Expedition Journals #3

These are the expedition logs of Larson J. Pendelton Ross the III esquire, Archduke of Canterbury. Transcribed into modern day English by Larson Ross, Descendent of the Archduke.

September 20, 1885:
Stephanie and Jeremy are gone! To my horror, I found my camp empty and half my supplies gone upon awaking this morning. No tracks betray their path. No matter, if Sir Reginald Roderic Nigel Charles Winston Walader could explore the untamed wilds of South Africa with only his wits and a team of slave natives who knew the land like the back of their whipped hands, then I could continue alone.

September 21, 1885:
I tripped and fell near a hole in the ice, my tobacco fell through, and I dared not go after it. It’s not like it’s worth killing a man over, especially myself.

September 22, 1885:
It grows lonely on the ice, so I carved myself an effigy of an Indian man out of seal bone. Oppressing someone again feels so good, even if it’s just a figurine. I named him Havij, I have no idea if that’s an Indian name, but it doesn’t matter, since I never call him by it, I just order him to fetch me tea, spices, and make textile products for the fashionable ladies back on the isle.

September 23, 1885:
I have written a code of conduct for true British gentlemen because I needed something to pass the long nights. The list is not so much written as it is carved into my arms (I have no paper besides the ones in this journal, and these are for dated entries only). It is as follows so far:

1. Be British
2. Grow facial hair (mutton chops preferable)
3. Excessive harrumphing is a must
4. Oppress the Irish
5. Make fun of the Irish for being oppressed
6. Realize your native food is terrible, and go out and conquer far off lands to find better meals
7. Own a pipe
8. Put the letter ‘U’ into words which do not need it
9. Reject bright color colours
I had to carve a line though one word because it was misspelled.

September 24, 1885:
The tracks seem to be circling. I hope to find the creature soon, as the longer this takes, the more likely it is that some weather phenomenon could erase the trail. What could the pandacorn be eating out here? Could I find some as well? I grow tired of yeti meat, but it’s still better than bangers and mash.

September 25, 1885:
I had quite the long argument with Havij today; it was on the subject of my sanity. Havij believes that I am insane, but I disagree. I ended up winning the debate when he spontaneously sprouted the wings of a bat and flew off in a huff.

September 26, 1885:
Note to self: find someone real to have conversations with; bone sculptures can’t communicate civilly.

September 27, 1885:
My suspicions were correct. I rose over a drift today to find a disheartening sight: the dreaded eskimo village which Jeremy had gotten us chased out of. Jeremy... I miss having a scrappy companion to harras. Do I dare return to the village? Perhaps they won’t recognize me without my party or my well groomed facial hair. (I made Johnson trim my mutton chops daily to ensure perfection, but with him dead, my face was a mass of scraggly hair.)

September 28, 1885:
I need warmth, I need company, I need breath which smells of seal and arctic fish to caress my neck. My need for the stripper-gloo outweigh the risks of capture and death. What I need most of all, however, is Jeremy.

September 29, 1885:
I rescued a woman from the oppression of the stripper-gloo and have placed her in my employ. (Willing or not) Perhaps employ isn’t the best word, as she will never be paid. Her former name is of no importance, as I have bestowed upon her a much more dignified one: Jeremy two.