“He suggested we ascend Table Mountain. Immediately, I thought of your daily walks up—what is it?—Oakham Mount, near your home.”
“I must own it, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth laughed. “Table Mountain is much more fierce than Oakham Mount: hic sunt leones—here be lions!Oakham would barely be classed as a hill compared to Table Mountain’s eminence. Moreover, we were at sea for so many months my legs may not be able to carry me that far.”
“Fear not, Miss Bennet. Both Captain Antill and I are equally unqualified. We shall, all of us, either best the Mountain or return defeated! What say you? We depart at eight o’clock in the morning.”
They assembled near the Castle, and Elizabeth was introduced to Captain Antill, who was, indeed, a very fine fellow.
“I must warn you, Miss Elizabeth, the first European woman to ascend to the top of Table Mountain was Lady Barnard, a mere twelve years ago in ‘97. She was told by the inhabitants of the town that climbing to the top of it was next to impossible.”
“Then we can do no less than what she has done before. IamEnglish, after all.” Elizabeth laughed, but to herself, she was all trepidation. Oakham Mount was a gentle rise compared to the rugged cliffs that must be climbed—her in her woollen walking dress and her half-Hessians, still not repaired from the sharp rocks of the streets of Funchal. The mountain was three thousand five hundred feet in height, and it was reckoned to be about three miles to the top of it from the beginning of the great ascent. Setting off, they reached the foot of the mountain on horseback and dismounted when they could ride no more—indeed, nothing but a human creature or an antelope could ascend such a path, which rose before them.
Darcy pointed ahead: “We must scramble up the side of that perpendicular cascade; ‘tis but a hundred feet or so. Shall we ascend, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth skipped ahead. “If you can catch me, sir, for I’m lighter and therefore more sprightly on my feet!” The sides of the cascade were shaded with myrtles, sugar trees, and geraniums, and they continued their progress through a low foliage of all sorts of pretty heaths and evergreens. The sun began to beat with much force down on their heads, but the heat, though great, was not oppressive. The sun and fatigue obliged the party frequently to sit down; Elizabeth began to wonder whether she had been overly optimistic about her ability to climb so far. But the gentlemen also appeared fatigued; they carried knapsacks containing some boxes of cold meats and wine for their repast on the summit.
At last, about twelve o'clock, the sun began to be so very hot that Elizabeth rejoiced at the turn of the mountain, which she saw would soon bring them into the shadow before they reached the great gully by which they were to get out on the top. Redoubling her activity, they at last made the turn—the sudden chill that instantaneously came over her was wonderful. Captain Antill looked at his thermometer, and in asecond it fell fifteen degrees: now five and fifty in the shade, and before, on the brow of the hill, some seventy degrees. Here they found a fine spring of water, which fell from the top of the rock, or near it, over their heads. They drank some of it with port wine, it being so cold as to chill the wine, which had been warmed from being carried in the knapsack.
Elizabeth felt a sudden spurt of energy. The gentlemen were slow to don their burdens; she quickly outpaced them and shortly reached the very tip-top of the great rock. Letting her bonnet hang loose, she felt the refreshing breeze and the warmth of the sun on her face, and spun around, swinging her arms about as though a young child playing in the garden.
Both Darcy and Captain Antill paused as they watched thisOread, this mountain nymph, taking delight in her being on the top of the world, which afforded a bird's-eye view of the country, the bays, and the distant and near mountains.
“Oh, this is glorious,” exclaimed Elizabeth, “never have I seen such majesty spread before me.”
“Indeed, I’ve never seen greater beauty!“ murmured Darcy. But he must have spoken aloud, for Captain Antill looked to him: “You’ve the right of it, Darcy. She’s splendid—suchjoie de vivre,such passion!”
They now produced their cold meat, their port, Madeira, and Cape wine, and made a splendid and happy dinner after the fatigues of the morning.
While it was difficult to ascend the hill, to descend was much more so. The only way to get down was to sit and slip from rock to rock the best way one could. Whilst the men could easily cope in their leggings and breeches, Elizabeth was forced to descend before them so as not to show her stockinged legs should they, by chance, look up as she slid down, her skirt bunched around her knees.
At last, they reached home, not more tired than Elizabeth expected she would be, and more than ever convinced thatthere are few things impossible where there is, in man or woman, a decided and spirited wish for attainment.
***
The excursion to Table Mountain finally ruined Elizabeth’s half-Hessian walking boots. The following morning, she asked Mevrouw Brand where a merchant who sold such footwear in the town could be found. The lady gave Elizabeth directions to the port where most merchants maintained their premises. Being an easy walk from the house, a Khoikhoi servant was dispatched to accompany her perambulation. She was intent on viewing the main attractions of the town.
To her delight, it appeared a very fine place indeed. The streets were wide and spacious, the whitewashed buildings tall and imposing, and the single-storey buildings adorned with sculpted gable rooves. Though she did not like it, the slaves she saw had every appearance of being well treated; they were respectably clothed and looked well fed. Whether they were content and happy with their lot, she could not tell. Mr. Brand said, if mistreated, they leave and live meanly, inhabiting the wild abodes around Table Mountain. She could but draw a comparison between the slaves here and in Rio de Janeiro—the situation was singularly different; those in Rio were indeed in a miserable state. Here, even the bullocks and horses looked well cared for. She took in the strange appearance of the large wagons, which were drawn sometimes by sixteen oxen, all guided by one man, who sat as coachman, wielding a whip of such extraordinary length as to reach the front pair. She was quite delighted with the place.
With the help of her Khoikhoi guide, Elizabeth found the shop,Joubert—Stewelmaker,off Market Square. The proprietor was very helpful, the prices were reasonable, and the boots were very comfortable, even though she was tall for a womanand had large feet—but not overly so.
“Nee,Mevrouw,” laughed Meneer Joubert, “yourfeet aren’t large. Though there’s a story, of which I’m privy to some details. A tradesman in London, hearing our ladies’ feet were so large, sent a box of shoes on speculation, which almost put the matrons and their daughters in a blaze, so angry were they. But day by day a pair was sent for by a servant in the dark, until at last all the shoes vanished.”
“I suspect,” replied Elizabeth, laughing with the man, “a handsome profit was made on the trade.”
“Oh! Certainly!” he beamed, his eyes crinkling with good humour. “Shall I take your old boots? They are only fit for the rag bin.”
Elizabeth completed the transaction, also purchasing a pair of sturdy, leather ankle shoes. Her indoor slippers, suitable for living in a manor house, would not be good enough for use in the settlement at Sydney, whose roads were likely ill-made and houses fitted with flagstones or rough timber floors. Leaving the shop, she made her way to the parade ground, which Captain Antill had remarked upon as one of the finest in the world. It stood beneath the Castle, a pentagonal bastion fort built some one hundred and thirty years prior by the Dutch East India Company. At its southern wall stood a stone jetty extending into Table Bay. This she trod, breathing in the cool, salty air coming off the sea. In the bay, she could see some four naval vessels and counted six merchants lying at anchor.
“Do you wish to see theHindostan, Miss Bennet?” A deep, resonant voice startled her, and a Galilean brass telescope was placed in her hands. She turned: “Mr. Darcy! How good to meet you. Yes! I was trying to ascertain which of those ships were theHindostanand theDromedary.”
“If you look to the masthead, you can see Admiral Bertie’s blue flag on theCharwell.” Darcy assisted Elizabeth, his left arm holding the telescope so she could adjust the focus. He stood close to her side;she shivered, even though the day was warm, being just before midday; the air held a hint of sandalwood and amber. Once the telescope was focused—a procedure she understood, having used her father’s celestial Newtonian at Longbourn—she could see the blue pennant atop a small sloop-of-war of 16 guns.
What was he thinking? Darcy stepped away to give Miss Bennet some space. It seemed so natural to hold the telescope for her. He had done the same for his sister, Georgiana, and the same for his cousin Felicity, but she was young, just sixteen, a girl he had known since she was a baby. But Miss Bennet was neither a close relative nor a child; she was a youngwomanout in society: tall, only a hand or so less than himself, but pretty, lively, and elegant. Perhaps, because of the long journey, with the only female company on board being Mrs. Macquarie—tolerable, adequate conversation, married… ah, he understood: his attraction to Miss Bennet was merely that of one starved for like-minded, more youthful company. Miss Bennet had no expectations: she wasfleeingmarriage—albeit a poor one to that buffoon Collins—but, nevertheless, he was safe; a second son, few prospects—she would not involve herself, or endeavour to involve him, in an affection that the want of fortune on either side would make so very imprudent.
She sighted the ships and then returned the telescope to Mr. Darcy. “What brings you to the dock, sir?”
“My boots were also in need of repair. I visited the shop of Meneer Joubert, who mentioned he had a customer dressed in the English style but speaking perfect Afrikaans, albeit with a slight Flemish accent. He said she was very beautiful, uncommonly charming, elegant, and witty; she wished to see the parade ground, the castle and thence view Table Bay.”
Elizabeth blushed—and then chuckled. What a strange man! He’s so reserved in his manner, but with such a droll sense of humour, like dear Papa. Elizabeth knew she was no beauty;in the mirror she saw more than one failure of symmetry in her figure. As for charming? She rolled her eyes; her manners were not those of the fashionable world. How can one be elegant sliding down a mountain with her skirts around her knees? And her wit was too often impetuous; too often she would fall into the fallacy of ridiculing what is wise and good, rather than merely folly and nonsense, only later to regret her diversion.
