We were rounding Cap Formentor under motor, wind and current both leaning hard against the whisper-screw, when the tin helmsman on the tiller decided it had had enough and pulled its own power plug loose. Not a fault, not a fuse, not so much as a warning chirp. It simply let go, in the middle of the turn, with the headland close aboard and the current doing its level best to put us somewhere we did not intend to go.

The crew has taken to calling it Señor Seppuku for this sort of thing, which I think is generous. In my day a helmsman who quit at the worst possible moment got a stern word and a watch below to think about it. This one got a nickname and, as far as I can tell, no consequences whatsoever. It will be back on duty by Tuesday, unrepentant.

I will admit, quietly, to a certain fellow feeling. There is something to be said for a piece of machinery that still knows how to make a dramatic exit. Everything else on this boat just hums along and does its job without complaint, which I have come to find almost insulting. At least the tin helmsman still has some theater in it.

Tobi took the tiller by hand for the rest of the rounding, which is, when you think about it, the only reason a Klabautermann’s job has existed on any ship since the first plank was laid: someone always has to take over when the mechanism gives up.