Commodore Sawyer Walsh
HMS Verity
19 August, 1815
15:30
— Dark clouds spotted at 14:00 on the eastern horizon, most likely an early winter storm. At the present there is no reason for concern, though I cannot help but feel it. It is the height of the season and the air has been silent for far too long.
At 15:00 our course was altered by 12 degrees south to avoid reefs. Our pace is fair and all the crew are ready to return home after three years at sea. This will be the Verity’s last voyage, for as soon as we return to England she will be put out of commission.
If there is to be a storm, I hope it to be mild, as the ship is fairly damaged. Though she is a fine craft, she is old, and the war has not been kind to her. I do not wholly trust her in any size squall, much less a hurricane, as is my fear. —
Commodore Sawyer Walsh, an irrepressibly austere man of five and fourty, set aside his pen and closed his personal logbook, rather hoping his concerns did not manifest themselves into tangible realities. His looped handwriting was even more illegible than usual, as his broken right hand was tied with a blood-stained bandage and unable to perform its duty, due to an accident which occurred on deck two days ago.
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