Day Three Hundred Sixty Five #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

The transfer at sea was an arduous process of delicate maneuvering and careful timing. It required all hands into the wee hours of the morning. I assisted what little I could.  

The warship lent no hands for the simple reason that there was not a single living soul aboard. It was all automated. Robotic.

The guard petitioned to join the warship, but was refused. He watched with longing as it turned south and we again took up our easterly course.

The Captain estimated that we have lost a day and a half, and should have the coast of our next destination in view come late tomorrow.

Both Elijah and I believe we shall cross paths with that robotic warship again.

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Day Three Hundred Fifty Five #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

We had cast off the night before and were awaiting a pilot in the roadstead in the growing light of morning, when a tug hailed us and drew alongside.

It did not deliver our pilot, but rather a group of three young men sent for by Tomas. They have volunteered to replace some of the hands that had gone with the First Mate. The Captain gave his approval, no doubt helped along by the fact that none of them bear the mark. And one of them, a fisherman in these waters, offered to pilot our ship out.

When we were underway, Elijah took me aside to share some news, the Hamashiachites per his instruction are all safe in the hills.