We boarded HMS Griffin in more-or-less good order. We were introduced to the officers, notably Captain Charles Rodgers.

We left dock almost as soon as our party was aboard, in the very wee hours of the morning. The crew at large was given a modified briefing about our mission, as I believe only the officers are Fully Aware of the fearsome, potentially apocalyptic, nature of our journey.

Before we departed, Sir Cosmo was given official documents of Royal Commission and diplomatic papers to give him some status if we need to approach any Foreign Governments. I imagine such diplomatic standing will have little use, however, if we meet Leviathan and Behemoth spitting firebolts.

I daresay our party has made quite an impression with the crew, with this absurd complement of ladies, dogs, and children. The Civilians on board include:

All of the League, including Salmalin, Mr Ramsay, and Owen.

Also, Mr Rupert Pryce, an actor. His brother, Andrew Pryce, was a member of the ill-fated expedition and one of the Order of St Jerome. Mr Rupert Pryce has been having dreams about his brother, when none of the Order have been able to contact him through mystical means. He is acquainted with Mr Ramsay, and had looked to the latter for help with the dreams. Mr Ramsay, in turn, asked Mrs Cuthbert to try a Seance, to learn if Andrew is dead. The results, I understand, were unclear.

Also, Mr Pym, the lunatic cartographer. As he is the only known survivor of the previous expedition, Sir Anthony and others hope that he can provide us with clues along the way. So far, he has been very heavily sedated.

Also, Dr Creven Siannaig, the Irish Doctor from Bethlehem Royal Hospital (He was annoyed when Miss Chigwidgeon called it "Bedlam").

I hear the cabin boys coming down the hall to rouse us for breakfast.

Monday, 9 May 1870
(afternoon)

So Far, shipboard life has been more comfortable than I expected. Here we are, several ladies among over 300 sailors. Are sailors not considered dangerous to ladies? Aren't women aboard ship supposed by the superstitious to be "bad luck?" We have even been warned not to walk about alone. Yet, every person I've met, among officers, crew, even cabin boys, has been utterly courteous (at least to the best of their particular upbringing). Everyone seems honoured to have us aboard, and all are excited by the new ship.

I have come to expect good behaviour from all, and perhaps that is why I get it. I worry a bit for Miss Chigwidgeon, as she does not expect deference, is not socially acute and is likely to find herself in Awkward Circumstances. Her youth and beauty could inspire either deference or covetousness, depending on the beholder.

In fact, she was at the center of the sole incident of unseemly behaviour so far... as we boarded, a sailor who was carrying some of our baggage heard her name and asked if she was Rip Chigwidgeon's daughter. It seems this man had been acquainted with her father. His manner made me uneasy, being over-familiar. His knowledge of her parents and therefore some of her underclass history, concerns me, as he might consider her "fair game."

He distressed us further by offering condolences to Miss Chigwidgeon on the death of her father. From her look, it was the first she'd heard of it, but she maintained composure and thanked him politely. She hasn't spoken to me about this news. I can't tell if she disbelieves the account, or if she has been so estranged from her father that she is unmoved.

Anyhow, I am determined to make sure that Miss Chigwidgeon is respectably escorted at all times. I asked Mr Salmalin to assist in this, and he seemed relieved to be given guidance of this nature. I think he was concerned for all of us ladies, but knew he couldn't watch after all of us all over the ship. He seems satisfied to focus on Miss Chigwidgeon's safety.

For my own part, I feel that I have made an impression as something of a Virago, with my straightforward demeanour, my evenhanded and fearless courtesy (even with the seediest of deckhands), not to mention the Turkish Trousers. I suspect that our practice with Salmalin on deck contributes as well. (I did have to make a few sharp remarks to gawking sailors). So far this seagoing experience seems to be bringing out something different in me. Not a meek, invisible Governess today.

Surprisingly, I have not been seasick. The seas have been (so I'm told) light, and the slight rolling seems soothing. Not everyone would agree, though. Our Irish Doctor was entirely unable to eat breakfast, and had to run out of the dining room Officer's Mess several times. The rest of us seem to be holding up fairly well.

My other concern, that of shipboard diet, has a surprising solution. One of the cooks noticed that I ate very little at breakfast and solicitously inquired if the food was not to my taste. Not wishing him to be insulted, I assured him that it was simply that I have a sensitive stomach, and the particulars of salt. I spoke with a "don't trouble yourself, there's no help for it" air as usually produces a sympathetic shrug from baffled cooks, but instead of shrugging, this Mr Yeardsley immediately offered plain corn porridge. It was Splendid! I can only suppose that his professional pride would not allow him to countenance an unsatisfied stomach at his table.

I took a liking to him immediately, despite his somewhat uncomfortable appearance. He has a scarred face, two fingers missing from one hand, and appears to be deaf in one ear. I understand he previously worked in gunnery, and became a cook after his injuries made him unsuited to combat. Hard for him, no doubt, but a blessing to my stomach! He contrived a salad of apples and nuts for my lunch. Very clever and thoughtful.

Another agreeable occurence during breakfast was meeting Lt Spode, our Second Navigator, and 7th Lieutenant. This gentleman, when we were properly introduced, asked if I was related to Peter Sinclair, and when I said so, he spoke most glowingly about the Bee Paper. His interest in Pollination comes from his interest in Agriculture. He made intelligent comments. I offered to let him read the next paper, and he seemed genuinely interested. It's a good thing he's pleasant, because his batman, named Brinkley, would curdle milk with his scowl.

After breakfast, I walked on deck with Miss Chigwidgeon, and left her with Sir Cosmo, Dr Wilson, and Edward, who were working on their various contraptions. Edward is still banging continually upon his underwater boat, and in fact I learned he slept inside it last night. I told him in no uncertain terms that this was unsafe onboard ship and he is henceforth to sleep in the cabin he shares with Salmalin. We'll see if he can invent a way around that pronouncement.

Leaving Miss Chigwidgeon with the gentlemen out on deck, I asked Lt Wooster to escort me to the Chart Room, where I would learn more about our route and destination. Miss Whitnell joined me there as well.

There we made the better acquaintance of Lt Pellew, the expert in Navigation and Cartography. He showed us quantities of maps and charts. He is very concerned with ensuring maximum accuracy in our charts. I'm all for it! Especially for any vessel I'm aboard. I took notes about what he told me, in particular information about our destination, St Damian Island. We will probably encounter completely unpredictable hazards, so it behooves us to have as much information as we may to begin with.

As we completed our discussion with Lt Pellew, Miss Chigwidgeon and Salmalin came through the Chartroom on a tour of the Griffin led by Lt Locksley.

Lt Locksley is in charge of the Marines aboard, and is primarily skilled in handguns and swordplay. He is a glowingly fine-looking man, tall and well-made, with perfect hair and teeth. Unfortunately, he is rather narrow in his outlook, seeming only to have room in his head for his own interests, His information about shipboard functions was primarily marked by lack of correct terminology and by glossing over anything which did not pertain directly to himself.

Miss Whitnell positively despises him, she kept muttering under her breath things like, "typical." Fortunately for shipboard diplomacy, Lt Locksley is so sure that we'll adore him and his teeth that he wouldn't notice any rebuff weighing less than an iron frying pan.

Monday, 9 May, 1870
(evening)

We are embroiled again, in a mystery of uncertain ramifications.

I passed a pleasant evening with an enjoyable dinner (alas, not enjoyed by all--Miss Whitnell and Mrs Cuthbert are both suffering some effects of the sea now--though Dr Siannaig seems better). While participating in a round of Darts (I took 3rd place--not bad for a beginner), I began to hear rustlings of rumour that a valuable clock had disappeared from the Captain's quarters.
I thought little of it at the time.

I proceeded to the wheelhouse to deliver a copy of the Moth Paper to Lt Spode. Enroute I encountered a sailor from the gunnery crew, named Vanderlay, who expressed concern for my safety and escorted me to my destination in a most gentlemanly manner.
Lt Spode graciously accepted the paper and asked his batman Brinkley to escort me back to my cabin.

Although I'd have preferred to meet the saltiest boor of a sailor on my own than spoil the night sounds with the snide mutterings of Brinkley, I thought it a good opportunity to draw out the deeper causes of his hostility toward Mr Caine and Lt Wooster. I made no great discoveries, however. I established an imitation of rapport by playing up the aggravations of life in Service, asking casually personal questions. I conclude that the substance of Brinkley's dislike is simply that he resents anyone who makes him feel inferior--this is essentially everyone, since he is plainly an inferior sort of person.

In any case, when we arrived at my cabin, I bid Mr Brinkley good evening and went in, only to discover that Miss Chigwidgeon was elsewhere. I checked Sir Cosmo's cabin and discovered a convocation in progress. That missing clock had turned up in Lt Wooster's cabin, and he had come to ask Sir Cosmo's advice, leaving Caine to guard the wardrobe with the clock inside.

The Lt was agitated, believing he'd be thrown in the Brig or some such thing, blamed for the theft. I declared that I thought Capt Rodgers too sensible not to recognise the mischief behind the planted "evidence" if he were apprised promptly. Sir Cosmo agreed, and so urged the Lt to see the Captain, while I inspected the offending clock and wardrobe in company with Owen, Salmalin and Miss Chigwidgeon.

I detected few clues, mainly the residue of some sort of oil on the clock casing. Owen identified several scents and spelled the out. Alas, Owen doesn't use Human names, but rather identifies each person by a sort of abbreviated description. His idea of Salient Characteristics doesn't always lend itself to translation. Tomorrow I will have to go about with him to try to determine what people he's telling us about.

Tonight I must try to settle my thoughts. I will review my notes from my conversations with Lt Pellew and with Owen. Perhaps then I can sleep and hope to have fresh ideas in the morning. In any case, I'll have to put the light out for Miss Chigwidgeon's sake.

Tuesday, 10 May, 1870
(afternoon)

I have a frightful headache.

Owen and I have sniffed this wretched ship and all its occupants, stem to stern. My notes regarding his suspects in the clock pilferage are more complete, but we now have further incidents of theft to complicate the inquiry.

At breakfast, I heard Brinkley reporting to Lt Spode (who was having his supper after working all night) that the Lt's silver grooming set had been stolen, I expected that they might turn up in Lt Wooster's cabin too. However, Miss Chigwideon found them in our cabin, on her bed, tied up in a faded blue ribbon. Unfortunately, she handled them before Owen or I could examine them. What is this all about?

Sir Cosmo and the Captain suggest that, though the clock incident could be a personally-motivated attempt to discredit Lt Wooster, it more likely an attempt to cause distraction and upheaval to hinder our mission. I agree.

Although Lt Wooster has plenty of enemies (I perceive hostility from several of the officers), I'm sure we all know that Lt Wooster is more than capable of discrediting himself without outside assistance. It seems unlikley that anyone would chance the severe penalties of Shipboard Justice to satisfy a personal vendetta.

If we assume that the goal of the clock incident was to create dissention and mistrust, I think the further theft could fit the same purpose. Miss Chigwidgeon and Sir Cosmo don't seem to agree, and ascribe the gifts to a secret admirer. This is also very possible. In any case, I feel uneasy knowing that someone has been in our cabin.

Mr Salmalin has taken up an unobtrusive (which in his case means "invisible") guard position in the hallway.

In case this weren't enough to agitate all of us, both Miss Whitnell and Mrs Cuthbert were disturbed by dreams of French sailors and a burning Flying Vessel. This seems likely to relate to the missing AeroFrigate. On the other hand, it could simply be the result of two highly sensitive and seasick women shut up together in a tiny cabin enroute to a Mysterious Island of Dreadful Repute.

I feel a little better now. I think I'll look in on Edward's boatbuilding before supper.

Wednesday, 11 May, 1870
(very early morning)

I can see it's going to be another of those adventures which severely tax my belief in my own senses. By daylight, I won't believe my own memory at all, so I must set it down now.

After supper last evening, I returned from a stroll on deck with Miss Chigwidgeon and Sir Cosmo, when she suddenly came over strange and abstracted (even more than usual). She walked out of the cabin, quite suddenly. She ignored me as I called to her, and proceeded up the ladder toward the deck. I tried to catch hold of her arm, was repulsed by a sharp jolt to my hand. She said, "I'm fine," but it seemed that she spoke from a dream, that she was sleepwalking.

She started glowing. Her hair began to float away from her head. Mine also felt as though it would stand on end if it could, and the back of my neck prickled as with the most pressing fear. I could smell a storm and hear a thrum of thunder even above the noise of the engines.

As we came abovedecks, Miss Chigwidgeon continued to walk toward the bow, ignoring me (oddly, she did pause to greet Sir Cosmo and Edward, who were busily tying down their equipment. Her voice, as before, seemed distant.

Ahead of us, the stars were blotted out by enormous clouds. The center of the mass of storm glowed, a ball of lightning. The crew called it St Elmo's Fire, but they had plainly never seen such a powerful display. Everyone was scrambling to secure the ship for storm, except Miss Chigwidgeon, who just kept walking forward, eyes aglow. I was afraid she'd walk right overboard. It was maddening to be ignored!

Perhaps I've been spending too much time with Miss Whitnell and Mrs Cuthbert, because I determined that this strange fit might be disrupted by my "gift of quiet". I braved the sparking pain in my hand and grabbed onto Miss Chigwidgeon's arm.

The wind was fierce (I was glad of my stout hatpin). The glowing clouds surged toward us. Miss Whitnell and Mrs Cuthbert were now on deck and trying to set some sort of protective spell. The deck crew continued their struggle to secure everything, and broke out life jackets for us. The Glowing Cloud kept on, and the electric lamps began bursting all around. Fires broke out in the Fore Turret.

Then, Miss Chigwidgeon spoke, in a very loud voice, in her Hindoo language. Before I could think, Mr Salmalin grabbed me, causing me to loose my grip, and knocked me down. I was indignant for only an instant, as Miss Chigwidgeoan kept speaking, her hair flying about her, her eyes burning. I was near deafened by thunder, Voice, wind and explosions. This has been even more insane and frightening than Mr. Hammersly!

When Miss Chigwidgeon finished speaking, the wind stopped and a curious quiet emerged from the wildness of the previous moment. Mr Salmalin reached Miss Chigwidgeon in time to catch her as she fainted.

We all bustled down to the infirmary with her (though she began to revive before that), only to find Dr Siannaig and the surgeon Mr Moorehead cowering in the anteroom. While all the madness was going on abovedecks, their patient, Mr Pym, was floating through the air, declaiming, " There is no death, there is only change." Dr Siannaig was burnt trying to restrain him. Now though, the patient is sleeping quietly, as though nothing had happened.

Poor Dr Siannaig has a bewildered look that I recognise as offended materialist sensibilities. I feel much the same look on my own face so much of the time.

Like Mr Pym, Miss Chigwidgeon is apparently sleeping off her peculiar exertions.

I have never seen a storm like this one. Moreover, the seasoned sailors have never seen a storm like this one. All the sparking, glowing, hair-raising features seem to correspond with what I've heard of uncontained electrical discharge, but I know too little of Electricity and of weather to know how much of tonight's events were outside of "normal" occurrence. Perhaps some discussion with the sailors tomorrow will help me understand it.

Wednesday morning
(later)

I was so agitated by last night's storm that I made no note in my last entry of our continuing incidents of theft...

During supper last evening, Dr Wilson reported sotto voce that Lt Locksley had had a few items stolen. He apparently keeps a collection of delicate objects suitable to give as gifts to ladies he might meet in his travels. He told Dr Wilson that he was missing some pearl earrings.

Apparently Lt Locksley was quite friendly with Dr Wilson in the afternoon, but this has changed by evening, as Miss Chigwidgeon was telling Lt Locksley all about the marvelous "Kid Rocket." Poor Locksley. All Miss Chigwidgeon's naive admiration directed at someone other than himself.

He (and Salmalin) escorted Miss Chigwidgeon back to our cabin so she could loan him one of her booklets. She is displaying more wiles than I thought she possessed--Lt Locksley is trying to please her by reading her recommendation and she is giving him a story which glorifies his (perceived) rival. Such a Minx!

She was just sending him off, booklet in hand, when I arrived, simultaneous with Sir Cosmo. Sir Cosmo expressed the desire to stroll on deck with Miss Chigwidgeon and me. We left Salmalin to watch the hallway.

Sir Cosmo apparently had some matter of delicacy to discuss with Miss Chigwidgeon. He gave her a letter. Both seemed so awkward and uncomfortable, I began to have misgivings--could something untoward be developing under my very eyes? I can hardly believe such a thing of Sir Cosmo. But she is very beautiful, and she worships him. I'll have to talk it over with Miss Whitnell. I might even be so bold as to offer advice to Miss Chigwidgeon herself, though I am not designated as her Chaperone. A Governess' vigilance must encompass all.

In any case, when we returned to our cabin, we discovered further gifts left for Miss Chigwidgeon. This was extremely perplexing, as it seems impossible for anyone to get past Salmalin. Just as I was contemplating the chilling (if melodramatic) possibilities of some sort of secret passage, it occured to me that I had not entered after dinner, and upon inquiriy I found that only Miss Chigwidgeon had. Given her recent state of distraction, it's perfectly likely that she would fail to notice a set of inappropriate ladies underthings (no matter how lurid their color), and the pearl earrings would be easy to miss.

It was at this moment that the storm began, and all thoughts of the stolen articles were driven from my mind. Now, however, I feel increasingly concerned about the motive and method of these little presents.

Wednesday
(after breakfast)

During Breakfast this morning, we learned of another theft--Mr Wren, Lt Locksley's man, came in to quietly inform him that an opal necklace is missing from the preemptive gift collection. I have just returned to the cabin, along with Miss Chigwidgeon and Miss Whitnell, to see if it has turned up, and it hasn't.

Edward has been guarding the corridor while Salmalin has been "on duty " with us all in the Mess. I've brought Edward a biscuit. I also had to pause here to remove one layer of my short reform-dress petticoats in preparation for the morning's Defence lesson.

Mrs. Cuthbert will meet us on deck after a visit to Mr Pym in the infirmary. She hopes to help heal him by laying on hands. I am eager to hear how that goes. In spite of my doubts, I must acknowledge, from direct personal experience, the efficacy of her healing ability.

Ah, the other ladies are ready. Time to go and take the air...by force if necessary.

Wednesday, 11 May, 1870
(evening)

Part of our pilferage mystery has been solved, though I confess little satisfaction in the outcome.

When we returned from our morning's Defence lesson, it was plain that our cabin had been entered. Both Owen and Edward refused to answer my questions on the matter, so I knew that Sir Cosmo must have told them to keep it secret.

Sir Cosmo refused to admit me! I was so angry, I could scarcely contain myself. After all my efforts and my headaches, examining every stinking smear, lying my way into every suspect's confidence, the culprit is captured without me! To be excluded from the conference as though I were disinterested and superfluous was entirely unbearable.

Fortunately, my temper was cooling by the time Sir Cosmo spoke to me a bit later, and I was mollified by his explanation of my exclusion. It seems that the gifts were being left by one of the cabin boys, Jimmy, motivated, as suspected, by admiration for Miss Chigwidgeon. Sir Cosmo achieved a full confession from him. Sir Cosmo explained that he felt my formidable (and female) presence would have inhibited the free confession.

The means of theft and gift are simple: Jimmy, like all the boys, has access to keys in order to go about his duties of cleaning and running errands. A simple thing to take from one cabin and leave in another.

Motive, on the surface, is simple: admiration of Miss Chigwidgeon. Upon further questioning, though, Sir Cosmo learned that Jimmy had been coached in how to impress ladies by the sailor Dawkins, that unpleasant acquaintance of Miss Chigwidgeon's father. Now this advice seems calculated to make trouble.

Sir Cosmo also learned that Dawkins had offered money to Jimmy for information about our doings, including accounts of our conversations and any papers he could see or even steal. Dawkins had indicated particular interest in information regarding any inheritance destined for Miss Chigwidgeon from Sir Cosmo. Jimmy avowed that he hadn't taken advantage of this offer, as dishonourable and harmful to the object of his affection (why he didn't view Dawkins' lovemaking advice with similar suspicion I can only attribute to the selective reasoning of the idee fixe).

We are left with several questions:

1) Who stole the clock?
Jimmy swears that he didn't. Although his scent was identified in Lt Wooster's cabin, I believe Jimmy's testimony, since he has confessed all else with amnesty given. Further investigation will be required.

2) What is Dawkin's motive for spying and stirring up trouble?
His interest seems targeted to Miss Chigwidgeon's inheritance, and he has past connexions with her father. This brings his surprising offer of condolences under suspicion. If Rip Chigwidgeon is still alive, he might have heard about his daughter's adoption by the generous and wealthy Sir Cosmo, and be orchestrating some plot to wrest any inheritance from her.

Could his friend Dawkins have wrangled a position on this vessel in hopes that Sir Cosmo would come aboard at some point? Could he be planning to do away with Sir Cosmo to make Miss Chigwidgeon a very wealthy and unprotected woman? Very speculative, but it could account for Dawkins' actions. We daren't confront him until we have more information.

Our hindoo Hindi language lesson went somewhat off-track this afternoon as we discussed the Chigwidgeon Situation. After the lesson, we began to devise some false documents indicating a much smaller inheritance for Miss Chigwidgeon. The Idea is to plant these documents so they can be "found" by Jimmy, who has agreed to help us, in order to make up for past misdeeds.

This decoy document will serve two purposes:
Once read by the conspirators, it will reduce the temptation to harm either Miss Chigwidgeon or Sir Cosmo.
We also marked it with a distinctive scent which will rub off onto anyone who handles it. Owen (or I) can follow its course.
I was interested to learn that our Mystical Specialists have a way to make a similar trace which is apparent to magical rather than olfactory senses. With this two-fold tracing, we should be able to find the conspirators.

Meanwhile, Mrs Cuthbert will lead a Seance to find out, at least, if Rip Chigwidgeon is truly deceased, or if Dawkins is lying. I can't yet imagine why he would lie about that.

Turning my thoughts to the larger purpose of our mission to St Damian's Island…
It seems that everyone (except myself) had dreams relating to the island, and the fate of the Expedition. Several of the dreams align in content, though with differing points of view. Many of the party mention a temple with a priestess or queen. Others speak of the fate of the French Aerofrigate, or of the Expedition. These images seem to align in turn with Miss Whitnell's and Mrs Cuthbert's dreams Monday night and somewhat with the scattered story given by Mr Pym. We shall see, I suppose, if there is any quality of "clairvoyance" in these dreams when we approach the island ourselves.

Wednesday 11 May, contnued
(evening)

What began as a pleasant diversion this afternoon shows signs of becoming a significant problem.

Lt Locksley offered to teach us to use firearms. I've been wanting to learn the essentials, at least enough to keep from injury in an emergency, so I took up my ear-covers and joined the Marines in target practice. I did better than expected (further evidence for the crew that I am a Fearless Virago).

Spurred by my example, Miss Whitnell tried it too (with somewhat less success) and Miss Chigwidgeon went so far as to join in a wager put up by Dr Wilson (why he proposed it, I don't know, since I know he's been feeling seasick all day). The shooting contest went well enough, and miss Chigwidgeon did rather well.

I was just breathing a sigh of relief that she hadn't shot anyone, when she became entangled with a box of lead balls, which spilled across the deck. What a mess! I kept my feet planted, but several others got the skittering mischief under their feet and slipped.

A notable victim is Captain Rodgers. He is in the infirmary now, I believe, as he was knocked cold.

If he proves to be incapacitated, I understand that Lt Wooster would be In Command. I can only hope that if that should transpire, Lt Wooster will continue to be guided by Mr. Caine and Sir Cosmo, and that most of the ship's functions will continue to be maintained by the able Lt Cooper.

I should hate to have to contrive a way to set Lt Wooster out of the way, as we might need him in the turret. Still, I'm glad I have bought some of my pressed botanical samples. Some of my specimens are probably still strong enough to deliver a temporary illness if it becomes absolutely necessary.

These musings are entirely premature, though. I am sure that the Captain will recover quickly. And surely, Lt Wooster can't do too much harm with the other able officers about.

Proceed to 3. Chilling Reminders

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