Greetings friend! I have just today received your letter as we set anchor in Back Bay only today.
Our trip here from Madagascar, where last I saw you, was a treacherous one. A few nights ago (though now it seems like a lifetime) a mad, gnashing storm kicked up. The ship was thrown about like a rag in the sea's angry hands. Convinced of a horrible fate for the crew, I sent the men below, telling them they would be safer there though knowing in my heart that this night would most likely be their last; I wished only to spare them of the site of the Hannu, our ship and mother, our lives' work, broken to bits by the blind cruelty of nature. I would have preferred not to witness so grotesque a death myself, but felt it my duty to see the old girl out to the end. So I had a trusted mate (John Hanker, who you, I'm sure, remember) bind my body to the foremast with sheets torn from my bed. Having securely fastened me so, I sent Hanker below with the other men.
The storm tossed the ship about and threw great surges of water over the bow, flooding the decks and hitting me squarely in my face, my nose and throat choking with the water and my eyes a-burn with the salt. I saw a wave the size of a whale slam down upon our decks and saw Hannu shrug it off like the advances of an unworthy suitor.
At dawn, the sky pinking and the bellies of the clouds turning gold, I saw the sight I had lost hope of: the sea calmed, the sky cleared, and the Hannu had somehow survived, none of her men lost. I was drenched and exhausted. The men, coming above, found me still tied to the mast and unbound me, one of them bringing me a much needed mug of burning-hot coffee.
So you can imagine our joy at having arrived here in Bombay. We plan to recoup here for some months and build our supplies back up.
So, tell me, what is your progress, if any, with this Marla? She sounds like a fine woman. Shall I be planning a trip to England soon to witness your marriage? I can not imagine a more joyful event.
Sincerely,
Capt. Bosworth
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