Reading by Lantern Light

Friday. Midwinter, and the island is pretending to be tropical out of sheer stubbornness. I have lit every lantern in the shanty and the prisoners have stopped shivering.

The captain writes a great deal. Lists, letters, notes to himself, and he never puts anything away. I learned long ago that a tidy man knows when not to tidy.

Today’s crew had one strong reader, a girl of about twelve, and four grown-ups who said they were not word people. She read; they did everything else. Nobody needs to read every scrap in here. One good reader, a crew that listens, and the rest takes care of itself.

The captain’s spelling is his own. I have never corrected it. It keeps the prisoners humble.

Swapped my sea boots for my winter sea boots. They are the same boots. I just think of them differently.