Fourth day:
Today wasn't a very nice day for good weather. The clouds kept covering the sun in the morning, and at times a dark shadow would cover us. I had a great idea, and I used this as a smart excuse to put on a circus with the dirty cows for Ms. Doyle, just to show who was boss and to impress her. Keeping my laughter to myself, I order and watch the sailors grunt with tiredness and sweating uncontrollably, getting slower by the second. Maybe I could keep doing this, and easily Ms. Doyle would admire and trust me more, seeing how I order everyone and thing on this ship. Something I could easily do everyday, yet for now Ms. Doyle could hardy seem to keep her delight from her sodden and disgraceful appearance. Her clothes are...well, disgusting and sickly looking, and her hair just seems to have caught every single piece of sand and dust in the sea from England to America. I shall tell her to have a wash later. She is an honorable passenger, not a piece of dirty trash. Then I catch the dog called Fisk, along with some dirty others, who were working on
splicing the ropes, casting hateful glances at me. While Ms. Doyle is starstruck, I jeer at them, meaning this fight of their doing wasn't over. This should keep them too tired to do anything more at the moment. But they will not win. They are fighting a losing battle, whatever they are trying to do. By then, I had noticed Mr. Hollybrass walking near, and call him over, ordering to call Barlow, for Ms. Doyle's trunk somewhere in the hold. When he comes, he looks at me with the same look Fisk and the others gave me. 'Dog's look', I recall deciding to call it. I managed to shrug it off, then I told him to show Ms. Doyle her overlarge trunk of hers, which is probably somewhere under my feet. No need saying we, as the sailors don't even deserve names. I also remember how I had an idea of winning even more of her favor, and risk it in front of the crew. They couldn't do anything with Ms. Doyle there. However, as I kiss her hand, if I recall correctly, I notice Mr. Hollybrass' look is
contemptible, as if he is disgusted by the very sight of it. As expected, I guess, for he was with the original crew as well. Like I said, I'm pretty sure they're up to something. Right there I could feel their hard looks, and I can still feel the heavy silence of the sailors, and their hard gazes at my back. I must be ready when the time comes. I will make sure my key to the cabinet with my guns are intact before I sleep.
Fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh days
I have been very busy for the past seven days, but luckily, there is nothing of importance to report here. Ms. Doyle is fine as well. However, while she is very friendly to me as I am to her, she is getting friendlier with Zachariah as well, and Mr. Keetch tells me they spend some time with each other in the galley or some other dirty place on this ship. I am throughly dismayed, and I have tried to make Mr. Keeth interrupt these small meetings whenever they are alone, but no avail, and they have formed a small companionship with each other, although she still seems uncomfortable around the rest of the crew. But wait, I could use it as a good advantage, for if she gets more familiar with the crew, she could find deeper secrets that the crew might keep from me, like a round robin or some other piece of proof that they would rebel against me. What a wonderful thought! I shall tell Mr. Keetch to lay off them, for they shall not be any more interruptions for their meetings. But maybe tomorrow, for it is late. One more fact to note though, Ms. Doyle has saved a dress for her landing in Providence. She is very clean, and apparently whats to honor her family. She is a very smart girl. Hopefully she will use her smarts aboard this ship.
Twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth days
The twelfth was Sunday, and the whole ship's company had a short religious session. Those dogs weren't listening that much, instead choosing to glare at me most of the time, especially when I prayed a
supplication for a good journey, as if they were promising denial. Not that I care, because they wouldn't try a mutiny with Ms. Doyle on board, would they?. Then at around noon I invited Ms. Doyle in for some conversation and tea for an hour, and although whatever she said was extremely dull, I kept my interest up in case she said anything about the crew so I could use it as proof to storm the forecastle for confiscations. No information yet though, though they wouldn't dare to anyway. A good thing is that I see her and the crew getting closer. I don't have a choice in this matter, for she can only find information this way. She is a brave girl. Not many with her gender wouldn't even bother trying to see them on the ship, treating them like the filth they really are. Filth with brains the size of a cockroach.
But there was an unbearable act today as well. Mr. Keetch Zachariah, the cook, presented Ms. Doyle with some handmade sailors' clothing for her. I was horrified when he told me this, and immediately rushed to her cabin, and in horror, watched her undress to her undergarments and try them on through the small hole I had Mr. Keetch install in the wall in case there was some need to spy on her. She actually looked surprised in a glad way, but thankfully, she looked shocked immediately after and threw them off, her face mirroring the same horror as mine a few minutes before. Then, she sat down after shoving then away, she sat down and started to write something. A journal perhaps? By then I had calmed down enough not to go storming in, and quietly crept to my cabin, and there I waited for about two hours studying some charts, waiting for our daily tea session. After that time, when Ms. Doyle came for tea, she revealed what she had been writing; about proper behavior for young women. Probably as atonement for her misdeed, and I praised her well, though she obviously didn't mention this. Not many people can stoop that low and come back up easily, especially young girls in high class society.
Later on, I had asked Ms. Doyle in front of the crew of how lazy and dirty they were, and although she agreed, she seemed uncomfortable about it. She really did feel comfortable with the crew. Too much. If she only knew her true mission. Hopefully she learns more responsibility for herself and the situation on board.
Also, a big problem arose; there was no more wind. I had had the jolly boats searching all directions, but no avail. By then, I realized I had another source of wind and made the crew work harder so we could use the time without the wind. However, Ms. Doyle afterwards told me about how the crew cursed their work and me, and made up an excuse that they are tired. How can she possibly know? That stupid girl. Right there I lost some patience and told her they would wake up if a storm came. But she still seemed to disagree. Now she is siding with the crew! I will keep a closer eye on her.
Fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth days
Nothing out of order, although the crew is spending more time sleeping than working. Those lazy curs. They seem distracted, their energy instead focused on glaring at me. I wonder how long they could keep it up. Increasingly. I've seen some of them talking instead of working on the ratlines. Those gossipers think they are women with all the time of their life to talk. Also, there isn't any wind, and I swear that this ship is not moving at all. This is all the sailors fault. Next time we need rowers for such incidents. We should be moving at least, not going backwards, staying still, or drifting off course! The government should realize that. Goodness!
Eighteenth day
My, today was quite an eventful day! Finally the crew's mutiny was launched, though only for less than a few minutes (shame, I could have terrorized them more), along with some surprises. Where shall I start...well, it first began when I was in my cabin talking with Mr. Hollybrass about how our ship was so off course when Ms. Doyle knocked and came in. She looked absolutely terrified, and I immediately knew something very bad had happened. She told me a story of how she was on an errand for one of the sailors, Mr. Ewing, and went to the forecastle, but instead found a gun in his chest, and a round robin as well. Right there it gave me a small shock, but not enough to surprise me, only anger me, if I can name the emotions correctly. After that, I stormed on the deck, roaring out the order that would get the whole crew on deck, pretending to overreact after Ms. Doyle tells me about the round robin. But I was still pretty angry at the fact that they would actually try a mutiny. Mutiny has no place on a proper ship. Who told them to do whatever they wanted? At that moment, I was totally out of control. With Mr. Hollybrass and Ms. Doyle with my two personal muskets in hand, I stood my ground as the crew charged out of the forecastle with their own weapons, but even they stopped in surprise at the sight of me with my musket pointing at their heads. When I saw Mr. Cranick with them as well, I would have shot him straightaway right there, but the sight of the round robin stopped me, though only for some talk. As I shot, I thought I could trust Ms. Doyle, but I was wrong. But anyway, when I did, the crew panicked like the little crybabies they are, and their weapons were taken from them. But still, I was angry, and
demanded that the body of Mr. Cranick to be thrown overboard, and I still don't regret it. He was a man that should be shunned by all classes. People who do not follow higher people's orders are dumb beasts who should not have a place in this world. But that proved that Zachariah was not loyal to me, but Cranick instead, when I told him to open the gate so he could be discarded and he didn't
oblige. Neither would Ms. Doyle, what
indignation. But I know now not to except much from her anymore. Finally, as punishment, I chose Zachariah because he is black, which is a insult to the rest of our clean and white skin, because he is the oldest, for old people are less strong and agile, and a ship needs light and big-muscled sailors. Also, he is sort of their leader, and the crew listens to him, so it would instill fear in their devilish hearts, and as a cook, they would get more awful amounts and quality of food, while I get the best in my cabin. And, he disobeyed a direct order right there, so he shall be punished severly. I did offer Ms. Doyle a choice, and she refused in her own girlish way, by crying, but punishments are punishments. Someone had to take the blame. Even now, I feel no remorse for Zachariah, either dead or not. He was part of the crew, who planned this with Cranick. Like I said, someone had to take the blame.
Anyway, as soon as I proclaimed this, the other crew members stepped away. What cowards, leaving their leader to his death. I stared and taunted him, pretty sure he was terrified. Instead, he seemed ready to die. He spoke his last words, but I hated speeches. He said he forgave everyone, but who needs forgiveness? Only dumb cowards. The whole crew would not rise in defense either. The hunter become the hunted seems almost obvious here, with the crew organizing this mutiny and failing miserably. Thanks to me and the cowardly girl. I had ordered Mr. Hollybrass to tie Zachariah up, then had to force Ms. Doyle to stay, as she tried to escape the scene. Another coward, but I needed her as a witness as the punishment of the crew. Finally, I ordered 50 lashes. That should have been enough to kill him. One short on the crew is still enough, then the crew can work more. That shall be their individual punishment. I also recall Ms. Doyle calling to me, trying to plead for his life. She started making excuses and lies about all she did, and fairness. What good is fairness on this accursed crew? But then, suddenly, she knocked Mr. Hollybrass down. She was stronger then I had thought, and now I know I must not underestimate her. I tried to charge her and tried to take the whip back, but instead, she whips me. That blasted girl! It still hurts, as that whip was specially made to inflict humongous pain. No matter how many times I had washed it, it hadn't stopped bleeding for about two hours, which wasn't long ago. Anyway, by then I had just lost every thought. I tore the whip from her and started whipping Zachariah, ignoring the cries of pain and horror from the crew, Ms. Doyle, and Zachariah. They were all cowards and traitors!!
Finally, I stopped, and Zachariah was close to death anyone could possibly get. I didn't care. I stormed into my cabin and fumed, cursing the ship. I don't remember anything afterwards, except when Ms. Doyle tried to come in, with her act of her tear-stricken face. But I was past caring. I shouted at her, insulted her, hoping to transfer all my hatred into her, make her feel some pain. Then I kicked her out and bolted the door, and in anger bashed the floor hard, but only ended up with more pained, pale hands. Curse that Doyle girl!
After an hour or so, I think, I managed to compose myself enough to address the crew. I had already decided what goes where. Because of Zachariah's absence, Mr. Fisk became cook, and I have had Mr. Keetch removed from his position and Mr. Johnson instead as second mate, for he didn't sign the round robin. Also, if I recall correctly, he never glared at me, always respected me and other high class people, and supported me while the others failed to do so. He certainly deserves this position. After I called more orders, mainly intended more work and torture to the crew as promised, I retired back to my cabin, where I'm writing this right now. I've had enough, because writing this is making me angrier. Tomorrow I will write more.
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