The Atlantic

From Blood’s History: The Atlantic

Danforth Brown was the captain of The Errant Lass out of Cross. He and his family had run the ship for nearly thirty years, and she was fine a ship as any coast runner could wish for. His crew, which consisted of family members ranging from sons to distant cousins, were loyal and fierce. And, like the ship they served on, were the envy of many a captain.

I hated them all.

Whether or not it was with just cause, I neither know nor care. I hated them, the reasons for which I shall keep to myself.

Suffice to say, when The Errant Lass berthed in June of 1901, I slipped aboard and hid myself away in the bilge. When the ship eased out of the Cross Marina a few days later, I remained hidden until we left the mouth of the river and found the open sea. As the vessel tacked to windward and made for Boston and points north, I crept from my hiding place and slew my enemies as they slept. The last two I kept alive to help me scuttle the ship, and when I was finished, I cut their throats and dumped them in the Atlantic.

Watching The Errant Lass drown is a memory I cherish still.

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