Sunday 8th January, 1837

Colonel Light this week began the surveying of the city acres. He has established a base line for the survey practically at the door of his cottage, which means either that he built the cottage to be near the baseline or else the entire city of Adelaide is sited where it is because Light wanted a few extra minutes in bed.

I am perfectly happy with the site Colonel Will has selected, although I could wish that he had placed it nearer to the ports and have suggested to him that he consider moving it either further down the Port Road, further down the Holdfast Bay Road or further down the river.

Light has pooh poohed all of these ideas, all for reasons that he makes sound convincing, or at least leave me befuddled, but I am not sure that the distance from the ports will not be an insuperable difficulty.

Mrs Hindmarsh has her own doubts. She is making a great deal of noise about Boston Bay and the views, even though both Light and I have tried to make the impractical nature of the suggestion clear to her. Of course word has got around and now it is said that I am being difficult and want the capital moved back to the Spencer's Gulph.

To top it all Mrs Hindmarsh was looking through some papers - probably looking for government letters for the cat TInkles to piss on (Satan's own hellish familiar. I refer to the cat, not Mrs Hindmarsh. Although...) - and has found a report from Captain Sturt about the mouth of the River Murray in which he gave a favourable view of the lakes he found there.

So now, of course, she has set her cap on the idea of a capital by the sea.

Charles Sturt

Based on a report by Sturt. Sturt! The man is a buffoon! As an explorer I wouldn't have trusted Sturt to find his own arse with both hands and a map to guide him. He was late for the Battle of Waterloo because he took a wrong turning at Bruges and ended up at Antwerp.

His great achievement was floating down a river and getting to the sea. Well, a block of wood can do that! All he had to do was sit tight and not turn left or right. Although one of the soldiers who was with Sturt told a friend of mine that every morning the great explorer needed reminding which way was downstream.

And this is the man on whom my wife is basing the future hopes of the colony. Well, my rule in marriage is "Anything for a quiet life" so I suppose I must send Light in his "Rapide" down to Encounter Bay so that he can tell my wife why Sturt  is a bollocks and his report is not worth a wet fart.

Mr Stephens, the Colonial Manager has, it seems been causing some commotion at Kingscote.

Not the most practical of men and promoted to a position where practicality might be considered by most a requisite .

Samuel Stephens

A liking for drink, coupled with a liking for selling it to others is one rumour. There are, I fear, others.

His plan to introduce South Australia Company banknotes as a stop gap measure has not been well thought through.

To start with, just getting some paper, cutting it up into banknote sized pieces and writing "This is worth sixpence" on it in pencil does not automatically turn the paper into money.

Second, the currency of England has "payable upon demand" printed on it and you really are able to stroll into the Bank of England, plonk down your ten pound note and demand ten pounds worth of gold. The colony is lucky if it could afford ten pence worth of gold at present and Mr Stephens writing "Payable if you're lucky" on the notes, whilst accurate, does not set a proper tone,

His plan for every tenth bank note to have "Toss you for it, Double or Nothing" written on it might be ingenious, but is not, I feel, advisable.

Mr Stephen's Banknote

Fortunately he is an employee of the South Australian Company and hence not my problem, but I cannot help but feel that when the excrement hits the punkah it'll be muggins here who gets to clear up the mess.

Colonel William Light - My Thoughts on the Man

Colonel William Light, Colonial Surveyor-General and generally all round good sort.

His father was old mad Frances Light, who did sterling service for the East India Co. securing Penang and its trade for Britain and, of course, stopping the French from getting a toe hold. It goes without saying that he went completely native while he did it and was generally rated as pretty much doolally, but chacun a son gout.

Light was, it seems, born in Penang and always claims that his mother was a Princess, the daughter of the Sultan. Well, believe that if you want, but from what I know of his father I rather suspect that she was of a much lower station, perhaps even in trade. Exactly which trade I would rather not say, but.... Well, there we are.

Even now, in his '50s Light cuts a dashing figure and in his earlier days, when he was rushing around Europe with Wellington, fighting at Waterloo and getting wounded at Corunna he must have been quite the ladies man.

He is, he tells us, of medium height, though the general opinion is "shortarse". His face is clean shaven excepting closely cut side whiskers, of which he is, it must be said, excessively vain and spends much time combing. He has salt and pepper curly hair, alert and handsome brown eyes, straight nose, small mouth, and shapely chin. Dear me - now I am sounding like I've been at sea too long, but he is - or at least has been in his youth - a good looking man.

Two minor points must be made. One is that once you realise that the man's mother was a Malayan native of some sort then it is hard to look at Light and not see something something slightly Asiatic about his features. Now I have known enough foreigners in my time who have been of great worth and believe my ideas to be sufficiently modern to be above judging a man because of his descent - unless, naturally, he is French - but I understand that Light's bearing the marks of the Orient about his features has been a burden to him in the past. As a Port Admiral I knew once said to me "If a man isn't all white he just isn't all right". And I know for a fact that Light, for all his talents, has had to push against that sort of nonsense all his life.

The second point is one no-one will even begin to talk about. The man's right leg is longer than his left. No-one ever mentions it and I would not to his face either, but it is true. There is a portrait of him in his younger days from his own hand (Editor's Note: Reproduced above) that quite clearly shows this oddity. I have heard tell that people say that this is simply a product of Light's amateur status as a painter, but no! the man is a trained draughtsman and an accomplished and published watercolourist. If he has drawn himself with one leg longer than the other then I think that is proof positive.

As far as his planning of the Capital is concerned I have no complaints regarding the surveying and planning of the land. He was efficient and effective, even with the hindrance of cotton headed staff like that man Kingston (Nota Bene: do find out his name)

However his plan for the city is not beyond criticism I fear.

When he first showed it to me I did say that I found it all a bit straight. The thing I love about London is the curved streets, the odd corners, the byways as well as the highways. Well Light's plan clearly has none of those, being all grids and boxes. I know Georgetown in the Sultanate of Kedah, which was laid out by his father, is similar in plan and I cannot help but feel a bit of competition with Daddy is evident (I nearly wrote envydent).

Everything in Light's plan revolves around four boxes - a big one south of the river and three smaller ones at an angle to each other north of the river. And within those boxes are more boxes, and squares and right angles and NOT A DAMNED CURVE ANYWHERE TO BE SEEN!

Even the eastern boundary of the city, which follows the CURVING line of a stream is not a CURVING road, but is laid out in right angles.

The road to the port is dead straight, as if he put one end of a ruler on the city and one end on the port and ran his pencil along it. In fact, I suspect that this is exactly what happened.

The road to Holdfast Bay would probably be the same except that he had to get it over two watercourses, so the road is dead straight between where the crossings are and so has two bends in it. Not curves, just bends.

There is a rumour that for Christmas 1836 Light's Housekeeper, Miss Gandy, gave him a new drawing set, consisting of a milled steel ruler and a set square and he felt obliged to use them when drawing up the city. In fact, some would have it that she stood at his shoulder making sure that he was using them. December 25th - receives a new ruler and set square. December 30th - begins drawing up plans for a city made up entirely of straight lines and right angles... well, I keep my own counsel.

I must also comment on his plan to have half the city on one side of the river and the other half on the other side on a hill. I don't think he's quite thought through how people are going to cross the river and get up the hill. There is a ford, but one ford is not going to carry all the traffic that can be expected as the city grows. A far from practical arrangement. I see bridges in the future and that means money (that we don't have).

The Colonel tells me that he intends to ensure that the main thoroughfare of the town will be wide enough to allow a bullock dray to perform a complete about face turn and go back the way it came. He tells me this as if it is a good thing, but I cannot help but ask why he expects the township to be infested with bullock drivers with no sense of direction. Or are bullock drivers, in Light's experience, notoriously indecisive? In either case I cannot see how a main street littered with turning bullock carts blocking the way is an advantage.

The man has been far from well of late and has started spitting blood, which he claims to be the result of poor dental hygiene, but the which I cannot help feel is the result of a consumption. Still, as long as this doesn't interfere with his work, I suppose I can put up with it if he can.

A word or two must be said about his private household arrangements.

When he arrived in the Colony - one of the first to arrive - he brought with him a young lady, a Maria Gandy, daughter of a Sea Captain in, I believe, Bedfordshire (though this last may be wrong) to act as his housekeeper.

There are those in the colony (my wife among them) who believe that the young lady does considerably more than darn Colonel Light's socks and I find her labelled as everything from his common law wife to his mistress.

Good God! The poor man is over 50 and unwell and the girl is just 23 or there abouts. I for one cannot believe that after a busy day of surveying and coughing blood poor Light races home with nothing but love on his mind. In his condition I am surprised if he stays awake long enough even to say hello.

And whilst it is true that he was a lady's man and a handsome devil in his day, I cannot believe that a pretty young girl of 23 summers would see an oldish man past his prime, and unwell to boot, as a great catch. Not when she could have her pick of just about any of the young eligible bachelors in the town.

But because they live in a simple cottage down by the river with nothing but a hung blanket between them at night some people have difficulty believing that Light is not getting either his short leg or his long leg over on a regular basis.

Certainly Charlie Howard has harrumphed about it on a number of occasions and has even gone to the extent of preaching sermons about the sanctity of marriage including one mighty sermon on Hebrews 13:4: Marriage is honourable in all, and the bed undefiled: but whoremongers and adulterers God will judge. where he worked himself up into a quite a lather for over an hour and probably needed a cup of tea and a good lie down afterwards. Sadly both the Colonel and Miss Gandy were absent from the service on that day, the Colonel being in the Barrossa surveying and Miss Gandy being home, probably darning his socks like she is paid to, but everyone else enjoyed themselves hugely. Still, it would not be the first time that a Churchman added one and one and arrived at seven on a moral question and it probably won't be the last.

Sunday 1st January, 1837

Barely having time to scratch myself since Wednesday. I take some time now to sit and write a little of my diary.

First thing to record is the news of the visitors we have had on board the Buffalo.

In the evening of the 28th, whilst God alone knows what drunken excesses were enacted onshore, some the crew of the Buffalo managed to bring some natives on board. At first the natives refused their invitation, no doubt fearing the worst, but when some of the crew offered to stay with the natives "as hostages" (they said; although truth to tell, I think they were just, as my daughter would say "having a nosey") two or three older natives plucked up courage and allowed themselves to be rowed out to the ship. By the time I arrived back from the Proclamation Ceremony the crew had become best of friends with these men, who were, in all probability, chiefs of the tribe.

My cabin had been raided and a bottle of wine procured and the crew were playing the concertina and teaching the natives the words to a number of bawdy songs.

Being inexperienced in the ways of the grape, the wine took greater effect on the natives than was expected, but they left the ship well pleased with us, with themselves and with life in general, though how they felt the next morning I did not hear.

 Then, the marines went on shore this afternoon with the boat to collect supplies and whilst there noticed one of the natives - a young man of perhaps twenty five or so - coming close to inspect them. For all their faults the Marines are a friendly bunch and before long, through signs and gestures, a few grunts and smiles,  they had stuck up a friendship with the man. As is the natives' way he was completely naked, so the marines came up with the idea of giving him some clothing. Of course the spare clothing was back on board the ship, one thing led to another and before you could say knife the men had the native quite happily in the boat coming alongside.

When I saw what was happening I went down to greet him and between the Marines and myself we gave him a pair of trousers and a military jacket. My sister Anne suggested that we should leave him be as nature intended and not to dress him on her account, but I rather thought not.The jacket had yellow cuffs, which seemed to please our guest no end.

We were unable to ascertain the man's name. The native tongue seems, to English ears, a gentle and rolling lilt of a language, but it is hard to even identify individual words. For all I know he may have been telling us his name all afternoon and wondering why were such dolts. And certainly when I told him, in my kindest tones, "You may address me as either "Captain Hindmarsh" or "Your Excellency" " I saw not a flicker of understanding on his part.

I gave him a guided tour of the Buffalo and he was wide eyed with astonishment the whole time. Quite clearly he had never seen anything like it. Each time we opened a door or lifted a hatch he gave a cry of amazement and had a grin go from ear to ear, so he was quite obviously enjoying himself hugely.

After this it was time for our evening meal and we made it clear that he was welcome to stay for it. Since he managed to put away a pie, salt beef, jellied tongue, baked fish and plum pudding I vouchsafe to suggest that he enjoyed himself here too. We were surprised to see that after only brief coaching from my daughters he managed a knife and fork at least as well as young Johnny - possibly better.

After dinner he stayed on and listened to Susan attempt to play some modern bollocks called "Schubert" on the piano. Since Susan does tend to play with youthful enthusiasm rather than talent I am not sure what impression he gained of the pianoforte, or indeed of modern music, but he seemed too polite to run from the room in dismay. (I am always restrained from doing so by patrial duty.) Still, I venture to say that if you have never heard a pianoforte - or indeed any European musical instrument - you are hardly in a position to draw a distinction between the good and the bad.

At the end of the evening we put him back in the boat and rowed him ashore where he hugged the marines and then disappeared off into the night.

Heaven only knows what stories he told  his friends and family when he returned to them. If we could but see ourselves through the eyes of others....

But I might suggest, a good start to relations between the natives and ourselves and long may it continue.

I must say that I suddenly find myself a slightly wealthier man than I was last Sunday. Before we left England the South Australian Company set the price of land in the new colony at 17/6 an acre and then added (bless them) "with the price to rise to 20/- an acre on the arrival of the Governor in the Colony of South Australia".

Which means that when my ten tiny toes hit the sand at Holdfast Bay land prices jumped by two shillings and sixpence.

Now if, like me, you bought about 300 acres back when the price was twelve shillings an acre, then my feet on the sand meant a considerable profit. I am about one hundred and twenty pounds to the good and other colonists who were early buyers find themselves similarly enriched. Was there ever a more profitable walk on the beach?

I have discovered a fairly understandable reason for the state in which we found Mr Gouger's tent on Wednesday. It seems that Gouger was a bachelor gay at the time, Mrs Gouger having been indisposed for several days previously. In fact she was delivered of a son in the early hours of the 29th, so it seems churlish to complain that she had left the dishes uncleared and the beds unmade.

To her credit Mrs Gouger (her husband tells me) tried to keep her cries of pain and agony to a minimum during the Council meeting - she was, it seems, in the tent next door - and later, despite the pangs of childbirth, remained almost silent during the reading of the Proclamation, which shows a thoroughly decent and respectful spirit on her part, it seems to me.

I am much gratified by the Gougers' request that I stand as Godfather to the child which request I shall, naturally, accede to.

On Thursday Mrs Hindmarsh expressed a desire to go and view the site that Colonel Light has in mind for the new settlement. First we needed to get the donkeys ashore so that we could ride them up to meet the Colonel at his campsite.

I am unsure as to whose idea it was that Mrs Hindmarsh and I share the boat with the donkeys as they came ashore, but suffice it to say it was not entirely a success. Donkeys, it seems, do not have the sense to stand still as their are rowed ashore in a dinghy. They seemed to think they were a part of the corps de ballet at Covent Garden and performed les grande jetes from one side of the dinghy to the other. They also seemed unaware of the decencies regarding movements of the bowels in public and the boat seemed in real danger of being filled to the gunwhales. Moreover, I suspect Charlie Howard has been preaching at them because they certainly knew of Isaiah 16:11 "Wherefore my bowels shall sound like an harp for Moab, and mine inward parts for Kirharesh."

What with filling the boat with turds, passing farts of a biblical nature and dancing the mazurka, the donkeys were not good company. The boat rocked violently as a result of their exertions and I am sorry to record that Mrs Hindmarsh was thrown out into the water. Well, I say I am sorry, but in point of fact I thought it quite amusing. What I am sorry to say is that I lacked the good sense not to laugh. Fortunately she was only waist deep in the surf, and in no danger of drowning, but possibly in danger of an apoplectic seizure. I knew then, and was later proved right, that I would pay for my amusement as the day went forward.

The marines waiting on shore were quick to rush to her aid, but it did not help Mrs Hindmarsh's mood when one of them attempted a touch of levity as they assisted her to the beach by observing that "There wasn't room for you and your ass in the boat, ma'am."

Oh dear.

Fortunately the morning was sunny and Mrs Hindmarsh's clothing dried out quickly. Actually, it could have been snowing in Aberdeen and the fire from Mrs Hindmarsh's fury and rage would have dried her clothes out in a trice, but let that by. We were soon mounted on the donkeys and on our way.

However, the upset in the boat, my unfortunate laughter and the Marine's subsequent comment had put Mrs Hindmarsh in a dark state of mind. She was practically silent - never a good sign - as we followed the trail that had been marked out and by the time we met with Colonel Light it was clear that she was not in any mood to be pleased by anything.

The Colonel showed us some of the features of the site and explained the advantages of the river, which even in this heat still had pools of water, the wide flat prospect, the availability of building stone, the availability of land for agriculture and so on and so forth.

I was impressed with his work and agreed that the site he has chosen has everything we need to make a fine start to the colony.

Except....

All the while I was aware of a dark presence standing behind me. Perhaps it would have been wiser to say "Get thee behind me Satan", but instead I was foolish enough to utter the fateful words "And what do you think of the Colonel's site my dear?"

And at that point the floodgates opened and Mrs Hindmarsh, who had been ominously  silent all morning, launched a tirade of invective and abuse such as Light, I imagine, has rarely heard.

"This site", she said, "has no views. It does not thrill, There is no poetry about it, no beauty."

"Only half witted men would think that such a barren place might do," she said.

"It is too far from the sea and lacks the smell of the ozone that makes such a necessary impression on the soul. But coarse fools such as you would not appreciate such things, would you?" she said.

"These excuses for hills are ludicrously small and will not do at all. Not to mention that they are too far away from where you propose to live. They simply disappoint," she said.

Then, getting her second wind, she got going well and truly.

"What you are pleased to call the river is little more than a stream choked with weeds and does not impress," she said.

"The trees are stunted, spindly, silly things that offer no shade and shelter and will need replacing with oaks and elms," she said.

"The site we saw at Boston Bay was far superior. It not only thrilled, it resonated! Such views, such a prospect, such soulful poetry! The ozone there was thick enough to cut with a knife.  Unlike this place, the bay did not disappoint," she said.

And then, with a final, withering glance at Light, she demanded, "What, if anything, were you thinking when you decided to inflict this sad and sorry excuse for a site on us?"

It was, to be sure, an awkward moment.

If the ride to visit Light was silent, the back to Holdfast Bay was noisy indeed. Mrs Hindmarsh has made it clear that she expects me to challenge the siting of the colony and have it moved to Boston Bay and I suspect that I may need to. Yes, the Commissioners will complain and whisper about me behind my back, but Mrs Hindmash is able to lecture me from any angle.

I summoned Light to the Buffalo yesterday and explained the situation to him and he informed me that he had determined that the new colony would be on the site he had chosen.

SO... fun lies ahead.

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Part Two - Governor of the Colony

Editor's note : With his arrival in the South Australia and the establishment of the new colony Hindmarsh entered a new phase of his employment and life. Inevitably his diary reflects this change in both its form and its content.

Heretofore Hindmarsh had kept his diary daily, assiduously writing out his thoughts and the happenings in his life as well as recording the progress of the ship under his command.

With the completion of the voyage the need (and indeed, the opportunity) for such scrupulous record keeping changed dramatically.

Under the circumstances of government, Hindmarsh's writing of his diary quickly fell into a pattern. Each week (usually on a Sunday evening) he would write up the events of the past seven days in one large diary entry, creating a form of "news digest". He also included clippings from the newspaper (when it was published) and from time to time wrote reflective essays on characters and issues in the colony.

It would appear that this new practice was intended to allow the Governor to clear his mind and order his thoughts as he attempted to manage the new colony as best he could.

As usual, the diary was for Hindmarsh's eyes only and contains a level of frankness not normally associated with government records.

Another point of difference between his ship board diary and his diary in Government is to be found in the degree of revision and rewriting Hindmarsh undertook in the weekly digests and especially in the character essays. The manuscript shows that Hindmarsh returned to his writing as he gained further information, changed his mind or reflected further on the subject.

The forthcoming scholarly edition of the diary will, naturally, contain a complete variorum apparatus tracking these changes, but in the current, popular edition, intended for the general public, these variants have been collated and a single, regularised text has been created.

Wednesday, 28th December 1836

The winds being favourable during the night we arrived in Holdfast Bay this morning to find a flotilla of ships waiting for us. We came to anchor and all on board gave three cheers at arriving at the end of our voyage.

During the morning Mr Gouger and some jumped up surveyor with what was clearly a high opinion of himself called Something-or-other Kingston came aboard and gave a great puff to Colonel Light's opinion of the land he had chosen. Gouger gave us intelligence of splendid land, plenty of fresh water, & the prospect of an excellent location. Whats-his-name Kingston kept claiming the credit which was amusing for the first five or ten minutes, but became tiresome after that. The conversation went like this:

Gouger: There is splendid land for all.
Kingston: I found it!
Me: And what of land for crops?
Kingston: I found some excellent land for crops.
Me: I see. And water?
Kingston: I found some water
Gouger: Light says there is plenty of  water.
Kingston: I discovered three creeks myself.

And so on... and on... and on ... Me, me, me, I, I, I. I can't help feeling sorry for Light having to work with the little bugger and I was glad to see the back of him as he headed ashore in the boat with Gouger.

After lunch - served with Sauerkraut - which I hoped - in vain as it turned out - would be the last Sauerkraut I should have to eat in this life for quite some time - we wedged Mrs Hindmarsh, Scoop Stevenson  and the Fisher clan into one boat and Mr Moneybags Gillies, Charlie Howard and sundry others into the second. Unfortunately for Gillies and Howard we had time to get the donkeys out of the boat, where they have been lodged for some months, but not time to clean it afterwards, so they were not overly comfortable, or indeed clean. In the third boat the marines were lodged along with the ship's officers.

We came ashore at the mouth of a particularly smelly little inlet (made all the smellier by Gilles and Howard bringing the odour of donkey poo with them). Several crewmen carried us through the waves to dry land. One of the sailors who carried me  I think had been at sea rather too long as he was very free with his hands. Mrs Hindmarsh, I should note, seemed to make no such complaint.

We were met on the beach by Gouger, Thingumy Kingston and several others and proceeded to Gouger's campsite. The glass stood at over 100 degrees which make a hike through sandhills a trial, especially in uniform and many, especially the ladies, suffered greatly. Mrs Hindmarsh particularly felt the heat and was left quite speechless, so the hike was not without benefit.

At length we came to Gouger's tent, which he had set up beneath a strangely bent tree. Speaking of strangely bent, Mr Gilles had clearly had a few jars and was in a jovial mood. I am told that this jovial mood indicates about seven or eight drinks. Between eight and ten drinks he declares his love for his fellow man and tries to give away all his money. By the time he gets above ten he begins to turn morose and maudlin. Above twelve and he becomes angry with everyone.

Hoping to get out of the sun we entered Gouger's tent. As we entered he smiled and said "My home is yours!" When we got in there - good God! - it could have been anybody's!

If he knew we were coming he could at least have picked his old underwear up off the floor. A pile of unwashed clothing lay on his camp stretcher and we were all forced not to notice a copy of "Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure" lying open on the pillow. And having to move three or four day's worth of dirty cups and plates out of the way was not what I expected at all! Moreover, I'm not sure what Mr Gouger has been eating of late, but the air was, shall we say, rather thick.

Still the oaths were administered, the Order in Council produced and a Government declared. A sticky moment as I produced my rewritten Proclamation for the Council to agree upon. The look on Stevenson's face as he read it suggested that he realised something was up, but he couldn't quite work out what it was. He did mutter something about "Can't read my own writing" at one point, which was true since it was mine, but otherwise my forgery passed without comment and was agreed to, much to my relief.

We then addressed the assembled colonial settlers, some few hundred of whom had gathered beneath the arch of the tree. Gilles appeared and told me that he loved me, then gave me a gold sovereign which made me wonder where he had the stuff stashed. I suspect he had a bottle of whiskey in a knot hole of the Gum Tree.

The Proclamation

Stevenson then read the Proclamation to the assembly, once again with a quizzical look, and there was cheering all round. The marines fired a salute with their muskets in what I was later told was intended as a "feu-de-joie". In fact the first volley was such a shambles I instructed them to do it again "and damn well do it properly". It was a degree improved the second time, but in truth it seemed to me like an court case waiting to happen, such was the marines lack of recent firing practice. Still, after seeing that no-one was injured we raised the ensign and the ships in the Bay fired a salute.

At this point Whats-a-name Kingston then insisted that all who so wished could repair to his tent for a cold collation. "I'll only have the best. Only the best" he kept saying. The little toady. He promised us Hampshire Ham which I couldn't help feeling might not be of the freshest since it at been at sea for months and was sitting in the sun all day. What-you-may-call-him said that the ham was "dressed", which I took to mean that he'd cut off the green bits. And by God and thunder he served it with none other but Sauerkraut! So there I sat, for form's sake, eating slimy ham and salty, slimy cabbage.

When I was certain that this sumptuous repast was staying down I made a little speech telling them that "they had all done very well" and then offered a few platitudes about "pulling together" and "a shining path lies before us" and so on - the usual twaddle that people so love to hear on occasions such as this. Then, duty done, I sat back to observe the proceedings.

Gilles became progressively more maudlin and as the afternoon wore on the Marines discovered a cache of porter left behind by the Tam O'Shanter. Those marines can certainly put it away and I am afraid that many of the colonists, who not four hours before had been exhorted by me, their Governor to "conduct themselves on all occasions with order and quietness, duly to respect the laws, and by a course of industry and sobriety, by the practice of sound morality, and a strict observance of the Ordinances of Religion, to prove themselves worthy to be the founders of a great and free Colony." hit the sauce pretty hard and got pretty rowdy with it.

Those of us of the better sort decided that retiring to the Buffalo might be prudent before some orgy broke out.

As we left Mr Gilles was offering to wrestle anyone in the crowd for 10/- and a native had set fire to some nearby bushes and was driving sparks into the sky which, said Mrs Fisher, had all the appearance of a fireworks display.

Thinking about it later I can't help but feel fireworks be damned and that the native was in fact trying to drive us all out with smoke and flame, hoping that, being strangers, we might all just go away.

And I must say that as I left for the Buffalo I took the opportunity to survey those I am required to govern and to be honest, if the native was attempting to drive us out then I can see his point. At times I wish they'd all just go away as well.

Monday, 26th December, 1836

Yesterday being Christmas Day I had thought to have much to report, this being my first Christmas in a strange land. Yet, remarkably, I have nothing to speak of, having no memory of anything very much that happened yesterday.

I do remember speaking to Mrs Hindmarsh and the girls early in the day and exchanging pleasantries and small gifts that we had all had in store since Rio. One of the girls presented me with a monogrammed hand kerchief that she had purchased on that Isle of Wight shopping trip they made months ago.

Just before noon Captain Lipson joined us on board for Christmas Lunch, bringing with him several bottles of excellent Madiera that he had laid in in Rio.

After that, I am afraid, I have nothing more to add, having no memory of the rest of the day. I must have been tired in the extreme and dozed off at table. Certainly today I have an ache in the head which can only have been caused by tiredness. I trust Captain Lipson was not offended if I was bad company for him.

Though apparently offended he was not as this morning I found a note from him in my cabin: "What larks, eh Jack?". I am at a loss to understand quite what he means.

I am also at a loss to explain why Mrs Hindmarsh is not speaking to me and leaves the cabin each time I come in. Perhaps she is upset at the state Tinkles the cat is in. He appears to have been struck by some form of alapecha, as much of his hair has suddenly dropped out. Ridiculous as it might sound it almost looks as if he has been shaved.

I have had a number of strange looks from Passengers and Emigrants alike and although this in itself is not unusual the comments that I have heard have enabled me to piece together the story that one of the crew dropped his trousers and relieved himself from the bowsprit in full view of the assembled ship's company during Divine Service.

Mr Fisher stated that he had never seen anything like it before, although Mrs Fisher made the somewhat cryptic comment that she had, only larger, which I was at a loss to understand.

I am also surprised to see Charlie Howard with a black eye. I asked him about it, being concerned for his welfare, but he merely turned on his heel and walked off. Perhaps he did something he is ashamed of, hence his diffidence.

Mr Stevenson told me that he was "Thoroughly disgusted with the conduct of such ruffians and their conduct was without parallel". He spoke of "violence & profane & abominable oaths directed at Charlie Howard that drove all from the deck to seek refuge from the outrageous profanity in their own cabins."

Naturally I questioned the crew closely to discover who the vile perpetrator was, but to a man they kept sniggering and saying "We wouldn't like to say Captain". One did ask after my own health, asking if I had caught cold from not rugging up, which prompted yet another round of silly sniggering.

I do not like to accuse a brother officer, but I am beginning to suspect Lipson's actions and fear that the whole day was spoiled by him being unable to hold his drink.

Saturday 24th December, 1836

Christmas Eve.

We hove to in Spalding Cove, where we found Captain Lipson's Cygnet at anchor.

At about 10 Captain Lipson came aboard and presented himself, saying that Light had directed him to meet with us in order that we may follow him to Light's "Holdfast Bay".

It seems that  the ships that left England before us have all safely arrived with little incident. Lipson tells me of a number of pieces of what I can only describe as gossip, though if Scoop Stevenson gets a hold of them then "the public's right to know" and Stevenson's right to make money will broadcast them far and wide as vital news.

Later in the day we went ashore to inspect the area as a prospective site for the Capital. Lipson tells me that Light favours the eastern side of Gulph St Vincent as being "reminiscent of Devon" which certainly sounds acceptable.

The area around Boston Bay is reminiscent of a complete waste of time - poor soil, no surface water, low grade building stone. a fine harbour to be sure, but little hope of finding a space for a large settlement. Totally unsuitable,

Naturally Mrs Hindmarsh loves it. "The views!" she keeps saying. "The views!"

I keep pointing out that when the colony is starving because they can't grow food and we're dying of thirst, the views aren't going to do much good to anyone, but she keeps saying "It's so pretty!"

A slight contre temps this evening. After Mrs Hindmarsh hung up her stocking for Father Christmas to come by, one of the crew mistook it for extra sails and reefed it to the mizzen.

Mrs Hindmarsh was most offended and wanted the man punished but I let it pass as I could not find fault with his explanation that "Bain't be often you see hosiery of that size so 'twas only natural I mistook it for the mainsail."Enable GingerCannot connect to Ginger Check your internet connection
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