Extract from the diary of captain Thomas Cochrane, on an unnamed island off the coast of Portugal, 26. June 1803
"I can feel this place getting to me. With every passing day spent chopping through undergrowth and crawling up rocks I sense my mind growing darker and my mood worsen. The island is defined by a network of canyons in which trees hide from the strong winds and the ghastly weather. It is a dark world down here, even on a sunny day. We have tried mapping this labyrinth but keep finding crossings and openings in the cliffs, so our progress is very slow. Again and again I find myself wondering why the Portuguese found this island worthy of an outpost. But they were here, that is for certain. On the third day the doctor stumbled upon the half rotten remains of a cart and for a while we thought we were on the right track, but then it became obvious that whatever path the cart had followed had long been swallowed by the forest. But frustrating as the search may be, what is really keeping us all on the edge are the noises that we occasionally hear. They echo through the canyons and sound almost like grunts or barks, certainly not from any animal that I have ever heard! And two nights ago there was a long, sad shriek that awoke everyone. I struggle to see how this island would house anything other than birds, but I have decided to set up guards for the night."
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