Page 13 of Lizzie’s Spirit

“I admire Captain Pritchard’s desire to honour His Majesty, but Poseidon, the god of the sea, may prove uncooperative.

” Colonel O’Connell came to stand with Darcy at the taffrail, looking down at the sailors and soldiers of the regiment assembled on the upper deck.

Just as the band commenced playing, the Dromedary lurched when a heavy wave struck, throwing the band against the leeward taffrail to the great amusement of those gathered beneath them.

“Well called, colonel.” Darcy turned away from the band, the members of which were now struggling to descend to the upper deck and thence to stow their instruments. “We should have reached Madeira by now, but little progress has been made—we go off our course in pursuit of every Sail we see.”

“Indeed, Commodore Pasco is intent on taking a prize. We lose many a fair breeze and encounter many a foul one.”

At dinner that evening, Captain Pritchard was jubilant.

“I was asked by the commodore to send a prize crew aboard to take her to Portsmouth; what a fine gentleman he is to lend me such distinction. She’s a good ship, copper-bottomed, of three hundred and fifty tons, American under false colours, taken by a French privateer some five days ago.

Laden with a cargo of cotton and rice from St. Bartholomew’s in South Carolina, bound for Liverpool.

I’m sad to say, a slave’s cargo, but worth some fifty thousand pounds .

Each passenger,” he beamed at those attending his table, “may receive ten pounds and upwards.” Darcy nodded appreciatively but knew that Captains Pritchard and Pasco would share three-eighths of the prize between them—some nine thousand pounds each.

A tidy sum for only five hours of exertion, though tainted by being the product of slave labour.

The gale continued to increase, so much so that, once night fell, the ships lay under bare poles, kept in contact with lanterns and bells hung from the yards.

The celebration of the King’s Birthday had been abandoned, but the crew were jubilant when word spread that all sailors would share in the prize—in response, they drank to the health of King George, buoyed by a double ration of spirits.

The sea ran very high until, some seven days later, the convoy came close to the island of Madeira.

In the afternoon, they sighted the island, but the commodore abandoned hopes of reaching the Funchal Roads before dark and continued under sail till eight bells, then hove to.

At first light, they made sail and ran by the Desertas Islands—barren, desolate, uninhabited—the ships now lying some seven miles southeast of Madeira Island itself .

On board the Hindostan , Captain Pasco roused up the passengers to take a view of land, which they were all anxious to see after the violence of their journey.

Mr. and Mrs. Bent, Elizabeth, together with Hannah and the children, ascended to the quarterdeck to gaze across the Roads towards Funchal, the principal town of the island.

“Oh, ain’t it a lovely sight, proper pretty it is, if I may say so, miss.” cried Hannah.

The ship cast anchor a mile from shore. The morning was rather hazy, but the bright morning sun was striving to evaporate the lingering mist. Suddenly, the stillness of the day was shattered by the Hindostan firing fifteen guns in salute, which were answered by the same from shore.

Echoes reverberated across the bay; seagulls rose, screeching from the rocks and cliffs bordering the bay.

“It’s one of the finest prospects I ever beheld.

” Mr. Ellis spread his arms to encompass the view before them.

He continued with much admiration, “You can at one view see the white walls of country houses and churches interspersed between the vineyards. Look, those are groves of chestnut and walnut trees.”

All were deeply impressed by the vista. One of the most conspicuous buildings was the church of Nossa Senhora do Monte, the Lady of the Mount, which served as a landmark for those approaching and leaving the island—it was the church of the saint who protects sailors across the angry waves of the deep Atlantic Ocean.

Above the settled area, the hills—or mountains, rather—were very steep and irregular.

“The highest mountain,” stated Captain Pasco, who came to stand with them, “cannot be less than a mile perpendicular from the sea. Often, the tops of the hills are hidden, wrapped in the clouds.” He turned to Mr. Bent.

“We gentlemen and those aboard the Dromedary will disembark first and pay our respects to the British Consul, Mr. Veitch. Once we understand our disposition, we’ll bring the ladies and children ashore to be accommodated either with the Consul or with General Meade, the Commander of the British Forces here. ”

He then spoke most seriously. “Wherever you are on the island, please keep an eye towards the ship. This harbour is very poor, being only a shallow bay open to the southern Atlantic. If a swell comes up, ships can be dragged onto the rocks. If the winds do shift south, we’ll depart immediately, for even the Hindostan , large as she is, isn’t safe.

A flare will be lit, and you must hurry, without delay, back to the vessels. ”

With this injunction, the captain accompanied Mr. Bent to his barge and they made their way to the Dromedary anchored nearby.

Elizabeth leant over the taffrail and gazed in amazement at the town before her, and the myriad shore boats, painted green, white, blue, and yellow, which gathered around the ship, selling all manner of produce: eggs, bread, butter, strawberries, cherries, pomegranates, lemons, oranges, peaches, nectarines, and bananas—a veritable cornucopia of exotic fruits and vegetables.

At that moment, she was very glad indeed she had come aboard the Hindostan for the journey to New Holland.

What delights she would experience—not shallow and faulty impressions gleaned from books and travellers’ journals, but direct, immediate sensation.

She thought briefly of her father, his mind trapped in his body in the dower house at Longbourn.

Oh, that he could be with her now—what joys they would share!

She listened to the chatter of the mahogany-coloured boatmen, jabbering in very inharmonious Portuguese, each one louder than the other.

Fluent in Spanish and Latin, she could hear the similarities between their speech and Spanish.

Listening more carefully, she could distinguish the cognates or root words—the most commonly used phrases appeared the same as those of Spanish, though of a dialect closer to Galician rather than the Castilian she spoke.

“Bom dia!” she cried to the boatmen. They laughed, “Bom dia, Bonita— good morning, beautiful! ” Elizabeth blushed—a loose knot held up her rich chestnut hair, but several curls escaped, framing her face now lightly tanned by the sun and wind spray of the journey from England.

One bold, bare-chested man threw an orange, which she caught as it flew over the rail.

He bowed to her, and the other boatmen cheered and whistled as she curtseyed to them.

“My pardon, Mrs. Bent. I meant to welcome them, but they think I’m flirting. Are all Portuguese men so forward?”

“No matter, Miss Bennet. But I’d enjoy some of that orange.

So rare in England, but the juice is delicious.

” A midshipman immediately offered his sharp knife and, with a few deft strokes, sliced the orange into pieces, which were handed to Mrs. Bent, the children, Hannah, and Elizabeth.

She insisted the young boy—for the midshipman was no older than twelve years—also take a slice.

As they sucked upon the astringent flesh, they watched the commodore’s barge row towards the shore, but the surf appeared too high for them to safely land.

The boat turned and made its way along the beach, past a quite remarkable rock, singular from its excessive declivity and its total separation from the land, and came to an artificial landing at the base of yet another rocky prominence.

They observed the men climb possibly a hundred steps cut into the very stone itself and then walk along a very steep road towards the town.

“Oh my!” declaimed Mrs. Bent. “I’m sure the children will never make such an ascent.”

Elizabeth was watching the native boats make their landing on the beach at an easy distance from the town.

“Look! Their boats are flat-bottomed—once in the surf, the boatmen swing the boat around, jump into the water, and run it high and dry onto the beach. Ours will be the easier crossing.

“Come, let’s go below for breakfast—the cook has bought eggs, bread, and ham. What a welcome change from the ship’s heavy bread. And fresh eggs! Our hens have forgotten how to lay these past ten days!”

***

The ladies were invited to reside at the house of the Consul, where they were received and entertained with much hospitality.

That evening, the Consul held a dinner in honour of Colonel Macquarie and his lady.

Elizabeth was much occupied with little Henry and Beth, who were fractious and nervous about staying in a strange house.

She settled them, left them in the kind care of Hannah, and hurried to the drawing-room before being led in to dinner.

Dinner had been announced, with little time for introductions to her hosts and the passengers from the Dromedary , including Colonel Macquarie.

Being perhaps the lady of least consequence, she accepted the arm of a captain of the 11th Regiment of Foot and was led into the dining-room following the other guests.

Mr. Veitch had already led in Mrs. Macquarie, with Mrs. Veitch following on the arm of Colonel Macquarie.

“Ma'am,” the captain turned to Elizabeth, “we’ve not been introduced, but it would appear strange to sit as neighbours at table and not converse. May I introduce myself? Captain Grant of the 11th.”