“There it is, Camilla. One hundred degrees north, fifty degrees south, thirty degrees west, and fourteen degrees east.” Captain Andre Depeche pointed to the dark patch of land in the distance, extending his telescope for a better view, “that, my dear, is our new Home.” Camilla stood on her tiptoes to look over the wooden railing—there it was. “We should be there by tomorrow morning, if not sooner,” Andre spoke excitedly, grinning. She couldn’t help smile herself, and almost giggle. Her father Andre—or Cappin’ Depeche, the passengers called him—had talked about an island of their own dwelling for so long, it didn’t seem possible that it was finally coming true!
Their ship, the Seahawk, had set sail fifteen weeks and four days ago even, and hadn’t reached a piece of land ever since. But soon, Camilla told herself, there would be no more seasick men, no more dried fish, stale bread, and, at long last, there would be land again! She found herself always trying to remember what solid ground felt like underneath her, and soon she’d finally know. Her Father and his crew had sailed the sea as long as Camilla could remember, but every few months they’d stop at a port for food such as dried fish and meat, and also some clothes and paper for recording their way. Camilla loved that the most, though, because there were always children in the towns. She’d practice for hours and hours what to say to them, like ‘hello, how are you?’ or ‘hi! My name’s Camilla, what’s yours?’, but never had enough courage to say them. Camilla hoped that there would be more opportunities soon where she could at last meet a girl her age. “Will there be kids on the island?” Camilla asked. Andre chuckled roughly, his orange beard giggling, “no, dear. That island is abandoned. I bet no one’s lived there for more than a hundred years... maybe more.” Camilla sighed, “How do you know no one lives there?” Andre cleared his throat before climbing the stairs silently down to the hold to get some fish for their supper.
“There it is! It’s beautiful!” Camilla awoke with a start. “The island,” she cried, “we must be near the island!” Grabbing her small-buckle boots and coat, Camilla raced out of the Captains cabin and up to the top deck hurriedly. Sure enough, in a four or five hour’s time, their ship would unquestionably hit land.
The crew waited anxiously as the ship inched its way towards their destination. It seemed like hours and hours and hours went by.
After Camilla had had a small lunch of dried fish and blueberries in her cabin, she retreated to the deck again to wait. All the men were playing games, singing and telling jokes to pass the time, but Camilla never joined them. She just wished she had a friend her own age. Even the children at the towns their ship docked at—Camilla had to confess—were a bit frightened when she talked to them, and usually ran off. She was frightened, though. Frightened she’d never meet anyone who liked her.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.01.2011

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