This is an essay that I had to write for my English course over the summer ... I don't like it ;__; but I thought I would post it here. Spoiler Cargo â€œCaptainâ€™s log, 27th of June in the year 1834â€, I wrote. I leant back in the chair and sighed. It was to be 3 weeks before we would be back in England. Three weeks is a long time for the heart of a man, and especially that of a woman. My wife, Elizabeth, would be overjoyed to see me return, and I could not wait to see her again. â€œWeather â€“ Hot, little to no windâ€, I penned, using the pan given to me when I had last visited France with cargo. Fountain pens they called them ... and I must say the wrote much better than a quill, if living up to their name every-so-often by splashing one with a torrent of ink. It was hot, sweat beading on my brow in my cabin as I wrote, the sun a lidless eye staring through the windows of the cabin behind my desk. I still thought about Elizabeth ... and my mind wandered. I saw her standing in the church in her dress, with I beside her. My mind snapped back to the task in hand almost as quickly as it had wandered. â€œDayâ€™s eventsâ€, I scrawled. What a day it had been. Sometimes the cargo was more trouble than it was worth... *** â€œOne of â€˜emâ€™s been fightinâ€™ again sirâ€! Perkins shouted to me through the open door of the cabin. â€œWhatâ€!? I sighed exasperatedly. This was the fourth time in three days that one of them had started a fight down below. â€œHave you brought It up yet?â€ â€œYes sir, â€˜eâ€™s being brought up now ... what are you going to do to â€˜imâ€? I turned my head to look at him, a knowing smile on his face, reflecting that on mine. â€œPunish It of courseâ€. Slavery they call it. Our job is to go to Africa, take some of the stronger ones and put them on our ships. We then sail back to England and sell them off. Itâ€™s not exactly glamorous work, but thereâ€™s loads of money in it, and thatâ€™s what I like about it. Some would say itâ€™s cruel, but it isnâ€™t. Only the powerful survive in this world, and thatâ€™s just the way it is. I walked out onto the deck from the cabin. The hold was open, a black pit in the centre of the ship where we kept them. One of them was being hauled up by two of my men. I took a glance at It, Its black skin like chard meat across Its body, Its eyes like sour milk with a deep black hole in the centre; the dead, soulless eyes of a primitive â€œpeopleâ€ if you can call them that. â€œSo you decided to start a little fight down below, eh?â€ I mocked, â€œWhatâ€™s that? Wanted a little more room?â€ I laughed, and the rest of the crew on deck started laughing with me. It looked frightened, I could see it in Its eyes. It was shaking and wildly looking around, not knowing what we were going to do to It. I relished that moment, the fear in It giving me glee. â€œWell, you seeâ€ I continued, â€œI canâ€™t exactly have you injuring the others. You see, youâ€™re cargo for us, and the most important thing about cargo is that is needs to reach the destination in as best condition as possible; to achieve the best price you see? So Iâ€™m afraid ... weâ€™re going to have to punish you. Grab It boys and tie It to the mastâ€. They did so. Grabbing It by the arms and pulling It to the mast, tying Its arms to a metal hook on the mast itself. It tried to resist, pitifully. There was no point in resisting. Its fate was sealed the moment he was brought aboard this ship. Perkins handed me the whip to me, the warm leather seeming excited at the prospect of another victim. She had tasted the blood of three of them in the past few days, yet her thirst had not yet been quenched. â€œI think five lashes ought to do the trick!â€ I laughed, loosing the whip from her knotted slumber. It turned Its head, fear once again in Its eyes. I didnâ€™t care. I brought the whip over my head, and then flicked my wrist bringing it down on its exposed back. One. It cried out in pain, Its breathing becoming heavy as blood began to seep slowly out of the cut on Its back, bright red blood against the burnt black of Its skin. Two. Its shouts were a terrible cacophony to my ears, most troublesome to my disdain. Three. The whip was now becoming whetted with the Its blood, drinking its fill of Its lifeblood gleefully. Four. I wondered if my wife back home was getting along, raising our son she had given life to before I had left. Five. It cried out its last, and then slumped down in the bonds. It seemed to be unconscious, though I could not be sure. â€œThrow it back in the holdâ€ I said as I tied the whip back into a knot. I looked over at the men pulling him off of the mast. Then they threw him, bodily into the hold - a black shape falling into the blackness. *** I stopped writing, blotted the page and closed the book. I stood up and looked out of the window. The sun reflected on the cerulean sea. Three weeks I thought and I shall be able to return to my wife and my son. Thank you for reading ... I really did not enjoy writing that ;__;.