First Dispatch - [written]

October 13th,

I don't understand. I had hoped that if I took up this book and put my quill to the paper, I could write out those thoughts that disquiet my mind, but I find they are too numerous and tangled within one another to offer any sort of order in which to begin. I have read the so-called guide offered by this strange, bewitched book. Everything around me still seems impossible or a dream, at the least.

I am aware no one can tell me when I will be able to return to England, but my absence disturbs me still. I've an important engagement to attend, and the idea that I shall not miss it does not settle easily.

I suppose there are worse fates than this, however, and far worse prisons. [Spanish war prisons and debtors' prison, for two examples his mind provides.] I shall have to bide.

H. Hornblower