The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle
But before I begin relating what happened, you must know something about me as I was in the year 1832- when these events transpired. At the time my name was Charlotte Doyle. And though I have kept the name, I am not – for reasons you will soon discover – the same Charlotte Doyle. (Preface.2)
Not even the same lowering mist I'd observed when I first came from my cabin could dampen my soaring spirits. Captain Jaggery was a brilliant sun and I, a Juno moon, basked in reflected glory. (6.2)
This time I did not cry. I was too numb, too much in a state of shock. Instead, I simply stood immobile – rather like the moment when I'd first cast eyes upon the Seahawk – trying confusedly to think out what I could do.
I tried, desperately, to imagine what my father, even what my mother or Miss Weed, might want me to do, but I could find no answer. (12.38-12.39)