August 10th, 1812
Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean
Its been two days since we ate the last rodent on the ship. The men are starting to get aggressive, and everyone has one thing in mind, but nobody has yet proceeded to break the ice on the issue.
Cannibalism. If we dont get a patch soon, we will have to resort to eating eachother. First ones to go are the French prisoners we captured.
Then we start working our way down from the ones who have retained some bodymass, down to the ones that are merely a shell of their former selfs.
By night, I can hear many of the crew slowly crying, and praying.
Ive decided to join their prayers, too.
A small patch cant be too much to ask...