Journal+-+Israel+Lewis

So there is something worthwhile in the crate of bricks after all? I wonder if the if the same holds true for the one filled with sand. Although now that I think of it why would there be any relevant in either when they were sold under false pretenses anyway? Maybe Mr. Clyde was lying about that too, I wouldn’t put it past him after what he tried to pull
 * Entry the First**

He had me feeling sorry for him too; about to be stranded in America without the funds to sail back home. Of course at this point I doubt even I have enough to buy my way back, not after hiring half the lawyers in New York. There’s really no way to explain these murders that the captain will believe, hell I’m not sure I even believe what happened.

If only this hold were better organized I could have found my bow, then again I’m not sure I can shoot something that can disappear. Still if Clyde wasn’t such a rat I bet we could have made a proper stand of it. Can’t worry about that now though, almost finished getting these bricks out of the way.

Wait, there’s nothing in here...

Now that... that got out of hand. Sigh, at least no one can say that my first American hunting expedition was empty handed. The inefficiency of it all is appalling, gallons spilled and not more than a cup full finding its merry way down my throat. What started out as an simple bout went south the moment Clyde gave in. Though in the end I have to give the bloated corpse some credit, he may be honourless beast but at least he's not wasteful.
 * Entry the Second**

Still this partnership is going to need some sort of structure if running a territory really is our aim. People can only give so much and there are only so many, another few night like the last and if the populace doesn't put a stop to it I'm sure the Carthians will. If only the thought of restraint didn't make my blood boil in defiance. As I wipe the last of the dried blood from hands I notice that despite my body's newfound powers of regeneration I still have the childhood scar running along my fingers; the scar from when I tried to take meat from a dog.