It had taken some time to acquire cleaning supplies, a new rudder wheel, and brushes to scrape the barnacles from the anchor. A fair sailor himself, he used the prow mast as his focal point for plotting his current location. Thus, when he hoisted the achor to clean it, he could return the ship to whence it was first anchored.
The anchor looked as if it hadn't been cleaned for centuries. It was still quite sturdy, but upon further inspection it was deemed unusable. A good sandbar would probably shear one of the tines off completely. The barnacles were thick, almost three inches. Once through them, and he saw the rust and gaping holes in the handiwork, he sighed with displeasure. It would take weeks, maybe even months to requisition a new anchor from the harbormasters smithy, and where would he get the funds??
He caught a keen idea then.
In his own little chicken scratch, he pinned a note to the right side guardwall, just on the corner of it where people would enter the boat from the gangplank. Using a stiletto, he left one there, one on the Captains Cabin door, and one in the galley. Each one read as follows:
"To the folk of this fine ship,
It has come to my attention that this once fine vessel is in dire need of repair. The anchor is useless due to rust and heavy wear. Any wishing to contribute to the repairs of the anchor, please see the harbormaster. I have made arrangements with he and his smith to begin work on a new anchor as soon as fifty percent of the required purchase price have been paid. The estimated cost of the anchor is two thousand shillings.
Also, as one may see with their own eyes, the materials on board this ship will be used for it's repair. Thus far I've endured the burden of the repairs alone. Any wishing to contribute to the further expenses for lumber, plate fixing, custodial sanitation expenses and the like may leave it in the cabin boys quarters.
Yours in seamanship,
Kabbin"
He sighed somewhat after completing the letters and began about clearing debris off the deck, both fore and aft. Expended powder charges from cannons long looted from her deck, and rusty cannonballs were the first to go. Perhaps an adventurous soul would foot the bill for her armaments once more...
...but he doubted it.
So, for the remainder of the week, the young, scraggly man spent his days toiling in the sun, squaring away the deck to begin repairs.
His nights were spent below decks, wondering what it was he was doing here, and why it was so easy -not- to question his purpose.
His mind was ajumble, and sleep was scarce.
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