As chairperson of the Acquisitions Committee of the Cabell Historical Trust, I hereby ratify the result of the Board's vote to decline the acceptance of catalog entry 108, commonly referred to as

the DeVries papers, into the Trust's Archives beyond the borrow end date of September 30, 2024.

Examination of the DeVries Papers has validated two key concerns.

One, the text displays instances of linguistic usage, as well as minor geographic inaccuracies,

that open up the possibility the papers are a curious forgery written later than the paper and ink type suggest.

Two, although the papers cannot currently be proven as forged because of some supportive documents.

Their content is burdened with the time periods imperialist and harmful views, perceptions and attitudes.

And their inclusion in the Archives is not in keeping with the Trust's mission,

despite their debatable historical value.

Signed, Professor Stanley Bowie, Cabell College, Michigan. My name is Ian DeVries. It is extraordinary what one will do when obligated by crushing dead. Eight days of travel by schooner around the coast from

the car to Ora. From our landing spot in Abedawale, my bodyguard and I made our way south with care, the mountains to our east, the sea to our west, for another two days, always moving on foot close to the shoreline,

backs aching, worried about our supplies.

Asmus was much older than I thought he would be,

and small in stature, bald and muscular, a Dane like myself.

He spoke very little.

The less I knew about him, the company had told me the better.

Asmus had a lifetime of war in him and that was what would protect me if things went badly.

Sometime after dawn on the 4th of November, Asmas told me we were crossing the

ambiguous border into Rahumbay. We hadn't seen another human face for 24 hours.

There was not a bone in my body that didn't ache. Near midnight,

trudging ever forward on the beach so close to the sea that coils of the surf cooled our weary bare feet. We saw a tell-tail

torch alight in the distance. A Kono Zakode was waving us forward.

...