June 16th, 1869

The rains have finally, finally stopped. The sun came out, and upon seeing a blue sky I was tempted to cry like a little boy. I didn’t, of course, but it was a most joyous moment. The townspeople were starting to think that the endless rain was a curse. It really shouldn’t surprise me anymore how stupid they are. Each time they come up with another wild tale about the earth’s strange secrets, it boggles me even more than the last. The ground will take a while to dry, but it’s still better than constant downpour. The mines have become quite unstable from all the mud, and we’ve had a few broken legs and trapped men from collapses. There's always another body to replace a broken one, however, so it's no trouble. The injured men just receive treatment in their homes, because the infirmary is still occupied by the men afflicted with the rash. There’s been little improvement in their condition, so I hope that perhaps drier weather will ease their symptoms.

My time in the mines has been ever so boring. Since the scandal with Joe, everyone has been rather standoffish. I converse with Benjamin at every opportunity, but he too has seemed closed off. It has been utterly fruitless work, and if I don’t soon pry some interesting information out of this dump, I fear that Father will disown me. The company is already running low on funds. We had to cut all the miner’s pay, just so that we could keep our summer house in Newfoundland. Of course the miners are talking about their pay cut, but it shouldn’t really matter to them. They were already born dirt poor, so what's an extra few dollars to them anyway? It's much better spent on us high class people.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Now that the weather is improving, I can't help but feel that all my efforts will soon pay off. Soon enough, Ralph will be capable of telling us everything that happened. Someone will go to jail, and I’ll personally make sure that they rot for a long, long time. Whoever is responsible for my great inconvenience in coming here, and living like this, is sure to pay a great toll. I can’t wait to see him thrown behind bars for life.

There have been more serious skirmishes among the miners. A few knife fights here and there. Maybe the sun will improve their moods as well. I just want to know what they even have to fight over. Whose wife is uglier? Whose children are more sickly? Nothing they have is worth defending, so why bother at all? It just wastes hospital supplies that could be used on better men. I suppose they fight like stray dogs do; simply because they have nothing else. Nothing else to do, to be. One could expect nothing else, because they’re so lowly and dishonourable as to scrap over spare pieces of meat in an alleyway. A dog can't change its nature in the end.