An excerpt from the personal journal of Captain James Harrison, founder of the settlement that would become Harrison County and, ultimately, the home of Jamestown University.
Today marks the first evening upon these unfamiliar shores, the air thick with salt and mystery, and my heart swelling with anticipation and uncertainty alike. Our vessels, sturdy yet weary from the long crossing of the Atlantic, lay anchored quietly beneath the starlit sky, their sails now resting after braving countless storms and unforgiving seas. Plymouth seems so distant now, a faint whisper from the past, as we stand upon the threshold of this vast new wilderness.
The men, resolute yet anxious, have erected our first encampment — a modest cluster of tents and crude wooden shelters nestled between the edge of the dense forest and the sandy shore. Fires crackle gently, pushing back against the enveloping darkness, their flames casting flickering shadows upon weary faces. Many have turned early to rest, exhausted from the voyage, while others sit quietly, lost in thought, perhaps thinking of families left behind, or contemplating the uncertain path that stretches before us.
Earlier today, as the sun reached its zenith, I took my first cautious steps inland. The trees here tower impressively, a cathedral of greenery unlike anything we know back in England. Each step away from the shore brought us deeper into a realm unknown, filled with the rustling of unseen creatures and the whispers of leaves touched gently by the wind. I confess a strange thrill overtook me, an excitement tempered by the knowledge of our immense task: to map, to explore, and, ultimately, to establish a foothold for England's honor and ambition.
Yet, beneath the thrill lay caution. We are not alone here. Evidence of indigenous peoples is unmistakable — their paths cross ours unseen, and smoke from distant fires rises faintly above the trees. Though we have encountered none yet face-to-face, I sense their eyes upon us, observing silently, awaiting our first move. This knowledge weighs heavily upon me. I have resolved from the outset that our approach must be rooted in diplomacy and mutual respect. The brutal tales from Jamestown haunt my thoughts, stark reminders of what can transpire when hubris and misunderstanding take root.
Tonight, beneath this foreign sky, my resolve is firm. We will tread carefully yet courageously, our mission guided by understanding rather than conquest. I have instructed my men to remain vigilant but not aggressive, to extend gestures of peace at every opportunity. Our success here will depend not solely on strength of arms, but more critically, on wisdom, compassion, and our capacity for adaptation.
As I write by the flickering glow of candlelight, the distant murmurs of the forest remind me that we are now visitors in a world whose rules and rhythms we must swiftly learn. Tomorrow, we shall venture further inland, our first true exploration. Whatever awaits us in this new land — be it fortune, peril, friendship, or challenge — I am ready to meet it with courage and honor.
May God grant us wisdom, patience, and fortitude in this great endeavor.
— Captain James Harrison