Would You Like Some Fish? also entitled Death of Crestsilver is a story released by Jack Daggerstealer and Charlotte Swordhayes after piecing together two accounts of the Meeting at Guyana. One of these accounts was written from the point of view of former Council Member Charles Crestsilver, who is killed during the story. The other is from the account of a personal bodyguard of Crestsilver. The bodyguard, a current soldier in the Freiland army, has asked to simply be referred to as Quincy. The accounts have been transcribed as well as possible, so any grammatical mistakes remain.
My Freezing Bullocks (Quincy 1)[]
Why i evar sined up for this dam thing ill never no. i mite not hav thot this won thro. sum of the other boys mite say that its good pay, but i dont thinc so. for sait maryee sakes, its so bloody cold hear. im freezign my bolloccs off, thats how cold it is. anee ways, not all this staying at virgenya is bad, evan in wintar. the mister Crestsilver has been teeching me how to rite and reed. hes a good man i tell you, bin treating me nicely evin tho im his gard and all. im hooping that i can rite those big books that i promised my mamma about wen i was a lad. i bin thinkin about that. what am i going to rite about. i supose that ill rite doun my life story. sumones going to reed that. i dont car if they liek it. mayby won dey it will be won of thos big books that pepol reed eech dey, lik sum pepol who reed the bible. wel thats it for toodey.
My Freezing Bollocks (Quincy 2)[]
Why I ever signed up for this damn thing, I’ll never know. I might not have thought this one through. Some of the other boys might say that it’s good pay, but I don’t think so. For St. Mary’s sake, it’s so bloody cold here! I’m freezing my bollocks off! That’s just how cold it is. Anyways, not everything in Virginia is so bad, even during Winter. Mr. Crestsilver has been teaching me how to write and read. He’s a good man, I tell you. He’s been treating me nicely even though I’m just a lonely escort and all. I’m hoping one day I’ll be able to write those big books that I promised Momma about when I was a young lad. I’ve been thinking about that. What am I going to write about? I suppose that I’ll write down my life story. Someone's going to read that! I don’t care if they like it. Maybe one day, it will be one of those big books that people read each day, like some people who read the Bible.
Welcome to Guyana (Crestsilver)[]
January 7, 1747
The journal was once my only refuge. Before I got to my nice little rest, every night I’d write in the little book. I didn’t want to risk ruining it on this small “voyage”, so I am quite relieved the Britons here in Georgetown were glad to give me this new diary. They’ve given me a much more pleasant experience...than the past. It saddens me greatly that their name has been perverted in my head. All thanks to a “privateer” who brutally slaughtered the crew of a French civilian ship.
Let me carry on, with the, um, previous conversation. These Britons have been giving me quite the luxury. Not quite as good as in my cozy diplomat home, but much nicer than I expected in a tropical port. Another thing I must write about is the soldier, Quincy [blank]. He grew up a poor Scotsman, and when he joined my Co. Sons of Liberty, he quickly wanted to grow out of his illiteracy. We started out strong, but I had to quit teaching him as a result of the war and several other events. I resumed these lessons once I learned he was part of the crew, and though he has much, and I mean it when I say much, to work on, I am quite proud of him. Well, that is all for today. Tomorrow I shall meet with a diplomat from Tyler “Crossbones”, the current Monarch of Switzerland. How I hate him...and I rarely use hate. However, peace must be negotiated, for the world will become a better place, one treaty at a time.