Soldier
Ah well, “Change and change about”, as we small denominations like to say.
I can’t say that my life has been truly revolutionised by the most recent transaction I have been engaged in. It’s a little bit different in the kitchen boy’s purse from Yevhen’s money belt. I’m still on the same old ship, smelling the same old smells, seeing the same old sea, so that’s not too different.
Armand, as the kitchen boy is known, is a bit of a reclusive character. It seems that every moment he manages to find when not swabbing the galley, or peeling the potatoes for the soup that seems to be perpetually simmering on the stove, he tries to sneak away to the little box that he calls his cabin. It’s really a bit of space snatched from under the stairs, but, being a discrete space of it’s own, does indeed merit the name of a cabin.
The ship continues to sail on, heading gradually down the west coast of the north american states of the Russian Empire. We call at all sorts of rusty little ports, dropping off some of our cargo, and picking up a few local specialities. Sure, we still have our contingent of gloomy soldiers, waiting to be dropped off on their individual acres that were the spoils of the war. They all cling to their ‘letters of guarantee’ provided by the army. Sometimes I can see them over dinner, allowing their closer associates a glimpse of the name written down, the place they are pinning their dreams on.
I have to laugh occasionally about the gullibility of these men. They know nothing in real terms about where they are going. They are taking very little with them, and if the crew’s poker circle continues to be effective, they will have even less when they disembark. I guess some of them really are just torn apart by their years of war, and any promise of a quiet life is a marvel that they cling to.
As for the acres, well, they could be very chilly indeed given the Russian Empire’s expansion into the northern reaches of the american continent.
What of the world out there, eh? Oh, I heard a little from some dimes that Armand picked up in change on shore. Apparently there are still many Russian regiments travelling over land through the so called ‘united’ states to the east. The locals hate them, since they are pretty free to take what they want on the way, and the feeble congress cannot protect them, and fears the wrath of the Tsar should they even raise a peep.
In some very odd news, apparently as a result of conflict in the gulf of Aden, some additional muslim territories were joined to our empire. It seems that Petersburg has no taste for the administration of those lands, and have set up a protectorate. I suspect it is a political move, to pacify the muslims throughout the asian sections of the empire.
Ah well, stranger things have happened at sea, as they say.
