After my elation of yesterday today my wife had her revenge.
Our course is the usual one of Plymouth, Rio de Janeiro, the Cape and then South Australia. This allows for restocking the ship with fresh food and water and is an easy route to the new colony.
Mrs Hindmarsh has announced that she will not have me going to Rio. A libertine such as I am could not be trusted in the steamy fleshpots of Brazil. Her description of what she considered my likely behaviour amongst the Portuguese beauties I will not sully these pages with, but the upshot is that either we go straight to the Cape or she will expose me for the seducer that I am.
Of course the whole thing is ridiculous and I told her so, but she presented me with a written statement that she tells me she intends to give to Mr Stevenson and Mr Fisher.
"Oh John," she intoned in her fruitiest dramatic voice, "if you have an ounce of feeling left for me then do not make me do this thing!"
Truth to tell I do not have an ounce of feeling left for her, but I cannot afford that newshound Stevenson to get wind of her ridiculous story. Lord knows what he might do with it. And so it is now my job to go and tell the crew and passengers that we will not be landing at Rio as they hoped and expected, but will all need to go onto short rations so that we might make landfall at the Cape.
I am certainly not looking forward to their response.