Today I met a man from Abyssinia

Preludes to Nothing 

We live on the docks, 1776.

In some ways this makes us lucky, you and I. If, that is, you know how to ignore the slavery, the cold and the rats and disappear into your head.

I say this because there is very little that goes on in the world which doesn't pass through the docks. All things considered it would be a death for me to return to Surrey. Because here, I am constantly meeting people and things from the most interesting places.

And books, too. Oh my goodness, the books I find! It is because of those books, 1776, that I am able to maintain a conversation with you at all. Ah, I should tell you about those, shouldn't I. So you know what it is, that company you keep when I am away during the day. Well then, let me introduce you. I keep three books in my Secret Place at all times alongside you, 1775 and 1774. But where I obviously keep you three to myself (I would surely hang from a high tree should anyone ever find you!), I return the ones I have stolen one at a time, after I finish reading them. Each goes back to its original owner. Or, if that is not possible and that poor soul has gone to sea or worse, I leave them with somebody I trust will do the most noble thing possible with them. (That person is always James, if he is not away. But there are other people I trust, as well.)

But at this point, 1776, you must be guessing that I met someone interesting today. Otherwise, why would I be telling you all this? Well! I won't keep you in suspense. Today I met a man from Abyssinia. He too is a James. But not a James Cook. He is a James Bruce.

But more about this other James tomorrow, 1776. The dark is upon us once again. Sleep tight, don't let the rats eat you alive and I'll see you again tomorrow night.

Portrait of Bruce by Pompeo Batoni, 1762 (Sourced from Wikipedia on 1 Mar 2019)

Riddle me this, 1776

Preludes to Nothing 

Welcome to the docks, 1776. And, may I add, to a brand new year full of hope, which God has seen fit to name especially for you.

But first, welcome to the weather. Well? What were you were expecting, joining me like this in the dead of an English winter? Oh all right, yes, true. It's my fault. But there was nothing that could be done about it. It's not only in summer when I make plans and collect secrets to share. In fact, I'm sure I have even more to share in winter, when the world leaves me alone for longer each night with my thoughts.

But enough of that!

For not everything is so bleak, my new companion. You see, I have a little surprise planned for you. And oh my goodness, you won't believe it when you find out what it is. (1775 would have killed for your luck!) I'll give you a clue. Do you know anything of a great ocean on the other side of the world? And in the middle of that ocean, of an island called Tahiti? Aha! Of course you don't! A fresh, new journal like you full of empty pages knows nothing at all. So I will tell you everything you need to know for now:

Tahiti … is paradise.

HMS Resolution and her sister ship HMS Adventure in Matavai Bay, Tahiti in August 1773 during Captain Cook's Second Voyage (Painted in 1776 by William Hodges)

Yes, yes. I know. You don't want a geography lesson. You want to know what your surprise is, don't you. You are so impatient! But all right, I'll give you another clue. And if you don't catch on this time, I shall be forced to think you a very thick book indeed. And here it is:

We are not long for Plymouth, and for Plymouth we shall not long. 

Have you got it? Yes, you have!

Oh I'm so good to you, but I'm cruel, too. Because alas, the off could be months away. But I just couldn't help myself, I'm so excited. Oh my goodness, 1776. The thought occupies my every waking minute and my every sleeping one, too.

But stop. I've run ahead of myself. Listen, you must keep my news to yourself. It's a secret. One we can share with not even the captain into whose service I plan to have us pressed (more about that later), the much too wonderful James Cook. For now, we must stay warm by hugging our happy news to only ourselves. Otherwise, my plans will be scuttled and next winter will find you hidden away down below with your predecessors and me once again freezing my life away in this hole.

My goodness. Did you feel that?

Such an icy breeze. I'm sure that one went right through me. And oh, it's getting dark. The dark always creeps up on me when I am writing. Ah 1776, it's good to have you on board. I do miss 1775, and I felt a stab in my heart last night when I put her away down below, along with all the promises I had made with her this time last year. But this time it's going to work. I am older now. Nineteen and not far off twenty. And this time I have you, and all your empty pages full of promise.

***

That will have to do for now. My fingers are no longer able to grip my pencil firmly enough to write properly, not that I can see what I'm writing anyway. So goodnight, my new friend. It's time for me to find somewhere sleep. Let's meet up again tomorrow, once again at dusk.