22 August 1832-Lake Michigan

This morning our company awoke to the presence of a slender man in Ignatio’s camp. He was clad in a heavy overcoat and black boots, and his knees were bowed from years on horseback. He lacked three fingers on his left hand, but despite these blemishes, no one could deny the grandeur of his features. His countenance boasted a graceful nose and a strong jaw. Beneath his thick brown mustache, the man’s smile invited friendship and trust. I liked him at once.

The handsome stranger said nothing for a time, only watched as we arose. We felt uneasy, but Ignatio calmed us with words of assurance. The man who had infiltrated the camp was the one called Rose. The Reverend.

After all our party had stirred, our fair visitor stretched his intact hand over the fireless pit and proceeded to utter a strange and terrible series of words—I have heard no language in my travels like the phrase he spoke.

“Fm’latghor U’aahn,” the man said.

I stake my honor and reputation upon this next statement:

FLAMES IGNITED UPON THE DEAD CINDERS.

The six of us attempted to ascertain the fellow’s method for restoring the campfire, but we could not. The Reverend invited us to gather around the emboldened flames, and as we formed a circle around the heat, he spoke.

“Take heart, my friends,” the Reverend said to us with a voice that soothed our very souls. “Though the world is cruel and full of death, I have discovered the way to eternal life. Come with me, and we shall seek salvation together.”

—R.J.