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#ship logbook;
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I'm afraid you've ratted your last touille, sir
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ltwilliammowett · 8 months
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Two whaling logbooks, from the whaler Hudson, New York under the command of Captain Henry Green.
The first logbook describes the first voyage, which began on 27 May 1835 and ended on 2 July 1836. Last entry notes "voyage 13 months 6 days 1,400 barrels of whale 520 of sperm and 14,000 pounds of bone". The second voyage began on 27 August 1836 and ended on 9 April 1837.
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thebaffledcaptain · 1 year
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I don’t know how to explain my love of history without inevitably returning to the fact that history is so human. Our history will always be human. I’m transcribing a virtually untouched whaling logbook from just about 200 years ago knowing well that the man who wrote it is long dead, but somehow even from just his run-on-sentence-length entries for every day of his voyage it is impossible not to think about how human he was, too.
Sometimes his straightedge wasn’t level because he was human. He spelled the name of another ship wrong based on the way he heard it because he was human. He wrote about getting dinner right after writing about killing a whale because he was human, and he had a favorite way of ending his entries because he was human.
It’s just so strange and wonderful to think about how even two centuries apart I find things to adore about this unknown, unassuming man I never shared the planet with. I don’t know anything about this whaleman besides what he writes in his logbook. I don’t even really know his name. But though his name may be lost to history, at the very least I know he is not, because I know that on December 21st of 1825 he thought it was important to tell me that the water was very blue.
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focsle · 1 year
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Snapping a rubber band on my wrist to cease spending my morning doing Obsessive Whaling Research for Wooey purposes so I can do what I'm supposed to be doing today, which is pulling together some other Obsessive Whaling Research for Presenting-To-A-Class-About-How-To-Research purposes.
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anotherscrappile · 6 months
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Quick doodle of Mittens & Rune :D👍
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a-model-of-propriety · 11 months
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(steps onto a soap box)
More Nikolai & Rune moments, please
If you have the time & energy of course :D👍
finally got around to answering this! :D
“Rune!” Nikolai called out as they dashed across the ship to catch up with her. “You’re not on duty right now, are you?”
Rune shook their head. “Not for another couple hours,” he signed.
“Perfect,” Nik said, grinning from ear to ear as he dragged Rune along behind him, “because there is something belowdeck you have to see.”
Luckily for Nik, Rune followed without a single protestation. The pair of them descended belowdeck and wove through the small bunches of people until they reached Nik’s destination: Lynx.
Was the ship’s chief mouser doing anything out of the ordinary? Certainly not. Nik at least had seen her making biscuits in this very spot dozens of times before. But that was irrelevant, and Rune clearly agreed. In unison, Nik and Rune sat down next to Lynx to silently (or not so silently, in Nik’s case) watch her. When Lynx was finished with her extremely important task of making biscuits, she yawned widely and shifted into a more comfortable napping position, and Nik had to physically restrain himself from disturbing her with any unwanted petting.
“Antonov, Hermansen!” Andrey called from down the hall. “Are you two all right? You’ve barely moved in the past hour.”
Nik immediately shushed him, pointing to the still very sleepy Lynx.
“Ah,” he said. “I should have guessed, seeing how focused you were.”  Andrey crouched down between Nik and Rune. “Did you know I used to have a cat?” he asked.
“You did?” Nik asked, to which Andrey nodded in reply. Immediately, both Nik and Rune launched into a barrage of questions about this mysterious cat’s appearance, name, age, personality, and anything else under the sun. But chatter and sign as they might, neither could get another word out of Andrey about his cat. Unfortunately, that information would have to come another day.
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aimless--jack · 2 years
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4 for Owain :D
4. Draw them eating their favourite food
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He is eating a type of stew called Cawl. :)
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dippydots · 1 year
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Day 3 of December Doodles!! This one's for @anotherscrappile !!! I drew it's character Mittens with Christmas mittens!!
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onepiexe · 1 year
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i am once again banging pots and pans together to get ppl to listen to the going under ost
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pixelmuppet · 1 year
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vvintagerose · 1 year
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Young Valentine
A young child’s socked feet silently pattered along the floor, their thin face illuminated by a candle they held carefully in their small hands. Valentine- though they would not be referred to by that name for another many years- could not sleep. Their nights had been restless as of late, and no one around them could discern why, so they had decided nearly every night to leave their sleeping quarters to peruse the vast library their father kept, as they found reading had an almost meditative effect on them, to the point where many times they had awoken with their face pressed into the creases of a book they had been exceedingly engrossed in.
Their father kept mostly books pertaining to his work; property deeds, family histories, histories of the land of France and its neighbors. He was a meticulous man. But, mercifully, he still kept a small stock of books solely meant for entertainment, their covers gilded with the names of kings that may or may not have lived and great adventures they may or may not have gone on. They had fond memories of their mother, in times when she was in better health, sitting them down on her lap and reading ancient Greek plays and Biblical texts to them, it was at some point in these happy afternoons that they had learned to read, though they cannot quite recall when the letters began to weave themselves into words and phrases and sentences and prose on the page before them. But ever since then they had inhaled any book they could get their hands on.
Walking through the shelves, their eyes landed on two thick volumes standing side by side. It was evident that these were two halves of one series, as their candle reflected off of the delicate gold leaf that spiraled across the leather spines to form a latticework of beautiful flowers, framing the title.
“Le Morte d’Arthur.” They whispered into the chill air, letting the words fall from their tongue in wonder. The Death of Arthur.
They felt drawn to the books, and so swept them off the shelf, struggling to balance them in their thin arms while keeping grip on the candlestick.
Back in their room, they laid the first book open on their bed covers, where the first page showed a lovingly detailed illustration of a tall, dark haired woman emerging from a lake, bestowing a smiling, albeit stern looking man with a sword that looked as if it was made from the light of heaven itself. Indeed the creator of this book had gone to the liberty of pasting bits of silver and gold leaf over pieces of the scene, so that they seemed to glow in Valentine’s wide eyes.
Eagerly they turned to the first page, and began to read.
It befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all England, and so reigned, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall that held war against him long time…
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actually turns out the steal her look bird meme is a brilliant way to help design clothes for characters, if you are a person who associates every character with an animal
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ltwilliammowett · 1 year
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Clean Slate
"Let's clean our slates and make a fresh start"
A term that I think fits today at new year quite well. But where does this term come from?
In days of sail the courses and distances made good during each watch were temporarily recorded on a slate.
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Slate decorated with the Clipper "City of Mobile" owened by Captain William Spafford Brown (b.1830 ?-) , 19th century (x)
After transferring the information into the ship's log, the slate was wiped clean prior to the next watch. Colloquial use of this expression ashore means to forget past events and start from "scratch".
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hypo-critic-al · 2 years
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I’m sorry besties I just- I dunno- *hands you this meme*
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anotherscrappile · 2 years
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@a-model-of-propriety Them :)
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(slams hands on table)
Write about Andrey, please :)
apologies for the super long wait, but i hope this makes up for it!
A prickle down his spine told Andrey that someone was staring at him, and a quick glance behind him confirmed that Bellavoir was the source.
Again?
“Everything all right, Bellavoir?” Andrey asked in his limited English.
“What?” he responded, as if he had just recovered his thoughts. “Oh, nothing, I’m– uhhhh– I’m fine.”
Andrey shrugged. If he said so. Besides, whatever seemed to have come over Bellavoir was none of his concern. So, that being sorted, Andrey pulled off his coat, sat himself down a few feet away from Bellavoir, and took out his needle and thread. He had a couple hours before he needed to be on duty, and he was determined to spend them mastering the new stitch pattern he wanted to use in his bigger project.
As he tied off the thread and began pulling it through the fabric of his sleeves, he noticed that Bellavoir was still looking his way. Andrey sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he would not get to embroider in peace today.
“Are you looking at the coat or me?” he asked flatly, barely glancing in Bellavoir’s direction.
At this question, Bellavoir quickly averted his gaze. “Um, at the, uhhhhh, the coat,” he said, though his tone did not inspire much faith in his answer.
Still, it wasn’t Andrey’s place to judge. “I’m just messing around on it right now,” he said. “I do that a lot, mostly to practice new stitches. See?” He held out the sleeve for Bellavoir to see the myriad of stitchery covering it. “Once I’ve got this one mastered, I’ll start working on my real project again.”
Bellavoir looked at the sleeve in fascination. “I didn’t know you sewed,” he said.
“Embroidery, mostly,” was Andrey’s response, “plus repairing my clothes. Don’t do very much actual ‘sewing’, I was never all that great at making things.”
“I sew too,” Bellavoir said, digging around in his coat. After a few moments of searching, he pulled out the stuffed horse. “I made Poulain for, um, for my son.”
He held out the horse to Andrey, who accepted it. A quick examination of the plush told Andrey that Bellavoir was clearly skilled. “It’s very good,” he grunted as he handed it back to Bellavoir.
At the compliment, Bellavoir blushed. “Thank you,” he stuttered out.
Andrey returned to his embroidery, noting that Bellavoir, though clearly trying to be more subtle, still kept his attention focused on him. Andrey shrugged it off. None of his business, after all.
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