Once upon a time, a captain's seven year old daughter went to sea.
She hardly stopped talking from the time she stepped across the gangplank ("What is this?" "Where do you store it when you're at sea?"). The sailors, accustomed as they were to rowdy conversations and loosened tongues in the evenings, raised their eyebrows at so much enthusiasm, so early in the day. As they set sail, she had questions about what ropes went where, and why. At noon, she wanted to know what a logbook was, how they kept the food fresh during a voyage, and how old you had to be before you could be a ship's boy and take a turn in the crow's nest. At nightfall, she wanted to know what would happen if you dropped a lantern into the water, what the hammocks were made of, and whether sailors ever sang lullabies.

Before three days had passed of the two-week-long voyage, the first mate requested a private conversation with the captain. Carefully checking to make sure the small cheerful figure in breeches wasn't around, he lowered his voice. "Cap'n, the crew an' me, we're fond of yer daughter. Make no mistake. But that voice of hers, she never give' it a rest! We was wonderin' if there was aught ye could do, give 'er a parrot or somethin' to talk to...." The captain rubbed his chin. Being a seafaring man and often gone, he had always welcomed his daughter's chatter at home. 11 more days of the incessant questions and comments would be too much, though, he agreed. After a minute, a bright idea struck him. "Wait here," he told the mate, and hurried into his cabin. He returned carrying a large, leather covered book. "Extra ship's log," he explained, "she's been well taught a' home, and can write a neat hand. Mayhap that will ease her mind." "And our'n," grinned the mate. Hefting the book, the captain gave a rare smile. "And perhaps the ungainly size of it will discourage her visits to the the crow's nest." The mate grinned back. "Aye, though I think of all of us, Eli will miss her company the most. And to think we cuffed the lad around for talking during dinner!"

The captain's daughter was delighted. And the crew, out of fondness for their mascot but hastened by the prospect of return to quieter days, sprang to do their bit too. One pinched a few quills from a gull he brought down, and sharpened them into pens for her. Another made her a comfy seat on a pile of rope, and one brought her a cask of supplies for a writing desk. From her perch on the forecastle, she had a prime view of the ship, the men, and even the sea surrounding. Every morning, after breakfast and her duties helping in the kitchen and tidying up her father's cabin, she went straight away to her little perch and set to work. From there she didn't move till midday eating, except for occasional wanders about the railing to watch fish or to bring her father a midmorning drink.

Oddly enough, after the first two days of welcome silence, the men found that they missed her presence. Not that they would admit it, but she had eased in a small way their thoughts of home, and families. Accustomed to the rough life, and the coarse companionship and hard toil, they had been flattered by someone actually curious about their work and their lives. "Little Miss Curious", they might have nicknamed her, but wasn't that what womenfolk were for? Questions and caring and more questions.

Eli was the first to come back. One morning, trading off lookout duties, he 'happened' to stroll by her spot, just to stretch his legs. "What you writin'?" he asked casually. The captain's daughter was happy to show him her work - sketches of the rigging, comments about seagull behaviour, the occasional complaint about how the fish swam too deep to properly see. They got so engrossed in flipping through her pages that the noonday bell startled them both.

That afternoon, the second mate, a curious man himself, made it a point to wander over and 'just have a look' at the pages himself. Then the bo'sun. And her father himself, after he noticed the migration to the sweet former 'problem'. Somehow, by giving her the book, the captain had opened up a whole new door for his crew. The grizzled cook gave her some of his best recipes to copy down- "All out me own head, mind!" while Eli corrected some of the rigging sketches. One of the sailors, Irish-born, offered her some mermaid stories for his contribution. And so on.

By the end of the voyage, the logbook was full, down to the last page. As they drew into dock, the captain's daughter hurriedly flourished her name, and handed it to her father as she packed her own tiny sea trunk. "What, my dear, suddenly too heavy for a lady to carry?" She looked up at him gravely. "It's for you, Father. I won't be forgetting any of this voyage, myself." With that, she gave him a swift hug, and started yanking her trunk out the door.

The captain stood there alone, flipping through the pages. So many common sailors and ordinary days, brought together in one logbook, illustrated with love, even if it had been a last resort to a challenging situation. He knew the men, and he himself, would never forget the voyage either.