Thursday June 15th, 1719
Rough seas last night and the shaking of the timbers set me to prayin'. Not much of that takin' place on this ship hewn with the devil in her bones. If you ask me she is doomed and d*mned, a ghost ship in the making.
I be seaman by trade and fate, and a preacher by way of my own fears of Judgment Day. I began as a lad runaway from an auntie who believed in gettin' yor religion by the means of a hickory switch. Ended up on the docks, stowed meself away in a load of molasses barrels. And have been sailin' these seven seas all the time I've been adding inches to my height.
Last night was a frightful night for the grim reaper snuck on board and snatched the breath from our ship's carpenter, old Angus Smythe of Halifax. Good enough old fella, a whole lot grizzly and a wee bit onery. Yet I believe he's got himself a shot at making it to heaven - that is if the good Lord overlooks his fondness for young ladies. He never did kill a bloke without first giving him a fair chance to defend hisself. That's a good measure more than the rest of this demon crew would ever give. This morning I sent off to visit Davy Jones' locker with one of my Auntie's prayer and a few verses of the 23rd. I never did learn 'em all, but I figure I've got enough of 'em to get the gist of it done.
Seas have started to settle. In truth, I think the Capt'n might be fretting that the doldrums are setting in on us. May God's mercy be with us.
Preacher Jonny Roe