Captain Sandy R. Bottoms

Friday June 16th, 1719

Dear Diary,

I know I promised to write every day, but I be a busy man! Some days me thinks I be running this ship by meself - and now there be one less sailor to blame for that.

Two nights ago the sea took back old Angus, The Pink Daffodil’s supposed carpenter. It always seemed to me that he put more nails in his toes than he ever did in the deck. But in me one good piece of news all week, it turns out his eyepatch be the perfect size to take away the wobble in me writing desk.

Preacher Rowboat droned on and on before we could finally pitch the body over the gunwale, running his gob about hellfire and brimstone and all that nonsense. If he wasn’t the only soul on this doomed boat that can tell north from south I’d have tied him to Angus and sent them both to the bottom of the sea and whatever awaits us in the afterlife.

As if that were not enough to drive a man mad, I caught the cook snacking on a secret stash of chocolate chip cookies this afternoon. Just great, that be. The rest of us be gnawing on our boots between ‘meals’ of moldy cheese and weevil-filled bread, and he be dining like a prince! I should have known not to hire a cook named Tubby.

I swear if Fluffy comes complainin’ to me about his blimin’ blisters one more time, I’ll lose me mind.

Yours, from the brink of insanity,

Captain Sandy R. Bottoms

The End

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