The Plight of Dr. Grayson Read online



  The Plight of Doctor Grayson

  David Willoughby

  Copyright 2012 David Willoughby

  The carriage I was in bounced down the mud filled road. The passing trees reached towards the carriage with grasping limbs. The moon light that barely illuminated the path seemed more than enough for the carriage driver to navigate by. He was a brave old man who had agreed to escort me out to the reservation site. These natives had been relocated out here but a few years ago and the inhospitable landscape seemed cruel to even have to visit, much less actually live on, but so must progress break a few eggs. As an anthropologist it was my duty to study the local color and document how they were adapting. I planned to publish my findings so that people around the globe can learn of the natural habits of the tribes of America.

  The carriage bounced on the rough and sloppy road. The horses seemed to struggle with every step, a product of the muddy terrain. However I could not turn back, my endeavor being too important and long in the making. I had finally gotten a contact with in the village that would house me and treat me to his nation’s hospitality. The very essence of this trip hinged on getting there before the tribe migrated south, while I still knew where they were, and they were still within carriage range of a city. The carriage ride had been many hours so far and I grew tired of my jostled seat in the cramped cage. However my desire for science drove me forward, mild discomfort of course a small price to pay for revealing the truth behind an entire culture.

  My hurried adventure through the rain swept woods was not exactly a funded venture but I have over the course of my life saved a substantial amount of money for the use of such expeditions without the additional support of the many universities. I had with me supplies and rations, should the tribe’s food stores be insufficient. I also brought with me a revolver that I had purchased from a deserting soldier that had passed through my old town, in case of problems.

  The Natives that had moved out here had been relocated from the deep swamps of Florida. It was hard to imagine such a basic tribal group adapting to the environment out here. However they must have done pretty well for themselves in order to have lasted more than a few months. The carriage ride had begun to take a turn for the worse. The dreary day went from slight rain to a heavy down pour that battered the roof. The coach had no enclosed spot for the driver, though he did have a rather sturdy shade to keep out the worst of the violent pelting from the sky, he would no doubt need to pull over soon, I thought as I looked out the windows of the carriage that showed the darkening sky and the menacing trees in all their splendor. It was beginning to dawn on me that I was not the young explorer that I had been in my past, the pace of my youth no longer held me to vigorous exploits.

  The diver soon guided the cart down the proper path at a fork in the road and the trees grew denser. Normally the natives did not live this far north however as of late this tribe has been venturing closer and closer to American cities. No doubt the army will move in to correct that behavior but never the less, a good time as any to do my research on their adapting way of life.

  The weather started to lift, though the sky remained dark and ominous. A final thunderous round of precipitant fell from the sky. The sky remained cloudy but at least the rain would let up to allow me a mild investigation of the locale before I settled down to write for the evening.

  The carriage rolled to a stop at a small opening in the woods. As I looked out I saw the grim faced native guide who I had made plans with. He stood still in tightly cinched sack pants and a modern looking button down shirt, giving him this mocking Anglican look. I grabbed my two mismatched suitcases from the floor boards and pushed the door of the carriage open with my foot. M y driver jumped down, a kindly old man from the Old Country who was now soaked to the bone and looked none the worse for it. He had a smile on his face that illuminated the grime country with its sincerity.

  He bowed to me in mock formality. “May I present to you, the honorable Saxon”. He said pointing towards the guide, a man I knew had taken the more civilized name to reflect a growing movement of some natives to Americanize. He was a man of sturdy build and of learned mind, a very suitable guide to the lives of the more savage populace. The driver said his fair wells and remounted his carriage to return to the city. Hoping to arrive back before morning, perhaps to catch a bit of sleep before getting another passenger the next night, though with the pay I gave him he probably wouldn’t need another paying customer for more than a week. Perhaps that was the reason for his chipper disposition.

  The guide turned around without so much as a word and began to walk in to the forest.  I followed him silently, taking in all the sounds of the place I would be living in for the week. The mud that made up the ground was thick and did not cause you to sink in to it as some muds do. It felt like walking over a sponge, soft and giving but still solid. The trek lasted only long enough for my arms to grow tired when we suddenly arrived at a rather curious abode.

  This particular abode was curious not in its uniqueness but that in it’s out of place design.  It seemed I would be staying in a single room sized cabin, not exactly the standard living arrangements of the locals. Perhaps it had been found by them from an earlier settler. Perhaps it was not even empty; maybe this place was not as desolate as I was led to believe.

  The exterior of the place looked deserted and the front door lead straight on to the muddy path we trod on the way to the cabin. Lacking in windows it looked like a complete enclosure against the elements. Saxon held the door open and ushered me inside, I examined the living space with a wary eye. The place seemed clean and well furnished. There was a bed, a small writing desk, a coat rack and a rocking chair. The items were scattered about the room in what appeared to be an organized manner. Not something I had expected of my friends but an arrangement I was more than happy with.  

  I set my briefcases down on the bed and opened the one that did not contain spare clothes. Inside sat a notebook for the field, a larger note book for official recordings and several other tools of the trade, there also sat the small revolver and few extra rounds. I took those aside and lay them on the stand that sat at the head of the bed. Saxon had left the door way of the abode and I did not expect to see him again until tomorrow, we had agreed to meet in the morning.

  Before I allowed my briefcase to regurgitate its contents in to my new abode, I decided I would travel about while the weather still held its temper. The landscape lacked much in the way of greenery but never the less provided a strong sense of life. I made detailed and careful notes of the local flora and fauna, the variety of which was rather sparse. The small range of species variety would have held more notice for a biologist. I was looking for the locals, of which there was a conspicuous lack of.

  One would expect that even in a locale such as this the tribe would still number in the hundreds and be very easy to locate. Perhaps I might even run in to a hunting party. I saw however neither hide nor hair of the natives. Saxon seemed to have disappeared. I ventured about looking for smoke trails from fires or perhaps signs of habitation but the area looked rather empty. I did note the lack of large game herds, a primary source of food necessary for the survival of a tribe such as this. I figured that they must be preparing to follow the herd that must have moved through recently. That might explain why they are hard to track down if they are clustering together and eating only pre-cooked and dried meats.

  As the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, at least best as I could tell given the cloudy sky, I turned back to head towards the cabin. My trip back was uneventful and produced no further findings. I began to grow suspicious of my host at this time.