Outposts
“The rusty little freighter was three days out from Ascension Island, heading to the south-east. The sun, harsh and brassy and hot, glared down from a brilliant sky. The trade winds, always like the breath of a furnace, always from the south-east quadrant coming at us from over the port bow, wafted by at their customarily languid six knots. The sea looked like hammered silver, and we rolled almost imperceptibly on a long swell. Once in a while a bird appeared from nowhere and hovered and arched ...in the eddies round our masts and our rigging; once I saw a plastic bag and a beer bottle float past; and the night before a ship passed by on the starboard side, but no amount of calling her on the radio could win a friendly response.
‘This is the Royal Mail vessel Aragonite’ we would chant over the long-range radio, and the little VHF. But the ship never answered. We watched her slip past, her stern light winking and fading in the night haze, the faint throb of her motor a muffled beat across the sea.MoreLess
‘This is the Royal Mail vessel Aragonite’ we would chant over the long-range radio, and the little VHF. But the ship never answered. We watched her slip past, her stern light winking and fading in the night haze, the faint throb of her motor a muffled beat across the sea.MoreLess
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