Up at first light this morning to find that it was still raining.
After breakfast, inspected the area around Rapid Bay. There is a broad flat beach with a stream heading down from the hills. These are steep and hem in the flat land, such that there is probably room here for, at best, a small town. However, I believe that the place could be a reasonable port for a larger township situated on the land above the hills face. Still, having seen the location I do not share the enthusiasm Light seems to show for the place.
At mid morning there came the sound of horses and credit where credit is due, Stevenson's whalers appeared in our midst. In fact, the rich, satisfying aroma of sweaty, unwashed men whose clothes were stiff with whale fat arrived amongst us first and the whalers followed some ten minutes later.
What a bunch! All of them filthy, dressed in near rags and all of them of an idea that four of your own teeth count as adequate to be going on with. Several of them eyed Mrs Hindmarsh with "a lean and hungry look", one of them telling me "You're a lucky man, Sir, having a fine strapping woman such as her to do for you". I was appalled, as was Mrs Hindmarsh, though perhaps for different reasons. It occurred to me that if the man stood too close he might do for me as well, such was the stench.
The Whalers having arrived, Lipson took his leave and set sail back to Port Adelaide, leaving us to the tender mercies of these cetacean gentlemen. They loaded our equipment and Mrs Hindmarsh onto the cart - "All your baggage, sir!" said one of them, thankfully out of earshot of my wife - and the rest of us rode some of the sorriest nags I have ever laid eyes on.
We set off, following the whalers as best we could as they rode on ahead with little thought for us. We managed to keep them in sight most often and when we could not, we just followed our noses.
And such rain! As steady and as copious as a donkey pissing, I have not seen rain like it since I was in Java. Of course we were soon soaked to the skin and even Mrs Hindmarsh, sitting on the cart with her umbrella firmly gripped above her head, was soon wet through.
The whalers were not so badly affected. I suspect that the layers of grease and tallow that had penetrated their pores over the years left them with similar water resistant properties to ducks. Their clothes, certainly, seemed to repel water in the same way that the whalers repelled us.
We spent much of the day heading to Encounter Bay. The distance was not great, but the country was very hilly, with deep gullies and sudden obstacles. We kept to the ridges as best we could and worked our way across to the South Coast, where we had an easy and picturesque ride along cliff tops into Encounter Bay, reaching it by evening.
The country seems rich and fertile, but it strikes me that unless a large flat plain or plateau can be found, then it is probably useless for further development of population, such are the ravines that are across the land.
The whaling camp had set aside a couple of huts, especially for our use, telling us that they had been "cleaned out for us just this morning". Exactly what they had been cleaned out of and what understanding the whalers had of "clean" is a moot point. As we settled down for the night I suspected that the answers might be (1) something so deeply piscatorial that Isaak Walton himself might be set back on his heels (2) close enough is good enough.
Mrs Hindmarsh is taking her chances with her camp stretcher again, but, I gather, did spend some time before retiring making clear: her feelings about the rain; the whalers; and the splinters in the seat of the cart. I spent time nodding sympathetically, though at what exactly I am unsure, as I was barely listening.
I am sitting, in the rain, on the beach at Rapid Bay, in a tent that barely promises to provide any degree of shelter. Despite Stevenson's assurances, we were not met by whalers with horses or indeed, whalers without horses. We arrived just before sunset and while it was light, hope remained and we stood around in the rain, waiting on the beach until darkness fell. At that time we set up the tents and then sat around in the rain instead.
Stevenson's continuing assurances that the whalers will certainly be here at first light tomorrow sound increasingly hollow, but despite all he maintains a sublime and blissful confidence that come the dawn we shall hear, see and probably smell, whalers in our midst.
This is simply the icing on the cake of a most curious day. It began with Mrs Hindmarsh shilly shallying as usual. Despite having said that we would meet Captain Lipson and his ketch at Glenelg at nine in the morning, her preparations for our excursion stretched out so long that we eventually boarded the boat at nearly a half past the hour of ten, and did not get underway until eleven.
The result was that we had barely reached the mouth of the Onkaparinga River before the party declared that it was time for luncheon. Milner Stephen, who had suffered from mal de mer from almost the moment we hauled up the anchor, did not, I fancy, feel at all peckish, but the rest of the party drew up on the beach for a selection of Lucrezia Harvey's cold delights.
Whilst we were wondering what we should do with the large portion we had failed to stomach a group of natives appeared at the top of the dunes behind the beach. Suddenly one gave a great cry and began to run toward us. Stevenson and Milner Stephen seemed to think that their end had come, while Mrs Hindmarsh, with admirable fortitude, armed herself with a parasol. I, however, had noticed that the man was not shouting in anger, but was, in fact, laughing.
He stopped directly in front of me and addressed me with a great grin on his face. It was then that I saw that he had a cord slung across his shoulder and that the cord included strips of blue woollen blanket. I realised that this must be one of the men who had come to our camp at the Paddy Will Linger Lagoon in January last year, when Stuart and Alford went hunting for lost horses and that, clearly, he had recognised me.
I shook him by the hand and he showed me the blanket strips that he had used to make the cord. I can take a hint as well as the next man and led him down to the boat, where I had another blanket stowed. I gave it to him and he seemed as pleased as Punch, heading back into the sand hills with it, no doubt to show it to his fellows.
Shortly after this encounter we made to head on our way, leaving the remains of Widow Harvey's lunch for the gulls, several of whom were eyeing it doubtfully. Just as we were about to launch the boat there was a shout and three natives appeared and gave us a dozen fish, clearly in return for the blanket.
As I have said we arrived at Rapid Bay just on sunset and so have had little opportunity to inspect the site. We were expecting to find whalers and an established campsite, but of course were disappointed. If the whalers disappointed us, the Native's gift of fish did not and we ate with much satisfaction after Lipson built us a fire.
I then had the rare experience of watching Mrs Hindmarsh attempting to get into a camp stretcher to sleep for the night. She displayed a level of apprehension, awkwardness and incomprehension at her situation such that she gave an impression of nothing other than a sheep called upon to perform on a tightrope. She is currently lying stock still upon the thing, convinced that the slightest movement will either see her tumble out of the thing or have it collapse beneath her.
As yet I have managed to not laugh or even snigger, but it is a near run thing and the slightest slip will, I feel sure, bring the most terrible consequences. Mrs Hindmarsh has already made mention of the blanket I gave to the Onkaparinga man and has made it clear that I gave away my blanket and not hers.
Well, for the cost of a blanket I feel I have done something to advance the good relations between the natives and ourselves. The friendliness with which we were met seems to me to be a vindication of my thoughts on those we have found here already.
I am surrounded by people keen to attempt "to deal with the Native Problem". It is my opinion that if we spent a bit less time treating them as "a problem to be solved" and rather more time treating them as fellows and neighbours we might all achieve something. But I fear my view is the minority one and, if I am recalled to London, that minority will drop from "One Vote" to "None at all".
And I cannot help think, having seen some of the problem solvers, that the solution may not be an equitable one.
So, tomorrow I leave Adelaide behind me.
Not, I should add, because I am heading back to London, although that happy release seems to draw ever closer, but because I am bound on an excursion to Encounter Bay and Kingscote. It seems a fine idea to leave the cares of the town behind me and travel on a Vice-Regal inspection of the outlying areas of the Province.
In complete honesty the thing is a holiday, but if I can pass it off as "the burden of office" then all well and good.
The plan is to go by boat to Rapid Bay, to inspect Light's suggested site for a future township; then overland to Encounter Bay (Stevenson, who is organising this jaunt, assures me that we will be met at Rapid Bay by a party from the Whaling Station with horses. I cannot help but feel that relying on whalers amounts to being ruled by the heart and not the head. But Stevenson, in an act of faith that might give pause to a medieval Saint, assures me "all will be well".) and finally by ship to Kingscote, before returning to Adelaide.
This delightful itinerary is marred only by those who have announced they will accompany me. Stevenson and Strangways I do not object to. Stevenson can be good company and even Strangways is harmless enough. But Milner Stephen has announced he will be coming along, as if I do not get enough of him already. And Milner Stephens is like "Gentleman's Relish" - a little goes a long way. To complete my delight, Mrs Hindmarsh has decided to grace me with her presence and let the girls take their chances at home with Widow Harvey. Fortunately, my sister Anne will also be home with them, so at least there will be one person of irreproachable character and good sense to attend to them.
People are very keen for me to see the harbours at Nepean Bay and Encounter Bay, telling me much of their excellence and quality. They forget two things: (1) That whatever the quality of Nepean Bay it is attached to the drunken orgy that is Kingscote and hence will be chiefly used for the importation of spiritous liquors. Is this entirely desirable? (2) Encounter Bay may or may not be a fine harbour. What is certain is that it is the harbour where my only son and heir and scion of the Hindmarshes nearly drowned in a shipwreck and hence might not be one I look upon in an entirely unbiased fashion. Still, I shall endeavour to maintain an open mind.
Monday's theatrical performance exceeded my expectations, but only in as far as it was even worse than I thought it would be. I am by no means a follower of Thespis and have never worn the tragic buskin nor the comic sock, yet even I understand that the first undertaking of the actor is to commit the words of the play to memory. It seems that this was not entirely understood by the actors the other night. It is also my understanding that there is a person behind the scenery with a copy of the play whose task it is to remind the actors of any forgotten words. It seems that such an officer was not present, leaving the actors to stand about giggling and toying with their fans and fob watches whenever memory came up blank, as it frequently did.
I might also have expected songs labelled as "comic" to contain at least a smile. They did not.
The corps de ballet, who, it seems, represented Mountain Sylphs, were a lumpen lot who could have caused an avalanche as they thundered about the stage.
The only positives that I could see were that many of the actors did not know how to project their voices, which meant that for much of the evening one could sit in blissful silence. And the forty year old actor who played the heroic young lover had the good taste to wear a bow tie, which matched his bow legs.
Mrs Hindmarsh declared the performance "a triumph" and "worthy of the London stage", (which suggests that standards in London must have slipped mightily) and has said that she cannot wait to see their next performance. With any luck that recall to London will come before then.
My daughter's Drawing Lessons continue apace. She has certainly taken to Lee's Coffee Shop, where artists gather. I was sent by Mrs Hindmarsh this week to Lee's to collect her in the carriage, as Milner Stephen, her ostensible chaperon, was unable to deliver her to the house due to pressing business. It appears that I embarrassed her by entering the place and "showing her up" in front of her friends. "What would they think of her? The people she associated with?" she said, as though I was some street urchin or pickpocket dragging her back to some den of vice.
I pointed out that not every girl in the colony has the Queen's Representative wait on them in the Vice Regal carriage, but I was told, not for the first time, that "You just don't understand!" Indeed not.
One young man I did notice while I was in the shop, though I did not catch his name, was a languid youth of a sickly pallor that contrasted with his jet black hair and his black clothes. He sat glowering at all and sundry and especially me. He said not one word save a muttered "Later...." as Mary and I left.
I asked Mary about him and it seems that he goes by the name of "Endymion", having recently declared that he would no longer answer to the name his parents gave him, which is, I suspect, something mundane like "Fred Jones" or "Berty Smith".
Mary assures me that Endymion (or Berty) is "a deep thinker" and has "terrific ideas". If I am any judge of young men of twenty summers I think I can guess pretty closely what those "terrific ideas" might be, especially where unchaperoned young girls might be involved. Deep thinker, my arse!
