As I lament forthee.
The river never will run dry,
Nor the rocks melt with the sun;
And I'll never prove false to the girl I love
Till all these things be done, my dear,
Till all these things be done.
Elizabeth looked up to Darcy; she saw the tears in his eyes as he saw those in hers. Perhaps there wasn’t a single dry eye in the room. Elizabeth laughed, her gentle, tinkling laugh they all would miss once she and Darcy departed.
“I thought to change my line to make it moreAustralian, as it were. But I could find naught to rhyme with ‘white cockatoo’—thus I allowed a ‘milk-white dove’some presence in this great country of ours.”
“And I,” responded Darcy, “have seen our rivers run dry—more likely, overflow their banks!—and ofttimes, the heat of the sun feels as though it can melt the very rocks beneath our feet.” He paused, taking Elizabeth’s hand in his as she arose and stood by his side. “But we both, Elizabeth and I, have come to love this country and will miss the green hills of the Cowpastures, the roaring surf at Boondi, the winding streets of Sydney—but most of all, the people whom we know, respect, and admire.”
“Charge your glasses.” Macquarie stepped forward, “A toast to the King, His Majesty George III.” They sipped their wine. “And to Darcy and his lady; may God bless them always!”
“Hear, hear!”
The exclamation filled the room, spilling out of the open doors and windows, rolling down the Governor’s park into Sydney Cove, drifting across the moonlit water to the camps of the Eora dotted along the foreshore of Port Jackson. The sound dwindled, leaving naught but the crackling fires and the slap ofwaves against the rocks at the water’s edge.
***
The surf rolled onto the beach at Boondi, the spray of the waves illuminated by the first hint of dawn. The air was warm, presaging yet another hot day, but for Elizabeth, this was a perfect beginning. They disrobed by the small hut they had built by the lagoon behind the dunes—their retreat from the civilities of town. Walking hand in hand by the small creek and onto the beach, clothed in only chemise and shirt, they approached the water’s edge littered with shells, strands of seaweed, and other debris cast up by the restless ocean.
“William, you are to depart so soon—I’ll shock you once again, lest you forget the impertinent, improper Miss who had the good fortune to fall in love with you and you with her.” Elizabeth ran, laughing, into the roiling surf, plunging under a wave that reared over her head. Surfacing, she turned and walked slowly back towards Darcy. The sun breasted the horizon, silhouetting Elizabeth against the golden dawn—the goddess Amphitrite emerging from the sea, the rays of the gilded sun weaving a net of gold about her chestnut hair. Darcy knew nothing else that he must come closer, take her in his arms, feel the salt upon her lips, her tongue seeking his. Their embrace was frenzied, passionate, such tumultuous desire, each for the other.
This is so improper—barely clothed with the sea swirling around our naked forms, my body enfolded in his—but I can’t care, for he’ll be gone, and this glorious memory will always be mine to hold and to treasure.
They returned to the hut. With tenderness, ardour, affection, and a lust that was both overwhelming and subdued, theyjoined together—with the forlorn hope that such carnal pleasure would assuage the pain and sorrow they would soon know when theSwiftsurecarried William away, leaving Lizzie alone to dismantle the life they had built together in the colony.
Chapter 29
The Heads, February 1, 1813
The packetSwiftsurecleared the Heads at dawn on the 1st of February ‘13, three years, one month, and four days from when theHindostanhad entered the same at the end of its long journey from England. Darcy stood at the taffrail, looking back towards the towering sandstone cliffs he would likely never see again. The vessel turned to starboard, running beneath those cliffs, less than half a mile offshore.And there she was!Seated on her favourite chestnut gelding, her scarlet riding habit standing bright against the greens and greys of the native vegetation, illuminated by the rising sun, now appearing on the eastern horizon. A rolling fire of seven ship’s cannon caused gulls to rise screeching from their rookeries on the cliffs, the smoke from the guns drifting away to the southeast, in which direction the vessel now steered. Shortly thereafter, as the ship gathered speed in the strengthening breeze, Elizabeth was lost to him—until the vast Australian continent was merely another low cloud on the retreating horizon.
“You don’t need to assist with the pumps, Mr. Darcy.” Captain Furse was more than a little surprised—the gentleman was a paying passenger, lieutenant governor of New South Wales. Surely, he understood that nothing was expected of him other than taking dinner in the cuddy and staying out of the way of the sailors on the main deck.
“I’m not accustomed to being idle, Captain,” responded Darcy. “The exercise would be to my benefit, and I assure you, I can pull as hard as any seaman.” In truth, he needed the distraction, for he worried excessively about his father’s health, but mostly he missed Elizabeth—her good cheer, her vivacity,her bright hazel eyes, her lovely chestnut hair spread carelessly upon the linens as she lay beside him of a night. He had not even the comfort of sweet dreams. His cot on theSwiftsurewas quite inadequate, too short and narrow for his tall, broad frame; thus, he slept very ill indeed.
“Very well. The pump handles are set behind the main mast. TheSwiftsureis a tight ship, so we pump only for an hour or so at four bells of the morning watch. I suggest, if you are still willing, to take your turn then.”
An hour on the pumps, stripped to the waist and wearing seaman’s slops, was not enough to dispel his melancholy; nor were well-matched games of chess with the sailing master, when the latter was not at the helm. Darcy spent much of each day staring westwards, watching the towering waves and foam-whipped, howling winds of the great Southern Ocean force the packet towards Cape Horn. Six weeks into the journey, the ship’s company had the pleasure of seeing the Cape bearing northwest at a distance of about fifteen miles—in appearance resembling theLion's Rumpat Cape Town. Captain Furse remarked that few vessels ever made a quicker passage from Port Jackson around Cape Horn, and was well pleased they had done so without meeting with any accident.
The weather was unusually moderate in the morning, but the latter part of the day became squally, with heavy showers of snow and hail during the day and succeeding night. The helm now steered a northern course, close to the Southern American shore, passing through the strait dividing it from the Falkland Islands. The weather turned favourable, and they made Rio de Janeiro some three weeks later. TheSwiftsureremained in port only long enough to collect the mail and take on fresh water and victuals for the journey to England.
Darcy, together with Captain Furse, made the obligatory visit to wait on Rear Admiral de Courcy and Sir James Gambier, the English Consul. But both Darcy and Furse wereeager to depart and declined the invitation to stay for the entertainments of the evening. On their way back to the wharf to take the cutter to theSwiftsure,they chanced to walk past the fishing village where Raimundo and Isabella had been welcomed by the local fishermen and their wives.
“That man, the fisherman, is staring at you rather intently, Mr. Darcy,” said Captain Furse as they passed by.
“By Jove, ‘tis Raimundo. I must greet him, though I speak no Portuguese and he no English.”
“How do you know a fisherman in St. Sebastian?” inquired the captain. “You’ve unusual acquaintances for one so high as a lieutenant governor!”
“A long story, which I’ll gladly relate to you once we depart this place. Ah, there’s his wife, Isabella, holding a small child. Let me go to them, but only briefly.”
