It had been five weeks since we left the dock, and three weeks since we last had a decent wind. Tempers were frayed, to say the least.
The quartermaster had reduced rations down to a fifth, and cut grog down to a tenth. While the crew wasn't talking about mutiny just yet, the Captain could feel it in his bones.
This is when drastic actions needed to be made. The captain did realise this, and intended to do whatever he had to to keep the crew happy.
But he wouldn't let them touch the cargo. Good slaves cost too much.
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