Work Text:
For all that the sight of white sails on the horizon is as familiar as grey rainclouds above, young Israel Hands has never contemplated what lies on other shores. Here, going to sea is no different than going to the poorhouse or going to gaol; people leave for a long time, and sometimes they come back with flint in their eyes and tales of hard labour and foul but steady meals, but mostly they don't. Food and work, that's all he expects the first time he signs on as a ship's boy, unable to conceive of anything beyond his empty belly and the promise of something to fill it tomorrow.