We crossed the Mountains yestereve, and were forced to
eat one of our Indian guides, as the Oxen were taken
by Wolves at the crossing of the Ryver. Theyr singing
has quyte unnerv'd the Womynefolke.
We have founde Sheltere in an old Miner's cabyn, and
the Snowe has poured 'round thick about the Walls. Some
of the Men have succumbed to Cabyn Fevre, and must per-
force be put downe.
Our survival lies purely in the hands of Provenance and
God, but surely we are Sinners in His sight, now, as we
have tasted the forbidden flesh of the Long Pig.
Our Fotograffer, Mr Noughten, has been gracious enoughe
to record the Evynts of our Travails.
Here is the Entrance, buried by Snowe. We have shor'd
the Passyge up with the bodyes of our Deade.
These grande Icycles fall without warning and Pierce
the Breast of manye a brave ladde and lasse.
Onne can barely See the treeline for the dryvinge Snowe.
Hoarefroste rymes the Walls.
Alle is Ice and Snow. At nyght, the Ice Weasels come.