one day in the late July, 1719
The whole of the crew stood in long and holy silence this morning for the Daffodil was called upon to mourn the loss of Preacher Jonny Roe. Though not ordained by any proper holy church, he did serve as the blazing conscience on this ship to perdition. He warned us all that we, lads, so filled with sin ought to soon ready ourselves for our accounting before God for the pirate's life is but one skirmish away from Judgment Day.
Ay, last night at about five bells, we heard a ghastly scream from the stern of the ship. It was reported by Wee Willie Shackelford that he witnessed Jonny preaching at the moonlit waves. Wee Willie reported that he himself began to fear that the good Reverend had lost his mind.
Wee Willie, the one eyed, one time jester in the court of Saint James, reported with fevered fervor, "Jonny was preaching for the devils before him walking on the waters change their course and head to other places, preferably the hell from which they came. And when I approached to rescue poor Jonny from his madness, he threw hisself into the waters. His arms were outstretched much as the good Lord offering his soul upon a watery cross. And he was gone to watery purgatory that lies on the near side of Davy Jones locker."
The rescuers sent forth in the dorry found no trace excepting his well-worn Bible and the black watch cap, a gift from old Hans on a cold and icy night off the coast of Cape Breton.
Jonny will missed; his preaching less so.
May God rest his soul.
Oliver Dickens, the scribe of the Pink Daffodil and navigator