On the topic of local shamans

I was returning to camp via rick-shaw from the aero-drome, (my shipment of restorative tonics arrive'd today!) when the following sight struck me as soundly as a dastardly Turk might strike a defenseless child;


Needless to say, my humors were thrown at once out of alignment, and it was only a hearty swig of Doc McGillicuddy's Nerve and Moustache Elixir which rouse'd me from my stupefie'd state. (While my nerves did in-deed become quite regular as advertised, I had no need of it's facial hair thickening properties. Damn and blast your eyes, Doc Macgillicuddy! I've already got as robust a moustache as a man can rightly ask for, and now thanks to your tonic, I shan't be able to go so far as the local haberdashery without lower-classmen stopping to compliment my moustache's lustrous, full-bodied sheen!)

No sooner than I had stood up, than helpful native children surround'd me, and brush'd the dust from my overcoat in ex-change for the candy and small trinkets they have come to expect. I did not disappoint, producing a slide whistle and some peanut brittle from within my vest.

"What manner of inscriptions are these?" I querie'd the most likely candidate for ownership of the autocarriage which had so dis-quiet'd me. "They are quite frightensome to even a gentleman of my fortuitous constitution." The savage struggled for some time to understand Queen's english, finally offering a string of phonetic gurgles, that I was able to decipher as an attempt to entice me into worship of the favored local deity. "Nay good sir," I spake proudly, "I was born a follower of the noble Zoroaster and so I shall die." What follow'd was an incantation un-intelligible to man or beast alike, and surmising that some manner of hex was being cast upon my person, I fled in terror. I am loathe to admit such a thing, but caution is the friend of the wise, where dark magickry is at play!

Concerning the local animal trade

In the process of retrieving my tin of bromide from the boat, I came upon a locomotronic velocipede, that the natives have, in their simplistic ingen-uity, re-purpose'd into a means of transporting capture'd terrapins.


The runes read "LIVE TURTLES: Free for fire fighters, police or military in uniform". An unexpected windfall to be sure: As we all know, a healthy man in his prime goes through three or four turtles a week, and my own supply had recently run out!

I inquired as to whether the motor carriage in question made use of a coal or wood fired steam boiler as a propulsive motivator, but receive'd only the wide-eye'd confusion, characteristic of the population which time forgot. Thusly, I may vouchsafe with no small degree of certainty, that such a contraption is beyond the means of the native peoples to build or understand, and thenceforth conclude it was seize'd via banditry from explorers less hospitably met than I. Indeed, I would venture to say that this Floridian peninsula, is as dang'rous a land as it is won'drous.

More to come on the morrow!

My first tele-graphically trans-mitted field report

This is the first of many telegraphs, in which I shall endeavor to accurately de-scribe the exotic curiosities of this savage peninsula. I shan't editorialize too much, for fear of tainting the integrity of the project, instead what follows shall be a series of colorize'd images, capture'd via state-of-the-art daguerrotype tech-nologie.

Having forgotten my tin of bromide on the steamboat, causing me consid'rable vexation, I was able to capture only a single image upon arrival:


I figure the cylinder to be a vessel, for the con-tainment of spiritous libations. The native runes translate into a threat to "mutilate my thirst". Such a proposition would be most dis-agreeable, I daresay! The monolith behind it, is some sort of primitive idol or totem, proclaiming the invincibility of the provincial deity. I entere'd the ziggurat and inquire'd as to whether there were any up-coming sacrificial ceremonies, I might attend and document. I could not understand his reply.