text: > Go downwards
  You climb down to opposite the ledge.
  
  Your eyes are drawn to a flicker of light off the sea. Squinting,
  you see a man swimming to shore, moonlight flashing off his hook.
  
  > Enter
  You pull yourself over the ledge, tumbling head over heels into Jamison's quarters.
  
  > open the cupboard
  Opened. It is a dark messy bed, set entirely within and filling the large cupboard. A cabin boy must sleep here when Jamison isn't using it. Kicked into a far corner is a pile of clothes.
  
  > enter the cupboard
  The bed is softer than it looks, plumped up with fresh straw. A
  soft, if somewhat cramped, bunk for the tall bulk of Jamison. The cupboard opens to the fore.
  Kicked into a far corner is a pile of clothes.
  
  > examine the clothes
  To get a better look, you pick up the pile of clothes. It separates into a pair of breeches and a shirt.
  
  > wear the clothes
  [Which clothes dost thou mean, the breeches, the shirt, the cotton frock, or the linen chemise?]
  
  > Breeches
  You tuck the linen chemise into the pants. You look a little fat, but now you can move freely.
  
  > wear the shirt
  It fits loosely, masking your figure.
  
  > Hello sailor
  Nothing happens here.
  
  > Down
  This is a gloomy, damp area at the bottom of the Helena Louise. To
  the fore there seems to be a little more light, or you can climb up some steep stairs.
  
  > Fore
  Steep stairs lead up in the dimness to a canvas hatch above. Rats' scratchings counterpoint the lullaby of bilge water sloshing in the bulkheads, punctuated by footsteps slapping the deck overhead. You may move fore or aft.
  Behind a high fence, decorated by a sign, are stacked the food and ammunition supplies; casks of rum, water, flour and salt meat interspersed with kegs of gunpowder and shot. A closed gate is the only way in.
  You gradually notice a familiar, worrying smell, sniff, and identify
  it as smoke. A tiny glow of fire creeps across a stretch of floor -- inside the cage full of ammunition.
  
  > open gate
  It's quite locked.
  
  > Inventory
  You have your reticule (hanging from your wrist). It seems that your reticule contains a cotton frock, a missive, a jewelled brooch, an invitation, smelling salts and a banknote. You are wearing a shirt, breeches, your kid slippers and a linen chemise.
  
  > Fore
  The crew sleeps, in shifts, in this cramped space under the
  forecastle. A breeze blows in on a moonbeam through a grate in the ceiling. A low doorsill is abaft.
  This area must also serve as sickroom. Strewn about the floor are various powders and spills of malodorous potions. In one corner, a large blood stain indicates an amputation; in another is the smear of a leech, dropped off a bloodletting.
  A small bottle has been dropped nearby.
  A chipped piece of mirror sits propped on a shoulder-high timber.
  
  > get all
  leather bottle: Taken.
  bit of mirror: Taken.
  
  > Aft
  A tiny glow of fire creeps across a stretch of floor -- inside the
  cage full of ammunition.
  
  > open the bottle
  This is a squeezable bottle. You don't need to open or close it.
  
  > squeeze the bottle
  A bubble of laudanum forms on the tip of the leather bottle then slurps back in.
  
  > eat the laudanum
  You squeeze three colorless drops into your mouth.
  
  > wait
  Time passes...
  Your face convulses in a prodigious yawn.
  
  > wait
  Time passes...
  You stare into space for a long, thoughtless moment. It seems very
  hard to think, you think, but you aren't sure.
  
  > wait
  Time passes...
  Your eyes are extraordinarily dry. You blink to moisten them, and
  snort awake a minute later, drool dripping down your chin.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes...
  Sleep overtakes you and you slump into unconsiousness.
  You awake too late to save the ship -- or rather, you never wake at all.
  
  > Smell salts
  You jerk the smelling salts away from your nose after one brief ammoniac whiff. Your burning nostrils make you feel more alert.
  
  > Fore
  Sleep overtakes you and you slump into unconsiousness.
  You awake too late to save the ship -- or rather, you never wake at all.
  
  > look at the reef
  A line of reefs separates the lagoon from the sea beyond.
  Your eyes are drawn to a flicker of light off the sea. Squinting,
  you see a man swimming to shore, moonlight flashing off his hook. A wisp of breeze brings an odor of onions and rum, and the occasional gargling chuckle, "...mischief, har...reefs."
  
  > take all
  pile of clothes: You pick up the pile of clothes. It separates into a pair of breeches and a shirt.
  
  > take the moonbeam
  That seems a useless idea.
  
  > Aft
  A tiny glow of fire creeps across a stretch of floor -- inside the
  cage full of ammunition.
  
  > Up
  The canvas hatch is closed.
  
  > Aft
  You squeeze through the opening between cupboard and wall.
  
  > climb the ladder
  You put everything in your reticule and hop out, catching the ladder.
  
  > Up
  You dash up the ladder.
  
  The reefs are definitely getting larger.
  
  > Fore
  No torches are lit, or needed on this moonlit night, except in the
  deep shadows cast by the huge navigation wheel. Men move about to the fore, talking quietly. Under the stairs aft to the poop is a barred door.
  The reefs are definitely getting larger.
  Abaft the wheel sits a large pyramid of casks, held in place by a
  heavy rope.
  Cannon line the deck, aimed at open sea and the island.
  
  > examine the door
  It is closed and barred.
  
  > open door
  Someone yells from ahead, "Cap'n 'll have your hide if you go down there!" You haven't the strength to lift the bar anyway.
  
  > examine the casks
  Lying on their sides, the casks are stacked in a rather shaky pyramid: perhaps that's why someone has tied the rope about them. A cask on one corner has lost its lid. "Hey, boy! Get away from those. It ain't safe!" yells a sailor.