Sixty Nine days until we reach Key West.
And like the gale that blew the Black Swan off her course, as quickly as it came upon us, the storm has surrendered its strength, yet righted our destiny. I did make a pact with the Pirate Princess: to follow her orders true. She be right in her assessments, thankfully, or I be at the bottom of Davy Jones' locker, no more to write in a journal or search for me dreams. We shall sail to Key West, or wherever this journey may lead us, as Captains in partnership.
The skies are again clear. With me eyeglass, I spy the uncharted isle we be searching for. We sail there now, where the wind be taking us. It be a treacherous three days battling the sea; I swear I heard the song of the sirens wooing us to our imminent death! The ship be in need of repairs to the rigging and sails - minor, to be sure, compared to what we have been through- and while that can be tended to asea, we have lost all our provisions. The logbook of Captain La fey tells of an isle of plenty. We hope to find fruits and game until we reach a port to restock the galley. We could use a feast in honor of St. Patrick! While I write, the crew is fast at work: on deck are the carved bullock's horns with tallow that hold the sail and roping needles...
Captain Morgan La Fey's Journal tells us to trust the foul winds: that this be our true course. We be destined for something and even the sea is directing us. We go where we must. Falcon LaGrange, in the mystical Waggoner has charted this island. Me first mate has yet to find our bearings, but be busy now studying the land forms in the charts. We make way for this unknown island.
-Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack Wordsworth