An Ill Tale

We Defy Jensen

The Attack at Last

Our Flag Comes Down

A Piece of Diplomacy

The Sea Gives Up its Quick

The Last of the Ship

[Pg 1]

[Pg 1]

MARJORIE

CHAPTER I

MY APOLOGY

What I have written may seem to some, who have never tossed an hour on salt water, nor, indeed, tramped far afield on dry land, to be astounding, and well-nigh beyond belief. But it is all true none the less, though I found it easier to live through than to set down. I believe that nothing is harder than to tell a plain tale plainly and with precision. Twenty times since I began this narrative I have damned ink and paper heartily after the swearing fashion of the sea, and have wished myself back again in my perils rather than have to write about them.

I was born in Sendennis, in Sussex, and my earliest memories are full of the sound and colour and smell of the sea. It was above all things my parents’ wish that I should live a landsman’s life. But [Pg 2]I was mad for the sea from the first days that I can call to mind.

[Pg 2]

My parents were people of substance in a way—did well with a mercer’s shop in the Main Street, and were much looked up to by their neighbours. My mother always would have it that I came through my father of gentle lineage. Indeed, the name I bore, the name of Crowninshield, was not the kind of name that one associates 

 Prev. P 3/145 next