From the diary of Dr. Evan Sinclair, Deputy Head of the Department of Archaeology and de facto organizer of the MacNamara Expedition.

Dr. Evan Sinclair

I received a telegram from Professor Armitage on Sunday, May 10. It was indeed strange to receive a telegram on a Sunday, but once I read it, the urgency became obvious. I was to arrange the practical aspects of the MacNamara Expedition to the jungles between Guatemala and Mexico, the exact location to be revealed. Professor Armitage was going to send detailed instructions by regular mail, but that Monday I proceeded to hire a small steamer with crew, since the expedition seemed to require a significant amount of equipment and several qualified expedition members. I mentally went through the profiles of several graduate students and placed a few telephone calls to ensure availability for some potential members of the expedition as well as inquiring about certain key pieces of equipment. 

It was hard work, but on May 31 we were ready to load in Boston harbor. I had been in intermittent communication with Dr. MacNamara, as she had travelled in advance via Cuba and Jamaica to Mexico, and although there seemed to be hints at some odd events occurring, I trusted that Dr. MacNamara would be able to handle most, if not all, issues. We rented the small steamer S/S William Alexander, which is captained by Paul Hardee, a native of Kingsport. Captain Hardee is a hard-working man, and quite amusing. He runs a tight ship, though, and the Billy Alex (William Alexander) is in pretty good shape.

S/S William Alexander

Captain Hardee

We were not able to leave until after lunch on June 4, though, Loading and coaling took more time than anticipated, and it was really difficult to find longshoremen who were willing to work for us. Strange indeed, since Captain Hardee seemed to enjoy a good reputation in the port of Boston. There was some talk about political agitation ashore, but there was no way for me to ascertain this. Nevertheless, we left Boston harbor on a fantastic Thursday afternoon, and the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean soon surrounded us as we steered first east, then south. I had a very small cabin, and although it was comfortable, I preferred to spend time on deck, enjoying the warm spring air and the many impressions of the ocean itself. I had a stack of relevant books, and the first days gave me ample amounts of time to read and prepare for the tasks ahead of us when we'd reach Mexico. I was often up late was well, since we were indeed enjoying great weather, and I was fascinated by the lights from seaside communities and various cities that we passed, not to mention the probing and blinking lights from lighthouses and other navigational markers. 

It was on the evening of the third day at sea, on Saturday, June 6, that I started noticing the signaler of the Billy Alex, young Georg Koszlowski, a lanky, blonde man of Polish extraction. He was undeniably a hard worker, but did the radio sets of the Billy Alex require such an amount of constant upkeep? He was tinkering with the switches and dials for hours on end! Since I have had some interest in radio waves and such after having taken classes with Dr. Emmett Brown, I could not help knocking on the signal cabin to ask him about the receivers and transmitters, but although Koszlowski answered my questions with some degree of patience, true conversation did not spring forth. I left him to his own devices after half an hour so, and he immediately returned to his receiver set. For some reason, the transmitter did not seem to be as interesting to young Koszlowski, which was odd. 

Besides this awkward attempt at conversation, the trip proceeded gently with calm seas that made the preparations for the MacNamara Expedition so much easier. We studied maps, checked equipment, and read about both Egyptian and pre-Columbian history and archaeology. Miss Amanda Bowman was particularly helpful, as she had studied with Dr. MacNamara previously and had a very decent knowledge of hieroglyphs, and, as I found out, Spanish.

However, the following night, as I went outside to smoke my pipe and look at the constellations, at around 11 pm, I heard strange sounds from the signal cabin. It was a dirge-like and unpleasant mix of static and undulating, bizarre, sounds switching between high-pitched treble and low, rumbling staccato. It was most unpleasant to listen to, but yet I could not help myself as I looked towards the faint light from the signal cabin. It was almost hypnotic, and at times it almost seemed as if one could discern syllables of gibberish in the strange transmission. I ended abruptly after ten or so minutes, and I eventually made it back to my small cabin.

Next evening, being the evening of June 8, I once again went out on deck to enjoy some tobacco and my fine Brinkmann briar pipe. It was a gift from my dear wife Catherine, and she had ordered it all the way from Bremen some years previously. I almost dropped it when I all of a sudden heard a very loud burst of static from the signaler's cabin followed by a lash of what almost seemed like lightning. Rushing in to the captain, I found Georg Koszlowski lying with his back to the floor, convulsing heavily and frothing from the corner's of his mouth. The radio set was smoking, but not burning, and I assumed that Koszlowski had been electrocuted, suffered a seizure, or both. I pinned him down and forced a notepad in between Koszlowski's gnashing teeth, while several other members of the crew joined me to secure Koszlowski and take care of the smoking radio set. Koszlowski did seem to relax after a couple of minutes, and I leaned over him to remove the notepad from his mouth and provide some comfort. He seemed to whisper something, and as I leaned closer, and without any warning, Koszlowski suffered a massive spasm that arched his back in a most unnatural position. The paroxysm only lasted for mere seconds, but he was quite dead afterwards. Doctor Ricci, the nearly deaf ship's doctor, could not do a single thing to save poor Koszlowski.

The funeral was held at sea next morning, just as we were off the tip of southern Florida. The sea was steel grey, a fitting accompaniment to the somber affair. Captain Hardee said a couple of words that were supposed to be uplifting, but they only seemed to contribute to the ominous mood on board the William Alexander. I was not even sure I really could take in what had happened last evening. It may be a product of my own at times admittedly vivid imagination, but I could have sworn that Kozlowski's last whisper before suffering the spasm was identical to the dirge-like staticky gibberish I had heard two nights ago.