Dear Pablo Pinnochio,
We had ran into a terrible storm. Nearing Nantucket we attempted to breech the shoals at a lesser point. Tacking and box-hauling through the night, we neared the point of no return. The wind blew furiously and buffeted the topsail. I made the decision to open the jib and the mainsail, and the schooner felt her luff. Off we went, racing toward the point, our canvas all a shudder from the wicked wind! I do not wish to remember those horrible moments; but suffice it to say that at precisely the right time I was able to square away the yards!
Having gained the shores of Nantucket, I was able to avoid the perilous journey into the bowels of New York--where the sewers were indubitably, and overwhelmingly, the safest place to be! Ratty was with me at all times, working the astrolabe (the one invented by EEEEE. (Solon) Charterse, and incorporating the concepts of time lines and axial shifting) and chartering our course. As far as the albatross being pus filled and reeking...you, my good man, do not have a clue what you are talking about. Never having been past the Gates of Hercules, you would not (of course) know a squid from a grouper. THE SALT AIR had perfectly preserved old ALBY, and he smelled no different that your normal piece of salt pork with a hint of chicken and wormwood (tarragon).
Yes, thank you for understanding that I am a major albatross to Ratty. And neither of you better forget it! He is become a perfidious little bastard rat that used to be a friend...
And I don't like the way that he rustles around when I am trying to sleep...
Me and Ratty Magee
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