Finding Meaning in Chaos
A Damp November in the Soul
If you walk down from the try-works to the forecastle, you would think you entered a bright shrine. Sleeping sailors lie in wooden triangle-shaped bunks. Lamps shine on their closed eyes.
Key Insight
The same voyage that poisons the air with try-works smoke can still let workers refill lamps if the system grants them the cooler.
“In merchantmen, oil for the sailor is more scarce than the milk of queens. To dress in the dark, and eat in the dark, and stumble in darkness to his pallet, this is his usual lot.”






