Saturday 24th Sept, 1836

Well, who is not Mr Popular?

After a day of discussion yesterday with the Senior crew where we worked out the details of course and the rationing, this morning I gathered passengers, the crew and the emigrants together - well, we made the emigrants stand a way off, because the smell of cat's wee and dog poo was a bit strong - and announced that there had been a change of plan.

There was many a dark look and a muttering and a mumbling when I announced that we would not be going to Rio, but heading straight for the Cape.

There were even darker looks when I announced that everyone would be placed on short rations and half water in order to ensure that we would be able would make landfall without starving.

Stevenson, who fancies himself Tribune of the people, pushed forward eagerly and struck a pose.

"The people demand to know!" he cried. "What is the reason for this arbitrary decision? The people must be told!"

"All I can say," I told them, "is that Mrs Hindmarsh wishes it to be so."

And at that point the crew, the passengers, the emigrants turned and saw Mrs Hindmarsh, standing on the poop deck, staring down at them all, her impressive figure outlined against the sun. As one their faces paled and they quietly stole away.

Later in the day a group of the emigrants came to me and said, with real feeling, "Feel sorry for you, Guvnor. Nothing you can do, eh?"

One of them gave me a sympathetic pat on the back and, man to man, we slowly shook our heads as we wondered at the ways of the world.

And speaking of the ways of the world I note that my sister Anne has been spending an outlandish amount of time with the sailors on board. Apparently she enjoys their rough company. Not, I trust, too much. Perhaps it would be best if I counselled her a little.