The foodstuff is rotten, the hull springs more leaks, we've been at this voyage for too many weeks. Our compass was shattered, there's no land in sight, the stars help us navigate during the night, in daytime we mostly just jostle about, afflicted by scurvy, Bell's palsy, and gout. We pray for salvation and women in dresses, all made up and perfumed with dangling tresses; the ropes are all fouled and the rudder's a mess, at least though we're making some decent progress. If you find this message then please do send help, the last land we sighted was St. Maarten's Isle, from there to the west we've been drifting a while, at least for a fortnight plus one or two days, through downpour and cloud-bank, through strong winds and haze, we're all sick of staring at waves and sea-foam, and desperate to find a safe way back home.
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