My Occupation Of Steam-Ship Voyages

Today was weirdly exotic. I was going out to the dock at the crack of dawn to unload our materials from the trip that we took. The dock was cracked and had algae stains everywhere I looked. I saw more and different Hawaiians getting paid to refit our ships because the only reason we are here is because of our ship. As I walked closer to them, I saw that they were actually making a lot from our captain. He was practically bankrupt because he gave most of his money to the Hawaiians. While I observed the Hawaiians, I spotted a beautiful woman with dashing features, but I continued on to refitting the things that I had to refit. I started by unloading the razor sharp

Alistair MacLeod’s “The Boat” is a literary success on many levels. His ability to evoke mood, sustain a meaningful theme and a strong setting make this piece particularly impressive.

Every so often in life we encounter an opportunity to take a shortcut, to circumvent the traditional path, and attempt to reach our goals without the customary planning, patience, and hard work that invariably goes into any worthwhile endeavor. One such opportunity presented itself in the late summer of 2007, when I was hired to deliver the 38-foot Island Packet cutter Guinevere from Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands, to Bradenton, Florida. By then I had over thirty years’ experience as a licensed captain, ocean yacht master, and certified sailing instructor, and so when I was persuaded to take a shortcut through Passage Key Inlet and ran aground, I immediately realized I should, all along, have trusted my training and instincts.

No one slept for three days, everyone on board assisting in keeping the boat upright. By September 11, George Ashby told the captain the obvious fact that we were taking on water. Many more labourers were sent down to fuel the boat as we tried to regain control but it did little to help. Water was slowly rising and all non-fuel workers were told to start bucketing out water. The cold sea continued to engulf our previously sturdy ship.

Many men, women and children died on this brutal two-month trip. Starvation, illness, floggings and men jumping overboard into the seas took the lives of some around me. It was hard to fathom the horrible treatment the crew inflicted upon all of the men, women, and children; how they treated us

The slave journey, after the breaking of the kinship, begins with the forced collection and shipment of the enslaved human towards the new world. On this voyage a transformation of the self takes place, a loss of hope; desperation. A slave’s mind would wonder and think if it was better to just jump off and let the sharks take their lives rather than give their life to the white man. The ‘Tall Ship’, the name of a vessel with a large mast, was the primary ship that carried hundreds of the slaves across the torturous and sickening journey (Ruddy 26 Jan. 2017). This ship not only brought goods like spices, but it also transported the slave to their new life, a life without their family or themselves. Aboard these ships is where the transformation

Jane Curry’s arguments were what life was truly like for riverboat workers and their adaptions of new technology and moderations to life on the river. The entire book consisted of interviews of men and women telling of how certain technology came to be, and stories of what happened on the river. There was little to no arguments by Jane whether or not their information was exaggerated or incorrect. “ When most of the veterans began their boating days, they received little or no official time off.(Curry 81) Curry backed the information she was given with conclusions of her own, rather than contradicted them. Jane used several images followed by text to better explain life on river boats.(Curry 196-199)

We stood on the beach watching the ship sail away from us, they refused to take us any further. So there we stood watching, waiting, and praying for the best. It was just us women and children, the men had gone ahead and scouted out the area. We could still just barely see the ship on the horizon, fading into the distance. None of us dared to more for fear of losing sight of it, so we stood there, and did not move until none of us could see it. Then we stood some more, and waited until the men came back saying it was all clear. We all turned around at the same time and didn’t dare look back, our new life had begun, and that meant we were on our own.

In 1752 at the age seventeen years, I was a destitute living in Scotland, Ireland. With no real skill-trade or education I had high ambitions to become a collective dependant, hoping to achieve a stable lively-hood in the New World. I lost most of my loved sickness. The only few relatives remaining were as impoverished as myself. Fearing there would be no prospect of a better life in Scotland I contracted myself as an indentured servant in exchange for passage to the New World. I and many others boarded a merchant ship that specialized in the trade of textiles and dress making. It was in the interest of the captain to keep us fed and in decent health to be sold for profit to proprietors in the colonies. Our voyage to New York would take 8-9

It had been 8 weeks on the vessel when we had been informed that we would be nearing the New York harbor soon, that meant eight weeks without any pyzy or kopytka, my favorite foods. The vessel was fairly clean and was filled with people such as myself and my brother, Jacek, escaping the grasp of Nazi Germany in Poland or the equivalent of so in their countries. On the other hand, some are here seeking greater economic opportunity and religious freedom. My brother and I were the only ones out of my family brave enough to leave our lives behind and venture into America. It wasn’t easy for me to leave everything behind and start anew, I had many friends, family, and prized possessions that I left, not knowing if I would ever see them again. I

It didn’t seem worth it anymore. The whale sharks were nowhere to be seen. Our tour guide had warned us that the whale sharks feeding season in the area was coming to an end and that maybe we wouldn’t be able to see them today. I just didn’t think this would actually happen, a 10 hour journey for what? Suddenly I began to hear splashes of water coming from the side of the boat. A group of dolphins swarmed around the boat; this made me feel a little better. Although the sour taste of lime began to erupt my mouth as I begin to remember what we really travelled out here

     There was a rumor rolling from ear to ear that we were soon going to be arriving. How soon? I wasn’t sure, but I decided to tidy the children up and start to repack everything. After waiting for about an hour, I heard a faint ding run down the hall way. The ship was suddenly in celebration for we had finally arrived to the end of our long journey, America! The hallways began to flood with rushing foot steps and people were

This is the Physical and Emotional journey that was experienced by journalist, Laurel Mogelson in his feature article ‘The Dream Boat’ where he participates as a refugee escaping to Australia. Throughout the article, trials and tribulations ultimately lead the audience to undertake a soul-searching experience, where, we too feel the gravity of such a life-changing exodus.

The young bearded man shivering in his Virginia Tech hoodie and shorts asked us, “How 's it going? I will be your tour guide. My name is Michael, and my shipmate is Terry. We ask that you sit in the back to keep the motor under the waves.” The business-focused pilot got right to his station in the pilot 's chair. My sister accompanied me, and soon our last shipmate of the day arrived. Only three of us attended the boat tour that day. The threat of rain seemed to frighten off other guests leaving the park empty and peaceful, but I pushed on, wanting to reach the lake outside the garden and take in its magnificent view. As we

I waded into the lake and began to make my short swim to the Flying Scot sailboat in the distance. The warm wash of the lake water coursed through me as I made my way to the boat. As I pulled myself onto the beautiful boat, I thought about the previous days of wonderful, sunny weather out on the water. I hoisted the jib and the mainsail, put in the rudder, released the center board, and let the light breeze carry me out onto the lake. The sun warmed by skin as the playful waves splashed on board to cool me down. As the afternoon stretched on, several daunting storm clouds began traveling towards me in the distance. As they trudged closer, the air became cooler and the waves evolved from giving me small, occasional splashes to drenching my entire body. With this, the wind picked up and suddenly swung the boom across the boat, knocking me right in the head. I flew off the side of the boat, dropping right into the once accommodating lake water. Terror struck, I immediately shot back to the surface and frantically scanned the surface for my boat. Several yards to my left, I saw it rocking back and forth on the growing waves. I paddled back to the boat, hoisted myself up, and desperately tried catching a strong wind to carry me back to the mooring where I could tie my boat back up. However, with a lack of training in times of unfavorable weather conditions, I remained trapped in the middle of an unskilled sailor’s nightmare. After several hours of frequent shifts,