"Hey, Joe," Faster said, jumping up, "make sure this gets in the mail." He tried to stuff it into the envelope, but Nagel snatched it away. "Leave it, Joe."
"Who's it to, then?" Nagel asked, glancing at the chicken-scratch writing. He saw the name "Kathleene" at the top. "To a sweetheart, is it? Or a wife?"
Faster's face flushed. "She's no my wife yet. We plan to marry, but..." He trailed off, embarrassed.
Nagel smiled and said good-naturedly, "No need to be shy--we're all friends here."
"Her father," he began slowly, "he don't approve of us marrying. He won't have his daughter wedding a sailor. 'I'm not really a sailor,' I told 'im. He wouldn't listen, so we've been writing letters ever since." He sighed and took a drink from his mug of grog, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand afterwards. "Have you a girl, Joe, back home?"
Nagel nodded. "Two--a wife and a little girl." Faster was surprised. Nagel didn't look like a married man. How did his family survive when he was at sea? "I didn't think I wanted a girl at first, y'know--can't do much can they, 'sides pleasing men. Now I can't imagine having anything else. Such a right sweetheart, she is."
"I'd like to meet them," Faster said when Nagel had finished.
"Maybe you will." He gulped down the rest of his grog ration. Then he pulled off his wool cap and climbed into his hammock.
Faster, understanding his intentions to sleep, sought out a new area to finish his drink. The galley was still fairly full of tire, but happy crewmen. "Bonden," he said, spotting the Captain's coxswain. "Will the letters go out tomorrow?"
The Scotsman nodded. "The cap'n says we'll reach Brazil by tomorrow afternoon." He squinted at the book he held in his hand. Faster glanced at the cover and noticed that it was a book of diseases by the Surprise's surgeon, Stephen Maturin. "Sure as the gull flies," Bonden added. "You can give it to Mr Hollom if you'd like. He's in the mid's quarters."
Faster nodded and made his way down to the midshipmen's quarters. He knew he shouldn't be visiting them at this hour of the night, but he could hear Mr Hollom's Spanish guitar. It was mostly dark but for a candle or two where the thirty-year-old midshipman was quickly strumming his guitar.
"Pardon, sir," Faster spoke up, saluting quickly. "I've a letter, sir, perhaps you could put it with the others, sir?"
Hollom took it, stared for a moment, and then replied, "Certainly...is it Doodle?"
"Yes, sir," Faster answered. "Thank you, sir." He saluted again and left. He had only gone a few paces before he heard the mournful sounds of the guitar again.