signs of misfortunes to come

"I can’t find it Sir," said Crabtree.

"Find what?" asked Sir Reginald, interrupted from his musings.

"The pen sir."

"What do you mean you can’t find it?" snapped Sleeping. However, remembering his haste he went on "Well it doesn’t matter. Go and ask Captain Fitzgerald for a quill. And be sharp will you!"

Such impatience was most unlike Sir Reginald and could only mean that something very important was on his mind. He paced up and down for several minutes, the squeaking of his leather-soled shoes accompanying the creaking of the ship as it rode the swell.

"What the devil has happened to that boy?" complained Sleeping as Crabtree failed to return immediately.

At last, Crabtree reappeared, carrying an extremely large feather.

"What on earth is that Crabtree?" asked Sir Reginald in astonishment.

"The Captain didn’t have a quill Sir so I had to shoot a long-winged, stout-bodied, petrel-like bird of the family Diomedeidae," explained Crabtree.

"Oh my God Crabtree!" exclaimed Sleeping aghast, raising his hands to his head, "you don’t mean to say ...!" he whined hysterically but quickly changed his tone of voice for one of apparent serenity.

"Well, we are men of science after all, and what’s done is done."

"No one saw you, did they?" he asked as an afterthought.

"No sir," replied Crabtree.

"Good. Quick give me my quill knife"

Sleeping sharpened the end that had once been attached to the bird's body, dipped it in the inkwell and, forgetting that the ship was not to land for a couple weeks, began to write hastily.

"My Dearest Celia..."

It took three paragraphs of excuses for his wanting embroidery skills and justification of the use of non-woven communication media for Sleeping to get down to the nitty-gritty of his message .....