It is day 212 of this befouled journey. I have not scribed anew this book for a week as my hands were broken as a result of failing to smile at our feminine figurehead during the weekly obsequiousity ritual.
Our company is down to twenty-five souls from the original eighty. Our heaviest losses were last Thursday and Friday when we lost two score and three of our crew because of a grave error from our fearless leader.
Morale is very low now, there is an undercurrent of dissent amongst the remainders. "I'll give that cockswaggle Captain a fist-bath!" and other ejaculations have been heard. Hastings has been unique in his loud outbursts and virulent mutterings. I suspect that he will not last long.
Our glorious Captain has been trying to conceal the state of our larders, but his hungry leering follow the more robust of the men. Soon we all will follow suit.
A polite scratch at the door beckons me away for now. Too polite a scratching by a measure, I hope I will return.
