June 5th 1869

I have had a most horrific week. Everything has fallen into shambles, and I grow to despise this town more every second. I haven't had a wink of sleep in days, because there's been a massive storm moving through the area. There’s been nothing but sweaty, humid days where the air hangs thick and heavy, broken only by torrential downpour. The thunder shakes the windows and roars off the hills. The rain hasn't lifted the heat, so it lays in putrid puddles of mud and flies. The town reeks of rot and mildew. I despise it here.

The mines have produced little gold this week. Father has been breathing down my neck, threatening me through letters. He thinks I should have made more progress by now. I know he is exerted from the stress of running our company, but he has no idea how hard it is actually having boots on the ground. I don’t belong here in the mud, I belong in the city with him, running the company together. If we don’t improve the situation in the town, or the lack of gold in the mines lately, I’m afraid there will be dire consequences. The town won’t be able to be here without the mines. If there's no more town, there's no more money to be made from its inhabitants.

The sickness amongst the miners has grown. I believe it’s from the weather. The disgusting heat and clouds of flies must be spreading infection and illness. The rashes they suffered have devolved into open wounds, and their breathing worsens by the day. A pass by the infirmary building is followed by the sounds of laboured, hacking breaths, and the stench of sickness and infection. If this strange condition is contagious, it could be catastrophic for the entire town. We’ve taken as strict quarantine measures as we can, but it has proven to be difficult when the infirmary is little more than a robust tent. We aren't equipped to deal with mass illness.

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The miners never help the situation, of course. They’re too stupid to understand that they’re putting more than themselves at risk if they break quarantine. They either don't know or don’t care that they could be spreading a mystery disease around, so they slack in their caution around the ill. We’ve appointed guards around the infirmary to prevent any unwanted visits from concerned friends or family. It is for their own good, but they are not happy.

I hope I can escape this heaping scat pile of a town, and return to the city with Father soon. Once this weather clears up, perhaps I will be able to finally put the nail in the coffin on this entire ordeal. I will never understand how these miners can be so idiotic and petty, and I wish to never be among them again. I struggle to even call them men, because to me they are worth less than a good hunting dog.