December 19th, 1789:

Well, I have never ventured to this new, foreign land before. Some people around me call it “The Promise Land” while I highly doubt them. I miss my warm, stone house and cobbled road in Britain. The explorations into the forest I went on today were treacherous, and truly very long and boring. The same trees, the same rocks, it just never changes. Luckily we had found a beaver dam, and poached the beavers for their furs. It was there that something exciting had happened. We had met a different group of people, and they were completely different than us. I had thought they were related to the Africans, but they had fairer skin. My partner had tried to communicate, but they didn’t understand. All they wore were pelts of different animals, and strange markings on their faces. I feel lucky that I eventually get my payroll tomorrow, and not have to wear clothing like those people. We (Our group) had taken them back to our camp, where we gave them food to eat. We had them right down what they wanted to say, and gave it to the translator. He had told us, with grim remorse, that they had been the last surviving members of their clan, and was low on pelts to keep themselves warm during the cold months. I had felt terrible for them, and so had everyone else. So, instead of taking in the pelts to the HBC Company, I decided to give them the pelts, and some food. They had looked at me, and somehow I think they tried to thank me for what I had done.