The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. III: The Wintering
by Lady Norbert
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24 January 1900
Today we made our way to Cuzco, the ancient seat of the Incan empire, and still a important city in Peru. We rented a small team of mules, one for each of us to ride and two more to carry supplies. The road leading into the mountain is much overgrown with vegetation; therefore, Nemo's men will by turns walk ahead of our party, cutting back what they must in order for us to pass. I've acquired a new book on the Incas (written in English, mercifully), which provides a bit more information on this curious people, thanks to local oral tradition.
My leg is painful, but the cut is not terribly deep. I am grateful to be riding instead of walking, however. We have concluded luncheon and will be making our departure very shortly.
How curious...Jaya just reported to Nemo of a conversation he had with the owner of the mules. I use the term conversation loosely, for Jaya's grasp of the local language, while certainly better than mine or anyone in the League's, is not very strong. He managed to make himself understood well enough that the mule owner knows we are seeking Machu Picchu, and this seems to have frightened the gentleman. The city is there, apparently, but something lives within it which keeps the local people away. He made some noises about "the stone," which made no sense to any of us. Nemo feels that it is merely a superstition, some legend which has survived through the years. The book I purchased here in Cuzco offers no explanation, so I am inclined to agree with him.
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26 January 1900
So horribly humid! And the higher we go in the mountains, the thinner the air becomes. We are progressing very slowly to allow our bodies to adjust. The trees are lush and the roads really are thoroughly overgrown.
In addition to the thinning air, we must also stop frequently to take shelter from the rain. I don't believe I've been properly dry since Christmas. Usually when there is a sign of impending rain, we halt and the largest tent is set up as a canopy. We must amuse ourselves as best we can until the storms pass; often we tell stories or trade anecdotes from our lives before the League. Sometimes the gentlemen play cards, and for lack of other entertainment, Mina and I have even joined the games -- Aunt Adelaide would not have approved, I know.
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29 January 1900
More of the same. Lots of trees, lots of rain. I am enjoying myself -- how can I not, in such good company? -- but I begin to feel that if we ever do find Machu Picchu, it cannot be soon enough.
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1 February 1900
It seems almost impossible to believe that we are already a full month into this new century, but it is nevertheless true.
The scenery, when we are actually in motion, is magnificent. We are now away from the Apurimac, and instead we can see below us the Urubamba. In the mornings it is particularly marvellous, with a fine mist rising off of the water. The jungle is noisy, always noisy -- but to my surprise, it has not been quite as hot as I was led to expect. The humidity makes it worse, of course, but it's actually mostly tolerable. At night it actually gets quite cool and we have need of a blanket.
I have been reading my book about the Incas, and I must say I find them fascinating, if somewhat distasteful. In some ways they were remarkable people, brilliant engineers not unlike the Egyptians. Their empire was vast, until their annihilation by the Spanish; part of this was apparently due to smallpox, which was brought to this continent by the explorers and against which the natives had no resistance. But the Incas themselves were also quite savage, performing ritual sacrifices of beast and man alike. Even children were frequently offered to the gods of the sun and mountain. Their human sacrifices were not often bloody, like those of other ancient civilizations, but they were still sacrifices.
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11 February 1900
We have, regrettably, not moved from this spot for several days. It has been rather a harrowing week, for many of our company are ill. I do not know if the water was bad, or if it was something in the food, but dysentery has joined our ranks. Quite an unpleasant illness, to put it mildly! It luckily did not strike everyone (which leads me even more to wonder what caused it, for have we not all been eating and drinking from the same rations?), but about half of Nemo's officers were taken ill, as were Tom and, most unfortunately, Henry. At a time when our doctor is most needed, the doctor himself is unwell!
The rest of us have done our best to care for the sick men. Compounding the problem is the lack of medicine to treat it; we simply did not bring enough to handle a mass outbreak of dysentery, and the flor da terra plant I acquired in Barra is not mature enough to harvest for the cure, even if I had it here. Mina has been distributing what medicine there is in very small portions, trying to make it go around, and the combination of rest and treatment seems to finally be making an improvement among the patients. Tom, being the youngest and arguably the healthiest of the stricken, has made the swiftest recovery.
I feel most sympathetic toward the men, and wish I could do more to ease their discomfort. It is a...messy condition. I have done what I can for them, which has mostly consisted of taking over the duties of preparing meals for the group -- the officers who normally handle that task are among the most severely ill. Mina does the actual dosing of medication, and we both attend them when they have need. Nemo and the healthy officers have been primarily boosting the morale of the sick, and Skinner has mainly been keeping Tom and Henry company. He also assists me with my other chief responsibility, which is making sure we have plenty of fresh, clean water on hand at all times, as the men are in constant danger of dehydration thanks to the disease.
It is late now, and most of my companions are getting some much-needed sleep. Jaya and another officer are sitting the current watch, in the sense of guarding the camp. I am sitting watch over the patients; Mina and I trade this duty throughout the night, so that someone is always awake should one of the ill men need something or take a turn for the worse. I need hardly add that the first few days were the worst, and neither of us slept much. I'm not entirely certain she sleeps even now, in truth, for she is curled in a chair at Henry's bedside, and I heard them conversing in low voices some time ago.
I will go among the men and make sure everyone is well covered, as it is quite a chilly night. I think Skinner is outside sitting the watch with the soldiers; I should go and see if they have need of anything. I am to wake Mina for her turn in two hours.
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12 February 1900
Only a short note, for then I must get on with my tasks for today. Tom is almost fully recovered, and several of the other patients are coming along well. Another few days and most of them should be well enough to resume our journey, though we have agreed to remain here until everyone is back to full health.
After I roused Mina at the specified hour, I went back to the chair where I had been sitting with this diary, curled up, and promptly dozed off. My turn came again three hours later, when I was awakened by her asking, "Are you quite warm, Elizabeth?"
I didn't understand what she meant -- although I was comfortably snug, actually -- until I woke properly. She was standing over me, looking rather amused. At some point during my sleep, someone had seen fit to cover me...but not with a blanket.
That leather coat really is nice and warm.
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19 February 1900
I've not touched this diary for several days because, as luck would have it, I myself became ill. Henry (who is well again) says that the disease is passed not only through food and drink, but also from one person to another. Although I was spared in the initial days of the onslaught, it would seem I contracted it from one of the men while caring for them. I have been sick enough to realize just how miserable they have been. Indeed, for a few days of my illness, I was actually a bit delirious with fever, which is a less common symptom of the disease, and slept a lot.
The fever broke sometime in the night a few days ago. I awoke very suddenly, shivering despite my two blankets, and looked around wildly. I was not fully aware, then, that I had been so ill, and had no real idea what had been happening or even where I was.
"Hello, princess," said a voice. "Come back to us, have you?"
Skinner was seated near me, wearing the greasepaint on his face for the first time in several days. I was grateful for this, because it gave me something on which to focus my gaze. "What...why am I here?" I asked him. I felt very disoriented, and my head ached.
"Gave us all a bit of a scare, you did," he said. His expression was calm -- we might have been discussing the weather -- but I could hear something in his voice. Relief, I think. "I'd best get Henry, he'll want to give you a going-over now you're awake. Sit tight."
Henry's relief was just as palpable as Skinner's; apparently, my temperature climbed very high during the worst of the illness. I was quite puzzled to see him, in truth, for when I'd succumbed to the disease he was still in his own sickbed. He answered my questions patiently and told me to lie down again. Mina brought me some water, and I drank it greedily; I don't recall ever feeling so thirsty.
Tom and Nemo and even some of the men came by in the course of the next hour or so to see how I was faring. I asked about the other patients and was told that most of them were fully recovered. For someone who had done little but sleep for three days, I felt curiously exhausted, so no one stayed to talk for very long. Henry admonished me to rest. "If you need anything, we won't be far," he told me, in the soothing voice he reserves for his patients. "I don't think Skinner's been out of this tent all week."
Indeed, anytime I've been awake since then, he's been within sight, keeping me company as he did for Henry and Tom. His irrepressible good humour has been most welcome, and his concern for me is obvious. He's made my recovery tolerable, and I'm very grateful. He...how can I put this? He's grown even dearer to me than before. I hesitate to say more than that on the subject.
It would seem that my fever was high enough that there was talk of abandoning the trek and returning to the Nautilus, but now that I am almost completely well again, it has been agreed that we will continue. Another day or so and I should be fit to travel, and Machu Picchu may yet be an attainable goal.
by Lady Norbert
24 January 1900
Today we made our way to Cuzco, the ancient seat of the Incan empire, and still a important city in Peru. We rented a small team of mules, one for each of us to ride and two more to carry supplies. The road leading into the mountain is much overgrown with vegetation; therefore, Nemo's men will by turns walk ahead of our party, cutting back what they must in order for us to pass. I've acquired a new book on the Incas (written in English, mercifully), which provides a bit more information on this curious people, thanks to local oral tradition.
My leg is painful, but the cut is not terribly deep. I am grateful to be riding instead of walking, however. We have concluded luncheon and will be making our departure very shortly.
How curious...Jaya just reported to Nemo of a conversation he had with the owner of the mules. I use the term conversation loosely, for Jaya's grasp of the local language, while certainly better than mine or anyone in the League's, is not very strong. He managed to make himself understood well enough that the mule owner knows we are seeking Machu Picchu, and this seems to have frightened the gentleman. The city is there, apparently, but something lives within it which keeps the local people away. He made some noises about "the stone," which made no sense to any of us. Nemo feels that it is merely a superstition, some legend which has survived through the years. The book I purchased here in Cuzco offers no explanation, so I am inclined to agree with him.
26 January 1900
So horribly humid! And the higher we go in the mountains, the thinner the air becomes. We are progressing very slowly to allow our bodies to adjust. The trees are lush and the roads really are thoroughly overgrown.
In addition to the thinning air, we must also stop frequently to take shelter from the rain. I don't believe I've been properly dry since Christmas. Usually when there is a sign of impending rain, we halt and the largest tent is set up as a canopy. We must amuse ourselves as best we can until the storms pass; often we tell stories or trade anecdotes from our lives before the League. Sometimes the gentlemen play cards, and for lack of other entertainment, Mina and I have even joined the games -- Aunt Adelaide would not have approved, I know.
29 January 1900
More of the same. Lots of trees, lots of rain. I am enjoying myself -- how can I not, in such good company? -- but I begin to feel that if we ever do find Machu Picchu, it cannot be soon enough.
1 February 1900
It seems almost impossible to believe that we are already a full month into this new century, but it is nevertheless true.
The scenery, when we are actually in motion, is magnificent. We are now away from the Apurimac, and instead we can see below us the Urubamba. In the mornings it is particularly marvellous, with a fine mist rising off of the water. The jungle is noisy, always noisy -- but to my surprise, it has not been quite as hot as I was led to expect. The humidity makes it worse, of course, but it's actually mostly tolerable. At night it actually gets quite cool and we have need of a blanket.
I have been reading my book about the Incas, and I must say I find them fascinating, if somewhat distasteful. In some ways they were remarkable people, brilliant engineers not unlike the Egyptians. Their empire was vast, until their annihilation by the Spanish; part of this was apparently due to smallpox, which was brought to this continent by the explorers and against which the natives had no resistance. But the Incas themselves were also quite savage, performing ritual sacrifices of beast and man alike. Even children were frequently offered to the gods of the sun and mountain. Their human sacrifices were not often bloody, like those of other ancient civilizations, but they were still sacrifices.
11 February 1900
We have, regrettably, not moved from this spot for several days. It has been rather a harrowing week, for many of our company are ill. I do not know if the water was bad, or if it was something in the food, but dysentery has joined our ranks. Quite an unpleasant illness, to put it mildly! It luckily did not strike everyone (which leads me even more to wonder what caused it, for have we not all been eating and drinking from the same rations?), but about half of Nemo's officers were taken ill, as were Tom and, most unfortunately, Henry. At a time when our doctor is most needed, the doctor himself is unwell!
The rest of us have done our best to care for the sick men. Compounding the problem is the lack of medicine to treat it; we simply did not bring enough to handle a mass outbreak of dysentery, and the flor da terra plant I acquired in Barra is not mature enough to harvest for the cure, even if I had it here. Mina has been distributing what medicine there is in very small portions, trying to make it go around, and the combination of rest and treatment seems to finally be making an improvement among the patients. Tom, being the youngest and arguably the healthiest of the stricken, has made the swiftest recovery.
I feel most sympathetic toward the men, and wish I could do more to ease their discomfort. It is a...messy condition. I have done what I can for them, which has mostly consisted of taking over the duties of preparing meals for the group -- the officers who normally handle that task are among the most severely ill. Mina does the actual dosing of medication, and we both attend them when they have need. Nemo and the healthy officers have been primarily boosting the morale of the sick, and Skinner has mainly been keeping Tom and Henry company. He also assists me with my other chief responsibility, which is making sure we have plenty of fresh, clean water on hand at all times, as the men are in constant danger of dehydration thanks to the disease.
It is late now, and most of my companions are getting some much-needed sleep. Jaya and another officer are sitting the current watch, in the sense of guarding the camp. I am sitting watch over the patients; Mina and I trade this duty throughout the night, so that someone is always awake should one of the ill men need something or take a turn for the worse. I need hardly add that the first few days were the worst, and neither of us slept much. I'm not entirely certain she sleeps even now, in truth, for she is curled in a chair at Henry's bedside, and I heard them conversing in low voices some time ago.
I will go among the men and make sure everyone is well covered, as it is quite a chilly night. I think Skinner is outside sitting the watch with the soldiers; I should go and see if they have need of anything. I am to wake Mina for her turn in two hours.
12 February 1900
Only a short note, for then I must get on with my tasks for today. Tom is almost fully recovered, and several of the other patients are coming along well. Another few days and most of them should be well enough to resume our journey, though we have agreed to remain here until everyone is back to full health.
After I roused Mina at the specified hour, I went back to the chair where I had been sitting with this diary, curled up, and promptly dozed off. My turn came again three hours later, when I was awakened by her asking, "Are you quite warm, Elizabeth?"
I didn't understand what she meant -- although I was comfortably snug, actually -- until I woke properly. She was standing over me, looking rather amused. At some point during my sleep, someone had seen fit to cover me...but not with a blanket.
That leather coat really is nice and warm.
19 February 1900
I've not touched this diary for several days because, as luck would have it, I myself became ill. Henry (who is well again) says that the disease is passed not only through food and drink, but also from one person to another. Although I was spared in the initial days of the onslaught, it would seem I contracted it from one of the men while caring for them. I have been sick enough to realize just how miserable they have been. Indeed, for a few days of my illness, I was actually a bit delirious with fever, which is a less common symptom of the disease, and slept a lot.
The fever broke sometime in the night a few days ago. I awoke very suddenly, shivering despite my two blankets, and looked around wildly. I was not fully aware, then, that I had been so ill, and had no real idea what had been happening or even where I was.
"Hello, princess," said a voice. "Come back to us, have you?"
Skinner was seated near me, wearing the greasepaint on his face for the first time in several days. I was grateful for this, because it gave me something on which to focus my gaze. "What...why am I here?" I asked him. I felt very disoriented, and my head ached.
"Gave us all a bit of a scare, you did," he said. His expression was calm -- we might have been discussing the weather -- but I could hear something in his voice. Relief, I think. "I'd best get Henry, he'll want to give you a going-over now you're awake. Sit tight."
Henry's relief was just as palpable as Skinner's; apparently, my temperature climbed very high during the worst of the illness. I was quite puzzled to see him, in truth, for when I'd succumbed to the disease he was still in his own sickbed. He answered my questions patiently and told me to lie down again. Mina brought me some water, and I drank it greedily; I don't recall ever feeling so thirsty.
Tom and Nemo and even some of the men came by in the course of the next hour or so to see how I was faring. I asked about the other patients and was told that most of them were fully recovered. For someone who had done little but sleep for three days, I felt curiously exhausted, so no one stayed to talk for very long. Henry admonished me to rest. "If you need anything, we won't be far," he told me, in the soothing voice he reserves for his patients. "I don't think Skinner's been out of this tent all week."
Indeed, anytime I've been awake since then, he's been within sight, keeping me company as he did for Henry and Tom. His irrepressible good humour has been most welcome, and his concern for me is obvious. He's made my recovery tolerable, and I'm very grateful. He...how can I put this? He's grown even dearer to me than before. I hesitate to say more than that on the subject.
It would seem that my fever was high enough that there was talk of abandoning the trek and returning to the Nautilus, but now that I am almost completely well again, it has been agreed that we will continue. Another day or so and I should be fit to travel, and Machu Picchu may yet be an attainable goal.