by Jeffrey Cook
On the other hand, I am quite enjoying living those mundane details. Certainly it is a rough land, but the people here have built some small measure of civilization for themselves along these shores. The main portion of the wilds have not yet been explored, and few seem particularly eager to go about that mission. Several who have – or have been exiled from this colony and its environs – have all disappeared as best as anyone can tell, never to be heard from again. There are a number of dangerous beasts, especially near some of the waterways, if the locals are to be believed. Away from the water, the land itself is dangerous. This year, as it seems it has everywhere, the land has been unusually dark and cold, with long stretches of no sunlight, but even so, for men of England, it grows quite hot here, and the baking land can be very unforgiving to the traveler.
We laid Mrs. Fisher to rest yesterday with the aid of a local reverend, traveled to this desolate place to seek to save the souls of those condemned enough to merit exile, while not so wicked as to merit execution. He has had his hands full ever since his arrival, with the people of this place seeming very much akin to many of those on the American frontier. Still, the presence of a minister is welcome, for even among criminals, there are praying men, and some of those who have come here did so of their own volition. They sought a living in constructing these dwellings or operating businesses here on the edge of nowhere, away from the crowded streets of London and the rest of our land. Some seem to regret it, while others have settled in well.
The service was beautiful, for the reverend was prepared well, and was made aware of all Mrs. Fisher had seen and done in her eventful life. News of our deeds and travels, especially the arrival of an airship, have traveled quickly though this place. Fast enough that we keep constant guard on the ship, though there has yet been no threats to it, thankfully. Even were someone here to get aboard, we are fairly certain that they would be entirely unable to operate it, but it could still be a dangerous distraction.
The Captain has his own rooms, currently being shared with Matthew, paid for by the Coltranes, near to the church so that they may visit often and seek some comfort there in the words of the reverend and under the eyes of the Lord. Most of the rest of us are sharing rooms, at least among those remaining in town. I am rooming on my own, though Sir James may join me in time here, should his condition merit it. Eddy has agreed to allow Matthew to stay with him, when he feels up to it. Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright share quarters, and should they return, there is little question that Miss Bowe and Miss Penn will keep a room. They have already rearranged their two separate half-storage rooms for a shared room on the ship, to prevent further root-related accidents. Despite the Coltranes' generosity, Mr. Franzini has insisted he will make his own way here in order to keep to himself and his own affairs and hours.
The engineers take turns staying on and working on the ship, and making their presence known as guards, but at any time, any two of them may share a room here, at the Coltranes' expense, that they too may rest after all they have endured. There are multiple taverns here where one may keep a room, and a single inn with a large common room where many of the newcomers stay when they have just arrived by whatever circumstance, until they have established themselves in the community or proven unable to live within it. It has been some time since the last ship arrived, and it will be some time before the next, so there is no shortage of space.
There is a doctor here, who is currently housing Sir James. He has apparently sought to make some place for himself tending to the sick of this faraway land, and we are most grateful for him. In addition to Sir James, both Eddy and I have needed significant attention, and he is still regularly checking on my shoulder and my ribs. We bound them as best we could, and he acknowledges I am most fortunate to even be alive after that fall, and certainly my condition could be much worse. I can look upon such good fortune, painful as it was, as some divine providence for injuring myself in the course of doing a good deed. Despite feeling such grace upon me, I shall hope there is never occasion in which I must do such a fool thing again, for if the feeling of divine providence is a broken rib and numb arm, I will gladly share the blessing among other men.
The warmth here and lack of need to often move it violently has done wonders for my shoulder, though after examination, the doctor believes it may never fully function properly again, and it may well always suffer from the bouts of numbness when jarred. He cautions me also that as I grow older, it is quite likely to become arthritic and ache with the turning of the weather, especially when it gets particularly cold, or ahead of storms. For now, I am simply grateful that it works at all, and I shall see what comes of it.
Under the doctor's care, we are assured that Sir James should live. His most vital signs of life are becoming stronger, and he is awake for longer and longer periods. He was even able to attend the funeral. His family constructed for him a rolling chair-bed, which kept him stable enough that we could wheel him somewhere he could view the service. Though the device is well constructed, he is in poor enough condition that the jarring from every stone and rut injures him, so the chair-bed was put away again afterwards. The doctor was hesitant to even allow him that bit of absence from total bedrest, but relented when Sir James roused from near-stupor to silently insist. Having been given a shave and a haircut, he is at once back to looking noble, while likewise being quite disturbing. Seeing a gaunt and bruised face on the once-healthy, vibrant young man is difficult for many, especially his sister.
Miss Coltrane has busied herself with a variety of tasks, such that I wonder if she ever allows herself any rest. She has assisted, quietly, with the rebuilding of the airship, under the guise of serving as its hostess now. She is using what materials we can purchase to rebuild her battle suit as well, though both are a long and slow process. Indeed, to fully fix the engines and the balloon, we will likely need to wait until the next supply ship comes with new men condemned or volunteered for this colony.
At the very least, with the new proclamations that we discovered when we left the American colonies, there are more men of some civilization coming here. It seems that the Catholics of England who have chosen to keep their first loyalty to the pope have been given the choice of any of England's colonies, and some of the more adventurous among them have elected to come here instead of going to the Americas. Having been to both, I am unsure about the sanity of these people, but some have a more frontier spirit than others when they are forced to leave their homes at all. England seems to intend to use this proclamation to help settle their colonies more quickly, just hoping that here the Catholics and criminals will balance out each other’s tendencies enough to become a functioning colony.
For right now, they have shelter with real beds, they have tea, and they eat like civilized men, so this seems the very height of luxury, even as rough as the territory remains.
From the journals of Jillian Coltrane (translated from the original ancient Greek and, where noted, Latin)
July 5th, 1816
This newest daughter-land of Australia had filled me with such hope, James, and I almost cracked completely when I found it was false hope.
The talk of Australia had been talk of returning to civilization. We talked of better doctors for you, for prayers read from the proper book of prayers for Mrs. Fisher. We were so enamored of these ideas as we hurried off that horribly littered beach that I think we all failed to think them through.
Our status as technical outlaws, at least, does not seem to matter here. Even if the news had arrived, I suppose we might fit right in among convicts and fourth sons playing at being a country. America, as a daughter-land, is fun and refreshing with wilds and cities. One can see the civilization spreading over the land, with deposits of it growing around train depots and village schools. More importantly than see, one can acquire needed things through these venues. In Australia I am under-supplied in the best of places.
There are not better doctors here. There is one doctor, singular, here, and while he is
trained, he is much more accustomed to patching the results of bar brawls then he is with long, serious convalescence. He is still trying, and any additional thoughts and opinions that might help cannot be ignored. However, I was in the room to see the first look on his face when presented with your person, and that moment of sheer hopelessness nearly broke me.
The doctor did recover, and start giving all the right instructions for any patient recovering from large injuries. He is a doctor in the wilds, and I’m sure he's seen horrible things before. I'm not happy that you were the worst.
[Latin] The church is not familiarly equipped either. Mrs. Fisher insisted we pack the latest prayerbooks, so we have those on hand. For liturgies read aloud, however, such as the services for burial, the dissonance of mismatches and edits is jarring. Even spiritually I am under-supplied, unable to retreat into patterns. [End of Latin]
You're still not speaking. I spent most of today still so distraught I survived on tea and let Harriet gossip at me all morning without comprehending a word. I almost failed to be dressed for Mr. Watts's afternoon visit, since I hadn’t heard the warning of it, and had to accept Harriet's hurried advice on matters of clothing. Were you aware enough, you'd no doubt be amused by the role reversal. It came as quite a surprise. I'm used to knowing my role. Nothing's the same in Australia.
July 5th, 1816
33º51' S 151º12' E
My Dearest Cordelia,
I do not know when my letters might reach you again. Despite this, it is a comforting habit to write and address it to your eyes, that you might eventually have some idea of these journeys. It occurred to me this morning how long it has been since I have written to you, for much of what we have undergone in recent times is certainly not fit for a lady of England. Truthfully, I am unsure I would wish most of what we have seen in recent days upon any man of England or otherwise. I will exclude the former Col. York, for much as judgment is not mine, I cannot help but imagine a far more dire fate for him and everyone who follows him.
I regret to inform you that Mrs. Fisher has died during our travels. Though we could not manage the great trappings and surroundings her noble life merited here in the small and only partially settled colonies of Australia, we did everything we could. The local reverend is a rugged man, as one must be in order to survive well here, but he is also a kind man with a fine and charitable soul. He delivered a beautiful eulogy, and during it, the ash-gray skies that have become so familiar this past year even lightened for a time.
Because our fame has extended even here – and no one else has ever arrived here in one of the famous dirigibles – we have been the talk of the town and, should the first few messengers be believed, of the surrounding regions as well. Because of this, and in honor of the spirit of adventure, which no few of the volunteers to come to this place share, Mrs. Fisher's funeral was attended by almost the entire town, much of which shut down for the occasion. She touched all of our lives in this trip, and the message delivered, and the spirit in which she lived her life even moved some of the locals to tears, though they had never seen her or even heard her name, aside from perhaps in passing association with Sir James and the war exploits.
I wish I could better convey both the beauty of the ceremony, under such difficult circumstance, and the profound sense of loss we are all feeling, but the words fail me. After hearing so often of her, in association with us on this trip and reading my previous letters, I am sure you may have some sense of it yourself.
In seeing the Captain suffering through this time of terrible grief, my heart certainly goes out to him, and he has had the virtual run of the town ever since our arrival. At the very least, he seems to have found some comfort both in the church and with some few war veterans of his generation, with whom he shares stories long into the nights over drinks now. I will hope it does his heart some good. He has already volunteered to continue serving as our captain, though I cannot imagine how hard that first flight will be for him and for all of us, leaving one of our own behind. Still, his courage and loyalty to the Coltranes is to be commended to the highest degree. For all my initial misgivings from unkempt first impressions, he is a man of the highest character.
The rest of our company seems to have found its own way in things. Though some of us room near one another, many of us do not see a great deal of each other. My injuries have limited my activities, so most of the time now, I stay with Sir James, speaking to him and carrying on with my writing and documentation of our trip so far. It is good for my mind, and though he does not respond verbally yet, between the doctor's assurance and what responses Sir James does manage, I am sure that these talks do him some good.
I am still not entirely certain what I myself think of Sir James, what he has done and what he has had the nation believe he has done, so I can certainly understand that the others, especially those who thought they knew him better, might have some deep reservations. Eddy, especially, seems to continue to take the entire affair hard. He has yet to visit Sir James here, and I do not think this condition will change any time soon. At the very least he is conversing at times with Miss Coltrane again, and their words have been somewhat more civil sounding, at least the few I have overheard. I do not know how he and Miss Wright fare. Certainly she had some part in the deception as well, but it was not her secret to tell, and it is well known now that he had some softer place in his heart for her, though he seems long recovered from his disappointment. Mr. Franzini is not the trusting sort, and I can certainly understand how he might feel some deep betrayal as well after how he has been treated in the past. Still, I do not see any of them often these days while I recuperate.
What I do know is that I am still a soldier at heart in some part of my being, proud to serve England and conduct this mission. I have my own reasons for doing so, as you well know, but I think your father would appreciate knowing that even in adversity, my first thoughts are of loyalty to country, as he has proven his own were during his meritorious service.
There is also the matter that we must somehow complete this errand to receive the full measure of repute we might, as well as whatever pay they see fit to give to our service, though right now, I am trying hard not to think of that. With reputation and work enough, the money for our marriage will come in one fashion or another; I will see to it.
As such, Sir James remains, to my mind, our leader. He may not be the brave man who led our troops through use of a wondrous device, but he is still a brave man who led us through some times of difficulty and did not shrink from danger. What he did seems to have been in the national interest, and certainly the victories his sister's invention brought to us served – and possibly even saved – England. He is still a charismatic man, possessed of a way with words and with people, who managed to once earn people's loyalty as himself, outside of the battle suit.
Part of the faith in him may have come from that presumption of service, but even knowing that he is not the hero he pretended to be in battle, he remains a servant of Crown and country and a brave and capable man. If he can still lead us to our goals, some of which have far more to do with diplomacy than wondrous technology, then I will follow him and keep the faith. Despite the obvious misgivings and the need for some time to reconcile, I believe that people's minds will come around. Once he is on his feet and speaking again, Sir James may be able to help persuade the reluctant and regain some faith, now with honesty and strength of character instead of assumptions.
I will at least hope so, for even though I still long for England, its comforts, a bed of my own, and most particularly your company, dear Cordelia, I cannot now imagine not having some of these people about me as we venture forward. Without any of their number, we would not have achieved all that we have, and we would likely not be here at all. They are still extraordinary people, and in their own fashions and mine, I would like to think I could count on some of them as friends, even if I likely never would have encountered most of these people without these strangest of circumstances.
There is still certainly no guarantee, and for right now, Eddy, Mr. Franzini, Miss Penn, and Miss Bowe are all in doubt. Until Sir James has recovered somewhat and had a chance to speak to those who will speak to him, I dare not even broach the question of the future. I shall hope that his health will allow Sir James to withstand the difficulties he will certainly face ahead, both in explaining himself and in whatever may lie next.
I will also acknowledge that should his recovery stall – or his experiences haunt him so badly that he cannot continue – it is possible we will be forced to admit failure and return home, if that is even permitted. That would not be the worst of fates, for we have already found and accomplished a great deal, but this is already not the outcome we had hoped for at all.
I am still hopeful in some part of me that even wounded and challenged as we have been, we might still accomplish and see a great deal more. I will admit that after all of this, we would then doubtless go through more difficult times. I also know that this acute homesickness I feel will only grow worse, but I set out with hard work in mind and a goal for myself. I do not wish to return home with anything less than full success.
I do not think I will ever be so comfortable with fame and fortune as Sir James, and I would gladly fade back into society with you by my side, my love, and let my pictures and words carry the fame for me. I wish simply that I might be noted for my deeds for only so long as it takes for your good father to allow me back across the doorstep, this time bearing a ring.
My love, always,
Gregory Conan Watts
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
