Friday, 8th June, 1838

At about ten o'clock this morning the Pelorus,  with our little party on board, sailed into Nepean Bay, where we were met with an 18 gun salute from what I later learned was the Lord Hobart, anchored in the bay.

The Lord Hobart, need I add, was the ship Mr Fisher sent off to Timor on his infamous Pony Shopping expedition and I have to say that, with the wind blowing in the right direction, it was still  possible to get a faint whiff of a mixture of equestrian manure and failure.

We went ashore to be met by William Giles, chief officer of the Company, who told us that he would conduct us over their "extensive establishment".

Alas, he seemed to have confused "extensive" for "spread far and wide", seeing some relationship between the importance of the place and the distance between the hovels it comprised. What a place! Good Lord Almighty! I have seen outdoor privies with more advantageous aspects, dust heaps with more charm. The canvas, reeds and sticks that form the majority of the houses mean that Adelaide seems positively palatial by comparison. There was a constant smell of smoke in the air, which, I was told, was caused by the Germans, smoking meat. I am not one to question the customs of others, but surely tobacco would be less odorous?

We duly inspected the delights of the place, seeing the harbour facilities - which consisted of a dinghy; the fishery - made up of two men, with a pole to share between them; and the burgeoning agricultural industry - which as far as I could see was a mulberry tree that seemed not long for this world and three rows of swede turnips.

What I was not shown, but heard about later, was the extensive industry in spirits and liquors. I was reliably informed that it is not only possible, it is unavoidable to find establishments in the town selling a varied range of gins, brandies and rums by the gallon at prices even the credulous find hard to believe - what I believe in Trade to be called "popular prices". And if the prices aren't popular then the grog certainly is. Why buy one gallon when you can afford three? I think it fair to suggest that at those prices, the quality of the spirits might not be of the premium variety you would encounter in the best London Clubs. Indeed, I think it fair to suggest that the chief difference between the gin, the rum and the brandy is the label on the barrel. Still, the palates of Kingscote know a good thing when they taste it. Or at least a cheap one. There are four hundred people living in Kingscote and I imagine that for much of the time three hundred and eighty of them are full up to dolly's wax with the stuff.

McLaren once told me that in being appointed as Company Manager he dreamed that he was being sent to a small and happy religious community to further the cause of the Redeemer. Well, if dreams were horses, then beggars would ride. The Devil finds work for idle hands. He has quite the workforce at Kingscote.

I was asked to choose the site of the new Customs House - a fruitless task, I would have thought, as the only importers on the island are bringing in the swill and have no intention of troubling the exciseman. At any rate, I waved my hand in the general direction of an empty space and Giles said "Very wise choice, your Excellency" and it appears that I have pleased everyone.

I also made one or two suggestions as to how they could reposition their landing place more advantageously and how they might construct a landing pier and it seems that my wisdom was the wonder of the age. One of the joys of dealing with old fashioned, pious Christian folk is that they have such respect for the Crown and its representatives. They hung on my every word as if it was Holy Writ. (A pity Fisher doesn't believe in something other than himself!)

In the afternoon we were received for dinner by Mr and Mrs Giles at what we were informed was their mansion. Well, bless him, if I can have a "Vice-Regal Palace" I suppose he can have a "mansion". They both looked about the same.  

What with Mrs Hindmarsh and I, Milner Stephen, Stevenson, Captain Harding and several officers from the Pelorus, along with sundry company officials, we were quite the party to descend upon the Giles family and their resources. When we arrived, we found Mr and Mrs Giles with what we thought were their four children. However, during the rest of the afternoon Giles kept producing further children the way a conjurer produces flags of all nations from his sleeve until finally, we guests were completely outnumbered. It appears he has at least a dozen children, the youngest having been born on the voyage out from England to Kangaroo Island. He hinted that he would "like to have more", a statement to which I did not catch Mrs Giles's reaction, but I cannot help but feel that he might wish to take up a hobby instead, perhaps learning to play the mandolin, or keep bees, to occupy his time, his hands and his energy.

Dinner was remarkable chiefly for the way that so much had been done and so many fed with so little. Giles remarked that they were often reminded of the Saviour's miracle of the loaves and fishes. Mrs Hindmarsh replied, toying with the unnamed meat on her plate and the boiled swede that accompanied it, that she had often wondered if the Apostles collected baskets of left over food afterwards because there were people in that multitude who didn't like fish. 

"If our Lord could turn water into wine," she said, pushing her plate away, " surely He could have turned just one of the fish into a chicken."

At this, Milner Stephen tried to amuse us by throwing a napkin over his arm and giving us his impersonation of St Peter moving amongst the crowd, asking as he went "Chicken or fish?" Unfortunately, such irreverence did not sit well with the pious Giles family and I quickly shut down the man's foolish hilarity. 

Shortly after we begged our leave, ostensibly on account of the tides, but actually because the Giles troop of children seemed set to test our endurance by entertaining us in song and recitation. I find it a useful social rule that when a child is sighted, recorder in hand, then it is time to leave.

We were back on board by seven, the Pelorus sailors rather prettily having lit our way by providing a guard of honour with rush lights from the ship.

We were soon under way, the plan being to return to Encounter Bay this evening to load goods to be taken to Adelaide, before returning to the capital tomorrow.

We had no sooner set sail than Captain Harding came to me begging a favour. 

While in Kingscote there had been bags of mail placed on board, to be taken to Adelaide and placed in the loving hands of Tom Gilbert, our Post Master. Captain Harding suspected that in those mail bags were dispatches from his Commodore, Captain Bethune of H.M.S. Conway and could the bags be opened so that he might get his hands on them?

Charles Ramsay Drinkwater-Bethune - known behind his back as "The Old Buffoon" - is one of those officers who has risen to prominence without ever seeing a shot fired in anger. When my brother officers gather to tell stories of exploits and brave deeds about the best he can manage is his claim to having served on board the Northumberland when it took Bonaparte to St Helena. Imagine the dangers!

Bonaparte being enigmatically Gallic while British Officers shrink in fear

At any rate, I explained to Harding that the Royal Mails are, after all, the Royal Mails and only to be opened by the duly appointed officer. To which Harding begged me to consider the fact, that he had been sixteen months without laying eyes on Bethune (nothing to complain about there, I would have thought); that he had been seeking the Conway in the different Australian Ports; that he had been given contradictory information as to which of the Ports of Sydney or Hobart Town she was then lying; and that the crew of H. M. S. Pelorus, on short provisions already, needed him to know with certainty to which Port he had to speedily proceed.

In short, he would not be quiet and I could barely get a word in. In order to shut the man up I got Milner Stephen in - Milner Stephen being the only man dense enough to allow me to proceed without demur. Then, in Stevenson's presence as a witness, I proclaimed Milner Stephen Post Master General and directed him to open the mail bags. This he did and imagine the look on poor Harding's little face when there were no dispatches to be found.

There were, however, dispatches from London for me, a letter from Hobart for Milner Stephen and two newspapers for Stevenson. Poor Harding, looking like the child who got a lump of coal for Christmas, was just leaving the cabin when Stevenson looked up from his newspaper and casually announced that the Conway was in Hobart Town according to the Shipping Intelligence in the Hobart Courier. At the news Harding was about as pleased as Punch. I will not go so far as to say he clapped his hands with delight, but I had the impression it was a near run thing.

We wrote a declaration of the letters we had taken out, put it into the bag, sealed it back up and that should be that. It's always a good thing, I feel, to help someone else, especially if there can be little cost to oneself. A job well done.