Whoopsy daisy

Whoosh - a wave straight over me face at the captain's wheel. The closer we get to Antarctica the more heaving the seas become what with all this tossing and turning of the ship. The waves are huge the sea deep and much fomenting. And the weather is positively fulminous. Shocking stuff all this heaving seawater. Impossible to find our bearings some days and the nights are terrible too. We know that we are by-passing the Patagonia coastline of Argentina and Chile but tis mighty hard to keep this rudder straight in such seas. The French have disappeared again over the horizon and are heading maybe round the Cape. Back home in Portugal, the old Iron Duke is closing on the French troops. These latter are an illdisciplined lot that are always stealing pigs, and dancing on the bars of the cities they bother and destroy - a right lot of brigands and charlatans and ransackers if every we saw any. Anyway the local peoples and villagers have no time for the French. Freeloaders and batmouthers at the best of times. We have not seen as worse as these. The corvettes the SS Veinticinco de mayo and the SS Armada del sol are up ahead, from French-controlled Argentina. Must be out of here - captain on the bridge.