From: Hindostan, Bound for Riode Janeiro
Dearest Mama—
I wished to write to you from Madeira, but due to a great southerly swell rolling into our anchorage, we left that place in a hurry. You can see, from the direction, that I’m now at sea on a ship sailing across the Atlantic Ocean. The Hindostan is a 50-gun man-o-war escorting Colonel Macquarie, the Governor of New South Wales, to New Holland. Can you imagine, having lived all my life in Meryton visiting with but four and twenty families, I should now be on this great adventure travelling around the world! Search out dear Papa’s great Atlas, and you can trace our journey: Portsmouth—Madeira—Riode Janeiro—the Cape—Van Diemen’s Land—thence to Port Jackson in New South Wales. The town at our destination is named Sydney, but perhaps it’s called Sydney Cove; I’m not sure.
I’m under the protection of Mr. Ellis Bent, who is commissioned as judge-advocate for the colony. He’s travelling with his wife, Mrs. Eliza Bent, and two young children, Henry and little Beth,four and two years, respectively. Mr. Bent is an acquaintance of Uncle Gardiner, and when I discovered their nurse was unable to travel, I immediately offered to journey in her stead—my desire to escape marriage to Mr. Collins was uppermost in my mind. So, dear Mama, here I am far away from sweet England, but also beyond that odious man’s reach. Perhaps it would be unwise to tell him where I am, although once he’s wed (to Charlotte Lucas?), I will be safe.
Madeira, as you’ll have discovered in the Atlas, is an island well off the coast of Africa. It’s a Portuguese colony; fortunately, with my knowledge of Spanish, I was able to understand their speech, and they, me—well, my ear and tongue did struggle to learn the dialect. Approached from the east, we came into a bay, the Funchal Roads, where visiting ships anchor. It’s a poor anchorage open to the sea from the south, and many vessels are dragged by huge ocean swells onto the rocks and beaches. Fortunately, our small flotilla escaped that fate!
From the sea, Madeira Island is a glorious sight. Amongst the trees that cover the surface are the cedar, chestnut, orange, lemon, fig, citron, banana, and pomegranate. The whole scenery, having a never-fading verdure, is peculiarly refreshing to the eye. The company was greatly relieved to set foot on land, as we were plagued by heavy seas and gales the moment we left Portsmouth on the 22nd of May.
Looking towards the town of Funchal, we could see white-washed houses varying very much in size. Immediately above the town rise the most immense mountains, the lower hills cultivated to the summit and besprinkled with the seats of the wealthy merchants, also white adorned. There are innumerable vineyards, patches of Indian corn, wheat, and barley already quite ripe, interspersed with flowers and trees of the utmost splendour and beauty. I include a sketch of the town, but as my drawing is veryill, perhaps you can find a better description in a picture book from the lending library. In ‘05 Mr. John Turnbull published a good account in his journal ‘A Voyage Round the World’, but there are no pictures therein—the book was in the library of the British Consul, Mr. Veitch, who kindly accommodated us during our visit on shore. But Papa also has a copy (on the lowest shelf near the window).
The weather while we lay at Funchal was always hot, the thermometer commonly standing at five and seventy degrees and rising to six and eighty where exposed to the sun. The common people of the island are of tawny complexion and tolerably well-made, all having fine black eyes. The inhabitants of the town are not nearly so healthy-looking as the country people, and the town is dirty, with much debris and stones littering the streets, which are extremely narrow.
While the houses of the merchants are very fine, there’s little else to recommend the place. I confess I was glad to depart. Mrs. Bent became quite ill; thus, I was obliged to spend much time caring for the children and only managed two excursions. The first was to the country estate ‘Quinta do Prazer’ of the wine merchant, William Phelps (who is known to Uncle Gardiner)—what a delightful place, where I was requested by the lady of the house to plant a tree, hence expanding the beautiful garden. The second was where we visited the church of the Lady on the Mount, sited high on a hill overlooking the Roads.
Sweet Mama, you will be much astonished by what is related in the following. Leaving Madeira, our convoy—the Hindostan, the Dromedary (a 24-gun storeship), and the Oxford (a merchant bound for the Cape)—made good time with mild weather and favourable winds, though at one time there were vivid flashes of lightning and heavy rain. But there was much discontent amongst the wives of the regiment, there being some one hundred and fiftywomen on board (apart from the lady passengers and servants). Sadly, a woman died giving birth, and the surgeon of the Dromedary was blamed, quite wrongly, for her death. Naval surgeons are skilled at treating wounded men but, of course, have no training as midwives, there being few women, if any, on board a British warship.
You may question the wisdom of this, but I was requested by the commodore, Captain Pasco of the Hindostan, to aid and give comfort to the women of the regiment; well, only those who were with child! Mrs. Pasco and Mrs. Bent are fine Ladies who owe their duty primarily to their children and husbands. Next in rank, ‘tis I who am the senior Lady—thus the duty fell to me to provide guidance and care for the women. Can you countenance this? Your daughter, brought up as a gentlewoman, is now seeing to the comfort of women of low rank, some from mercantile families but most from the vulgar classes, and many are native women from India.
I trust in time you will forgive me. But there’s naught else I can do—there are no midwives in the regiment and few women who have birthed before. And of those, with the distinctions they maintain between the officers’ wives, the English wives, the Irish and Scottish wives, and the Indian wives with their myriad castes, few will assist another woman in her condition! So it has fallen to me to listen to their woes, ameliorate their concerns, and provide extra sustenance when required—‘tis only I, as a gentlewoman, high in rank, and with the authority of the captain, to whom they will listen.
Life in the regiment and on board a ship is ofttimes difficult. Children die, such as poor Private Evan Davis’s infant of a flux of the bowel and a young boy who had his leg amputated. Yet there is also joy. On Wednesday, the 26th of July, the wife of Thomas Miller (a corporal of the 73rd) gave birth to a healthy girl. But themother’s travail was difficult. I’m sure you know not all women can give birth, as I understand it, as easily as the delivery of your five healthy daughters, though your travail with Lydia was long and tiring.
The child of Mrs. Miller was high in the womb, but the babe tossed about, and the head often was crooked; if the waters broke, mother and child would be in danger of losing their lives. You must forgive me, for I acted out of compassion and not with the propriety of a gentleman’s daughter. Following the advice of my book—the Court Midwife, in German, purloined from Papa’s library by mistake—I broke the waters by entering through the woman’s sheaf (how I worried I would perchance injure the child!). With my hand in the mouth of the womb, I helped the head of the babe into place, and a felicitous delivery followed. So, dearest Mama, your daughter is now a midwife—though it’s from your strength in facing down Mr. C that I draw my courage.Benedictus Deus—blessed be to God—that you are my mother and thus my inspiration.
We are now passing between the two forts at the entrance to the Bay of Rio. I’ll seal this letter to pass to the next packet to England. Then I’ll ascend to the quarterdeck and gain sweet comfort in attending to Henry and Beth. Being so distant from my dear sisters and cousins, they are my consolation.
Your loving daughter—Elizabeth
***
Darcy stood on the poop as theDromedarycleared the Narrows, now restricted to the width of half a mile, and entered Rio de Janeiro harbour, where one of the most magnificent scenes in nature burst upon his eye. An expanse of water of immense size running back into the heart of a beautiful country to the distance of abovethirty miles was bounded by a screen of lofty mountains, expanding from the narrow entrance to the width of twelve or fourteen miles, everywhere studded with innumerable little islands in every diversity of shape—the shores of these islands fringed with shrubs, some of them covered with noble trees, and altogether forming the greatest variety of beauty. The harbour was large enough to contain the whole of the navy of Britain, and perhaps of the world.
They came to anchor close to the town of St. Sebastian, situated on the western side of the harbour, which, with its numerous churches and spires, added greatly to the handsome view. In every direction from where the ship lay, he saw convents and noblemen’s houses scattered over the surrounding country, which was also much adorned by fortifications and bridges between the islands. By the town, there was a good landing place built of stone and also one for taking on water and victualling the visiting ships. Night fell rapidly at this latitude, and, being evening, the commodore signalled none should leave the vessels until the morning.
The next day, Colonel Macquarie and Commodore Pasco, together with the captains of theDromedaryandOxford,left to board theFoudroyant80-gun flagship, to wait on Rear Admiral de Courcy. Darcy stayed behind to ensure Raimundo was not pressed to remain on the ship. Although Captain Pritchard was a fair man, he was also commander of a naval ship that was perpetually short-manned. A bosun’s mate stood near Raimundo, but under Darcy’s protection, there was little he could do to keep the boy aboard.
On shore, they saw Isabella waiting for her betrothed. She looked so young to Darcy’s eye, probably no more than sixteen years, and Raimundo but eighteen. Taking the purse, he returned it to the boy, who grasped him in thanks in the Portuguese manner, turned, and ran to his woman. She took his hand, waved offshore to where Miss Bennet was standing atthe taffrail of theHindostan, and together they ran towards a group of mean huts some way along the shore.
The couple came upon some fishermen who were working on boats dragged up onto the beach opposite the huts. Raimundo called out to them, his voice carrying across the water to where Darcy was standing. Women exited the huts and came to the girl; they took her hand and led her away—but it was kindly done. Raimundo opened his purse to pay a fisherman for the privilege of joining his crew. He stared at the interior of the purse and withdrew a Spanish sovereign; turning back, he bowed to Darcy, who had placed the coin therein. Raimundo gave the sovereign to the fisherman, who clapped him on his back and handed him a net; immediately, with a needle and twine he had secured about his person, Raimundo commenced repairing the webbing.
Darcy was well satisfied. The girl, Isabella, whom Miss Bennet and he had rescued from a shortened life of toil, misery, and hardship in the convent, was now free. The fisherwomen would see her married. Life would, no doubt, be no easier than that of the nunnery, but this was her choice. He recalled the words of Thomas Jefferson in a letter to James Madison: Malo periculosam, libertatem quam quietam servitutem—I prefer the tumult of liberty to the quiet of servitude.
That evening, after visiting the town, Darcy returned to the landing. A midshipman from theDromedary, on shore duty, told him all the officers of the ship and of the regiment were ashore and dinner would be nothing but the crew’s biscuit and salt pork—they had yet to take on fresh rations. He suggested Darcy attend theHindostan, as several of its passengers were still aboard and their cook would be preparing a proper dinner.
Having come aboard theHindostan, Darcy ascended the gangway to the quarterdeck and introduced himself to the officer of the watch, a senior midshipman aged about eighteenyears.
“Welcome aboard, sir. May I introduce myself… Midshipman Thomas, officer of the watch.”
“Mr. Darcy, judge-advocate, travelling as a passenger on theDromedary.” Darcy acknowledged the officer with a bow. “I was hoping to take my dinner with such passengers as remain on theHindostan;all on my ship are gone ashore.”
“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed a well-known voice. He turned, and there stood Miss Bennet, her lovely chestnut curls adorning her lightly freckled face, which was haloed by the late afternoon sun. “I did, by chance, overhear you. Mrs. Bent is poorly and remains below, and Mrs. Pasco has gone ashore with the commodore. ‘Tis a beautiful evening, and I thought to take my dinner here on the quarterdeck, with Mr. Thomas’s permission, of course.”
She gave the midshipman a broad smile. He blushed, and Darcy could see he was already in love with the lady. She continued, “Sir, I believe you come off duty in half an hour. I would be well pleased if both you and Mr. Darcy would take the meal with me.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” the young man replied, scarcely taking his eyes from Miss Bennet, “I’ll send for a table and chairs immediately.” He signalled to a young boy standing near him, who hurried away to obtain the necessary furniture and utensils.
