Page 57 of Lizzie’s Spirit

The unloading, victualling, and purchasing of goods for sale in Bombay and London—primarily seal skins—will take some six weeks (ugh!).

The captain plans to sail on the 18th of April.

As the niece of the owner, my cabin is quite spacious.

I’ll take my meals in the cuddy with the captain, the other passengers, and the ship’s senior officers.

I know too well the accommodations and privations of sea travel, but as a cabin passenger, I‘ll be well-treated.

I do hope your journey on the Swiftsure was comfortable—and your cot was large enough for your broad shoulders.

In that respect, I should have no trouble.

The vessel is in fine condition, having come straight from the Deptford shipyards prior to this journey. There are minor repairs to be made to the rigging, but because it’s copper-bottomed, it didn’t need to be slipped.

‘Tis time to sell our furniture and the other possessions not needed in England.

Almost as I wrote the above, General Macquarie—did you know he was promoted to Brigadier-General?

—sent a note saying the government would buy our furniture and other chattels, as he wished to have the villa available for renting out until Colonel Molle arrived. So that is done.

Apart from saying my goodbyes to our dear friends, all is in readiness for my departure.

There will be many rounds of soirees and dinners, which, I suppose, will keep me occupied until I embark on the long journey home to you.

I’ll continue this journal as much as I’m able, at least until Point de Galle, when we arrive at Ceylon.

Captain Coxon intends to rendezvous there with a mail packet, so this epistolary will arrive before me.

When you unseal it, you’ll find sweet kisses hidden in the folds of the paper—enough for you to enjoy each day until my lips are once again joined with yours.

A most strange occurrence. On the 1st of April—Fools Day—the convict ship, Indefatigable, arrived with some two hundred transportees. They mustered on the wharf before being sent off to the work gangs. Dear me, the smell of them.

Captain Coxon and I happened to walk past towards Mr. Campbell’s warehouse. In conversation, the captain referred to me by name—‘Mrs. Darcy’. One of the convicts overheard—an ugly fellow with several teeth missing and scars on his face called out to me.

“Darcy? Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

I could not prevent myself from stopping and turning towards him. Do not fear, I was safe, because even in the captain’s company, Sgt. Monogan walked behind me.

“And you are?”

“George Wickham, ma’am. I was Darcy’s closest childhood friend.”

My contempt must have been manifest, for he backed away, unsettled by my overbearing disdain.

Did you not say, William, that Wickham possessed a most gentleman-like appearance, that he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and a very pleasing address?

This fellow had none of that—as I said, his face was bruised and ugly, his stance cowed, grime and filth covered him.

“No, his best friend was his brother, Frederick, the good man you killed. Or has your brain become as addled as your face?”

What became of this glorious, autumnal April day? On the hill, the solitary bell of St. Phillip’s struck noon—Fools Hour of Fools Day.

“You are nothing, not fit to live in this town of ours!” I felt my anger grow stronger, as it had done so many times over the past weeks.

It was he who murdered Frederick; it was he who forced us to leave our home in the colony, where we had a good life together, which we must now rebuild in England, with the ton waiting for every misstep, any opportunity to pull us down.

“Sergeant, bring the supervisor of convicts to me.”

“Ma’am?” The supervisor doffed his hat, for I still have rank and consequence in the town .

“This man,” I said, pointing to Wickham, “has demeaned the judge-advocate by claiming an acquaintance which is false. He seems strong enough”—what a falsehood that was, for he could hardly stand—“so he’ll be of use in the coal mine at Newcastle.”

“Indeed, ma’am, he appears a fine candidate for wielding a pick. Mayhap he’ll learn his lesson. Whilst he was beaten on the ship for cheating at cards and dice, down the mine they’ll take his lamp and leave him alone and blind in the darkness.”

They took Wickham away, now in chains, for the Sergeant said many tried to flee before they were forced down the mine.

That night, my tears overwhelmed me. I lay sobbing on my bed.

Oh, William, I’ve seen the man who killed your brother—my brother.

Such has lent me no comfort. Can you hang him and have his body flung far out into the great Pacific Ocean?

I must away from this place, for New South Wales no longer appeals.

All is done. Tomorrow we sail, but tonight there’s a grand farewell ball onboard the Grosvenor given by Governor Macquarie and his lady.

All of our acquaintances have been invited.

The Macquaries are so egalitarian, for they sent invitations to Mr. and Mrs. Ward, the assistant matrons, Phoebe and Ann—who now comport themselves very well—, to Monsieur Larra, and even to Mr. and Mrs. Joyce from the inn at Baulkham Hills.

Oops, I forgot Mr. Garby and his wife. Of course, all of the Magistrates, merchants and others high in Sydney society, Mr. and Mrs. Wrensford, and the officers of the regiment are invited.

Although the Grosvenor is a large ship, I fear we’ll be very crowded on the quarterdeck with the regimental band playing on the poop.

We’ve sailed! Fortunately, departure was at noon, the start of the afternoon watch.

The dancing went on late into the night, but all guests departed by the end of the middle watch, after many tears and hugs from my girls and friends.

I do believe there were tears in Mrs. Macquarie’s eyes when we made our farewell.

Certainly, my eyes were red-rimmed when I finally took a few hours’ rest on my cot.

A fair northwesterly breeze took us rapidly out of the Heads before we turned south along the coast, past my beloved Boondi.

How did Captain Coxon know? But as we passed the headland, he fired seven cannon in salute, and there stood Sgt.

Monogan at attention. As the crack of the cannon reverberated off the cliffs, he saluted me—oh, Sergeant, you’ve been my shadow for the past four years!

I already miss you and dear Harshita. Perhaps, now you will salute the governor, for he is a General and I’m gone away.

I had intended to leave Bumper with Sgt.

Monogan. You can imagine my surprise when, just after the cannon fired, he came yelping onto the quarterdeck, for he had stowed away and hidden in a coil of rope between two of the cannon.

I cannot say I’m displeased, for he’s now my dearest companion—he seems quite assured walking across the deck and has already made friends with the ship’s cook and other members of the crew.

The Grosvenor fairly flew down the eastern coast until we turned west to pass through the Bass Strait between Australia and Van Diemen’s Land.

Captain Coxon showed me the charts prepared by Mr. Matthew Flinders—they are wonderfully detailed, and his notes of the western passage to Cape Leeuwin are very helpful for the navigation.

Having arrived off Kent’s Group of islands, the wind being southeast, we took a favourable passage through the strait.

Passing to the north of Governor King’s Island and, after clearing the Bass Strait, we had a good passage to Kangaroo Island, where we were forced to take shelter against a westerly gale.

The progress of the gale was most unusual; we were fortunate, indeed, that Captain Coxon knew to make for a safe anchorage, for the barometer fell rapidly to nine and twenty inches with the wind rising sharply from the northwest together with very thick weather.

The wind continued to veer until, from the southwest, it blew an exceedingly fierce gale. It was as though we were in a great wind-driven whirlpool.

Departing our anchorage, after a wait of several days, Captain Coxon held off the coast some thirty leagues.

Otherwise, hugging the shore meant fighting the westerly current, which flows along the Great Bight from west to east. The wind again being from the southeast, we made direct passage to Cape Leeuwin, arriving there on the 15th of May.

Leeuwin is one of the three great capes of the Southern Ocean.

Both you and I’ve visited the Cape of Good Hope, and you, my love, have rounded Cape Horn.

You must now be nearing England. Godspeed that you, dearest, will soon enjoy the company of your father and sister. But be assured that I’m swiftly following.

Captain Coxon told me that the sea, being driven from the southwest, meets with Cape Leeuwin and necessarily divides it and forms two currents that follow the directions of the land; one branch runs northwards along the western coast of Australia, and the other eastward along the southern coast. It was the latter we had to fight across the Great Bight, avoiding its strength by lying distant from land.

But now we turn northwards and thence across the Indian Ocean to Ceylon. Both the current and the winds are favourable and will take us directly to our destination.

This is my last entry, dearest William—the 17th of June, two months since I left Sydney.

We’ve arrived at Point de Galle in Ceylon, and the captain has flagged a Falmouth-bound packet to collect our mail.

We will not tarry here but sail directly to Bombay, taking advantage of the monsoon winds, which I’m told, become fickle and variable as the season progresses.

The captain hopes to depart Bombay by the end of July.

Bless you, bless your dear Father and your sweet sister, Georgiana.

Your loving wife—Elizabeth.

Oh, William—my love. I’ve marvellous news!

Just today, as I folded these writings, I felt flutterings, like butterflies in my womb.

It’s the quickening—yes! I’m with child.

My courses didn’t come in February, after you departed Sydney, but I thought it was my grief for your going that held them back.

And then, in March and April, with my departure on the Grosvenor, I forgot about them completely.

But, I must admit, I felt ill and sometimes could only eat a little dry toast for breakfast—so unlike my robust appetite on the journey out to Port Jackson.

What joy, to carry your child! The babe will be my welcoming present when I arrive in London.

It will be a close-run thing; by my reckoning, ‘tis due the last week of October. Will the Grosvenor have reached port by that time?—with favourable winds and a quick passage… Oh, I do hope that you are there to hold my hand during the birth. You must set up a nursery in Darcy House. And your father will be astonished to find he’s a grandfather, as well as my dear Papa and Mama—and my sisters and your Georgiana, aunts!

The packet has come. The next time we meet, perchance you’ll be a father. How wonderful!