band greatly and made setting up our encampment in such unfavourable conditions slightly less trying.
May 21: Despite their injuries Blackjack and Bushranger have seen fit to absent themselves from our company again. I fear greatly for their safety and earnestly pray they have not succumbed to the elements. God rest their Souls if such is the case, yet one can only suspect that those wily bushmen have found shelter somewhere and are, even now, resting their heathen “soles” in perfect security. No doubt when the gale abates they will appear among us again as if nothing noteworthy had transpired these last days, and, indeed, will have little to report concerning their absence.
May 22: Grinsky remains near death and MacDervish continues in his delirium. The wind, meanwhile, is unrelenting. It has reduced Monsignor deBris’ threadbare and much mended dark brown habit to tatters and his undergarments glimpsed are suggestive of wondrous lusts and passions. This I find somewhat intriguing, especially for a man of the Cloth, and I find myself concluding that there is a great deal more to our reverend associate than the simple cleric we have so far been permitted to observe.
May 23: The gale continues to rage and the dust to obscure our surroundings. The track we have been following is now much used and, despite having encountered no other travellers, is now a source of great comfort to us – particularly given the loss of our navigational instruments on being bailed-up earlier by the Brumby Creek Constabulary.
We press on until late afternoon in the most appalling conditions, then once more stop to arrange our accommodation. Later, in the dust-ridden darkness, I give considerable thought to our circumstances and possible whereabouts, both of which concern me greatly.
May 24: We arise with the morning star to find the wind has ceased its labours. For this, Dear Lord, we are mightily thankful – and thankful, too, that for the first time in days we are able to enjoy a meal free of tooth-grinding grit. Sustenance taken, we make ready to move, only to have daylight deliver us an astonishing revelation.
It would appear (I hesitate to record here), that in our dust-ridden blindness we have spent these last days circumnavigating a horse-racing track. According to a nearby fallen down sign post the facility is associated with the small gold mining settlement of Cumtomeigh Flat, situated, it advises, but a paltry three miles distant. By my reckoning, therefore, we are slightly four hundred miles off course.
On the suggestion of Monsignor deBris we stand to at the Cumtomeigh Arms Hotel, there to enjoy some well-earned refreshments and to take on board divers items of supply. Whilst at the establishment we encounter our itinerant scouts, Blackjack and Bushranger. They exclaim with great enthusiasm and lack of sobriety their delight at seeing us again and press for a small loan.
We are thankful they are safe, of course, though I have much difficulty disabusing myself of the notion they have been, these last days, aware of our exact position in respect of the Cumtomeigh Arms. Certainly it would explain their absence from the expedition this similar period of time.
June 2: Grinsky’s death is imminent and MacDervish’s delirium worsens. During the night he ran off into the darkness, an act which freed us of his ravings and did afford us a sound night’s sleep. We came on him in the morning, face-down on a drain grating at the rear of the Hotel. He was shouting for the gaoler and demanding to know the charge. Herr Schtumpfarhten pried his fingers from the bars and we dragged him back to the wagons. His only other comment concerned the filthy stinking condition of the cells.
June 7: I now find myself laid up in a room of this self same Hotel, following the surgical removal of Grinsky’s utterly indigestible damper. Many hours of enforced idleness have ensued, allowing me much time for contemplation. Accordingly, I have come to the following conclusions:
Firstly, judging by the size of the cockroaches, this is not one of the first class rooms, and as soon as I am able I shall remonstrate with the proprietor.
Secondly, I now realise why Grinsky’s Easter damper left me in such a desperate condition, why it demonstrated so little manifestation of leavenment in the bake, and why I later found the fellow painting his tent portal with wallaby blood. I queried this latter at the time and he gave what may have been an explanation, but it was mostly via his own heathen tongue and all I could grasp was something about a “feast of the overpass” – whatever that might be. Later again I was to observe Herr Schtumpfarhten behaving surreptitiously and, on investigating more closely, found him re-soling his boots, and employing for that purpose the uneaten portion of his damper.
June 10: All is lost! I am advised that Monsignor deBris received information overnight to the effect that a constable is, even now, travelling from the coast with a warrant for his arrest. I am further advised that in my absence from the encampment he has seen fit to absquatulate with the expedition’s finances. In a hastily penned note of apology he indicates his intention to push through to the north west coast, where he is hopeful of gaining passage to the East Indies. His further intention, he claims, is to establish there a mission for the children of itinerant missionaries.
It would seem to me he is well qualified in this endeavour, having, according to his own accounting, spent considerable time in that region, in a great variety of positions. I must say, too, that where the latter assertion is concerned, I am inclined to believe him.
Yet other considerations arise. Those monies were vouchsafed by our underwriters for the express purposes of conducting an expedition of exploration and discovery. It appears to me patent, therefore, that should the Monsignor proceed in the direction indicated, he will be doing Just That, and, be it unwitting or not, those Honourable Gentlemen should not seek his bringing to account in that regard. Indeed, they may be much surprised to learn that their parsimonious budgeting has been made to stretch even as far as the East Indies.
What utterly galls me, however, is the fellow’s effrontery in choosing to abscond also with our best horses and the principal wagon – complete, I might add, with all of one’s personal possessions. These, damn his hide, included my spare glass eye; a signed testimonial from Her Majesty Queen Victoria; my Father's best brass telescope; my top-shelf Jamaican rum (or that remaining thereof), and a recent edition of Explorers Weekly – which, by all accounts, carries a jolly good likeness of one’s self under a heading announcing the expedition’s preparations, and which I have not yet had the opportunity of perusing.
One need not add that Father will be absolutely livid should I not return his telescope, though why he is so unreasonably possessive about it utterly escapes me. For a start it is quite impossible to focus as something is jamming the works, yet no means can be found of removing the obstruction (whatever it may be), and this, in league with its deep red filter, serves to render the thing perfectly useless.
Doubtless the above audit would have included our other instruments, had not the Brumby Creek Police seen fit to take them in charge, our best protestations of innocence and guarantees of safe delivery notwithstanding. Foremost among these items were our compass, sextant and chronometer, identified, apparently, as those recently found to be missing from the Governor's Residence.
Proceedings have been set down for September. God Save the Queen.
June 12: The local Doctor, who doubles as district farrier and town drunk, advises that Grinsky also is recovering. His last consultation, it seems, degenerated into a drinking competition, following which the two were summarily evicted from the surgery by the Doctor’s wife. They then repaired to the local hostelry in fine style and there continued the contest, their manifold cuts and abrasions from the broom handle notwithstanding.
I am further advised that on signs of approaching paralysis the assembled patrons declared the contest a draw. Little heed was paid to the outcome, however, as by then the two had become the staunchest of friends.
This began in the middle of a drunken argument, apparently, after discovering they both hailed from the same Mountain Valley north of Budapest, but in neighbouring villages.
The bond was set in bronze forever, though, on discovering that they each had experienced certain awakenings at the hands of the same robust and determined peasant girl.
Fate worketh in strange and wondrous ways, O Lord. Amen.
June 13: MacDervish remains delirious, the Doctor advises. I have asked him to not inform the poor wretch of our destitution, fearing it may be more than his Fine Scottish Temperament can endure, in such a weakened con [dition].
(Here the journal fragment ends.)
Nothing more is known of Peter Parker-Flinte Esq. Records show, however, that his father, Sir Oliver Rollington Parker-Flinte, went to enormous lengths to find his son and heir, mounting two more expeditions into the interior of the continent to that end. These proved far more successful than any previous attempts at inland exploration but failed utterly in enlarging on the fate of his son.
We know also that Sir Oliver then journeyed to the Pacific Islands in an effort to locate Monsignor deBris, only to have news of Scotland’s Tay Bridge disaster reach him during his time there. Being the industrial financier he was (and controlling the great railway bridge project’s planning, design, engineering, fabrication and construction as Chairman,