The Good Ship White Star

Have now been lectured on the difference between pirates and privateers.
I don’t think I’m cut out for a life at sea. Privateering aside, I can hardly grow plants on the deck, no matter how often we send the powder monkeys to fetch dirt. I yearn to be amongst the trees, climbing rocks, even following sheep about a hillside. I want a roof over my head, a place to paint, musical instruments, dancing in the evenings, a room to hold drying herbs and pots of dye, a comfortable seat on which to read all day long.