Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.

1 August 1019
The Abyss

Dear Journal,

Once again I am en route to Yorke…but how different it is from my previous ventures! We are aboard our packet Amelie, but how it has changed!

I am not traveling alone but for Captain Grier and his mate. I am not spending my days and evenings in solitary majesty (and no little despondency) in my cabin, with my only my thoughts and plans to keep my occupied. Indeed, I am hardly alone at all, for Amelie and my daughters are here with me, and my daughter’s prattle leaves me with little enough room for any thoughts of any kind!

I find myself with time to spend with my family, and no other obligations. “It is of all things the most strange,” as Amelie remarked to me this morning; w are both of us accustomed to pursuing our occupations and duties through the day, and to be suddenly have none is always a shock. I had thought myself used to it, from my previous journeys, but traveling alone and traveling with young girls is quite a different thing.

But do not think I repine, O Journal, never think so! My dear Amelie had a month to prepare before we embarked, and took thought, and has made our days a delight.

Each day begins with breakfast in the dayroom. This is the room which passes for a hold in a normal packet: the place for letters, parcels, and so forth; on the Amelie, it is used to carry whatever it is needed for a particular journey: to wit, ourselves. Accordingly, my beloved, in defiance of all nautical tradition, has outfitted it with a rug, a table with four chairs, a small sofa and two arm chairs, and a stove to make all snug; and my workmen have added several ports that we might have light and air at need. We might well be in our own parlor at home!

After breakfast Amelie schools the children in their letters and numbers, while I retire to our cabin to pursue my studies into advanced forming—for despite my protestations I do in fact have enough to time to think, O Journal. We join each other for the midday meal; and then we attempt, with varying success, to tire our two young ladies out. It is difficult, for there is not much room aboard; but there is one long passageway in which to run, and the mate, Johnson, has become quite adept at hiding small objects for them to seek out. Somedays we have played one or another round game, or the girls attempt to draw what they see here on-board.

I find it fortunate that the Amelie’s lines are quite unlike those of a traditional ship or packet, for there is little danger of my daughters flinging themselves into the Abyss in a moment of carelessness. Our world is wholly enclosed but for the deck; and on the Amelie the deck is little more than the roof over our heads.

We have ur-sails and a mast, it is true; but as Amelie is propelled by her motive blocks, we have no need of them to make the journey. Grier and Johnson check them over before each trip across the Abyss, in case of emergency; but when we set out the sails are bagged neatly in their locker, and the mast is struck and lashed firmly to the deck. They are quite serviceable, but in practical terms have never seen service.

As the Amelie was designed with this in mind, the deck is only a deck by courtesy; flat enough to walk upon, certainly, but accessible only by a narrow ladder and hatch, which is bolted; for there is no reason to go there, and and in the ordinary course of things no one does. The below-deck area is warmer, and contains all that we need; and Captain Grier pilots our vessel from the forward cabin, which is amply supplied with windows.

We took the girls up top just once, to satisfy their curiosity, before we left Bois-de-Bas; the hatch has remained bolted since.

The evenings have been my favorite part of the day. After supper I take out a book and Amelie or I read to our daughters; we have brought ample books for the purpose, including Luttwidget’s delightful Sally in Plunderland, which has them intent on becoming sky-pirates when they are older, so that they may raid passing vessels for their cakes and ale. “Walk the plank or I shall turn you into a blaireau of the very smallest!” cries Anne-Marie. “Huzzah!”

“Oh, I am undone!” I cry in response. “Oh, my cakes! Oh, my ale!”

And after our pair are in bed, Amelie and I sit together in the dayroom or in our cabin, and I read something to her, in Provençese or Cumbrian; for while Amelie was making her preparations I was making mine, and M. Fournier was pleased to provide us with the latest books from both countries.

Thus far we have been reading a book from Malague, only recently translated, about a madman who wishes to put back the clock to days of old—who wants, in fact, to journey about, putting his nose and his sword into everyone’s business, and making muddle of all of it. He is accompanied by a comical little fellow who follows him about, keeping him safe and explaining his vagaries to all and sundry.

And yet, there is something remarkable about this would-be knight, and his insistence on the ancient virtues—he is mad, undoubtedly, and the world he longs for is gone; and yet, he may have something to teach us. We have three weeks to find out, if so—three weeks before the Amelie seeks her berth in Norwich Street with my dear Mama.

But the best part of this journey, by far, is simply that I need not worry about the wagon-works while I am gone. Master Luc is more than capable of doing all the needed forming—he, and Bastien and William under his watchful eye—until I return home. It is a pleasant novelty to be able to travel with a clear conscience!

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Photo by Sina Saadatmand on Unsplash