---

  November 22nd

We ascend into the mountains. Poor Cotton left at Cleary's farm, shaky and barely coherent. I wish him a swift recovery. The little white cockatoos are common here: their diet must differ from those on the river plains. Lots of fascinating adaptations to the drought in evidence. Budyirikaranga confirms that much of the native flora 'wants fire' and will hardly germinate otherwise. Whilst extremely interesting, in combination with my own observations the notion makes me a little nervous. I have asked the soldiers to be exceeding cautious about where they throw their matches.

{various botanical observations & a handful of specimen notations follow}

Whilst I am informed the past few summers have been excessively hot, the cool of the evening brings with it an undeniable peace and sense of quiet pioneer excitement. Though it is nothing like home, I like this country.


  November 23rd

{various botanical observations & specimen notations under such headings as 'gen. sub-montaine forest' 'small wash' 'true montaine forest' - some leaves pinned and pressed directly into journal}

A lot of excellent material got today. Horses fine. I am minded to carry on along the ridge before investigating any of the deep canyons - possibly a task for the return journey.

      Later - 1am by my watch. We keep a watch despite the increasingly uninhabited nature of the country (we had to cut undergrowth to allow the horses' easy passage today) as B. claims Gundungurras might come through the high ranges with a mind to surprise some of his people or unwary whites. I daresay we are a poor target, but sounds Sgt. Lewry wakened us to listen to were concerning. I cannot say for certain there were human voices. There may have been drums. Most alarmingly, some kind of cries, going on a long time. B. did not know of any important person who should merit such a midnight funeral, nor any clans that might be up here giving battle. He brooded much over this - as did we all, to make no mince of it - until Bowen suggested that given our usual habitat, we might be unused to the sounds of night birds reflected from the surrounding forms of stone. I sin^rly hope he is correct.

  November 24th

Beautiful sunrise. Listening to the shrieks of birds as I write it seems likely they were indeed the culprits of last night's alarm. B. has painted himself partly white and yellow for fear of witches. He takes no heart from being surrounded by Christians.

{considerable botanical notes}

  Noon break - B. being difficult on the subject of witches, required much persuasion and (I suspect) bribery to continue on planned route. Area seemingly known and much feared as haunted by ghosts of witches slain at their Sabbat. No tribe given for witch-ghosts - perhaps legend grew up around a roost of birds? Seen some monstrous large bats in this country.

{further botanical notes and speculation on the relationships of species unknown to Western science}

  Evening - Went out NE from camp with Sgt. Lewry on a search for suspected night-flowering plants (see Spec.#133-55). Heard the drumming and voices again, this time certain & close enough that Lewry drew sword and pistol and considered it better to approach, having seemingly come past their watch in our blundering. There was flickering light as from a great fire or fires before us and so we went. The natives were singing and chanting themselves up to a great noise, and as we approached we started to hear a piteous screaming beneath and hastened our steps to the edge of the hollow or basin that obscured our view.

In the hollow...I much desire to leave the ellipses as they stand but the drumming has started again. I must record; we are bedevilled by ghosts. I will set down the facts as I saw them. In the hollow there were perhaps a dozen or less persons of wild and wicked aspect, adorned with such unwholesome ornaments as dingo jaws, portions of still-wet skin and strips of barkcloth about the mouth wherein the claws of kangaroos were sewn or tied like teeth. The chanters surrounded a pit between fires, this being neatly dug to a depth of perhaps a foot and well-chinked with clay, for it held liquid - I should say more than blood alone, rather all the stuffs and bile that might come from a body. I wonder now that I did not notice I had no impression of its smell, nor that of the smoke from the fires. I will not speculate. I believe more than one victim had been given to this pit. There was a woman, at least. It seemed a man was being - or had just been - slaughtered nearer the pit. Those screaming were, I believe, his children.

Thus far what I write of has been grotesque, perhaps shocking, but no more unusual than the cannibal rituals of peoples from the South Sea islands or any tribe of headhunters who might assure their firstborn's fortune through the grisly despatch of several foes, yet...even there I would draw a distinction. These people did not kill their fellow Man to prove their might or gain glory: all about their manner said they did not care. The people they killed were simply materials. Here I pause (and observe the shake in my writing at the start of this testament) to try and work out how I shall make what follows seem credible. I shall


{blotting and smudges of ink follow from the mess of a nib abruptly flinched too fast off the page}


Lewry and I are not Englishmen. Perhaps no man alive would have the sang froid to see that happening and make no attempt to intervene, no matter what alliance we endangered by the breach of custom. The chanters had brought the bairns forward and the way they screamed and fought, without shock but rather as though they knew what torments might be visited upon them, intimately and unto the moment of death...I have never witnessed such despair and terror in any human being. I took up a branch, setting my satchel to my back and my lantern on the ground, and we two charged upon the hoarde of witches. The entire scene vanished at once.

How to describe it? One moment we were running towards light and loud chanting, ready for pitched battle - I saw the man I took for head warlock raise his head and grin at me, his real teeth blood-streaked behind the claw-teeth of his mask, his lips wet with it - the next moment Lewry and I were just hurtling down into a blank hollow in the dark, not even a night bird to be heard. There was a moment I feared they had some trick of covering all their fires on a moment's notice and that I might collide with some body armed with slashing flint, but there was not even the sense of someone recently gone. Unable to halt myself on the spot I tripped and fell heavily somewhere near the base of the hollow; though my stomach lurched to find myself in the pit, what I lay on was only loam.

I cannot explain it. We fetched the light and made some examination of the hollow before returning to camp. The others had been afraid to set out blindly to try and find us, since Budyirikaranga would not approach the sound. I made apologies to him and readily agreed that we would plan another route down once we reached the high point of the ridge in perhaps a day's time, just under the treeline.

The soldiers have gone out to examine the sight with more light, taking Bowen to see if he can make more of the queer form of the hollow, and with Cadlow following on for his own curiousity. B. has offered to paint me with spots like himself, but I refused - I think he expected as much, but I appreciated the kindness of the thought and shared with him some whiskey. He liked it less than rum so we switched to that. The drums started a while after the others left and now, yes, there is a distant screaming again. B. sits staring into the dark. I watch his back.


      Later: 2a.m. Lt. Mollingsbrooke and Cadlow back. Very pale. C. given soda in water before a round of rum since it seems he had lost the contents of his stomach. He is shaking still. I think I will offer to play cards with him, as I do not think he will sleep for some time. I should not have let the lad go, but did not know how to dissuade him without affront to his courage. More's the pity.

It seems the scene re-sets and they saw no further than we, though they saw the one we presume to be the father as he was speared, not after. Trying to sneak over the border of the hollow does no good: Lt. M. says they were not seen, but the scene vanished as before. I gave him the bottle. Sgt. L. still out there - intended to see if scene will restart with witnesses already present - kept Bowen in case of any sucess in reaching the phantoms or any other threat.


   past 3a.m. Screaming very bad. C. passed out drunk on my knee, thank God. Lt. M. also attempting a record. B. watches. Very bad.

November 25th

Near dawn. Woken by Lt. M. talking to Sgt. & Bowen. Was still on my camp stool, C. curled up on the ground beside me.

We had feared the worst about those two, having thought to have heard them cry out in the night, but both were hale. Sgt. Lewry surprisingly more haggard and distr^ssd, but perhaps Bowen's previous losses served to fortify him: although B^wn reports the rest of the Sabbat to be 'very dreadful' (his words picked with hesitation) he believes those depicted to be 'just an image' and the souls of those so foully murdered to be 'in a better place'. He seems quietly convinced of this despite reporting that some details changed between repeats, and that Sgt. L. even believed the younger child and head warlock had become aware of them. I hope he is correct.

The only details Sgt. L. could be drawn on were that they could not save either adult, even being present from the start of the the haunting (the time between an interruption and the scene being set anew appeared to lessen with their watching, as though in response to their agitation - disturbing, as the implication is of being shown something, in the manner of a test); the aforementioned semblance of awareness among the figures, and that 'the devils got what was coming to them', being speared from without the hollow or chased from it by another group of native ghosts. These last were described as blurred and not so certain in shape as the rest. L. says the witches behaved in an outrageous manner even among themselves between the deaths of the children and the other group's attack, practicing every kind of vileness they might perform if pain were meaningless and death at hand. I recall the dull claw-teeth worn by some and shudder.

We shall move on and take a cold breakfast later, the better to be shot of this place.

{brief but increasingly normal botanical notes, several pages of observations & specimens}



At camp, 7pm - Exciting botany today. Everyone pretty tired and subdued for most of the morning, horses included, but many's the discovery unlike anything I have seen before. B. has left us, unfortunately, slipping away into the bush some time after the noon break. I hardly blame him, and I do not think we will have too much difficulty getting down unaided, as there is a watercourse nearby (SE).

Some squabbling at noon break also - we reached a broad, flat area just above a natural clearing with another of those curiously rounded hollows at its far side, part-filled with a bad and brackish yellow water. Sgt. L. got a dark look and made to shoot one of the collection of curious smooth & rounded rocks near its edge. This much upset B^wn, who caught L.'s arm and might even have struck him if not for the rest of the party's interference. Sgt.L. said he believed the rocks were heathen idols to which the witches had made sacrifice, and he hated to see them remain, even removed to this altitude.

Clearly the past night had affected him very badly (indeed, he told me that whatever I might imagine had caused that prolonged screaming, being a man of the world, the truth was worse. Tears fell from him without either of us realising he might weep), but he recognised he would have a hard time destroying rocks at least two feet in diameter. B^wn apologised for his behaviour, citing a sudden excess of scientific protectiveness. L. accepted, albeit with some persuasion that the fifteen rocks were of a type with those from the haunting and not the same. All was thus put straight. Still, I wonder what wounds those two have taken that we cannot see. I saw very little and will carry it with me the rest of my life.

Truly interesting geology h^wvr. Perhaps the mystery of the large rocks' composition and rounded nature will shed light on the peculiarities of local flora. Sgt. L. mentioned that despite their size, the visions in haunting ended with one of his 'idols' heaved into a fire and cracked apart - by his description they might be geodes, the roundness dictated by a chamber within, exaggerated by subsequent formation processes. B^wn has gone back up to look at them, but is strongly resistant to the notion of breaking one up for samples. Odd.

We shall head down tomorrow. I hope there is nothing so exciting by the creek we mean to follow, else C. and I will run out of room to pack specimens! No more to report. I am reluctant to cease writing and sleep, though the night is quiet and my body begs me rest. Vague unease. It is quiet in this dense place - perhaps the mineral-fouled water above keeps away the night birds and such that might eat the insects. I am sure we had seen animals earlier, but nothing stirs. I will sleep.

November 26th

{more botanical samples & observations, the notes becoming shorter and more distracted through the day}

Can't get down. From the level of last night's camp a passable route down to the creek seems obvious, yet each time an attempt was made some drop or obstacle would force us to ascend but slightly and thence lose our way. Horses increasingly nervous. C. gives me to understand B. had mentioned the possibility of "woolly men" in the mountains - these appearing to be a kind of woodwose native to the area. If I thought it were they who had amazed us I might have made some offering, but if such creatures exist I can only imagine them to be a kind of animal - some ape, not equipped with sorcerous powers. I laugh at myself for setting down the possibility here, yet our compasses seem to avail us naught and there are definitely strange things amongst the sparse wildlife to be seen in this area. We have not quite observed any, but there have been sounds as of large movement, and glimpses...a thing that moved like a bird, yet seemed posses^sd of many legs, & some lurching mass with a tail like a giant cat...many-headed and many-tailed serpents. We may be hallucinating from the heat or miasma of the fire-loving timbers.

 Later. We are back in last night's camp after B^wn managed to determine where our path was looping by means of devising figures of sticks as waypoints that might not be mistaken for any natural arrangement. Although we could not progress downward with the daylight, either to the stream or on the dread path we had come, we very quickly found ourselves back in this familiar spot once the markers were arranged, and I am hopeful for the morrow. Everyone v.tired from poor sleep these nights past - gen. mood somewhat fractious.



November 27th

Attacked. Something drove the horses to a frenzy in the night - fire scuffed and scattered, Lt.M. thankfully having the wit to put out the embers before the whole mountainside was ablaze. Myself knocked down by a bolting beast, B^wn and Sgt.L. trying to halt the animals or determine the threat. Illusion of two moons. Several hours and much shouting before we were regrouped - v. easy to get lost here, as though it happens within steps. Cadlow heard several times early on, much distres^sd, but no sign of him come morning despite our searching. We must assume the horses will make their own way back.

Scant food from what was not kicked about or soiled; moreover, little water. Two and a half bottles of ration rum and my own whisky remain to taunt us, much as the polluted water in the hollow above. After this noon rest we will try once more to reach the burn below - surely an easier task without the horses. Lt.M. is doing his best to hold all together, and I can only admire his efforts. The others are distant and withdrawn, Sgt.L more resistant to inquiry than B^wn, though the latter has a kind of fey calmness to him I dislike in terms of his health, even if I cannot see any other evidence of sunstroke. Alas that I will be forced to abandon those samples I cannot carry...I must set to sorting out the most necessary. I entreat anyone who takes this book from my corpse to deliver them to the Royal Society they were hard won. {text is scratched out hard}


 Later. Mazed again. It seems we will have to climb down directly ledge to ledge to keep our way, not quite a comfortable prospect but a hearty adventure to tell Lachlan, I hope, when we win clear of this. Some irritable squabbling earlier, from which I do not except myself...all calm now, but we are greatly wearied by the heat and trying circumstances. B^wn making ever more complicated figures of sticks to amuse himself - might ask him to sing one of the hymns he is humming later, as he has the typical Welsh talent for it. Camping a little way from the usual spot for the sake of morale.  Lt.M. already trying to sleep, anticipating more nocturnal disturbance (still unclear what set the horses off). Rum and hardtack for supper. Still no sign of Cadlow - God willing he has made it to the water.


      Evening.   Sgt. Lewry has shot himself.



November 28th

I am alone now. It happened whilst we were at last making good progress, having climbed down directly to a broad and wooded ledge with prospects of a relatively safe path downward at its futher end. Being in need of relief - possibly slightly poisoned by traces of the local flora on my hands & certainly in some sweat and suffering from the rum before - I had betaken myself to a private spot among the foliage whilst the others remained in the clearer space nearer the edge. Despite recording this perhaps two hours after the event (forgot to wind my watch - I am a ledge further down and resting among tantalising new species, trying not to sweat or weep more moisture. Swollen tongue. So many flies) I fear that my vagueness on what happened will be taken as a sign of madness, perhaps a mind unhinged enough to push...but I did not. It is hard to be sure of anything in this place: I feel the groves, the ridge, the rock itself to be insane, yet I must believe in my own sanity. I must, or be lost.

The convict Bowen and Lieutenant Mollingsbrooke were in fair spirits, calm and hale when I left them. I heard alarmed shouting and then screams whilst indisposed and as soon as I could reach the spot both were gone. A boot of B^wn's lay on the bare rock, a little bloody at the ankle, and I believed I could see something pale and the scarlet of Lt.M's uniform coat, tied about his pack at that point, through the fronds of a tree-fern far below. I hope that is what that red was. The body seemed to lie far out, as though he had leapt or been hurled there, though the former made no sense and I had heard no sound of wings to account for attack from above. I do not think either could have survived such a fall and it is a mercy I saw no movement there. Still, they were gone.

I knelt and lost my senses at the sight - I feel I slept, and had the fatigue to do so, but also that I cried for my companions' loss and the ache of my own lonliness, though I had no tears. I felt as though the mad land moved as if to speak, but only opened its mouth the mouth in the land mouth below {illegible} I cannot truly say what I did, but eventually I found I had come to clarity whilst climbing away from that dreadful place. I know where I need to go next, and feel safer now, nearer the running water. I will be there soon.