by Jeffrey Cook
Eddy has been able to do little but rest on our frequent stops, for the exertion of carrying a person's weight over this terrain strains even so large and strong a man. Even so, when recovered, he goes about gathering wood and tending the fire so that Miss Bowe can hunt when needed, scout about us for danger, and work on preparing the broths and making new blankets and shoes for Miss Wright. It is messy work, but we are hopeful it will be done in time to do her some good.
Out of necessity and desperation, Miss Bowe has begun to instruct me in how to handle the hides, for they take a good deal of attention and regular maintenance in the progress towards becoming clothing. I have a great deal more respect than I had previously for the furrier's trade.
Eddy himself is almost inconsolable. Had I not observed it before, I now would be most absolutely certain that he is quite in love with Miss Wright, and his spirit would be crushed if he failed her now after permitting her to come along out of some highly developed sense of propriety. He looks after her with such care, and though we can tell easily how much it is exhausting him bit by bit, he has not yet said a word as to the difficulty of carrying her such a distance.
Miss Wright, for her part in this, seems less and less aware of us and our efforts by the hour, but at least she does not fight our efforts to feed her, and she is sleeping when we stop to rest, and even sometimes while Eddy carries her through the mountains.
I do not know that this letter, either, will ever see you, but as always, you are my comfort and solace, my love, and when I have such troubles weighing my mind, I know that I am in your thoughts and prayers, and have hope that we shall survive this experience after all.
My love, always,
Gregory Conan Watts
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
November 22nd, 1815
River fork 45º17'N 114º37'W
We have at last found some help and hope in these mountains, though I do not know if it will be enough, or if we found it in time.
The valley has led us to a native village of a tribe Miss Bowe calls Apsáalooke. That she has been here before is obvious, for she speaks the language fluently, and after what seemed some enthusiastic debate, we were eventually welcomed among them. The people of the tribe know her, and treat her almost as one of their own. She hunts with their men freely, though Eddy has been forbidden in their hunts. They are, however, most interested in his rifle, as they have only a few firearms among their number, mostly received from fur trappers who had come into this territory. We have seen no trappers’ camps, but it is known that some Frenchmen had been into this land before us.
I cannot make out a word of the language, and while Miss Bowe has spoken some few names in introduction, I have difficulty managing even that much of their words. Still, they have given us shelter, warmth, and eventually welcome when we were in most desperate need, so I have attempted to be polite. For the greatest part, my efforts seem to amuse them more than anything. At one time I might have been offended, for their ways are strange to me as well, but when a people have helped to save my life, and possibly those of a traveling companion, it becomes much harder to take offense with them. If this was a society which Miss Bowe knew as well as she seems to before coming into our company then I can also see where she gets much of her habit. They are a savage people, certainly, but also quite at home on this land, and most generous with strangers who have come out of the mountains. I cannot make much of what I see here mesh with the tales of wild and vicious Indians from the most popular stories of them. They place a great deal of emphasis on family, and caring for both their children and their elderly. The latter receive great reverence from the rest, and their wisdom and experience seems to guide much of the tribe's decision making, and certainly that of individual families from what I have been able to observe.
With some explanation from Miss Bowe, a couple of the younger men have permitted me to photograph them, but the older members of the tribe are firm in refusing that I be permitted to do so, and I will respect their wishes. I am almost out of pictures as well until I can get more paper, so I am trying to save these last few pictures for the truly unusual.
A topic of especial debate related to Miss Wright. Miss Bowe has affirmed that they were at first most reluctant to allow any of us entry to their camp when they learned we had an ill person among us, for it is oftentimes seen as a terrible omen. For this reason, there was some discussion, but they are people of strong sympathies, and certainly seem to understand the bond we have with Miss Wright. That sympathy and good character would ultimately win out, and since that time they have seen to her care. Eddy and myself are forbidden to see her, but Miss Bowe has assured us that she could not find a better chance of survival anywhere west of New York. Though I have my doubts of that, I am certain that I could certainly do no better, and her caretakers have been very determined and attentive. In our last days of travel, Eddy carrying Miss Wright the entire way, I was growing quite discouraged for her chances. Now, at least, we have hope.
Despite all the courtesy and care they have shown us, and despite Miss Bowe seeming at home here, the rest of us could not be more of outsiders, and I think the Apsáalooke will be quite pleased to see the backs of us. Miss Bowe and their scouts are both watching the skies for our airship. In almost any other circumstance, I know myself enough to say that I should very much share the sentiment, and be quite unhappy to be among ungodly savages. But these are good people who have taken in three strangers and a woman who, much as they speak to her as one of their own daughters, is still a white woman. They have given us food and cared for our sick, and for the first time that I can rightly remember, I am finally warm again.
December 1st, 1815
45º17'N 114º37'W
My Dearest Cordelia,
On most accounts, today is one of the happier days I have had in this journey. Despite that, and having a great deal of good news to share, I cannot help but feel for my friend Eddy.
Miss Wright awoke this morning with her fever broken and in good spirits, most eager to be on her feet and moving again, though it is agreed she needs to rest for some time before she will be prepared to travel again. At this time, I cannot much complain about spending more time among the Apsáalooke, for my early concerns for savage ways and unholy ritual has been replaced with a writer's curiosity. I still cannot make my tongue find its way around their words, but at least they still find it amusing that I try, and some few have agreed to respond to nicknames that come somewhere close. Miss Bowe is also a patient translator back and forth, though they have little time to give interviews.
For as generous as they have been, this winter is apparently most difficult for this region, and their old men and women have spoken of a time of great difficulty ahead, as they read the signs and skies. They are careful with their food and preparations, and may have to move completely, though it may bring them into some conflict with other tribes. The only reason they allowed us here was the respect they hold for Miss Bowe and her father, a detail about which she was hesitant and embarrassed enough to translate that I am fairly certain she speaks the truth, even had she ever seemed given to idle boasting. She has done everything she is able to make sure she leaves them with more than we consume, and after much discussion with Eddy and myself, we have agreed to give them one of the pepper-box pistols once we have shown them how to load it. While it is a rare prize to be certain, they are most certainly responsible for saving Miss Wright's life.
She is a difficult patient, apparently, not able to get up and do a great deal yet, but not wanting to sleep either. We have allowed her to occupy her hands with checking my camera for any damage due to the cold, and cleaning the pistols, keeping her reasonably happy.
During this time, she also learned fully what Eddy had done for her, and somewhere along the way, he expressed some deeper feeling for her. This was a difficult conversation to be near, and I feel terrible on behalf of my friend. I do not believe he meant to say anything of the sort, for when he
is not darkly amused by his own black humor, Eddy is most often shifting between grimly determined and stoic. She was most grateful for his efforts, certainly, and cannot thank him enough, but she reverted somewhat to a Virginian's practicality and forthrightness in admitting she did not share his feelings, or have anything in her heart for him but great admiration and friendship. It seems she has her heart quite set upon never returning to the rural life, and being married to one of the young gentlemen of London and becoming a woman of the city.
He was a good gentleman about it, of course, but he has not been the same since. It is difficult to gain a real sense of privacy here, as we know no one save each other, and it is most bitter cold without the windbreak from these tents they have provided us, but he has been as isolated as he might be under the circumstance ever since, though whenever she happens to come about, he does ask Miss Bowe after Miss Wright's condition, and when we might resume our travels.
I now fear that two of my companions shall have a great trouble ahead with matters of the heart. I feel for them, certainly, but must also be grateful that I have the love and inspiration of a finer young woman than I could ever hope for, and she awaits our success back in England.
With Miss Wright recovering rapidly and the progress we have made so far, I am more hopeful by the day that our return will come quickly, though it cannot possibly arrive soon enough.
My love, always,
Gregory Conan Watts
December 3rd, 1815
West of 45º17'N 114º37'W, Cloudy.
Dear Sir,
We have at last left the hospitality of the Apsáalooke, and while it makes me long for sight of civilization again, I will always appreciate having had this experience to see the natives in their own homes. To see them as they truly live rather than how they are portrayed in the wild tales that reach England. Miss Bowe has cautioned me that there are tribes more violent than the Apsáalooke, but we shall be avoiding most of those by a wide margin in the path she has laid for us. For the moment, I have quickly been reminded just how cold this winter has become. I can only venture that if we were seeking a way through these mountains blindly, we should have long since been dead of cold or starvation. We now have better boots for the climes, and blankets as well, but the greater weight of winter packs has slowed our progress as well. Still, in those times that we pause to rest or set camp for the night, I believe it well worth it.
I would strongly caution every man who will follow us to follow the route we are mapping exactly, for this region teems with wild things, and even more dangerous, any number of places where a man not being very precise with his step could plunge to his death, wander down some false trail to never be seen again, or any number of other perils. I would also suggest that this is a far better trip during the spring and summer months, though I am told that much of the region has snow early in Autumn and late into the Spring.
I would also recommend including some frontiersman or trapper who might know some piece of the tongue of the Apsáalooke, for in speaking with Miss Bowe, I have learned that this tribe is very spread throughout the surrounding territories. They could be great allies in learning the lay of the land and finding the way around if they can be befriended, while such numbers, if there is any true alliance between those who identify themselves as a part of this people, would make terrible enemies if provoked to violence. Though it is true that they have few guns, save those they have traded for, they have skilled warriors among them, mastery of their own simpler weapons, and hunters who share Miss Bowe's gift for moving unheard.
Though their entire village is capable of being packed and moved, should their food supply shift enough to merit it, and they likely will, once they no longer wish so much shelter from the winds and snow as they have found in this place, I have still marked it on the map, for if given reasonable gifts and offer of friendship, this people and this village have proven helpful to at least this one group of travelers.
I am not including so many pictures as I had before, as I am almost out of supplies for the camera. Much as I would wish to include far more of the Apsáalooke and the area we have recently traveled through, many of them refused to have their pictures taken, and I am saving my last pictures for more unusual events. I have tried to make up for this by giving some written detail upon the included map, and individual descriptions of some of the things we have seen here. Rest assured that should anything truly uncommon turn up, I will attempt to include a photograph, but for the moment, one of the greatest dangers of this area is that so much of it looks very much alike, with many of the same sounds and similar life and flora. If we did not have the guide we have – and had our path not been clearly marked by passage through the village – I could not tell at all if we had traveled this ground already or not.
Yours,
Gregory Conan Watts
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
December 5th, 1815
45º33'N 115º28'W
Disaster almost struck us today. We have not yet entirely emerged from the mountain region but are out of the thickest part of them and reaching the foothills. Travel is somewhat easier now, but still far from easy. Much of yesterday was spent having to forge our way through blowing, deep snow, and I do not know entirely how we managed to make any kind of time at all, or at many times, even keep moving forward, as the wind would tug our snowshoes in all directions. Miss Bowe tried to keep us sheltered as often as possible, and with some success, though often paths were very specific, and required her moving well ahead of us to scout the way. This did give us some opportunity to rest. At other times, there was simply no help for it, and Miss Wright and I followed in Eddy's path. Such travel as this is best left to a Finn or Norwegian, not men of England. The warmth of a good fire or even the Apsáalooke village now seems a distant memory.
We can confirm that there is a way, likely not far from here, where an airship can make it through the mountains, however, for we saw a ship that we took for our own.
Moving out into the open, we tried to signal them until Eddy managed to clear the glass of his lenses and got a closer look at it before we could put up a signal rocket, and warned that it was not our own. We found cover again quickly amidst the hills, but either they saw us, or were already trying to find us. Some hours later, Eddy was perceptive enough to notice some motion he felt was odd higher up the rocky hills through which we are traveling. Miss Bowe separated from us then to try to gain a better idea of who or what might be up there, for she has figured out how to better move over the top of the snow and ice than those of us less used to these environs. I believed I heard a deep voice then, with a Irish accent if I do not miss my guess. I do not know the language, but Eddy knows some small piece of it, and has agreed that he heard the same thing.
Just after this, we came under fire from somewhere above. We ran then, finding some cover amidst trees and hills where we believed we would not likely be seen from the shooters’ apparent position. Eddy said he counted at least five, unless they had repeating guns like our own, though I do not imagine the pepper-boxes would do more than fire one shot currently, the mechanisms must certainly be frozen. Eddy listened to their shots and eventually put his head up, only to quickly shout a warning and duck back down as a crashing and rumbling noise came from above.
Either someone had prepared a trap, or the gunfire had brought down some part of the snow from the mountains and larger hills in a great, sweeping wave. It washed over us, our eternal burial prevented only by our shelter, which left us with a small pocket of air and darkness, surrounded by snow of an unknown depth. Miss Wright panicked at first, but we calmed her nerves as quickly as we could, reassuring her that there was nothing to worry about. For a short time, while Eddy and I dug and did not at first find daylight, I was worried as well but did not voice my worries. Eddy struck daylight first, just as I was growing somewhat concerned about how much air we might have. The shooters must have been gone by then, for Eddy was not fired upon. There is faint h
ope that they may have been lost amidst the avalanche as well, but no one takes that possibility seriously. We are not so fortunate.
As we were emerging, we found Miss Bowe searching for us. She had found a way up to where the shooters had been, but by then they had left, and much of their track was obscured under the new wave of snow, that she could not tell what had become of them. We have been much more alert since that time, and have returned to keeping only tiny cooking fires when we must light a fire at all.
By the time all of this had passed, we had lost all sign of the dirigible, likely among the mountains. We are certain now that they found a path through or around the mountains, or perhaps have friends among the Spaniards, and they then traveled ahead of us and left mercenaries both ahead and behind us. No one has passed us, and Miss Bowe is certain there is not another easy way through the mountains near here. I worry most for the possibility that they may have in some way tied themselves to the Spanish to our south, for that would mean much of the far west coast could easily be forewarned and quite hostile to us, and there may be many more men looking for us here, some of whom may be trained soldiers or else natives aligned with Spanish forces. Thinking we had left our pursuit far behind, we have made no real effort to cover our tracks. Our best hope now is to make haste and trust that our guide has superior knowledge of these lands to anyone that might be set against us currently.
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
December 8th, 1815
46º01'N 115º54'W
