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Saturday, November 25, 2006

November 25. 1777
One year ago this day we sailed from Portsmouth for a 3 month cruise. We all fully expected to return to our home ports with pockets full of prize money. Instead one year hence we remain forgotten in this hole of a prison with little hope of seeing our wives and families again but rather the end of a hangman’s noose or the muzzle of a British musket.

Our bread is so bad that most of us would swear it be made from straw, not flour. We complained about it to little effect as the prison master is a tyrant who we are convinced is lining his pockets while letting us starve.

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