he does, something extraordinary happens. Albert finds unlikely allies, new friends, and the courage to help others—even as he seeks the happiness he’s always denied himself.

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retrocgads · 9 months

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USA 1990

#USA1990 #THREE SIXTY PACIFIC #ARTECH DIGITAL ENTERTAINMENT LTD.#SIMULATION #STRATEGY #IBM #AMIGA #ATARist #DAS BOOT GERMAN UBOAT SIMULATION #BLUE MAX ACES OF THE GREAT WAR

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hazel-of-sodor · 2 years

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Day 5-Out of Service: Reignition

Day 5-Out of Sevice

Other Stories

Reignition

May 2014

Mallard was having a wonderful doze when a shrill whistle rudely awoke her. Her eyes slowly opened to the sight of Evening Star happily rolling into the yard. She rolled smoothly, her parts moving so quietly you would have thought she was electric. Her paint gleamed in the afternoon light.

"Ducky!" The younger engine exclaimed as she rolled to a stop and the older pacific held back an undistinguished groan as she saw the crew climb down and walk towards the building behind her. "Look at me! I look almost new. Crovan's Gate was wonderful!"

Mallard bit back a resigned sign, "Indeed they have performed a miracle. Some would almost mistake you for a passenger engine now."

Star ignored her, knowing better to pay mind to the grumpy express engine's sharp tongue. "It feels so good to move again." She sighed in contentment. "I thought I'd never move again. I can never understand why you don't push to be rebuilt, Ducky. They could hardly deny you."

"Some of us are still worn out from working full service lives my dear." Mallard said, closing her eyes in hope of falling back to sleep.

Evening Star’s hurt silence filled the yard, and Mallard knew without looking the stricken expression that would be on her face. She sighed better, to sooth Star than deal with the others if she went in upset

"You were rebuilt alongside your brother, yes?"

"Oh," Star started at the unexpected question. " and my sister actually. Murdoch from the North Western, he's the oldest you know, and Cewri from the bluebell. Since they need repair at the same time, they offered to rebuild us together." She sighed happily, "It was so nice to see them again. Even if all the workers would talk about is Gordon."

Mallard was well known for sensing drama with the all the finetuned senses of a Georgia bloodhound, and this moment was no exception. "Oh?"

"They're rebuilding him next month and plan to make improvements so that he can break the record."

"I hold the record my dear, and I doubt our family prototype, no matter how well maintained, can hope to match." Mallard snapped out.

Rather then offended at her harsh tone, Star looked thoughtful. "You haven't seen him since the eighties have you?"

"He was here on visit last year, dear."

Star gave her a look that meant she was in no way amused by the older pacific. "At speed I mean."

Mallard went to reply then paused, considering, "It would have been earlier, sixties...perhaps the seventies."

"Then you've missed a lot. They remade him a three cylinder again in 72, and have been improving him with every rebuild since. He hit 125 in fifteen."

"Impossible!"

"Verified on multiple levels, and as for unverified, well lets just say you're lucky the Wellsworth radar isn't considered valid."

"Papyrus only hit 108." Mallard was incredulous.

"They're calling him the A5 now. He's the most advanced pacific in the world now. Roller bearings, new lightweight valve gear, a new hatt exhaust system, a GPCS system, and more." There was a fierce satisfaction in the 9f's tone. Neither engine paid attention to Evening Star's crew returning to their engine, nor their climb back into the cab.

"You don't even know what those half terms mean do you, child." The A4's tone was sickly sweet.

"No...but they do." The younger engine's fierce grin took Mallard aback, "I actually like you when you try Mallard, but I have to say I won't be the only one rooting for your cousin when the time comes. Maybe then the nice engine we occasionally glimpse will be out more often."

Star gave a sharp whistle as her driver advanced her regulator forward, and rolled proudly towards the sheds.

Mallards sat fuming for long moments then, "So they think they can take my record that easily do they? Maybe it's time I reminded them just what I'm capable of." The Pacific’s grin was just shy of bloodthirsty, looking more alive than she had since the LNER was still her owners.

"Game on."

#ttte #ttte fanfic #RWS #rws fanfic #traintober #traintober22 #Mallard #Evening Star #Steam Speed Record #traintober2022 #Prompt:Out of service #traintober 2022

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mickgaydolenz · 1 year

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concepts that im obsessed with: micky making davy do a performance of Honey Bun (from South Pacific) with him. micky says its cause hes the exact right size and davy argues he is not cause hes sixty THREE inches high. davy is only doing this cause he lost a bet or something cause he is not having a good time. micky is having an absolute blast. the only downside to this is that micky is not the one in drag but i simply think he would be absolutely ADORABLE as a sailor so there

WAIT!!!! WAAAIIITTT!!!! STOP THIS IS SO FUCKING!!!!!! OUGHHHHHH 💖💖💖💖💖😭😭😭😭😭😭 oh my god they would absolutely kill it though, i mean OBVIOUSLY

#I FUCKING SCREAMED READING THIS FYI #rhubarb asks

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focsle · 2 years

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Transcribed some letters found while I was going through some US Consular Despatches out of Hawaii in 1846-48. I think they speak much to the nature of the industry, as well as highlight the transience of whaling crews as the voyage progressed. I’ve mentioned before that in the peak period of whaling it wasn’t uncommon for a ship to lose 1/3rd to 2/3rds of its original crew due to death, discharge, or most often, desertion. It’s also interesting to note that, with the following policy, it would lead to some whalers being at sea much longer than the standard 3-4 year voyage they initially signed on for. For instance, some who deserted in Hawaii and were caught after their original vessel’s departure, or who lost their original ship due to some misfortune at sea, or who found themselves in a hospital and were abandoned by their current ship because their recovery time was longer than the time the ship was in port, could find themselves on a different vessel just starting its cruise going right back up to the Northwest. Anyway, some letters from the Consul, 1840s:

“Whaleships were much more successful in taking oil on the North West during the last summer and fall than for three or four seasons previous and most of the vessels remained on the fishing grounds much longer than usual, the consequence of which was that many of the crews were severely afflicted with scurvy, some died after reaching port and before they could be landed, while others were carried to the hospital on litters, being too feeble to walk. […] Notwithstanding the numerous difficulties in the way, I have thus far succeeded remarkably well in sending off those who have from time to time been received into the Hospital. All seamen discharged at this port in good health, give security, agreeably to the provisions of the local laws, to leave the Islands within sixty days, and during that time they provide for themselves; those arriving here from wrecks in a state of destitution are provided with such necessaries as their situation demands, and are required to ship as soon as an opportunity offers, and those received into the Hospital sick, are also required to do so. If they refuse to ship they are in both instances immediately dismissed from the Hospital. Those afflicted with protracted diseases whose constitutions are so broken as to render them unfit for service and are well enough to bear the voyage, are sent home whenever an opportunity presents. By requiring men to ship whenever their health will permit and an opportunity offers, I have saved the United States the expense of sending them home, and, what is of much greater importance, I have by that means had it in my power always to supply our vessels with men. Many sailors desert, some are discharged on account of sickness, and others die; to that about every vessel touching here wants more or less men, and such is the dislike to quit this place and voyage on board of whale ships, that were it not for the local laws and the policy adopted by me it would be impossible for ships at all times to obtain men and in some instances the owners would be subjected to considerable loss.

And another, talking about the dynamics around desertion.

Formerly, all our whale ships in the Pacific were engaged in taking Sperm oil. Voyages were short and profitable, common hands before the mast, as well as officers and Onwers made money—Seamen had no desire to leave their ships. Almost every man returned in the same vessel in which he came out. Owners found no difficulty in obtaining crews composed of good men. It soon became known that the business was a very profitable one, and Capitalist eagerly engaged in it ships were rapidly multiplied. Men and boys were collected from our rail roads and canals [another letter of this spirit also mentions ‘our prisons’] by Agents but for that purpose, many of them ruined both in morals and in constitution. These individuals entirely ignorant of the business in which they were about to engage, were placed on board with bills for outfits of from eighty to a hundred dollars standing against them, and for which they had little or nothing to show. The Sperm whale rapidly disappeared before the increasing fleet, and in a short time most of the vessels abandoned their pursuit for the whale on the North West Coast [bowheads]. Constant exposure to the cold and fogs of that region soon injured the health of the men and seriously impaired the constitution of many. In 1844, 1845, and 1846 but more particularly the last two years, a large proportion of the vessels were unsuccessful in taking oil, and when they arrived here in the fall of 1846 they had a large number on the sick list who were obliged to be placed in the Hospitals. With few exceptions the crews were restless and discontented, many had been on board two years or more, and instead of diminishing the debts which stood against them at the time of sailing they had been compelled to add to them in order to supply themselves with necessary clothing— All the hopes and expectations excited by the Agents had been bloated. They were disgusted with the occupation and determined at all hazards to leave their vessels. They would resort to any and every means to procure their discharge. Failing in this, many deserted. If caught in time to be placed on board of their vessels, they would threaten to burn the ship or do some other act to prevent their proceeding the voyage, saying that they would sooner die than go to the North West again, and in many cases Masters ceased to have any control over their crews. The same state of things must have existed to a greater or less degree in 1845. It is a common remark now, among Masters, that formerly they seldom left a man, and that now they seldom take back many of those who come out with them.

#long post //#awhalin

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20k-leagues-speedrun · 1 year

Text

CHAPTER I A SHIFTING REEF

The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels, skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and the Governments of several states on the two continents, were deeply interested in the matter.

For some time past, vessels had been met by “an enormous thing,” a long object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely larger and more rapid in its movements than a whale.

The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books) agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power of locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If it was a cetacean, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in science. Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at divers times,—rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to this object a length of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated opinions which set it down as a mile in width and three in length,—we might fairly conclude that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all dimensions admitted by the ichthyologists of the day, if it existed at all. And that it did exist was an undeniable fact; and, with that tendency which disposes the human mind in favour of the marvellous, we can understand the excitement produced in the entire world by this supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables, the idea was out of the question.

On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at first that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even prepared to determine its exact position, when two columns of water, projected by the inexplicable object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred and fifty feet up into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been submitted to the intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had to do neither more nor less than with an aquatic mammal, unknown till then, which threw up from its blow-holes columns of water mixed with air and vapour.

Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam Navigation Company. But this extraordinary cetaceous creature could transport itself from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an interval of three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had observed it at two different points of the chart, separated by a distance of more than seven hundred nautical leagues.

Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying between the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the monster to each other in 42° 15′ N. lat. and 60° 35′ W. long. In these simultaneous observations they thought themselves justified in estimating the minimum length of the mammal at more than three hundred and fifty feet, as the Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions than it, though they measured three hundred feet over all.

Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich islands, have never exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain that.

These reports arriving one after the other, with fresh observations made on board the transatlantic ship Pereire, a collision which occurred between the Etna of the Inman line and the monster, a procès verbal directed by the officers of the French frigate Normandie, a very accurate survey made by the staff of Commodore Fitz-James on board the Lord Clyde, greatly influenced public opinion. Light-thinking people jested upon the phenomenon, but grave practical countries, such as England, America, and Germany, treated the matter more seriously.

In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang of it in the cafés, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on the stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There appeared in the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary creature, from the white whale, the terrible “Moby Dick” of hyperborean regions, to the immense kraken whose tentacles could entangle a ship of five hundred tons, and hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The legends of ancient times were even resuscitated, and the opinions of Aristotle and Pliny revived, who admitted the existence of these monsters, as well as the Norwegian tales of Bishop Pontoppidan, the accounts of Paul Heggede, and, last of all, the reports of Mr. Harrington (whose good faith no one could suspect), who affirmed that, being on board the Castillan, in 1857, he had seen this enormous serpent, which had never until that time frequented any other seas but those of the ancient “Constitutionnel.”

Then burst forth the interminable controversy between the credulous and the incredulous in the societies of savants and the scientific journals. “The question of the monster” inflamed all minds. Editors of scientific journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural, spilled seas of ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing blood; for, from the sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.

For six months war was waged with various fortune in the leading articles of the Geographical Institution of Brazil, the Royal Academy of Science of Berlin, the British Association, the Smithsonian Institution of Washington, in the discussions of the “Indian Archipelago,” of the Cosmos of the Abbé Moigno, in the Mittheilungen of Petermann, in the scientific chronicles of the great journals of France and other countries. The cheaper journals replied keenly and with inexhaustible zest. These satirical writers parodied a remark of Linnæus, quoted by the adversaries of the monster, maintaining “that nature did not make fools,” and adjured their contemporaries not to give the lie to nature, by admitting the existence of krakens, sea-serpents, “Moby Dicks,” and other lucubrations of delirious sailors. At length an article in a well-known satirical journal by a favourite contributor, the chief of the staff, settled the monster, like Hippolytus, giving it the death-blow amidst an universal burst of laughter. Wit had conquered science.

During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried, never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was then no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger seriously to be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The monster became a small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite and shifting proportions.

On the 5th of March, 1867, the Moravian, of the Montreal Ocean Company, finding herself during the night in 27° 30′ lat. and 72° 15′ long., struck on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for that part of the sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its four hundred horse-power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots. Had it not been for the superior strength of the hull of the Moravian, she would have been broken by the shock and gone down with the 237 passengers she was bringing home from Canada.

The accident happened about five o’clock in the morning, as the day was breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part of the vessel. They examined the sea with the most scrupulous attention. They saw nothing but a strong eddy about three cables’ length distant, as if the surface had been violently agitated. The bearings of the place were taken exactly, and the Moravian continued its route without apparent damage. Had it struck on a submerged rock, or on an enormous wreck? they could not tell; but on examination of the ship’s bottom when undergoing repairs, it was found that part of her keel was broken.

This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under similar circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of the shock, thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel belonged, the circumstance became extensively circulated.

The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze favourable, the Scotia, of the Cunard Company’s line, found herself in 15° 12′ long. and 45° 37′ lat. She was going at the speed of thirteen knots and a half.

At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on the hull of the Scotia, on her quarter, a little aft of the port-paddle.

The Scotia had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been so slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts of the carpenter’s watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, “We are sinking! we are sinking!” At first the passengers were much frightened, but Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger could not be imminent. The Scotia, divided into seven compartments by strong partitions, could brave with impunity any leak. Captain Anderson went down immediately into the hold. He found that the sea was pouring into the fifth compartment; and the rapidity of the influx proved that the force of the water was considerable. Fortunately this compartment did not hold the boilers, or the fires would have been immediately extinguished. Captain Anderson ordered the engines to be stopped at once, and one of the men went down to ascertain the extent of the injury. Some minutes afterwards they discovered the existence of a large hole, of two yards in diameter, in the ship’s bottom. Such a leak could not be stopped; and the Scotia, her paddles half submerged, was obliged to continue her course. She was then three hundred miles from Cape Clear, and after three days’ delay, which caused great uneasiness in Liverpool, she entered the basin of the company.

The engineers visited the Scotia, which was put in dry dock. They could scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below water-mark was a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle. The broken place in the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it could not have been more neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then, that the instrument producing the perforation was not of a common stamp; and after having been driven with prodigious strength, and piercing an iron plate 1-3/8 inches thick, had withdrawn itself by a retrograde motion truly inexplicable.

Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties which could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the monster. Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all these shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three thousand ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd’s, the number of sailing and steam ships supposed to be totally lost, from the absence of all news, amounted to not less than two hundred!

Now, it was the “monster” who, justly or unjustly, was accused of their disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded peremptorily that the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable cetacean.

#20k leagues speedrun #20000 leagues under the sea #chapter 1

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