Now there are new sounds to join with the others. The wind clapping the sails, the men singing out in the rigging, the water churned by Endeavour 's prow. He cannot read nor write and thinks it wondrous that a boy of eleven can do what a grown man cannot. When I am out of hiding. He laughed and nodded his large head.
Time does sit heavy on a seaman some days.
It'd be a blessing to read away the hours. There are several Gentlemen aboard. I often hear the name of Mr. Banks called. He's a very educated man from the sound of him. His brown hair goes wild in the wind, and his dark eyes are lit with an eager curiosity.