That blight on the face of the earth Fisher announced in Council this week that the naming of the streets in the new town would be the sole prerogative of the Company and, since he was the Company's chief representative in the Colony, he would undertake decide on names by himself.
Will he, by God? Will he buggery!
Every man, woman and mongrel dog in the place has suggestions about what to call the streets and parks on old Light's map and if Fisher thinks he can take over the whole show then every man woman and mongrel dog will undoubtedly have a few suggestions about where he can stick Light's map.
I intend my own plan of naming the streets after naval victories to be the one that is definitive, but I know, only too well, that if it has my name attached then Fisher will do his damnedest to bollocks it. To prevent that I have asked Jeffcott to take my list of street names on and present it as his own. By this stratagem we will yet stroll down Quiberon Street and Finisterre Parade or I'm a dutchman.
The Marines have not responded well to Mrs Hindmarsh's lambasting of them over what is being referred to around town, with sneering irony, as "the Vice-Regal Mansion".
They refuse to do any more work on it, since they say that their efforts went unrecognised and unappreciated - "We work and slave with no thought for ourselves and this is the thanks we get!" I overheard one of them say - and I have had to press sailors from the Buffalo into service in putting in the fireplace and chimney and building the outhouses.
As a result the work is being done quickly and efficiently and I expect that we will have a fireplace soon that will not burn down the house and outhouses that will not fall over in the first high wind. I could not have said as much if the Marines had done the work.
The fellows seem to be sulking like schoolchildren. They have hit the drink fairly hard and when you realise how much they drank normally, this is saying quite something.
Gilles - no stranger to a drink himself - told me a story about the Marine Sam Restorick who had been allocated the not too difficult task of guarding the Treasury. "Guarding the Treasury" sounds awfully grand, but since the Treasury consists of an old safe that Gilles lent us sitting inside a ratty old tent it is not as exalted a task as it sounds on first hearing.
Gilles told me that he had business elsewhere - probably off to lay in a fresh supply of Indian Rum - and left Private Restorick alone for about an hour. When he returned he found the man in a drunken stupor; so drunk that he thought he was back on the Buffalo; probably because his legs were so unsteady he could barely stand. Gilles told me that "This Marine, meant to guard the wealth of the Government from would be thieves, simply curled up in a ball and went to sleep." Since Gilles also reminded me that "the wealth of the Government" consisted of one shilling and sixpence there was probably little harm done. But even so - the man was on duty and will need to be punished.
Of late it has become more and more necessary to deal with the Marines in this way and I have had to tie one of them to the large tree at the back of the hut. I find that leaving them there over night allows them time to regain their sobriety and consider the error of their ways.
It has come to my attention that Widow Harvey has been sneaking out at night. I shudder to think that she is involved with some man, if only for the sake of the man, but I find myself wondering where on Earth she can be going.
To be honest I have tried to avoid thinking about her doings as much as possible, but admit that my interest is piqued.
Monday, 10 February 2014
Thursday, 30 January 2014
Sunday, 30th April, 1837
I had my hopes raised to fever pitch during the week when the Marines came to me and told me that they had finally finished building the Government House on the river bank. Stupid of me to get my hopes up when experience tells me that where the Marines are involved catastrophe must surely follow, but I am ever the optimist and considered it at least possible they might have learned some thing from the experience of building our current bayside accommodation.
Vain hope.
As we headed up from the bay to the township, the Sergeant of Marines extolled the wonders of the new building. The thatching of the roof, he said, was as fine as might be found in any of the home counties whilst the walls were built of the best materials available. The Marines had even managed to procure glass windows for the front of the building.
I did point out that originally a building had been sent out from England in pieces that could be reassembled as a Government House - though it proved a flimsy thing of warped, thin boards. But it did have windows. So there was not need for them to "procure glass windows" as I already had them. At this point the truth came out - my glass windows were at the Port and the trip down there was - as the sergeant put it - "a bit of a fag". So to save themselves the journey they "procured others". What exactly this meant I did not ask, though later events made it clear.
When eventually we arrived at the new building I was more than a little surprised. At first sight the building seemed - for its type - a well constructed and neat thatched mud and lath residence. However, as I drew nearer it became evident that the neatness and charm were, at best, superficial. It is, as I feared, precisely the building one might expect the Marines to build. Within its three rooms a right angle is not to be seen in the place and the number of gaps around doors and windows mean ventilation will be no issue, though privacy will be out of the question.
The much vaunted windows are indeed in place, but a little quizzing proved that by "procured them" the Marines meant "found them lying on the ground and picked them up", as though windows grow like pumpkins here in the colony. I have since learned that in actuality the windows belong to either Morphett or Brown, so I will offer them mine at the Port in a spirit of "fair exchange no robbery". Of course it was robbery, but perhaps we can smooth things over. Thank God they were not Fisher's windows or I would never have heard the end of it.
I also needed to point out a lack of outhouses on the grounds. The Marines scratched their heads and looked befuddled, probably by what I had said about the lack of outhouses, though, in truth, who can tell? This is what happens when you have your house built on land by men used to the sea. There are no outhouses on a ship of the line and so they do not enter the mind of the seafarer. The Marines conferred and agreed that outhouses could be built on the swampy patch of land down by the river. I opine that this was not actually a part of the land set aside for the Government House, but they were undeterred and promised to "square it with those necessary". I dread to think what this means.
But the greatest fault in their work is the complete lack of a fireplace, chimney or hearth. Again, do not allow sailors to build a house on land. There are no chimneys on ships, so why would they need to place one in a house? I pointed this out - forcefully - to the men and they replied gnomically "Knock through... few bricks... make good... job's a goodun" which did little to set my mind at ease, but, it seems, was all I was going to be told.
However...
The next day Mrs Hindmarsh traveled up from the bay to see our new residence. It has never occurred to me before, but it should come as no great surprise, that after a life led around sailors Mrs Hindmarsh's language should have been enriched by a knowledge of the earthier aspects of our Anglo-Saxon vocabular heritage.
What did surprise me was the readiness, fluency and enthusiasm with which Mrs Hindmarsh used this knowledge as she gave the Marines a frank and fulsome assessment of their building, their abilities, their intelligence, sobriety, odour, parentage, and the manner of their procreation.
Even the Marines, salty dogs to a man, most of them hailing from the less salubrious areas of London and all of them no strangers to the richer idioms of our language, quailed before the onslaught of Mrs Hindmarsh's invective.
I felt an especial sympathy for the poor, ill advised devil who tried to pour oil on troubled waters by telling Mrs Hindmarsh: "Now, now, missuss, don't you be worrying your pretty head about all this. Leave it up to us menfolk to deal with these little things."
I found him sitting an hour later, his head in his hands, rocking back and forth and muttering over and over, "She shouldn't ought to be saying such things."
And in truth she shouldn't. But the upshot is that I have never seen the Marines work so hard or so fast. Fear is an astonishing thing.
Very nasty experience last Wednesday.
Light Fingers Howard, the noted Sneak Thief, had arranged a public meeting at the church - or, should I say, the stolen sail - with regard to establishing a Sunday School. I assume to teach the youth of the colony how to lie cheat and steal. Perhaps Hustling Howard is setting up a gang, using street urchins to become a criminal mastermind, like a fat spider in the centre of his web of lie and deceit.
And then, when I got there, I discovered that Bully Boy Fisher, the human rabbit, was to chair the meeting. I may need to work with him in the Council, but damned if I need to put up with the miserable coxcomb at any other time. And so I declined to attend. A friend suggested to me that it would reflect poorly on the Office of Governor if I was not there. And so I declared that "The Governor will attend. But Jack Hindmarsh will be absent."
I sat through their meeting and said not a word. And I hope it was a lesson to them.
Vain hope.
As we headed up from the bay to the township, the Sergeant of Marines extolled the wonders of the new building. The thatching of the roof, he said, was as fine as might be found in any of the home counties whilst the walls were built of the best materials available. The Marines had even managed to procure glass windows for the front of the building.
I did point out that originally a building had been sent out from England in pieces that could be reassembled as a Government House - though it proved a flimsy thing of warped, thin boards. But it did have windows. So there was not need for them to "procure glass windows" as I already had them. At this point the truth came out - my glass windows were at the Port and the trip down there was - as the sergeant put it - "a bit of a fag". So to save themselves the journey they "procured others". What exactly this meant I did not ask, though later events made it clear.
 |
| Government House from the river, 1837 |
The much vaunted windows are indeed in place, but a little quizzing proved that by "procured them" the Marines meant "found them lying on the ground and picked them up", as though windows grow like pumpkins here in the colony. I have since learned that in actuality the windows belong to either Morphett or Brown, so I will offer them mine at the Port in a spirit of "fair exchange no robbery". Of course it was robbery, but perhaps we can smooth things over. Thank God they were not Fisher's windows or I would never have heard the end of it.
I also needed to point out a lack of outhouses on the grounds. The Marines scratched their heads and looked befuddled, probably by what I had said about the lack of outhouses, though, in truth, who can tell? This is what happens when you have your house built on land by men used to the sea. There are no outhouses on a ship of the line and so they do not enter the mind of the seafarer. The Marines conferred and agreed that outhouses could be built on the swampy patch of land down by the river. I opine that this was not actually a part of the land set aside for the Government House, but they were undeterred and promised to "square it with those necessary". I dread to think what this means.
But the greatest fault in their work is the complete lack of a fireplace, chimney or hearth. Again, do not allow sailors to build a house on land. There are no chimneys on ships, so why would they need to place one in a house? I pointed this out - forcefully - to the men and they replied gnomically "Knock through... few bricks... make good... job's a goodun" which did little to set my mind at ease, but, it seems, was all I was going to be told.
However...
The next day Mrs Hindmarsh traveled up from the bay to see our new residence. It has never occurred to me before, but it should come as no great surprise, that after a life led around sailors Mrs Hindmarsh's language should have been enriched by a knowledge of the earthier aspects of our Anglo-Saxon vocabular heritage.
What did surprise me was the readiness, fluency and enthusiasm with which Mrs Hindmarsh used this knowledge as she gave the Marines a frank and fulsome assessment of their building, their abilities, their intelligence, sobriety, odour, parentage, and the manner of their procreation.
Even the Marines, salty dogs to a man, most of them hailing from the less salubrious areas of London and all of them no strangers to the richer idioms of our language, quailed before the onslaught of Mrs Hindmarsh's invective.
I felt an especial sympathy for the poor, ill advised devil who tried to pour oil on troubled waters by telling Mrs Hindmarsh: "Now, now, missuss, don't you be worrying your pretty head about all this. Leave it up to us menfolk to deal with these little things."
I found him sitting an hour later, his head in his hands, rocking back and forth and muttering over and over, "She shouldn't ought to be saying such things."
And in truth she shouldn't. But the upshot is that I have never seen the Marines work so hard or so fast. Fear is an astonishing thing.
Very nasty experience last Wednesday.
Light Fingers Howard, the noted Sneak Thief, had arranged a public meeting at the church - or, should I say, the stolen sail - with regard to establishing a Sunday School. I assume to teach the youth of the colony how to lie cheat and steal. Perhaps Hustling Howard is setting up a gang, using street urchins to become a criminal mastermind, like a fat spider in the centre of his web of lie and deceit.
And then, when I got there, I discovered that Bully Boy Fisher, the human rabbit, was to chair the meeting. I may need to work with him in the Council, but damned if I need to put up with the miserable coxcomb at any other time. And so I declined to attend. A friend suggested to me that it would reflect poorly on the Office of Governor if I was not there. And so I declared that "The Governor will attend. But Jack Hindmarsh will be absent."
I sat through their meeting and said not a word. And I hope it was a lesson to them.
Monday, 20 January 2014
Sunday, 23rd April, 1837
Appointed Tom Gilbert this week to be Postmaster.
Be damned if I know what for... it's not like we have a Post Office and with so few people in the colony, the writing of letters is hardly necessary. You can probably shout and get your message there just as well. Still, we need someone to sort the mails from England when they arrive and old Tom seems as good a man as any. I have offered him 30 pounds a year as a consideration for this onerous duty, but with a bit of luck he may do it as a favour.
In point of fact, when we first arrived here in the Colony I gave him a number of instructions and he refused them saying, "I work for the Company, not you!" So if I happen to forget the 30 pounds then I suppose he can have his way and won't have to work for me still, will he?
He has been operating the Government Storehouse down by the river for some months and does a sterling job at ensuring that all things are spit spot and in their place. Just the chap to ensure that the mails get through.
A bit of a lady's man, I think... the eloquence and feeling with which he proposed the toast to "the ladies" at the Proclamation Day luncheon back in December suggested a warmth towards the fair sex - although, if memory serves, the toast was "Mrs Hindmarsh and the ladies", so he may have been hiding his true feelings.
Now, it is rumoured that Gilbert is a member of the craft of Freemasonry - just rumours, of course, as is the way with the Lodge. No names, no faces, just secret handshakes and what do they do with the goat?
But still there are rumours, and names like Gilbert and Gouger and Morphett keep popping up in them. Of course, you can't ask them and they certainly won't be saying anything about it themselves, but still, there's no smoke without fire.
But the name that occurs most often, and most surprisingly, is Kingston. Oozisface Kingston! who would have thought it?
(I really must learn the horrible little man's name. I can't keep calling him "Mr Kingston" to his face. I'm sure his name starts with G. Or was it a D? "Godfrey"? "Giles"? "Gregory"? "David?" Durward rings a bell. Yes,,, Durward Kingston seems to be about right.)
(Editor's Note: Kingston's name was actually "George Strickland Kingston". Given the Governor's enjoyment of the novels of Sir Walter Scott it would seem that for some reason he has associated Kingston with the hero of Scott's 1823 novel Quentin Durward)
Durward Kingston's name regularly appears in stories about the Freemasons and, if they are to be believed, he is Grand Panjandrum amongst them. I find it hard to see how the insufferable little toad could be grand anything so I have no choice but to doubt the veracity of these rumours.
Of course there are always those willing to assure one that the Craft of Masonry is nothing but a social gathering and a bit of fun and that all those stories about the extra-ordinary influence Masons have in political circles are nothing but malicious gossip. And to them I say that they bear the onus of proof to show, in the absence of Masonic influence, how someone so utterly devoid of talent, of intelligence, of charm and ability as Durward Kingston could rise to a position of importance in this, our new colony. If the stories are not true and the Masons are not secretly in charge then what other explanation can they offer for our Assistant Surveyor?
The man could not survey a view from a lookout. He could not lead a group in silent prayer. A blind beggar could beat him at charades. And yet, there he sits, second only to Light in determining the future of the Colony. It can surely be nothing other than the influence of the Lodge Brothers.
On other matters, the mad poisoner at home served us some things called Monmouthshire Muffins for breakfast this week. If my memory serves, the Wye valley runs through Monmouthshire and as I looked at my breakfast "Why?" was all I could think.
The Marines tell us, with a simple, childlike openness that either betokens enthusiasm or lunacy that within a week we will be able to see the new Government House. I hold out no great hopes, but will look forward to seeing what fresh disaster the Marines have managed to conjure for our delight.
Be damned if I know what for... it's not like we have a Post Office and with so few people in the colony, the writing of letters is hardly necessary. You can probably shout and get your message there just as well. Still, we need someone to sort the mails from England when they arrive and old Tom seems as good a man as any. I have offered him 30 pounds a year as a consideration for this onerous duty, but with a bit of luck he may do it as a favour.
In point of fact, when we first arrived here in the Colony I gave him a number of instructions and he refused them saying, "I work for the Company, not you!" So if I happen to forget the 30 pounds then I suppose he can have his way and won't have to work for me still, will he?
He has been operating the Government Storehouse down by the river for some months and does a sterling job at ensuring that all things are spit spot and in their place. Just the chap to ensure that the mails get through.
A bit of a lady's man, I think... the eloquence and feeling with which he proposed the toast to "the ladies" at the Proclamation Day luncheon back in December suggested a warmth towards the fair sex - although, if memory serves, the toast was "Mrs Hindmarsh and the ladies", so he may have been hiding his true feelings.
Now, it is rumoured that Gilbert is a member of the craft of Freemasonry - just rumours, of course, as is the way with the Lodge. No names, no faces, just secret handshakes and what do they do with the goat?
But still there are rumours, and names like Gilbert and Gouger and Morphett keep popping up in them. Of course, you can't ask them and they certainly won't be saying anything about it themselves, but still, there's no smoke without fire.
But the name that occurs most often, and most surprisingly, is Kingston. Oozisface Kingston! who would have thought it?
(I really must learn the horrible little man's name. I can't keep calling him "Mr Kingston" to his face. I'm sure his name starts with G. Or was it a D? "Godfrey"? "Giles"? "Gregory"? "David?" Durward rings a bell. Yes,,, Durward Kingston seems to be about right.)
(Editor's Note: Kingston's name was actually "George Strickland Kingston". Given the Governor's enjoyment of the novels of Sir Walter Scott it would seem that for some reason he has associated Kingston with the hero of Scott's 1823 novel Quentin Durward)
Durward Kingston's name regularly appears in stories about the Freemasons and, if they are to be believed, he is Grand Panjandrum amongst them. I find it hard to see how the insufferable little toad could be grand anything so I have no choice but to doubt the veracity of these rumours.
Of course there are always those willing to assure one that the Craft of Masonry is nothing but a social gathering and a bit of fun and that all those stories about the extra-ordinary influence Masons have in political circles are nothing but malicious gossip. And to them I say that they bear the onus of proof to show, in the absence of Masonic influence, how someone so utterly devoid of talent, of intelligence, of charm and ability as Durward Kingston could rise to a position of importance in this, our new colony. If the stories are not true and the Masons are not secretly in charge then what other explanation can they offer for our Assistant Surveyor?
The man could not survey a view from a lookout. He could not lead a group in silent prayer. A blind beggar could beat him at charades. And yet, there he sits, second only to Light in determining the future of the Colony. It can surely be nothing other than the influence of the Lodge Brothers.
On other matters, the mad poisoner at home served us some things called Monmouthshire Muffins for breakfast this week. If my memory serves, the Wye valley runs through Monmouthshire and as I looked at my breakfast "Why?" was all I could think.
The Marines tell us, with a simple, childlike openness that either betokens enthusiasm or lunacy that within a week we will be able to see the new Government House. I hold out no great hopes, but will look forward to seeing what fresh disaster the Marines have managed to conjure for our delight.
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
Sunday 16th April, 1837
Not, I am pleased to say, the busiest of weeks.
We continue to settle in to our beachside accommodation and keep discovering new hidey holes. My particular favourite is the space between the billiard table and the upturned chaise longue and I have taken to having my morning cup of tea there.
I received a letter this week from His Nibs Angas who writes to let me know of the possibility of Silesian settlers traveling to our colony and asking what I think of this.
It would appear that they are devout followers of Martin Luther and are arguing with other devout followers of Martin Luther about what ought to go in their prayer book. It seems that it is bare knuckles and no holds barred over some triviality or other regarding the wording of the Eucharist Service.
I must say it evidences great piety in these Lutherans that they exercise their concentration enough during the service to even notice the wording if the Eucharist Service. Charles "Light Fingers" Howard (the sail thief) could probably recite verses of "The Jolly Tinker" during Communion and no-one would notice for all the attention they pay him.
Be that as it may, these Prussians are looking to head somewhere they can use the prayerbook of their choice and having been turned down flat in Russia and America have set their eyes on Adelaide as a last resort. It appears that Angas is of the opinion that they are just what the colony needs - industrious, pious and of good character - and God knows we have few enough of that sort here already. He also tells me that they make excellent sauerkraut and this, it seems, is meant to endear them to me!
Angas asks me what I think should be done and for myself I think he can put them where the monkey put the nuts. If they are so ready to argue amongst themselves about something as piddling as where the commas go in the creed, do we really need them out here mixing with the likes of Fisher and Brown, who see in-fighting as a casual recreation?
And they make wine. Heaven help us if they meet up with old Spongeguts Gilles, whose drunken rages are becoming the talk of the town.
However, all this, I fear, is not what Angas wants to hear and a good maxim in this life is "When Angas asks, give him the answer he desires." So of course I will write and say "Goodness me, Mr Angas! What a splendid notion! What a clever man you are!"
Anyway, these sauerkrauters still need to negotiate with the Company for passage, still need to receive permission to leave Prussia from the Emperor and still need to arrange ships and travel, so even if all goes smoothly (and what are the odds?) if they are here inside of a twelvemonth I shall be astonished.
I am regularly astonished by matters of this sort. The Dissenting sects breed, divide and flourish with a luxuriance not seen outside the jungles of Java.
Only the other day I inadvertently gave, it seems, great offence to a chap who described himself as "A Baptist" in matters of religion. I mentioned the name of another settler who similarly described himself. My companion flew into a high rage and announced that he was a Particular Baptist whilst the other was a General Baptist and did I have the temerity to suggest that they might have aught in common? I might have thought that, with the total number of those answering to the name "Baptist"of any sort (man, woman an child) probably numbering less than thirty in the colony , the last thing they could afford to do was squabble amongst themselves. Instead they divide and divide again into ever smaller cabals.
And really, do not start me on the Weslyans. Every ten minutes there seems to be a new variety. Weslyans, Methodists, Primitive Methodists, Not so Primitive Weslyans, Reformed Weslyans, Not Quite so Reformed Methodists. And none of them talking to the others and all of them claiming to be the only right one. They might dissent from the established church, but they all have a strong distaste for each other. I'll give a guinea to anyone who can properly explain the difference between them.
And then, not content with arguing amongst themselves they start in on other religions.
Howard the Master Criminal expressed to me his concern that we had in the colony a family of what he rather coyly referred to as "a descendant of Abraham" and what would we do to "bring them to the light". By which he means - in his mealy mouthed way - we have a Jewish family in the colony and Charlie wants to convert them and get them into his own congregation.
Silly bugger! Jew or not, Phillip Lee and is wife are as charming a pair as any in the colony and his work as a clothier is fine. I had him make me a pair of trousers and they fit like a glove and are damned comfortable.
Charlie is just annoyed that they get to spend Sundays without the joy of hearing him spouting forth with his unique mixture of banalities and long-windedness. Personally I cannot help but feel that if being Jewish means not having to hear Charlie Howard preach then I may yet convert. Circumcision seems a very small sacrifice.
We continue to settle in to our beachside accommodation and keep discovering new hidey holes. My particular favourite is the space between the billiard table and the upturned chaise longue and I have taken to having my morning cup of tea there.
I received a letter this week from His Nibs Angas who writes to let me know of the possibility of Silesian settlers traveling to our colony and asking what I think of this.
It would appear that they are devout followers of Martin Luther and are arguing with other devout followers of Martin Luther about what ought to go in their prayer book. It seems that it is bare knuckles and no holds barred over some triviality or other regarding the wording of the Eucharist Service.
I must say it evidences great piety in these Lutherans that they exercise their concentration enough during the service to even notice the wording if the Eucharist Service. Charles "Light Fingers" Howard (the sail thief) could probably recite verses of "The Jolly Tinker" during Communion and no-one would notice for all the attention they pay him.
Be that as it may, these Prussians are looking to head somewhere they can use the prayerbook of their choice and having been turned down flat in Russia and America have set their eyes on Adelaide as a last resort. It appears that Angas is of the opinion that they are just what the colony needs - industrious, pious and of good character - and God knows we have few enough of that sort here already. He also tells me that they make excellent sauerkraut and this, it seems, is meant to endear them to me!
Angas asks me what I think should be done and for myself I think he can put them where the monkey put the nuts. If they are so ready to argue amongst themselves about something as piddling as where the commas go in the creed, do we really need them out here mixing with the likes of Fisher and Brown, who see in-fighting as a casual recreation?
And they make wine. Heaven help us if they meet up with old Spongeguts Gilles, whose drunken rages are becoming the talk of the town.
However, all this, I fear, is not what Angas wants to hear and a good maxim in this life is "When Angas asks, give him the answer he desires." So of course I will write and say "Goodness me, Mr Angas! What a splendid notion! What a clever man you are!"
Anyway, these sauerkrauters still need to negotiate with the Company for passage, still need to receive permission to leave Prussia from the Emperor and still need to arrange ships and travel, so even if all goes smoothly (and what are the odds?) if they are here inside of a twelvemonth I shall be astonished.
I am regularly astonished by matters of this sort. The Dissenting sects breed, divide and flourish with a luxuriance not seen outside the jungles of Java.
Only the other day I inadvertently gave, it seems, great offence to a chap who described himself as "A Baptist" in matters of religion. I mentioned the name of another settler who similarly described himself. My companion flew into a high rage and announced that he was a Particular Baptist whilst the other was a General Baptist and did I have the temerity to suggest that they might have aught in common? I might have thought that, with the total number of those answering to the name "Baptist"of any sort (man, woman an child) probably numbering less than thirty in the colony , the last thing they could afford to do was squabble amongst themselves. Instead they divide and divide again into ever smaller cabals.
And really, do not start me on the Weslyans. Every ten minutes there seems to be a new variety. Weslyans, Methodists, Primitive Methodists, Not so Primitive Weslyans, Reformed Weslyans, Not Quite so Reformed Methodists. And none of them talking to the others and all of them claiming to be the only right one. They might dissent from the established church, but they all have a strong distaste for each other. I'll give a guinea to anyone who can properly explain the difference between them.
And then, not content with arguing amongst themselves they start in on other religions.
Howard the Master Criminal expressed to me his concern that we had in the colony a family of what he rather coyly referred to as "a descendant of Abraham" and what would we do to "bring them to the light". By which he means - in his mealy mouthed way - we have a Jewish family in the colony and Charlie wants to convert them and get them into his own congregation.
Silly bugger! Jew or not, Phillip Lee and is wife are as charming a pair as any in the colony and his work as a clothier is fine. I had him make me a pair of trousers and they fit like a glove and are damned comfortable.
Charlie is just annoyed that they get to spend Sundays without the joy of hearing him spouting forth with his unique mixture of banalities and long-windedness. Personally I cannot help but feel that if being Jewish means not having to hear Charlie Howard preach then I may yet convert. Circumcision seems a very small sacrifice.
Tuesday, 31 December 2013
Sunday, 9th April, 1837
Word came to me during the week that made all as clear as crystal.
Last week the Buffalo topsail disappeared during the night to the puzzlement of all.
This week the Reverend Charles Beaumont Howard set up his church in the settlement of Adelaide, intending to bring succour and spiritual nourishment to the people. His church, I discovered today, consists of a ship's sail strung up between trees. A SHIP'S SAIL!!!
The miserable thieving mongrel son of a whore! I'll give him succour! He'll need to suck his food through a tube by the time I get through with him!
This morning at service, as I sat under the pilfered canvas the little gobshite had the unmitigated gall to give an interminable sermon on 1 Timothy 2:1-4 "I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men; 2 For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.3 For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour; 4 Who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth."
Pray for those in authority so we may live a quiet life of honesty? Honesty? Clearly the man knows nothing of it! A quiet life is just what he won't be having, the larcenous bitch's bastard
I sat seething throughout his sermon while all around me slept on, my temper not helped by the warm temperature, the flies and the sunshine. Because, whether by accident or design - thought I suspect the latter - my Vice Regal chair was placed directly beneath a hole in the sail, meaning that while everyone else could doze in the shade, I had the sun beating down on me full force.
After the service was finished Howard approached me and asked what I thought of his improvised shelter. "The view of God's own nature", he simpered. "So much finer than any stained glass in the great cathedrals of Europe."
I simply grunted at him then said: "Perhaps next week you tell us what you think about 1 Thessalonians 5:2?"
He thought for a moment then recalled the verse. "For yourselves know perfectly that the day of the Lord so cometh as a thief in the night. A splendid verse."
"Isn't it?" I hissed menacingly. "Or perhaps Zephaniah 1:9?"
This one had him stumped, so I took the victory.
"In the same day also will I punish all those that leap on the threshold, which fill their masters' houses with violence and deceit."
And with that I left the hypocrite to wallow in his depravity and turpitude.
I have heard reports that the swine had an accomplice in Osmond Moneybags Gilles.The two of them were seen loading the sail onto a handcart and then pushing and dragging the thing up the track from Holdfast Bay to the town. It was a stinking hot day and I hope it nearly killed them.
No doubt Howard got Gilles, the poor old duffer, suitably marinated in order to get him to help, tempting him like the serpent in Eden.
The man is a bounder and a thief and I shall ensure that his life is a living Hell.
Sunday, 29 December 2013
Sunday, 2nd April, 1837
Difficult as it is to imagine, but the Marines sunk to new lows this past week.
For some weeks now I have been aware that there has been resentment simmering between them and William Williams, the part time policeman appointed by Gilbert. Their feeling was that Gilbert and Williams (or "Billy Bill" as they refer to him) were encroaching on the Marines' duties and responsibilities.
Sergeant Strugnell told me that: "It's us that's meant to be the peacekeepers, sir. Not some popinjay with a pea shooter and a letter opener." The which curious allusion referred to the pistols and swords conferred upon Williams by Gilbert upon his taking the job on. I did point out to the sergeant that most disturbances of the peace in the Colony seemed to be caused, not rectified, by his Marines, but he replied that people needed to make allowances for their youth. "They have spirit, sir"
Indeed they do - bottle after bottle of it.
But when Gilbert appointed young Bob Hill to the post of Assistant High Constable, the Marines could scarce contain themselves in their derision of "Bill and the Hill".
Things came to a head earlier this week when several Marines, emboldened by brandy and the encouragement of the equally shickered Coromandel escapees they were guarding, set off to determine the matter once and for all.
Unfortunately for Hill and Williams it happened to be the one day on their monthly schedule that they were on duty together and the Marines found them at the Paddy will Linger Lagoon giving people the benefit of their impersonation of comedy policemen. "'Ello 'ello. What's all this then?"
Of course a fight soon broke out, though not between the Constabulary and the Military. It appears that the Marines disagreed between themselves as to whether Hill or Williams was the bigger son of a bitch's bastard and fell to work pugilising each other to prove their point.
At this point Williams made the stupid error of trying to intervene.
I don't blame him, but I do point out that a more experienced man might well have stood back and allowed the situation to resolve itself as the Marines pummeled each other into unconsciousness.
But intervene he did and, as a result, I cannot help but feel that much of the responsibility for what happened is his alone.
It seems that he began by foolishly blowing a whistle, thus attracting the attention of the Marines. Fortunately the whistle was on a lanyard, which gave the surgeon who later pulled the thing out something to grip.
Having attracted the attention of the brutes Williams and Hill did not take the obvious course of action and run like hell. Instead they attempted to subdue the Marines and place them under arrest, with the result that Williams received a black eye and was then folded up like a Bavarian pretzel; Hill was knocked unconscious from a blow to the head with a handy cast iron skillet and a perfectly good whistle on a lanyard was nearly lost for good.
In fact, if it hadn't have been for the intervention of Charlie Mann, Advocate General and welter weight champion, the whole thing could have turned particularly ugly.
Mann flattened the Marines with one or two swipes, gathered them up under his arm and returned them to the shore. They have now joined the Coromandel prisoners they were meant to be guarding for a short stay on the other side of the bars.
Once Hill could remember his name he promptly resigned from the position of Assistant Constable, saying that when he signed on he had thought the job was to be mainly ceremonial.
Williams has been unfolded and is due to return to solid food shortly.
Still, there's always a silver lining. Several witnesses have reported that they have never heard a sound quite so lovely as the muffled, melancholy tone of the whistle, which sounded each time Williams broke wind.
A most strange occurrence this week, when it was discovered that the topsail from the Buffalo had disappeared during the night.
Things like a topsail don't just vanish by themselves and so I can only conclude that it was, in point of fact, stolen.
My daughter Susan has told me that she suspects it was stolen by thieves, so clearly the mystery is as good as solved with her on the case.
But I cannot work out how it was done. A topsail weighs a goodly sum as any AB who has had to hoist one aloft will tell you. So I cannot help but think it was the work of two or even three interlopers. And then, having got the thing off the Buffalo they then had to get it ashore. And all the while they had to go about their nefarious deed while several marines, several of the Buffalo crew (the rest live ashore), the Coromandel prisoners (Jeffcott hears their case on Tuesday) and my family and me all slept undisturbed,
Now I admit, the Marines couldn't spot a turd in taffeta, the crew were almost certainly in a drunken stupour and the prisoners probably lent a hand. But Mrs Hindmarsh can hear a Marine slip loose a silent fart when she is at the far end of the ship in order to admonish him, so how the thieves managed to lug a sail over the side without her hearing I do not know.
And then, having acquired this great wad of coarse canvas there remains the question "Why?" A great lump of weather worn canvas... why would anyone want it? Once again Susan had the answer. "Perhaps the thieves wanted to make curtains."
Tis mystery all - both the topsail and the way my daughter thinks.
We finally prepare to say farewell to the Buffalo this week. I will sign command over to Captain Wood at the end of the month and this week we headed ashore to find the house the Marines have built for my family and me on the shores of the lagoon.
For the past few weeks the Buffalo crew and the Marines have been engaged, whenever there was a free moment in their busy daily programme, (a jest!) in moving furniture and effects belonging to me from the ship to the shore.
It would seem that at no point when building our new residence did they considered that the furniture might need to go inside the house and still leave room for people.
What they have given us is one large room and an outhouse, built of wood, reeds, wooden packing cases and drift wood, all plastered with mud. From what I can see they piled all our furniture and effects together and then constructed (I use the term loosely) the walls around them. How else to explain the irregular shape of the floor plan and crazy angles of the walls? Certainly we will need to pull the walls down in order to move our furnishings out when the time comes.
Since we are unable to move the furniture without tearing down the building, we have had to do the best we can as to find places to sleep and to live.
The girls have set up a boudoir inside the Linen Press and young Johnny has found a bedroom inside the pianoforte. The strings, he says form a quite comfortable mattress.
Mrs Hindmarsh and I have found our bed, but it has the dining room table siting on it. However, but by draping a mosquito net over the table we have created something like a four poster bed. As long as one does not roll over too quickly in bed and hit the table's central wooden pillar it is quite comfortable. And the central pillar does form a barrier between Mrs Hindmarsh and myself, so we both feel reassured.
There are no cooking and washing facilities, so Widow Harvey has had to do all the meals outside; the which, no doubt, will suffice during the Summer, but if the winter months prove rainy then she will have a damp time of it. I refuse to have the mad poisoner sleep in here with us. She would need to sleep in the sideboard for one thing and the thought of sharing a bedroom her does not allure me. As a result she is currently sleeping in the outhouse which naturally brings other problems to the fore when one of us wishes to avail themselves of the facilities.
But seriously, if this is the job the Marines do of the "temporary residence", then God's bollocks, what sort of hatchet job will they make of Government House?
Of course the Marines came to me to ask what I thought of their work in building for me and they looked at me like a little puppy that had bought back a dead rat and laid it at my feet and expected a "well done". Of course I should have given them the dressing down of a lifetime. but really, they looked at me with such innocent stupidity that I had to let it go.
For some weeks now I have been aware that there has been resentment simmering between them and William Williams, the part time policeman appointed by Gilbert. Their feeling was that Gilbert and Williams (or "Billy Bill" as they refer to him) were encroaching on the Marines' duties and responsibilities.
Sergeant Strugnell told me that: "It's us that's meant to be the peacekeepers, sir. Not some popinjay with a pea shooter and a letter opener." The which curious allusion referred to the pistols and swords conferred upon Williams by Gilbert upon his taking the job on. I did point out to the sergeant that most disturbances of the peace in the Colony seemed to be caused, not rectified, by his Marines, but he replied that people needed to make allowances for their youth. "They have spirit, sir"
Indeed they do - bottle after bottle of it.
But when Gilbert appointed young Bob Hill to the post of Assistant High Constable, the Marines could scarce contain themselves in their derision of "Bill and the Hill".
Things came to a head earlier this week when several Marines, emboldened by brandy and the encouragement of the equally shickered Coromandel escapees they were guarding, set off to determine the matter once and for all.
Unfortunately for Hill and Williams it happened to be the one day on their monthly schedule that they were on duty together and the Marines found them at the Paddy will Linger Lagoon giving people the benefit of their impersonation of comedy policemen. "'Ello 'ello. What's all this then?"
Of course a fight soon broke out, though not between the Constabulary and the Military. It appears that the Marines disagreed between themselves as to whether Hill or Williams was the bigger son of a bitch's bastard and fell to work pugilising each other to prove their point.
At this point Williams made the stupid error of trying to intervene.
I don't blame him, but I do point out that a more experienced man might well have stood back and allowed the situation to resolve itself as the Marines pummeled each other into unconsciousness.
But intervene he did and, as a result, I cannot help but feel that much of the responsibility for what happened is his alone.
It seems that he began by foolishly blowing a whistle, thus attracting the attention of the Marines. Fortunately the whistle was on a lanyard, which gave the surgeon who later pulled the thing out something to grip.
Having attracted the attention of the brutes Williams and Hill did not take the obvious course of action and run like hell. Instead they attempted to subdue the Marines and place them under arrest, with the result that Williams received a black eye and was then folded up like a Bavarian pretzel; Hill was knocked unconscious from a blow to the head with a handy cast iron skillet and a perfectly good whistle on a lanyard was nearly lost for good.
In fact, if it hadn't have been for the intervention of Charlie Mann, Advocate General and welter weight champion, the whole thing could have turned particularly ugly.
Mann flattened the Marines with one or two swipes, gathered them up under his arm and returned them to the shore. They have now joined the Coromandel prisoners they were meant to be guarding for a short stay on the other side of the bars.
Once Hill could remember his name he promptly resigned from the position of Assistant Constable, saying that when he signed on he had thought the job was to be mainly ceremonial.
Williams has been unfolded and is due to return to solid food shortly.
Still, there's always a silver lining. Several witnesses have reported that they have never heard a sound quite so lovely as the muffled, melancholy tone of the whistle, which sounded each time Williams broke wind.
A most strange occurrence this week, when it was discovered that the topsail from the Buffalo had disappeared during the night.
Things like a topsail don't just vanish by themselves and so I can only conclude that it was, in point of fact, stolen.
My daughter Susan has told me that she suspects it was stolen by thieves, so clearly the mystery is as good as solved with her on the case.
But I cannot work out how it was done. A topsail weighs a goodly sum as any AB who has had to hoist one aloft will tell you. So I cannot help but think it was the work of two or even three interlopers. And then, having got the thing off the Buffalo they then had to get it ashore. And all the while they had to go about their nefarious deed while several marines, several of the Buffalo crew (the rest live ashore), the Coromandel prisoners (Jeffcott hears their case on Tuesday) and my family and me all slept undisturbed,
Now I admit, the Marines couldn't spot a turd in taffeta, the crew were almost certainly in a drunken stupour and the prisoners probably lent a hand. But Mrs Hindmarsh can hear a Marine slip loose a silent fart when she is at the far end of the ship in order to admonish him, so how the thieves managed to lug a sail over the side without her hearing I do not know.
And then, having acquired this great wad of coarse canvas there remains the question "Why?" A great lump of weather worn canvas... why would anyone want it? Once again Susan had the answer. "Perhaps the thieves wanted to make curtains."
Tis mystery all - both the topsail and the way my daughter thinks.
We finally prepare to say farewell to the Buffalo this week. I will sign command over to Captain Wood at the end of the month and this week we headed ashore to find the house the Marines have built for my family and me on the shores of the lagoon.
For the past few weeks the Buffalo crew and the Marines have been engaged, whenever there was a free moment in their busy daily programme, (a jest!) in moving furniture and effects belonging to me from the ship to the shore.
It would seem that at no point when building our new residence did they considered that the furniture might need to go inside the house and still leave room for people.
What they have given us is one large room and an outhouse, built of wood, reeds, wooden packing cases and drift wood, all plastered with mud. From what I can see they piled all our furniture and effects together and then constructed (I use the term loosely) the walls around them. How else to explain the irregular shape of the floor plan and crazy angles of the walls? Certainly we will need to pull the walls down in order to move our furnishings out when the time comes.
Since we are unable to move the furniture without tearing down the building, we have had to do the best we can as to find places to sleep and to live.
The girls have set up a boudoir inside the Linen Press and young Johnny has found a bedroom inside the pianoforte. The strings, he says form a quite comfortable mattress.
Mrs Hindmarsh and I have found our bed, but it has the dining room table siting on it. However, but by draping a mosquito net over the table we have created something like a four poster bed. As long as one does not roll over too quickly in bed and hit the table's central wooden pillar it is quite comfortable. And the central pillar does form a barrier between Mrs Hindmarsh and myself, so we both feel reassured.
There are no cooking and washing facilities, so Widow Harvey has had to do all the meals outside; the which, no doubt, will suffice during the Summer, but if the winter months prove rainy then she will have a damp time of it. I refuse to have the mad poisoner sleep in here with us. She would need to sleep in the sideboard for one thing and the thought of sharing a bedroom her does not allure me. As a result she is currently sleeping in the outhouse which naturally brings other problems to the fore when one of us wishes to avail themselves of the facilities.
But seriously, if this is the job the Marines do of the "temporary residence", then God's bollocks, what sort of hatchet job will they make of Government House?
Of course the Marines came to me to ask what I thought of their work in building for me and they looked at me like a little puppy that had bought back a dead rat and laid it at my feet and expected a "well done". Of course I should have given them the dressing down of a lifetime. but really, they looked at me with such innocent stupidity that I had to let it go.
Sunday, 15 December 2013
Monday, 27th March, 1837
What a week it has been. So exciting that I have been unable to write my usual Sunday night summary of the week and have had to put off its writing until this Monday evening.
On Wednesday last the Council gathered at Light's cottage for his unveiling of the city plan. We all dutifully "oohed" and "ahhed" at the thing, while Whatshisface Kingston pointed out the bits that were his idea and everyone ignored him.
No doubt the plan is a good one and will suffice, but there are rather too many boxes for my liking. "More curves," I kept telling him, but Light (as usual) seems to have done exactly what he wanted. I suspect the influence of Light's housekeeper, Miss Gandy in this. It is rumoured that she gave Light an engraved ruler and set square last Christmas and insisted in his using of it throughout his work on the plan.
Still, we all congratulated the Colonel, slapped him on the back and I made a small speech saying, "You've all done very well", or some such tomfoolery. Buggerlugs Kingston spent the rest of the afternoon telling all who would listen (and that number was few) that "His Excellency said that I had done well." Vulgar little oik.
The next day those of us who had purchased land back in England returned to what, I suppose, must now be called the intersection of the Northern and Western Terraces and the Port Road for the allocation of purchased acres.
It had been decided by Fisher that the fairest way of going about this would be to put all the numbers of the available acres in a hat and then each landowner to take turns in pulling out a number which would then be recorded in the Company Ledger.
The whole thing seemed rather undignified and smacked a little of the Lucky Sticks stall at a Country Fair and I said so in no uncertain terms. Stephens, damn him, had the gall to make some comment about me being too grand to condescend to attend country fairs and warm words were exchanged between us. I believe I may have suggested that no country fair allow him attendance lest he turn it into a drunken orgy and he seemed to take exception to this. I might have also suggested that he could get yet another wife through the lucky sticks since he seemed to not be too fussy about who he married and this too was not received well. At length he calmed down and since there seemed to be no other choice available we agreed to this Cheapjack affair.
Of course, Fisher bollocksed the whole thing by not having a hat set by, but to no-one's surprise Whod'yamaycallhim Kingston pressed forward eagerly shouting "You can use my hat! Use mine!" The man was born in Ireland I believe, which explains a great deal.
Someone - I believe Brown - made the pretty comment that over five hundred numbered papers fitting in Kingston's hat proves what a bighead he is and all agreed.
In the event the draw of numbers was quite exciting and all who took part agreed that it was a fair way of dealing with the matter. Although Fisher, who wrote out the numbers, seems to have done particularly well, causing some to suggest that he marked the backs of the acres he specially wanted. I make no judgemental comment, but such sneaking and deceit would certainly not be beyond the wiles of the loathesome bastard.
Today we finally had the sale of unallocated town acres and great was the excitement. All week there were rumours of bargains to be had; of the South Australia Company being short of money and unable to meet its financial obligations and hence being forced to sell off vast swathes of land at knockdown prices. As a result of these rumours, the land sale was overflowing with people of the less wealthy sort, hoping to strike a bargain.
It seemed to me that this could only go in the favour of those of the better class of buyer, If the sale was full of bidders bidding at rock bottom then those with a copious supply of coin of the realm would need only bid what was, to them, a modest price in order to be the winning bidder. Hence, those who were at the sale hoping to buy land for next to nothing would be sure to be disappointed, whilst those who could afford to pay a realistic price might well pay less that they expected.
That, at least, was my thinking when I started the rumours.
In the event the sale went wonderfully well. Several hundred settlers gathered outside Mr Fisher's hut, some arriving the night before and camping out in order to be the better able to bid for prime lots. I am informed that Fisher was not best pleased when, at about three in the morning, some seventy settlers began singing songs of a bawdy and comic nature at his front door, like dirty minded carol singers. No doubt his herd of children discovered some new words with which to enliven their conversation.
To add to the misery, in the morning Widow Harvey arrived on the back of the Company dray, having travelled up from the Bay during the night. She was offering to supply the assembled settlers with breakfast and had made pies to try and sell from the cart. This had the twin effects of driving people in to the sale and also ensuring that the notion of a "pie cart" will never catch on in Adelaide.
Mrs Hindmarsh and the girls with their ceaseless preparations meant that we did not leave Holdfast Bay in good time. I had informed Fisher that the sale was not to start until my arrival and I thought I detected an air of some impatience when I entered the sale at about eleven.
I detected also an air of disappointment when the lower orders realised that the knock me down bargains that had been rumoured were not to be had and there was a deal of muttering and grumbling which I thought most ill humoured and impolite. Really, if people are so foolish as to believe every baseless rumour they hear they have no-one to blame but themselves.
Though let me add, I am gladdened that they do believe every baseless rumour they hear. Otherwise, what would be the point of starting them?
The outcome of the sale was that, for an outlay of just under 75 pounds, I am now the owner of a fair portion of North Adelaide and some delightful acres in the southern section as well. Add these to the acres I bought before leaving England and the country acres to which I am entitled once Light finishes his survey and I have become owner of a swathe of land that will, I do not doubt, increase in value manyfold.
I see this as some small recompense for the trials of Governing the colony and her people. If I have to put up with them I might as profit from them.
On Wednesday last the Council gathered at Light's cottage for his unveiling of the city plan. We all dutifully "oohed" and "ahhed" at the thing, while Whatshisface Kingston pointed out the bits that were his idea and everyone ignored him.
No doubt the plan is a good one and will suffice, but there are rather too many boxes for my liking. "More curves," I kept telling him, but Light (as usual) seems to have done exactly what he wanted. I suspect the influence of Light's housekeeper, Miss Gandy in this. It is rumoured that she gave Light an engraved ruler and set square last Christmas and insisted in his using of it throughout his work on the plan.
Still, we all congratulated the Colonel, slapped him on the back and I made a small speech saying, "You've all done very well", or some such tomfoolery. Buggerlugs Kingston spent the rest of the afternoon telling all who would listen (and that number was few) that "His Excellency said that I had done well." Vulgar little oik.
The next day those of us who had purchased land back in England returned to what, I suppose, must now be called the intersection of the Northern and Western Terraces and the Port Road for the allocation of purchased acres.
It had been decided by Fisher that the fairest way of going about this would be to put all the numbers of the available acres in a hat and then each landowner to take turns in pulling out a number which would then be recorded in the Company Ledger.
The whole thing seemed rather undignified and smacked a little of the Lucky Sticks stall at a Country Fair and I said so in no uncertain terms. Stephens, damn him, had the gall to make some comment about me being too grand to condescend to attend country fairs and warm words were exchanged between us. I believe I may have suggested that no country fair allow him attendance lest he turn it into a drunken orgy and he seemed to take exception to this. I might have also suggested that he could get yet another wife through the lucky sticks since he seemed to not be too fussy about who he married and this too was not received well. At length he calmed down and since there seemed to be no other choice available we agreed to this Cheapjack affair.
Of course, Fisher bollocksed the whole thing by not having a hat set by, but to no-one's surprise Whod'yamaycallhim Kingston pressed forward eagerly shouting "You can use my hat! Use mine!" The man was born in Ireland I believe, which explains a great deal.
Someone - I believe Brown - made the pretty comment that over five hundred numbered papers fitting in Kingston's hat proves what a bighead he is and all agreed.
In the event the draw of numbers was quite exciting and all who took part agreed that it was a fair way of dealing with the matter. Although Fisher, who wrote out the numbers, seems to have done particularly well, causing some to suggest that he marked the backs of the acres he specially wanted. I make no judgemental comment, but such sneaking and deceit would certainly not be beyond the wiles of the loathesome bastard.
Today we finally had the sale of unallocated town acres and great was the excitement. All week there were rumours of bargains to be had; of the South Australia Company being short of money and unable to meet its financial obligations and hence being forced to sell off vast swathes of land at knockdown prices. As a result of these rumours, the land sale was overflowing with people of the less wealthy sort, hoping to strike a bargain.
It seemed to me that this could only go in the favour of those of the better class of buyer, If the sale was full of bidders bidding at rock bottom then those with a copious supply of coin of the realm would need only bid what was, to them, a modest price in order to be the winning bidder. Hence, those who were at the sale hoping to buy land for next to nothing would be sure to be disappointed, whilst those who could afford to pay a realistic price might well pay less that they expected.
That, at least, was my thinking when I started the rumours.
In the event the sale went wonderfully well. Several hundred settlers gathered outside Mr Fisher's hut, some arriving the night before and camping out in order to be the better able to bid for prime lots. I am informed that Fisher was not best pleased when, at about three in the morning, some seventy settlers began singing songs of a bawdy and comic nature at his front door, like dirty minded carol singers. No doubt his herd of children discovered some new words with which to enliven their conversation.
To add to the misery, in the morning Widow Harvey arrived on the back of the Company dray, having travelled up from the Bay during the night. She was offering to supply the assembled settlers with breakfast and had made pies to try and sell from the cart. This had the twin effects of driving people in to the sale and also ensuring that the notion of a "pie cart" will never catch on in Adelaide.
Mrs Hindmarsh and the girls with their ceaseless preparations meant that we did not leave Holdfast Bay in good time. I had informed Fisher that the sale was not to start until my arrival and I thought I detected an air of some impatience when I entered the sale at about eleven.
I detected also an air of disappointment when the lower orders realised that the knock me down bargains that had been rumoured were not to be had and there was a deal of muttering and grumbling which I thought most ill humoured and impolite. Really, if people are so foolish as to believe every baseless rumour they hear they have no-one to blame but themselves.
Though let me add, I am gladdened that they do believe every baseless rumour they hear. Otherwise, what would be the point of starting them?
The outcome of the sale was that, for an outlay of just under 75 pounds, I am now the owner of a fair portion of North Adelaide and some delightful acres in the southern section as well. Add these to the acres I bought before leaving England and the country acres to which I am entitled once Light finishes his survey and I have become owner of a swathe of land that will, I do not doubt, increase in value manyfold.
I see this as some small recompense for the trials of Governing the colony and her people. If I have to put up with them I might as profit from them.
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