by Jeffrey Cook
Peru
13º09' S 72º32'18 W
To the Esteemed Gentlemen of the Royal Explorers’ Society
Dear Sirs,
We have now stayed a few days with the natives of this place. In that time, we learned that York killed the Spanish officials in charge of this valley. The locals have no quarrel with us as their masters might have, and so far they have largely welcomed Miss Bowe. Their elders even seem quite pleased to speak with her. She must have been quite small when last she was here, but they certainly know the Bowe name.
They have been reasonably hospitable, though I must warn anyone who would come after us that they are quite protective of the city above us. It is most assuredly not any sort of City of Gold. They are not hoarding treasure, as outsiders might think, but the relics of their history. The people's vigilance and the remote and inaccessible location have kept some artifacts of their past relatively intact for such an ancient place. York and his men have plundered it of some valuables, but our quick arrival seems to have prevented much of the looting and damage they might have done.
The Moroccan among York's number concerns me greatly, for the men we have captured and questioned have affirmed that he had predicted when we would be arriving and roughly where we would be most likely to set down. This was insightful enough that they caught those of our company who were not on the rescue mission unawares.
We had enough alert guards that our companions were able to raise a warning and get people to stations. The occasion forced people who were not typically combatants to take up muskets and defend the ship, but in the end, no one reached them, though in the process, the dirigible received extensive damage, which was likely the plan all along. We are now forced to remain here for a time to conduct repairs while York eludes us and moves on. Yesterday's preliminary test flight barely got the Dame Fortuna to this village. Much more work will be needed, and even then we must pray.
Based on her look in the kidnapper's charting room, Miss Bowe believes they are traveling next to New Zealand. She and Miss Penn have supplied us some information on that place. The native people call themselves Maori and are very much accustomed to warring among themselves. English ships have visited that land before, and Captain James Cook mapped a great deal of it, but the nature and aggression of the people led most to deem it impractical to try to settle, especially once we were recalling all possible young men to defend our nation. The French seem to have extended their own colonial aims there, however, and Miss Bowe tells us that at least some of the Maori tribes can be expected to have old French and Dutch muskets.
It is anticipated that York may believe he has some inroad with one of these tribes and can fortify himself in a place where we are put at a severe disadvantage. He also certainly needs armed men to serve him again, for in laying believable ambush for us, he left behind many of his troops. At the very least, it guarantees he will not have to pay them, and it certainly inspired some of them to fight with desperation, realizing their escape was leaving them behind.
We will be leaving these men for the natives to deal with as they see fit, for it seems fitting someone should answer for the plunder of the ruins so valued by the locals, and we have little else to offer to them in trade. So far, they seem content with this. We also have trouble enough with the prisoner we still hold, who has agreed that New Zealand is a likely next stop for York and his men. We will give pursuit as soon as we are able, especially driven now that we are certain they are keeping Sir James alive, but we will be trapped here a time until we can make the needed repairs.
Should the Spanish send a new representative before we are able to leave, we will attempt to avoid hostilities. I shall send this communication at my earliest ability, but that may be some time, by which time, our location and situation will certainly have changed. With any good fortune, my arm, which was injured in our battle with York's mercenaries, will be healed by then.
Sincerely,
Gregory Conan Watts
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
March 15th, 1816
Peru
13º09' S 72º32'18 W
I have elected to not share the details of how our companions were able to drive off York's men with our new employers, to keep Miss Coltrane's secret. They were, indeed, ambushed some days past. Thankfully, she and Miss Wright were at the time testing one of the systems in the battle suit, so she was mostly equipped. From the accounts, I do not think our opponents were prepared for the monster to deploy nearly so quickly. They had damaged the airship already, and people were taking up stations, but likely all would still have been lost had their first raiding attempt not been met so quickly by Miss Coltrane's machine.
Even so, it was apparently a significant battle, for they were well ordered and given solid tactics, spread out over the territory that there was no large grouping to be attacked at once. This made Miss Coltrane choose carefully where to direct her attacks lest she leave an opening they could exploit in order to raid the ship. Their early efforts yielded numerous such chances, but each time, Mr. Franzini, the Captain, and the engineers were able to ambush those who got past Miss Coltrane. Had they had any greater numbers, they might well have taken the ship. At last they were forced into retreat, but the damage left behind was significant.
Repairs were begun at once, always with people standing guard when any external work had to be done. The native people here, along with Eddy and Miss Bowe, have taken to hunting down or chasing away any of York's men who remain, though after the first two days, it seemed as if anyone who had been left had realized they were not getting paid – and were stranded in Peru – and chose to go elsewhere as quickly as they could.
For all that we have been welcomed here, after the first contacts were made, the people are quite eager to see us gone. They are reasonably civilized, certainly, but still a superstitious culture. Not only has our conflict brought a handful of deaths with it, though none seem to be greatly mourning the Spanish overseers, but even as we approach the fourth month of the year, there is little sign of spring. While this is certainly not nearly so severe a thing as it might be in some climates, the people here, dependent entirely on their land, are growing quite concerned with this odd weather and season.
Miss Penn seems likewise concerned for it and convinced that this year is seeing her predictions for a time of darkness come true. The locals seem fascinated with her cards and share in Miss Bowe's impressionable nature where the supposed supernatural is concerned. Many have asked her for some idea how their crops will fare this year, or when the Spanish will return. I must admit, I am quite surprised, for such occasions with a fair's charlatan would lead to predictions of great harvests and an easing of concerns, but she consistently predicts difficult circumstances, a poor growing season, and terrible conflict lying ahead. Much as it would comfort them, she also has not predicted that York would be the last of those who would come to rob their ancient city of its hidden treasures. Whatever sort of fortune-teller she is, she is not typical.
Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright are leading most of the repairs, though everyone has put themselves to work at one time or another. We are having to substitute for many of the ideal materials, though so far, Miss Coltrane has assured us that what we are doing should still allow us to fly. Still, we will need to have proper reconstruction done as soon as possible.
If we had any time to spare – and could be sure we would be welcomed there – we would head back for the American colonies. As we have neither time nor such reassurance, we are instead charting a course for New Zealand as quickly as we can manage and praying that Miss Coltrane is as much a genius as applied to dirigibles as she is with her complex mechanics. If not, we shall soon have a very long swim ahead of us.
At the very least, this new desperation for speed and the need for everyone to put themselves into all the work they are able have prevented some of the argument and tension which marked much of our trip here. For now, everyone's primary aim is to be airborne again, and every lesser
conflict can be put aside until we have reached that goal.
In the meantime, I feel quite the useless lump here. I can keep watch, but still require far more rest each day than I am used to needing, and my one good hand is of no use in carpentry, sewing or any other craft we have a current need for. At least my recovery seems to be going well, and mundane activities such as standing about and writing no longer cause the same pain they had previously. I am looking forward to our next opportunity to return the favor to York and his fellows.
March 22nd, 1816
18º06' S 81º W
My Dearest Cordelia,
We are underway once more, though travel is exceedingly slow. The closer we get to our goal, the stranger the skies we enter. We have seen very little sunlight at all: the mornings come late, and the nights come early. I cannot call the weather cold. Indeed, it is quite warm here, but just as with all the other places we have visited accustomed to warmer weather, the warmth is only temperate, not what one might expect and certainly not what our guide seems to have anticipated. If this is the case here, I cannot help but wonder at the conditions in England or the more Northern colonies.
The Captain is complaining a great deal about the control for the ship. Repaired sails and patches in our balloon have compromised his precise controls, it seems, though he has mostly kept us aloft, with some sudden dips and rises. He has had to instruct others in some of the more complex pieces of handling the wheel and keeping us on course. At one time, he was well able to tie the wheel off to leave us sailing straight, or instruct a man to hold the wheel and call should we hit rough weather, but now we are in need of frequent adjustment and correction. Eddy has taken reasonably well to it, and one of the engineers who had frequently held the wheel in times previous has some experience with similar conditions, but with the dirigible behaving so oddly and the weather so inconsistent, everyone is nervous when the Captain is trying to get some sleep between shifts at the wheel.
Where the crisis and rush back in Peru brought people together, pushing everyone's limits to get us in the air once more, this current difficulty, where there is almost nothing anyone can do to help aside from watching our elevation and manning the wheel, has raised tempers. Miss Penn has limited herself almost entirely to keeping within Miss Bowe's easy earshot in her effort to avoid Mr. Franzini, who seems determined to keep her as discomfited as possible within the limits of his courage for testing Miss Bowe's temper.
I have made an unusual observation regarding Miss Bowe. Even after multiple months with little sunlight, the dark tan of her skin has not noticeably faded. This has most surprising implications. Dr. Bowe is known to have been English. It was natural – or perhaps, I realize, only normal – to assume that Mrs. Bowe was the same. It may not be so, however. I shall not ask at this time.
Eddy and Miss Coltrane alternate between stretches of speaking with one another not at all and brief conversations, which are kept politely hushed but nonetheless seem quite intense. I can obviously assume that he is as far from forgiving Miss Coltrane or her brother as ever, and being forced to keep his voice down does not permit him to vent his anger a great deal.
Under all this stress, Miss Coltrane and Mrs. Fisher, while still generally polite, brought less of the grace and touches of home that might ease a tense ship. Miss Wright has striven all the more for perfection and fumbled all the more in her ladylike pursuits as a result. She has subsequently curbed her inspections with Mrs. Fisher in favor of the one art for which she has shown a true aptitude, for these days, something always seems to be in dire need of repairs of checking upon. Harriet and her cousin thus retreat together to the workshop quite often.
Left without Harriet’s solicitations of perfectionism, Mrs. Fisher has skirted the edges of politeness and chided Miss Penn and Miss Bowe for their respective less-than-perfectly-English manners and egregious lapses in ladylike behavior, but they pay her only as much mind as will keep the necessary peace.
The card games have stopped entirely for the time being. Not only do they serve as a reminder that something is missing, as if we needed any such thing, but Eddy has been in no spirit for such occasions, and I cannot play at all without pain. It is surprising how much of daily life one takes for granted when without injury. My recovery continues, and I can now lift my arm when I must, but it is not easy, and I wonder if that shoulder will ever be quite the same as it was.
In light of the tensions, I seem to have also unwittingly taken on another role on the ship, one which I am not comfortable with, but do not refuse, both as it seems to be needed, and I feel like I otherwise have not been doing my rightful share. I am now something of an unofficial mediator here, settling disputes and acting as a go-between, for I am the only person who is not occupied in a critical function of the ship – and with whom no one aboard has any particular quarrel. Of everyone, only Mr. Franzini seems more uncomfortable than I am with me taking on this particular role, for he is well aware of how disliked and distrusted he is by the men of England, but he seems to have accepted it as well, for he would certainly get no better from anyone else.
How I long to be in your company, my dearest. Or, failing that, at least at home. In the worst of cases, before, at least we shared a spirit of adventure among our number. All of that has been lost to tragedy and secrets. I can only hope that in our disunity, we are not lost ourselves. I take solace in knowing that your prayers are with us.
My love, always,
Gregory Conan Watts
Letter from Heathsville, Northumberland County, Virginia Colony Archives, Wright Collection.
April 22, 1816
Mother Dear and Daddy,
I am so tired. This is the first time I've really sat down since dawn, for as much as anyone can judge dawn these days. You could almost think the Dame Fortuna is as worried for what's happening to James as we are, the way she groans. But that's because flying a damaged ship across an entire ocean in awful, awful weather, with hardly anything to work with, is not supposed to happen! Jillian and I keep scavenging for parts with nowhere to scavenge, patching over patched wood with new wood treatments and sometimes, I must admit, wood-like things. Let's see if this letter is ever sent, or if it ends up laid over something and painted with lacquer or whatever leavings of pitch we have. This is particularly a prospect since there will probably be no supplies on the island we will next reach, if we reach anything.
Now Jillian's out with dear old Eddy and his eyepieces, trying to figure out goodness-knows-what. I really don't know what we'd do without Eddy. Jillian had a mishap in the workshop that would have been so much worse if he hadn't thought to come help.
So long as this latest trouble with the ship and altitude does not send us all plummeting into the ocean, I just hope it gets her mind off our worries for James for a little while longer. Pray for us all.
Your loving daughter,
Harriet Wright.
New Zealand and Survival
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
May 5th, 1816
34º53' S 177º E
At long last we near our destination, after many times thinking we may not make it at all. I must admit, the moments of excitement have certainly broken up the long periods of quiet tension between the crew – and may have helped avert different types of crises – but they certainly put their share of strain on everyone's hearts and nerves at the time.
The first was far more dramatic, certainly. Though in hindsight, the storm was not nearly so bad as that we weathered off of the New York shore, at the time, it seemed at least as violent. There was also the matter that in New York, as in the lesser storms we have faced while traveling, we had a dirigible in perfect condition, a first mate, and an uninjured crew. This time we had none of those things, and even from the first winds, we could hear our securing ropes groaning ominously, and the wall boards, some of which still bear the pockmarks from being struck with musket fire that did not quite penetrate through, bowed and creaked horribly. Soon after, the
floor was pitching right and left beneath us, and through the ship, one could hear people losing their feet as they scrambled for cover and handholds.
More ready for this disaster now, the Captain was straightaway lashing himself to the wheel, just in case, while I scrambled forward to the windows and tied myself off there as best I was able, for while my arm is much better, violent movement still pains it, and I have occasional bouts of numbness in my hand. Halfway through securing myself was one such time, so when the ship pitched violently again, I was sent toppling backwards, tied to the ship's railing by a rope not yet pulled tight enough. Somehow, the rope ended up tied around one leg, and with my hand gone numb and shoulder jarred by my fall, I was unable to easily right myself. I spent some minutes trying to fight my way back up the rope with one arm, dangling from the single thread and being tossed about as the ship pitched to and fro.
By the time I had righted myself, I was able to observe that most of the crew had fared better than I, thankfully. There was great concern, however, for Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright, who were in the workshop when the storm began, and afterward were nowhere to be seen. I understand that war experience had taught them to keep everything therein tightly secured when not in use, but any manner of heavy objects and sharp edged equipment might be loose back there while work was progressing, to say nothing of the suit itself. Eddy had come to the front to help as best he could, but not seeing them, and hearing where the women were, he untied himself and stumbled and fought his way towards the back of the ship.
Miss Bowe has always had better balance than the lot of us and had relatively little trouble in navigation, even in these circumstances. She went across the hallway somewhere in the midst of everything, going outside to make sure the ropes were secure. The only other time I would see her during the storm, she was out in the rigging, ropes lashed about one arm and her waist, fighting to secure one of the sails that had broken loose and would not pull back to the ship at the Captain's controls. Though it certainly aided the Captain's efforts, I can only offer it as more proof that the woman is entirely insane.
