Day 8, Wednesday
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R T Sterling - Day 8, Wednesday
24 August 1763 — The morning broke harsh, but clear. Perhaps the sun will bring us some heat to warm our chilled bones if the day remains thus.
Mr Harrow looks positively ragged--he looks as though he has not slept a wink.
We have decided to make some progress upstream, before stopping to break fast. The way becomes increaingly impassable and we have begun to use the machette quite regularly.
If it were not for the predicament we are in, this place would actually be quite pretty. Mr Harrow gave me the evil eye when I mentioned this might be a nice place to build a cabin.
We are surrounded by quite a variety of plant life, much of which I have not observed before, and the further we go upstream the more the flora seems to encroach upon the river, so that now it approaches the very edge, allowing us little room to maneuver.
We are stopped for our breakfast. Leaving what is left of the pemmican, we are making a meager meal of berries we have picked as we walked, and enjoying a brief respite on a "nurse" log.
It is covered with moss and in the beginning stages of decay. But it is this decay which, in the rain forest, becomes fodder for new growth. In a few years, young trees will be feeding in a straight line along this log.
To our right, we can see trees which have obviously sprouted--in a nearly straight line--from just such a nurse log.
L D Harrow - A Detour
24 August 1763 — Our first day in uncharted territory started well enough, despite my exhaustion. We stopped after about an hour's walk southward, and ate our meagre fare. I was feeling more at ease as the sun rose higher in the sky.
But when we began our journey again, we immediately came upon an astoundingly large patch of a horrid plant encountered on a previous expedition. Having never seen nor heard of the thing before, we dubbed it "devil's club." It is a weed, quite harmless in appearance, that entwines itself about larger trees and bushes. It's insidious nature is in its hundreds of thousands of tiny, almost invisible thorns. A simple branch across your path becomes a weapon of diabolical nature. On the previous occassion mentioned, I reached to pull myself up an embankment using a bit of root, and found my hand infested with near a hundred of the tiny spines. Each one became infected as the day progressed, and my hand was sore and a bit swollen for two days. In time the thorns worked themselves out, but it is an experience that I don't care to repeat.
The plant fairly filled the area from the western bank of the river to the canyon wall. Upon my insistance, we went back northward a bit and crossed the river in a shallow area, then continued our journey south.
The undergrowth was quite thick of the east bank as well, but there was little sign of the devil's club. It made for slow going, and I think we only progressed a mile before noon. We were both quite worn from the morning spent hacking a path with our single machete, and stopped with great relief at a small clearing some fifteen feet from the water's edge.
I took our small pot to fetch some water to boil so we could refill our canteens. I have it set to boil, and have just finished building a small fire.
As I write this, Mr Sterling is calling me to come see something he has discovered. He seems quite agitated.
R T Sterling - Amazing Discovery!
24 August 1763 — I have just made an amazing discovery!--the first real evidence that we are on the right track! I was beginning to wonder if we were indeed in the right canyon, for the crude map drawn by Mr Larabie does not clearly mark whether this is Swan Creek or Squally Creek (which I surmise must run a mile or so east of here).
We had found some blazings, old and almost illegible, on a tree near the edge of the canyon before our descent, but this is real, if somewhat confusing proof!
I have found the remains of a muzzle-loader--a long rifle belonging to none other than Mister James W. Larabie, last surviving member of that ill-fated expedition in 1752. His initials, J.W.L., are still visible on the badly rusted barrel. All that remains of the gun are the metals. The elements have seen to the rest.
According to Larabie's own account, he never made it this far. He had turned back due to an injury and his partners, Riggins and Heath, had gone on without him, and were never heard from again.
L D Harrow - Regarding Sterling's Amazing Discovery...
24 August 1763 — After we completed out small meal, eaten between bites discussing the strange discovery, we set about to systematically search the clearing and as far into the bush around it as we could. After an hour we came up with nothing more, however.
As I write, we are about to set out, in hopes that we will make better time this afternoon than we did this morning, and that we will find a decent place to put down for the night before the sun sets.
L D Harrow - Not so amazing events...
24 August 1763 — We have spent what seems like an eternity chopping and hacking our way through the densest mess of underbrush (most of it dead, I might add) I have ever seen.
I reckon we have about one hour left until dusk. If we have not found a clearing by then, we will need to make one!
The air is deathly still, giving the landscape an eerie feel. I wonder how close we are to where those nocturnal howlings emanate?
It's about time for our break to be up. Back to work!
R T Sterling - No place to rest
24 August 1763 — As dusk begins to creep upon us, it finds us still without a clear place to set up camp. Further, a fog has begun to form, sticky and growing denser by the minute.
Earlier I had recommended that we head back north, believing that downstream was our surest chance to reach what passes for civilization in these parts. I reasoned that the natives must surely have gone back by now, but Harrow insists that it is from that direction that his "strange sounds" are coming.
I would have broached this subject again, but the mind plays strange tricks--what with the fog and the encroaching darkness, I can almost imagine that I hear something, too. When we stood still to catch our breaths, I thought for a moment that I heard the underbrush rustle, then all was silent. I knew by the look on Harrow's face that he had heard it, too. We stood still for several minutes, but heard nothing more. Perhaps it was some animal coming to the water for a drink.
Darkness comes quickly now, as the edge of the canyon is drawing the shutter on the darklamp of day, and we are left with no choice but to widen the area we are standing in enough to allow one to sleep while the other stands guard.
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