August 24
The journey’s beginning to wear heavily on the members of the party. Our food supply’s dwindling; all the water in the area is stagnant; and one of my socks is constantly falling down around my ankle. I’m happy to report, however that Normandy’s humor is still intact. Just this morning, he threatened to publicly expose me as an “inept bungler.” He then went on to add—and get this—”provided we ever get out of this jungle alive.” If not for comic outbursts such as this, I think despair would have descended even upon myself. God bless him.
August 30
The hardships of the journey have greatly enhanced Johnson’s depressive tendencies to the point of his becoming suicidal. When these moods occur, it becomes the task of everyone on the expedition to try and raise his spirits. This they are somewhat reluctant to do. When his spirits are raised, he becomes quite psychotic. Food conservation has become less of a problem now that Johnson has cut our party to six. We simply must keep him away from the sharper implements.
September 4
Scrappy Maxwell has shown himself to be a proud soul. He has taken quite a bit of abuse about his height from members of the party, but has maintained his composure throughout. Scrappy seems not at all embarrassed about his diminutive stature. Quite the opposite, he takes great pride in it. Upon occasion, Scrappy’s been heard to claim that Napoleon stole the idea of being short from him (Although history shows that Napoleon had at least the vague concept of shortness first). Still, he’s a spirited chap and, except for the delays he has caused by trying to wade through the deeper puddles, has proven a valuable addition to our team.
September 5
Poor old Normandy lost three fingers this morning in an attempt to involve Johnson in a game of charades.
September 7
Despair! Today is by far the worst day of the entire expedition. In one fell swoop we lost two more men and almost all our remaining foodstuffs.
It will undoubtedly be remembered as history’s most elaborate plan of desertion. One man donned the uniform of a short-order cook while another asked for an extremely large take-out. Only after several hours had elapsed and we realized that the order had never even been run up, let alone paid for, did we become suspicious. We are now down to four.
September 9
Starvation is setting in. Scrappy Maxwell and Normandy are constantly fighting and I’m too weak to try and stop them. This is probably just as well, since they are arguing over who gets to push me into the quicksand. All seems lost…
One cheery note, though. With death so imminent, Johnson’s mood has brightened considerably.
September 11
Never give up hope! Salvation is ours. Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Last night, in a starvation crazed state, we wandered aimlessly for hours and, by light of morning, found ourselves on a lush tropical beach. Fruits and nuts abound and fresh water is only some twenty yards inland. Then, as the sun rose higher, we spotted a ship moored offshore. A signal fire and shouts of “Hello, sailor” gained their attention. A rescue boat has been spotted heading toward us.
Scrappy Maxwell is busy packing what remains of our gear; while Johnson has been amusing himself with attempts at stoning seabirds. Normandy, however has simply stood nearby holding what looks to be a very sharp knife. I wouldn’t mind, except that he’s been giving me the strangest looks…