Breton Marine Compass...all Brass

You feel the sea spray tearing at your lips, the taste of salt, the fear that cramps your stomach. The trawl is having trouble getting back into port because the squall is so violent. The swell doesn't bode well... His hands gripped on the helm, the boatswain doesn't take his eyes off the compass. He's pitching and listing more and more with his tub. The windshield wipers are useless. He can't close the gangway door, which slams with every movement; he won't let go of the helm. That's it, we can make out the landmark. We're returning to port. Thank you, little Breton object, all in brass, you did the job. (authentic story told by the fishing skipper who explained to me clearly that this compass has seen some seas... and luckily it's mute because he's heard some swearing... He knew how to act like a bugger....