I quickly discovered my romantic notion of a sailor’s life was far removed from its reality. These men worked hard, and the ship needed constant attention.

I offered my services to the Captain, but he said I would do more harm than good. So as Andelbert and I whiled away the hours, listening to the call and response of the shanties the men sang as they worked. The lyrical tales of drunken sailors and girls at port were quite infectious, and I grew fond of many of them.

Finally, I could take no more and said, “Captain, I am an accomplished blacksmith, and Andelbert is an excellent baker. Surely we can be of assistance to the cook and not endanger the ship.”

The Captain said, “I was told you were a Baron.”

“I am. But I was not always. I am no stranger to hard work.”

He stared at me, relented, and said, “I see no harm in it. You may assist the cook. If he allows it.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

We made our way to the galley and introduced ourselves to the cook.

“Good day, I am Britpop, and this is my brother Andelbert.”

“I am Wellington Broth, but everyone calls me Broth. What can I do for you?”

“Actually, we would like to help you. Andelbert is a baker and makes delicious bread. And I am handy with tools. I am sure I can be useful for cutting and chopping.”

“Well, that’s a change. I surely won’t turn down an offer of help. If you can make bread, have at it. There are some onions and carrots on the table there that need choppin.’ Tonight we have stew.”

It felt good to be useful again. In time, we won the hearts of the men through their stomachs. They had never tasted bread as fine as Andelbert’s. He seemed to have a gift for it. He claims he learned the secret to making great bread from the baker he apprenticed with. But I think Andelbert’s bread is even better than the baker’s.

In the evenings, we joined the crew for cards or dice. One evening a sailor of slight proportions named Robi entered with a violin case. Andelbert’s eyes widened. Robi took out the violin and began playing a slow tender melody.

“Yer makin’ me sad, play us a jig. Will ya?” said the first mate Vidor.

“Aye, boss,” Robi replied and started playing an upbeat tune.

Soon, a couple of the men were up dancing. After a few more songs, Robi stopped playing and took a seat next to us.

“I seen you eyein’ my violin, Andelbert. You play?”

“No. But I have dreamed of it since I was a boy.”

“Well then, tomorrow we start lessons.”

I had never seen Andelbert so excited.

“Seriously? You would teach me?” Andelbert asked.

“Aye,” Robi replied.

“Not in my company, you don’t,” Vidor said. “Beginners sound like cats bein’ strangled.”

“We can do lessons in our cabin. Is that acceptable, Vidor?” Andelbert asked.

“As long as I can’t hear it, I don’t care where ya go about it.”

Thus began the start of Andelbert’s apprenticeship as a musician. I was pleased for him, but I sided with Vidor when it came to the sound of Andelbert’s first attempts. I graciously excused myself from the cabin when lessons took place. To his credit, Andelbert applied himself with great diligence, and soon he was making noises that could pass for music.

One unusually calm evening, I was resting on the deck watching the sunset when one of the sailors appeared beside me. His name was Moubray. He was a quiet soul. Not as rough as the other men. We got on well.

“Good evening, Moubray,” I said.

“Aye, it is that,” he replied. “We have given transport to many a nobleman on this ship, but none like you. You treat us as equals.”

“We are all men. Are we not?”

“Aye, but you have wealth and position. And we are but sailors.”

“It is true I am a Baron, but not long ago, I was a simple blacksmith. I am not yet comfortable looking down on people with lesser fortune.”

“And I hope you never take on that trait.”

Then he paused and looked as if he wanted to say something else.

“Is there something troubling you, Moubray?” I asked.

He quickly glanced around and said, “Aye. I need to warn you that you might be in danger. Before we left port, me and three of the crew was eating at the inn. A man walked in and sat at our table. He put one silver coin down in front of each of us and told us a young Baron would be boarding our ship. And he was prepared to pay us eight pounds silver on our return if this Baron was to accidentally fall overboard when we were far out to sea. Then he got up and left.

“Now, none of us is murderers, and we all agreed that none of us would do the deed, but a large sum of silver can be a mighty motivator. You would be wise to stay alert.”

I was stunned. All I could think of to say was, “Thank you, Moubray. I will.”

Back in our cabin, I told Andelbert what I had learned.

“You must never leave my side,” he said. I agreed it was a good strategy. Although I wasn’t convinced it would be much of a deterrent. In a moment, our voyage went from wonderful to woeful.