My Journal by Harriman Nelson- Lean on Me

10
Home
89
90
91
92
88
93
87
86
85
84
83
82
81
80
79
78
77
76
75
74
72
73
71
70
69
68
67
66
65
64
63
62
61
60
59
58
57
56
55
54
53
52
51
50
49
48
47
46
45
44
43
42
41
40
39
38
37
36
35
34
33
32
31
30
29
28
27
26
25
24
23
22
20
21
19
18
17
16
15
14
13
12
11
10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2

My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

10

“Glad to see you, Admiral,” Chip greeted me as I walked up the gangplank. It was late and I could hardly wait to go to bed. “We were beginning to think you preferred the lab ashore to ours.”

“Hardly,” I yawned.

“Any luck?” he asked as we climbed down the ladder into the Control Room.

“Possibly. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

“Care for a bite? Cookie made Cornish Pasties. And we have the monitor tuned to both the BBC and CNN. The crew’s almost been at fisticuffs deciding which station to watch in the crew's mess. I didn’t dare interfere. It might be late but hopefully there’ll be more about Lee.”

“Carry on, Commander,” I said and let him lead the way aft.

“Admiral," Cookie greeted me fondly as soon as we arrived at the Wardroom, "I was beginning to give up on you. We saved some pasties for you. Can’t say they’re as good as the ones the Skipper had but...”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine, thank you,” I said as I took a seat while Cookie brought some over, still warm.

“Ah, something about the Skip!” he said and turned the monitor’s low volume up.

“After a busy day sightseeing,” the reporter said while a montage of images played in the background, “which included the ancient Tintagel Castle, Captain Nelson-Crane and his traveling companion Commander Jackson enjoyed some traditional Cornish Pasties in the nearby village, washing them down with the local ale.

“The Americans were heard to say that they would have preferred cold brews but they did finish off two each, and an entire plate of pasties. The captain was noticeably impressed and kissed the cook. ‘Good thing it was Mrs. O’Malley cooking today instead of me!’ Mr. O’Malley was heard to say jovially afterwards.

“The two Yanks then got a bus to Carnarvon Castle, where a jousting reenactment was underway. After touring the castle and grounds, the captain and commander got into the medieval mood, and joined other non- professional jousters on the jousting field of honor.

“The captain exchanged his modern attire for a knight’s, complete with armorial shield. While both ‘Nelson’ and ‘Crane’ are ancient names in the British Isles, neither the captain nor his adopted father, Admiral Harriman Nelson, can trace their family back to any person actually entitled to an armorial coat of arms. Hence the plain black shield.  Commander Jackson used a white shield. Apparently the choice of black or white shield was made by tossing for it.

“Assisted by the squires or ground crew, and Commander Jackson as outrider, which was the only way the organizers would allow a blind man to ride in the tilts, even without an opposing rider on the other side, the captain rode at a faster pace than one would have thought he’d have chosen, and actually managed to strike the quintain with his lance. But as he was slowing down, his horse was startled by a stray snake. Rearing up and trampling it, the horse’s actions knocked the captain off the saddle and to the ground.

“Good stuff, this armor,” the captain was reported to have said, laughing, as he was helped up. Captain Nelson-Crane walked away completely unharmed, and returned the only slightly dented armor and shield to the organizers.

“Then it was Commander Jackson’s turn in the list, but was unable to strike the quintain. Stating that he was a submariner, not a knight, he joined the captain in the beer tent for some refreshment including the iconic dish, Welsh Rabbit.

“The  dispatched Adder was given to the captain, who will probably enjoy it for a snack, Commander Jackson told us, though  they are planning on visiting  The Toad for some more traditional Welsh fare later on.

“Tomorrow the two plan to rejoin Mrs. Piccadilly’s Culinary Tour which should be in Sterling, Scotland tomorrow.

“And so we leave our American visitors who appear to be greatly enjoying their trip across the pond."

 

“Rabbit?” one of the mess specialists asked, pale as Cookie turned the volume back down as the broadcast went to other topics, “the skip’s gonna’ eat bunny rabbits? And toads?”

“It ain’t rabbit,” Cookie said. “It’s melted beer laced cheese over thick toast, that’s all...as for toads, well, the French eat frogs legs don’t they? Can’t be all that bad.”

“The eatery’s called The Toad,” Chip said, “he’s not going to eat any.”

“You hope sir. Them foreigners eat all kinds of weird stuff.”

“Turn that broadcast up,” I said, hurriedly, recognizing someone in the image.

“Dr. Adolphus Ozno is in the news again having escaped his prison for the past ten years. As you may remember, he was incarcerated after he was found guilty of blowing up four British ships which maimed and killed both dock workers and visitors. In other news...”

“All right,” I said, “turn it off....”

“Sir?” Cookie asked, “is this something we gotta’ worry about?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Chip, I think we need to check with Washington about this potential threat.”

“Aye sir.”


I am having a hard time getting to sleep again and asked Will for something to help. Perhaps I’m over reacting. But an escaped prisoner with a grudge, well, they’re the most dangerous kind.


I’m also sweating out the tests I ran today, hoping my ‘sour milk’ test on the parasite will work. If it doesn’t, well, I’ll just have to suggest the entire crops of seaweed be yanked out and replanted. A failure on my part to find a cure.

But then, I may be mistaken about everything.

Entry #11