Tis I again, Jemmy Rathbone 'ere to inform you swashbucklers of the night passed...
A cold brisk eve it twere last night at the Palace where o' such sea filth did meet.
Read'ist we we did from the script "Treasure Island by the infamous scoundrel himself, Ken Ludwig.
We did'ist encounter the wick'd Black Dog who came'st all the way a long journey from Spain 'cross the sea.
Actually a close friend o' me own.
Both the wretch'd Squire Trelawney and the smooth-talkin' Doctor Livesey were present and the words which came'st from their mouths did sound so heavenly that I wanted to strangle 'em both silly with their own tongues.
The cleverest George Merry did'st get under the fingernails of the cap'n momentarily but once he was promised a spot 'mongst Silver's most prized collection o' heads - he did'st shut his trap.
We also come 'cross a strange, stringy man with a beard o' white as snow and he did'st make the strangest requests o' the young Jim Hawkins...
The Captain Flint, mine hero and role model, doth inform me that we are soon to be in the possession of a treasure more brilliant than that e're imagined by man.
Next week, the common heresay 'round these parts be on Thursday - we be trainin' o' the ways o' the pistols and swords. Once complete, we shall'st be prepared to face any man or beast, armed to the teeth and ready to fight on rockin' boats, rope ladders, taverns and even in the middle o' a jungle riddled with snakes and the Lord knows what else.
Ne'er a man shall get in mine way of that glorious treasure awaitin' me and me mates 'pon Treasure Island!
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