Albert1434

Julian’s first day at sea has that quiet shimmer of promise — the kind of beginning where you can already tell the boy is going to surprise everyone around him. He takes to the ship with an ease that feels almost instinctive, grasping the names of the lines, the rhythm of the work, the logic of the sails as though some part of him has been waiting for this kind of order. There’s a sharpness in his mind, but also a humility in how he listens, how he watches, how he absorbs. It’s the sort of learning that comes not from ambition, but from wanting to belong. The captain’s behavior is interesting. Pleasant, measured, but with that one remark — the last you’ll see of California — which lands with a weight he doesn’t bother to explain. It’s the kind of line a man uses when he knows more than he says. Whether he’s aware of the banishment or simply aware of the father’s intentions, it’s clear he understands Julian’s voyage isn’t a casual crossing. There’s something final in the captain’s tone, something quietly resigned, as though he’s seen this sort of exile before. And then there’s Sam. Sam has already become a kind of anchor for Julian — not in a dramatic way, but in the simple, steady gestures that matter most on a ship. Checking on him. Making sure he’s comfortable. Offering instruction without condescension. Giving him a place to stand, a moment to breathe, a sense that he isn’t entirely adrift. Sam’s presence has that grounding quality, the kind that makes a young man feel less alone in a world that has suddenly shifted beneath his feet.

Julian’s progress has been a quiet marvel to witness. There is a steadiness in him now, a way he listens to the ship as though it were speaking directly to his mind. Sam has a gift for teaching — not with lectures, but with the kind of plain, attentive guidance that makes a man look twice at the horizon and realize he’s been missing half the world. Their comfort with one another feels natural, almost inevitable, as though the sea itself has drawn them into the same current. You’re right to note Julian’s mind. He absorbs every detail — the wind’s shift, the tone of the waves, the subtle signs of weather that Sam points out with a sailor’s instinct. And there’s something beautiful in how Julian responds: not just learning for the sake of the ship, but storing these insights like seeds he’ll someday plant. You can already see how this knowledge will serve him on land, on that large island he dreams of cultivating. The sea is teaching him patience, rhythm, and respect for nature’s moods — all things a good grower must understand. As for the next 10–12 days, there’s a quiet promise in the way they move around each other. Julian’s curiosity, Sam’s steady presence — it’s a foundation forming plank by plank. Whatever comes of their bond, it’s clear they’re shaping one another in ways neither expected when Julian first stepped aboard.

They have no name for it in those days but Julian has a Eidetic memory which he got it from his mother.

A Quiet Place Aft The ship moved steadily toward the Chrysopylae—the Golden Gate—so named by General John C. Frémont in 1846. The fog thinned as we approached it, revealing the faint outline of the cliffs on either side, their shapes rising like dark sentinels guarding the passage to the open Pacific. As the Haleakala exited the harbor, she gathered herself with a kind of quiet determination. The sails drew fuller, the timbers beneath my feet humming with new purpose. The w

Aloha All

Well Gary I love your stories and I can not say enough about them,!

Gary delivers a frontier chapter rich with atmosphere, tension, and quiet emotional truth. From the opening line — “The rain stayed with them six full days and nights before it let up…” — he sets a steady, lived‑in rhythm that mirrors the long trail August and Fletcher travel. The writing is textured, grounded in the cadence of the land, and full of the small, practical details that make the world feel real: wet canvas, blowing horses, linseed‑oil slickers, and the constant awareness of weather, terrain, and animal care. But the heart of Gary’s storytelling is always the people. August and Fletcher’s bond is warm, intimate, and beautifully understated, woven through shared work, gentle teasing, and the kind of trust that makes danger hit harder. Their dynamic gives the chapter its emotional anchor. The encounter with Regis and Darnell shifts the tone sharply into tension and moral complexity. Gary handles the standoff with remarkable control — the fear is palpable, the stakes clear, and the eventual revelation of why the young men are running is delivered with empathy rather than spectacle. Their confession is one of the chapter’s strongest moments, and the compassion August, Fletcher, and Runyan show them is deeply moving. Runyan Brown, in particular, is a standout. Gary writes him with confidence, intelligence, and a quiet heroism that feels earned. His tactical plan to save the boys is clever, believable, and rooted in frontier know‑how. His presence elevates the chapter from a dangerous encounter to a meaningful turning point. What makes Gary’s writing shine is the blend of grit and gentleness. The frontier is harsh, but the characters are allowed tenderness, loyalty, and love. The chapter respects the realities of the time while offering hope through human decency. Overall, this is a beautiful, character‑driven piece of frontier fiction — tense, heartfelt, and full of life. Gary’s voice is confident, immersive, and emotionally resonant, delivering a chapter that lingers long after the last line.

No good deed goes unpunished

Collapse of civilisation is the most likely outcome' warn scientists

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Poor Hawaii

No I used my time machine!

OOPs. Just testing to see who a wake in here!

I see the Horror Show continue in here!

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There he is again Mr. Mean

That doesn't take much

This is the second story I wrote and this is the first A Journey to Egypt

I am glad your enjoying the story!

Thanks Gary Boots rocks.

Aloha All

Could you like the chapter if you do! Thanks so much.

Thank you for this thoughtful reflection. You’re right — Julian’s journey may have begun on the deck of that ship, but Miles’s journey began the moment his brother stepped through the door and didn’t come back. In some ways, Miles is facing the harder road. Without Julian there to absorb the worst of their father’s expectations, Miles will feel the full weight of that household pressing down on him. The danger isn’t that he’ll break; it’s that he’ll bend in ways he shouldn’t have to. I share your hope that the connection between them holds. Even a thin thread — a letter slipped past their father’s eye, a few words written in the quiet of night — can keep Miles anchored to the version of himself that Julian always protected. Sometimes that’s all a boy needs to stay whole. And yes, the grandmother’s gift changes everything. It’s not just money; it’s freedom, foresight, and defiance wrapped together. Julian’s father may have imagined exile as a kind of slow erasure, a way to send his son somewhere distant enough to fade. But that inheritance means Julian won’t arrive in Hawaiʻi as a castaway. He’ll arrive with choices, with agency, with the ability to build a life that isn’t shaped by his father’s bitterness. The voyage itself will test him — long days, long nights, too much time to think, and just enough time to grow. But there’s something steady in him now, something that wasn’t there before. Maybe it’s Samuel’s presence, maybe it’s the shock of freedom, maybe it’s simply the first breath of a life that belongs to him. Your reading captures all of that — the parallel journeys, the quiet fears, the fragile hope. It means a lot.

I post on Tuesdays and Fridays! And thanks!

And on the ship, meeting Samuel becomes the first unexpected shift. He isn’t much older — just five years, close enough that Julian doesn’t feel overshadowed, but far enough that Samuel carries a steadiness Julian can lean into. There’s something quietly compelling about him, something in the way he watches the horizon and seems to understand how a person holds themselves together even when the sea gets rough. Whether the waters stay calm or turn wild, Samuel feels like someone who could help Julian find his footing. His grandmother’s gift is the other anchor in all this. She didn’t just leave him money — she left him a way out, a chance to build a life shaped by his own choices instead of his father’s authority. Julian may not know exactly how he’ll invest it yet, but he already understands its meaning: it’s the first real piece of freedom he’s ever been given.