Damn them sea dogs, but it bloody hurts. Them bassad pirate buggers started shootin' at us afore we'd pulled up alongside. I took a couple of slugs early on, and missed most of the fightin'. They was lucky too; if I'd'a been up, they'd have suffered. The only account I have of this fightin' is from the others. Bert tells me that, despite the pirates being particularly tough, they turned 'em over wi' a good mix of pistol skills and technique wi' cold steel. Dunno whether t'believe him or nae, 'cos he's usually so full of shyte. I weren'ae the only one of our lot to get hurt, neither. The Father took a nasty chop wi' one o'them sabres, and Roland nearly died from his wounds. Unfortunately, the ships surgeon helped him out, so we gotta suffer more of his bloody arrogance. I'm feeling much better now I'm tucked up in bed. These scars look pretty good actually.
. . . . . .
Well, wi'the help o'the captain, we found the island, and we found a wreck right by it. Now all we have t'do is find a way to search it under 20 feet of cold sea! We have a number of plans, mainly involving upturned barrels, wineskins or upturned boats to hold air under water. My favourite solution is to tie some big rocks around the waist of Bert and chuck him in. It wont make it any easier t'find the artefacts, but it'll gi'us all some peace and quiet.