by Jeffrey Cook
I do not know if they have had any part of such difficulties as we have, but the people aboard the other ship came through town, all very much matching Matthew's descriptions of them. They also had a number of gunmen with them that the locals did not recognize. When we asked after him, the dark-haired man was reported by a number of local merchants as having spent a great deal of time discussing the best divisions of weight for feeding such a small army of men with the limits of an airship.
They also bought a large amount of oil such as is sometimes used to lubricate gears in more complex devices to keep them running well, which tells me that they have their own man of Oxford or some New York inventor among them. Given what we know, I would be willing to wager that it is the bald and scarred man, for his injuries very much seem to be of the sort one could receive from working with steam power. It is only supposition, all manner of accident can happen to a man, but it is at least something to go on. Sir James in particular has been most interested by this news, and he and his sister have been working diligently ever since that time looking through his terms at Oxford and trying to determine what we might be facing, for he has not yet recognized any of the men described, though of course the scarred man may well look quite different now than he did before his injuries. It is also quite possible that we have not yet seen their scientist, and the scarred man is more a mechanic or operator of something with gears and steam powered systems.
We do also know that they outgun us significantly, either because they are planning some further ambush, or believe they need additional arms.
We also have some small information about others within their group. The woman came through some parts of town, earning no friends here with her insistence upon precise tailoring and being displeased with nearly everything she was presented. While I certainly know enough of proper ladies to understand the drive for looking just so, I cannot imagine she could have expected such things as are available in England or Paris, or even New York when out here. She paid quite well when she finally received something that suited her, somewhat easing tempers, though she had apparently threatened repeatedly to buy nothing after all their troubles, or to refuse to pay for inferior workmanship. Miss Coltrane in particular was most interested to hear this, and believes that in the future, she might now be able to somewhat track this mysterious woman, should we reach more civilized regions, through what she knows of her fashion tastes. It seems an odd way to trail someone, but I do not doubt that she knows enough of what she talks about to do just that. A shame we were not able to get more information in New York, for it is most uncomfortable going into an already risky venture knowing that so many well armed gunmen are preparing some resistance to our movements.
Lastly, the large Negro man received a great deal of attention while about town, for though they have seen plenty of black men working for the railways, he did not dress like any slave or freedman. Instead he stood out to most here as much for his brightly colored clothing as for the coloration of his skin. His purchases were also most odd, primarily candles and a prolonged search for a skinning knife that suited him, rejecting many perfectly usable blades along the way. Apparently he was most specific, and the shopkeeper was not entirely helpful, for he had stayed behind the counter out of fright of the man. The shopkeeper was not the only one that the man had that effect on. We have also learned something of his manner of speech, which locals know enough of to have identified as quite similar to some of the slaves who have not been that long out of Africa, though he speaks English confidently and well, simply with a very heavy accent.
It may, in the end, not be a great deal of information beyond what we might have supposed from the information Matthew was able to bring us, but it has almost entirely confirmed his account, which is valuable in its own right. So far he has always seemed quite honest, but one never knows about boys of his age. Wild imaginations are often common, and may even fill in details in their minds they did not see without them entirely willing it. And in such a time as things may be life and death, even a small amount of information is far better than nothing. Most importantly of all, we know that we must expect an ambush in the coming few days, for while a dirigible may sustain a large group of men for a considerable time, as was proven in the past, it quickly grows crowded if not all of the men are of military training and sensibilities and well used to one another, and provisioning is not exact. In almost any other circumstance, so many men in so small a space as a dirigible would lead to trouble quite quickly, and not all of those described by the locals as having boarded seem to be well trained and drilled soldiers. Even if not, they can easily be dangerous men, and the locals are very certain every one of them was armed.
Editor's note:
Lest you think every day was exciting on the journey, I have included the following sample day out of Gregory's journal. While it does not add directly to the narrative, some knowledge of the day-to-day affairs of exploration is useful.
– Dr. Cordelia Bentham-Watts
From the Journals of Gregory Conan Watt,
October 19th, 1815
39º15'N 094º25'W
Today we mapped from the Dame Fortuna, although I'm not sure the bitter cold of the airship railing is any less chilling than the ground. The gently rolling hills of this morning gave way to flatter plains. The presence of a mere four buffalo, apparently separated from their herd by some means, both piqued our curiosity and gave us some small measure by which to judge our speed over this otherwise mostly featureless terrain.
A small hamlet on a bend in the river offered opportunity to exchange information. The name of the town, Liberty, has proven useful for our map. Sir James also took the opportunity to ask after our competition. I am not certain whether I was comforted that they had seen no other airship but our own, or worried that we still have no news of them.
I bought a bit of excess paper from the local schoolmaster. He asked if the news from the east included unusual cold, as this weather is beyond what is normally experienced in these parts, which is apparently good for keeping his students in their seats, but poor for the late-harvested crops. I mentioned Harvard's suspicion that it is volcanic, related to Tambora. This reassured him, especially as it would explain the red snow that had fallen recently.
Red snow was, admittedly, a fascinating phenomena of which to hear. I'd have said it was impossible or superstition, but nature continues to prove herself more powerful than man's comprehension.
Aside from my need to replace paper – and the wish that I had more for my camera – our provisions continue to serve quite well. Bison roast is still superior to mutton, although it remains to be seen if I will maintain the same opinion at month's end. The cold really is most inhuman. I have been forced to begin carrying my ink inside my vest, under my arm. If I don't, when it freezes, the glass bottle sometimes breaks.
From the diary of Julietta Penn
October 19th, 1815
Cold.
Dreams of the storm. Dreams that I'm cast into the ocean during it, treading water with pockets full of coin. Other times, dreams of dying of thirst, but not from heat.
So cold. It won't stop soon. The darkness folding its shroud around the world.
The World. I hold that card again and again. Inverted Fortitude around Miss Perfection. The Devil for the job. But so many times, the World. I'd like to say I've never been afraid of it. Not even at its most serious. All things must turn.
But I am afraid now. Nearly every time I look at him. It doesn't make sense. There's more to fear out there than the soul of a weasel. How did I get myself into this?
I don't even know the scope of 'this.' These others. I almost feel the tugs along the net where this African has just been. Need to know more. Yoruba? Igbo? Haratin? Am I dealing with Vodoun or with Juju? Mildly vexing that few here will take the threat of such things seriously. Sam might, if she can take threats seriously.
Samantha Bowe, whose disregard did not abide entirely as circumstances changed. My shield
from Giovanni. Fair trade for my embarrassments? Can I call her a friend? I fear not enough basis for comparison. Can't tell her everything, of course. Still, it helps. Were there indeed a man around like her, maybe even I could fall in love.
October 25th, 1815
Missouri Territory
40º49N 098º36
Dear Sir,
We have begun our journey with promising results, for we were not long past sight of the towns dotting the colonial frontier when Miss Bowe set on a very certain route. She seems quite knowledgeable about this region, which is no surprise. The tribes native to these lands have not given us any trouble yet, and Miss Bowe doubts that will change, though she says some of the tribes to the south of here are much more aggressive. She's assured us that so long as we follow this route, we should have little trouble for some time. She is also quite insistent that in no way are we exploring on this venture, for she and her father have passed this way numerous times on the path he first discovered before her birth. Her certainty about the perils of the region and the comfort we have been able to manage despite the early beginning to winter assure me there is some truth to this, so at least we can be certain Dr. Bowe came this far.
The land is plains for as far as the eye can see. Were it not for the snow, this would make travel by ground easy. This also comforts us that no ambush is coming today, for lying in ambush would be a most uncomfortable thing indeed, and it would be almost impossible to hide in the white of the surroundings. Likewise, we could easily see any natives coming, should Miss Bowe be wrong about their peaceable nature. For now, the only living things we have come upon are the herds of buffalo, for these monstrous beasts, a larger version of Europe's wisent, are everywhere here. I am including a few pictures of these, for certainly sights common to the American frontier will still much excite the people back home with our progress and the wonder of the unknown, or at least, seemingly unknown to all of us save our guide.
So long as she keeps track of the land, and while we are in such easy territory, we have had no trouble agreeing to spend our nights traveling slowly in the dirigible, for we cover more ground, but should we need to retrace our steps, we could easily find the markers we left the day before. This territory is so easily navigable that I cannot imagine that anyone should have trouble finding their way through here, with only the threats of the native inhabitants and what predators hunt the buffalo herds, perhaps, though I would not wish to get too close to those beasts myself. Miss Bowe states that more difficult travel lies ahead, for depending on how far we choose to travel by air, we are likely not far from reaching ground with more hills, and eventually we will come to mountainous regions. She remains unworried for this, saying she knows routes through the mountains which should not trouble us too much, but then she is not carrying the camera. Were it not for the airship, we should certainly be traveling by horseback, but the occasion to journey through the air much speeds us upon our way, allows us some time off of the frozen Earth, and allows us to survey and mark our route accurately at the end of the day before light has gone entirely.
Thankfully, the skies here do not seem to be suffering the early darkness of the more eastern lands, but it is growing late enough in the year that our traveling time is growing less and less. In a way, I do not mind, for travel by air is far easier, though it lacks a great deal of the trailblazing feel. When my feet feel frozen solid, however, I am more than glad to leave the blazing to people like Boone and Miss Bowe while I read by candlelight in greater comfort. When we reach these mountains, of course, we shall have to spend more time camping, for our trails must be better marked, and there will not always be occasion for the ship to get close enough to us to lower ladders. I can assure you, sir, that climbing an unsteady rope ladder at the end of a day when my fingers have gone so numb that I can no longer work the camera is no great pleasure, but certainly gets the blood moving. Miss Bowe always ascends last, for despite how unchivalrous this would seem, she also is the least affected of all of us by this climate, having lived in regions quite similar, and has no difficulty in waiting and steadying the ladders before scrambling up herself. She says the only difficulty with this end of each day for her is the skirts get in the way of climbing efficiently, and she shall insist, whatever Mrs. Fisher and Miss Coltrane say, upon men's pants when we are about navigating the mountains. I know it is unseemly, and I shall hope this letter is not widely circulated at home, save what parts of it are more of adventure and less of controversy, but so long as we have no great difficulties, the services of the guide you led us to are well worth the trouble.
Yours,
Gregory Conan Watts
November 2nd, 1815
Northwest of St. Louis
42º52'N 105º52'W
Dear Sir,
It seems that the contents of my last letter were somewhat prophetic, for we have had quite the fright today. I shall endeavor to describe in it in detail enough to be helpful now, but I will hope you will forgive me if I am at times somewhat vague.
We had made good progress, and just as our guide predicted, we are now in territory with more hills, and can see mountains looming in the far distance. While we approached the foothills by air initially, to test our equipment, most specifically my camera, and our ability to get about in the snow, Miss Bowe, Eddy, and myself had descended to the ground. These hills have no particularly distinctive features, which made them somewhat hard to navigate, and as we travel, we are still making a map of the land we pass over that others might follow.
While traveling through snow which had to be over half a meter in depth, we heard a great noise from behind the cover of a hill some distance off, with a herd of buffalo between it and us. I was in the midst of photography already, so you have the good fortune of having some few images of what transpired next before I was of wit enough to take up the camera and run. Emerging from this cover was a mechanical monstrosity, not at all like Sir James's man-like creation, but more like a single railroad car, though there is no track in this territory. It emitted such noise and clouds of steam that it seemed very much the draconic thing then, spitting sparks and smoke as it roared along. This trackless rail engine must have seemed at least as monstrous to the herds of buffalo, for they startled horribly, as you might well imagine.
I missed the first sounds of gunfire entirely, but Eddy and Miss Bowe both agree that seconds past the emergence of the trackless engine, men came up from the hills in ambush, firing upon us, thankfully at such range that no one was hit, or likely in great danger from musket fire, but also into the buffalo, not as hunters might, but to further spook and herd the massive beasts in our direction. Eddy grabbed for my arm then, and I quickly took up the camera, for though he said it should be left, as I have previously stated, it is worth more than my own life, and even amidst panic, I had not taken so great a leave of my senses.
He swore then in such a fashion that I am glad I cannot rightly classify Miss Bowe to be any proper sort of lady of society, and the other ladies had stayed safely aboard the ship. He took up the tripod for my camera, while I grabbed the rest, and then we ran for our lives, seeking hills or other impediment to the herd that did not have gunmen behind it. We must be thankful that they were just guided in our rough direction, and not seeking our end by evil intent, for, despite such ponderous appearance, when frightened they move rapidly, and the ground shook beneath us even then when we had but turned to run, making it all the harder to keep our feet.
Miss Bowe has proven herself the fastest of us over ground repeatedly, in addition to the reflexes you have heard of at the Governor's ball, but she did not flee past us. Instead she moved first towards the stampede, waving her arms and moving like the tales told of Spanish bullfighters, trying to catch the eye of the frightened and angry bulls at the head of the stampede that they might move her way in some effort to alleviate the threat, even though the monster was behind them. She then split away from us, heading not for hills, but more open and easier ground. Insane and again unc
hivalrous as this was, we were in no state to argue, and made for the hills.
As we ran, though some greater part of the herd had moved on Miss Bowe's path, there were bison enough to spread wide over the ground, and I could feel them getting quite close behind us. Though the hills might have deterred them, I am both uncertain if we would have reached them, and even if we had, I am not positive under such a rush that it would have done enough. Some short distance ahead of us, a brass and iron miracle descended from the ship, though for once, I could barely hear his mechanical monster as it landed heavily upon the ground before us for the thunderous sound on our heels. He recovered from the great leap, then braced himself, arms crossed, leaning slightly forward into the oncoming rush, and down to one knee, as steady as he could hope to become for the approaching onslaught. We managed to reach his position, somewhat closer than the less certain cover of the hills, and ducked behind him and prayed. Some part of the herd split about so daunting an obstacle, closing ranks again only shortly behind him, but numerous times I heard the crash of horn and skull on metal as not everything quite entirely avoided him, and as I was leaned against one metal leg, I could feel him jarred side to side. Once I was showered with scrap metal and bolts, and for the first time, feared that not only we, but Sir James might not survive the encounter. In time the herd passed us by, racing on into the plains. The armored suit looked worse than after any armed conflict, but one arm still moved, and he was able to stand, if unsteadily. Eddy and myself were quite unhurt, save that Eddy has since had more than a few unkind words to say for my camera.
We had entirely lost sight of Miss Bowe, but my tone would be entirely different had we lost someone. The fool woman had not only escaped the herd, but as we were recovering some part of our nerve, she came to us to ask if we wanted to help dress the bison she had killed, and more importantly, to report that the trackless rail engine and all of the gunmen had disappeared amidst the chaotic events. She asked if we wished her to track them that we could deal with this threat then and there, but after only brief discussion, common sense prevailed over our not insignificant rage. Sir James's suit was quite damaged in the event, and we did not know what kind of armament the engine might have. That they outnumbered us by a wide margin did not come up at all, I do not think, for we have by now gotten quite used to being greatly outgunned.
