—H. Stephenson Blaine
June 1928
Journal of the Copeland-Ellington Expedition, 1913
Sept. 22.
Thirty-one days out of Sangup-Koy. Made about fifteen miles today, more or less, despite dwindling supplies of water—thank the Lord for creating camels! Still weak from lingering traces of fever, but medical supplies low, too. Since Ellington died, native bearers have become distinctly uneasy and are growing ever more troublesome ... muttering about tomb-guarding dugpas again, and most reluctant to travel after sundown. Must have a stern talk with Champo-Yaa; remind him, as chief guide, it’s up to him to keep his boys in line and on the move. Took samples from eroded stone rubble at base of cliffs today; examination in my tent tonight over reeking oil-lamp most disturbing. Expected at least some fossils of rudimentary fish, primitive mollusks, coral, or the like, prob. dating from Silurian or Ordovician, but no signs of fossilized life whatsoever. Surely, this tableland cannot be that old! Cold very intense tonight, air most penetrating, and wind in the distant peaks horribly suggestive of howling ... but Champo-Yaa swears there are no wolves in these regions.
Sept. 23.
Only about thirteen miles today, alas! Traveling in these loose dry sands very difficult going, even for the camels, and the air itself is so incredibly dry that it sucks the very moisture out of the lining of our throats. Spotted the eleventh landmark right on schedule: cairn-like mound of rubble circling central spire with a cloven pinnacle. Ponape Scripture's directions to the burial ground remarkably precise, even after all of the elapsed millennia. My book (when and if I find the tomb of Zanthu) should set the scientific world on its ear and astound the so-called "experts." Pack of damned fools: evidence of primal Mu is written on the labyrinthine walls of immemorial Nan-Matal and Matal-Nim, to say nothing of the aku-aku monoliths on Easter Island. Surprising that the Kester Library has never gotten around to publishing an edition of the Scripture: the scientific find of the century, if only the blind, stubborn fools dared to set aside their preconceptions and prejudices long enough to face the facts squarely. (Shall certainly dedicate my eventual book on the Zanthu find to that gallant and pioneering ship’s master, Captain Abner Exekiel Hoag, who found the book on Ponape during his voyage to the South Seas circa 1734, and brought the document home with him to Arkham, Mass., where his half-breed Polynesian-Asiatic bodyservant translated the Naacal for him ... come to think of it, perhaps it would be better to dedicate the book to the memory of Imash-Mo, High Priest of Ghatanothoa on Mu itself, and to his continuators, who recorded the prehistoric myth-cycle in the first place. Without them, there would have been no Ponapc Scripture for Capt. Hoag to discover.) ... Bad night, more nightmares of howling shapes lurking atop snowy summits crowned with weird architectural remains that looked weathered as if by millions of years ... aftermath of my bout of fever, no doubt, and after all, what harm can come from mere dreams?
Sept. 24.
Managed only twelve miles today. Reserves of water getting very low— damn whoever it was that slashed the goatskin waterbags during night of the 18th! Thought it was some sort of animal, from the way the bags were mangled, cut to ribbons as if some beast had chewed them with his fangs. But now I’m not so sure. May have been chose lazy, superstitious fools, my native bearers. Surly, troublesome louts! Thought I would turn back to Sangup-Koy if they destroyed supplies of water. Fortunately, there is the snow, although Champo-Yaa seems oddly reluctant to drink it ... bearers growing more restive and unruly every day—gave me surly looks today, and overheard them muttering amongst themselves of peling (bad word—something like "foreigner-devil") when I tried to urge them forward. Bur I will not turn back; I walk in the steps of brave and stalwart gentlemen—Steelbraith, Talman, McWilliams, Henley, Holmes. Only poor Richardson and the unfortunate Clark Ulman have gone as far as I into this forbidden Tsang Plateau region; I shall yet outdo them all, or die in the attempt. Remnants of fever lingering in my system, or lack of purified water beginning to take its toll, I fear. Disturbing dreams again, and curious hallucinatory waking visions during the day: like stone outcroppings along summits which begin to take on the appearance of unthinkably vast, inhumanly angled, cyclopean masonry. Probably due to the combined effects of eye strain (wind bitterly cold and horribly dry), dehydration, cumulative fatigue, etc. Perhaps even mirage effects. But the natives see something too along the ridge-line—began whimpering and mumbling among themselves—something about "Old Ones" or "Primal Ones." May have a showdown soon; either that or wholesale desertions. Sleeping with revolver under my pillow tonight.
Pray God—no more of those horrible dreams.
Sept. 28 or 29.
Five more bearers deserted during night. Stupid beggars tried to make it appear they had been bodily dragged away—obviously in attempt to frighten their fellows into taking similar flight. Well, seems to have worked, or at any rate the remainder pretend to be dreadfully afraid of—something. I am not fooled easily, however, and had another little "talk" with Champo-Yaa. (Still and all, if they were faking the signs, how the devil did they manage to carve those hideously suggestive claw-like marks in the flint-hard rock? Clever swine, these Asian native hill tribes! But they are mad if they believe they can scare me into turning back; nothing will do that, I will go forward even if I must continue the journey alone.)
Hallucinations, or mirage effects, growing more frequent along the ridge. Distinct suggestions of tremendous fortifications on the peaks—huge crenelated walls and squat, thick turrets, but of such incredibly vast proportions as to hint they are the work of giants, not of men. Odd architectural style, too: nothing Chinese or even Tibetan about them. Curiously suggestive of the cyclopean masonry on Ponape and of certain horribly old ruins in Peru. Also oddly reminiscent of certain things mentioned in that abominable Necronomicon I foolishly read in Cambridge back in my student days. Vile book, gave me bad dreams for weeks!
... Bearers whispering of dugpas (tomb-guarding ghoul-like things) again, and along toward sunset, one of the men squealed and dropped his load, swearing he had glimpsed something up above amid the “ruins”— thought I caught a glimpse of something moving myself, but it must have been that cursed eye strain. Whoever heard of an animal part lizard, part crustacean, bigger than a grizzly, and—winged! Just another illusion brought on by fatigue, nervous strain, weakened eyes, and the fever—but all the bearers began grunting fearfully something that sounded like "Mi-go! Mi-go!" and would not stir from their tracks one step until I showed them the revolver. ...