Preparing for Home

With the arrival of Lord Glenelg's dispatch informing him of his recall as Governor, Hindmarsh's diary changes format once again.

The regular weekly digest entries cease and, for the last three weeks of the diary, as Hindmarsh prepares to leave the Colony and make his way back to London, it is made up of short notes and reflections, some dated and some not. The dated of the undated entries can be deduced in most cases and have been added here.

Sunday, 24th June, 1838

Well. The axe has fallen.

Last Wednesday the Rapid arrived in port from England, bearing a dispatch from Lord Glenelg. In it, he tells me that he has advised Her Majesty that I am relieved of the Governorship of the Government of the Province of South Australia. He has made it clear that he was reluctant to do so, but that the insistent representations of the Colonization Commissioners, based upon information given them by the Resident Commissioner, Mr Fisher, left him no choice. He went on to say that nothing had occurred in the proceedings of my Governorship to detract from the opinion he entertains of my character as an officer and a gentleman.

In short, I've done nothing wrong, but the niminy piminy Commissioners back in London have been stirred up by Fisher, the foul excrescence, and have been rushing about like headless chooks, thinking me a Bounty Bastard Bligh or a Caligula.

Buffoons!!

FIsher, helped by his London patron, Torrens, has garbled quotations from letters and dispatches, distorting and suppressing facts stated in them and have asserted as true what they must have known was absolutely and positively destitute of truth. The result is that the Commissioners were stirred up like a lot of maiden aunts and Lo! I am recalled!

I have finally been allowed to see a list of the crimes I am alleged to have committed. They are:

1. I interfered with the choice of site for the Capital. 
2. I was responsible for the delay in proclaiming the Port. 
3. I was guilty of an act of trespass when some of the Buffalo sailors cut trees on Mr Fisher's land to make rafters for Government House. 
4. I had presumed to complain when Mr Fisher refused to allow a patch of swampy ground near the river to used as a part of the Government House Domain. 
5. I had named places in the Province 
6. I had endangered the safety of the Province by rejecting plans for a Police Force proposed by the Commissioners 
7. I had drawn upon the Treasury and thrown the finances into disarray. 
8. I had misled the Board of Commissioners with regard to the Buffalo and the expenses associated therewith. 
9. I had interfered with the Royal Mail. 

The first thing to say about these is they demonstrate how long Mr Fisher can store up a grudge. Cutting trees on Mr Fisher's land? It was four gum trees, I first learned of it after it happened and it was eighteen months ago! Move on man! Put it behind you! And coming from a man whose personal workers have made a career out of cutting down trees like the Devil himself, this seems a little rich!

Some of these are outright lies. It is a matter of public record that we only have a Police Force because I set it running after Fisher refused to fund it. What Mr Fisher means when he says I rejected plans proposed by the Commissioners is that I rejected HIS plans and enacted better plans proposed by others. Yes, I drew upon the Treasury, but only to buy food for the Colony. And again, coming from the man who went shopping with Company money for ponies at £500 a pop this seems rather strong.

I delayed the proclaiming of the Port? If I recall, I wanted to proclaim it, was ready to proclaim it, was about to proclaim it, but was told I could not proclaim it, because Mr Fisher believed that he could do a better job and stuck a spanner in the works. I delayed proclaiming the Port, he says, but he was the one delaying me because he declared that it was his duty to name the location. So it seems I took too long, because it was his job to name the place. But when I pushed it through and proclaimed it, then I am told I should not have done so, because I am guilty of naming places in the Province. He really cannot have it both ways.

Yes, I kept the Buffalo here longer than planned, but only because I had nowhere else to live and nowhere else to place villains.

And I DID NOT interfere in the choice of the site for the Capital. I was perfectly happy with the choice of the site. I worked with Light to make his choice of the site move forward. If I am guilty of anything I am guilty of trying to keep the peace at home, because it was Mrs Hindmarsh who wanted to Capital moved!

Still, in a private letter Glenelg has let a number of hints drop, suggesting that he is all too aware of what has been happening and that it does not reflect upon me and suggesting that he is similarly all too aware of Mr Fisher's tomfoolery and will ensure that before too long a time passes, Mr Fisher will have his wings clipped.

I leave the Colony in about three weeks, travelling to Sydney on board The Alligator.

As yet I do not know for certain who will replace me as Governor, but I have been instructed to appoint someone to act temporarily in the position until the new man arrives.

I think the news is too fresh in my mind to really declare my feelings regarding the situation. No doubt it will become clear to me.

The Rapid arrived in Port as a sort of Flying Dutchman, bearing nothing but ill tidings. It brought back to our fair shores the decidedly unfair Durward Kingston, as if we did not have troubles enough already. Kingston, who seemed surprised that the Colony had even survived, let alone flourish, without him, arrived to give us the benefit of his presence and his wisdom. So it seems we can all rest easy in our beds now.

Now I think of it, surely a ship bearing Kingston is more Ship of Fools than Flying Dutchman?

As I recall, the official reason for Kingston being sent back to England was to inform the Commissioners of Light's difficulties with the Survey and to secure extra funding and surveying staff. (The real reason, of course, was that everyone had had enough of the little blighter.)

So successful was he in his representations that he has returned to inform Light that there will be no more staff, no increase in funds and, as a bonus, that Light is to cease using his preferred trigonometric survey method and complete the survey using a far quicker, but far less accurate running survey.

Now Light is not a well man and as his health has worsened so has his temperament. He is increasingly petulant and disagreeable, given to volcanic outbursts and the darkest of sulking. Well, if I spent much of my day exhausted and spitting up blood, then I might lose the sunny disposition I am noted for as well.

The result is that Light has torn his clothes, put on sackcloth and ashes, and has been walking out into the city wailing loudly and bitterly.

Oh, we all have many reasons to thank Lieutenant Field, in command of the Rapid, who sailed from London to Adelaide without pitching Kingston overboard.

And to complete my joy, on Thursday, Charlie Howard darkened my doorstep to tell me how he is progressing on the preparation of his Hymn Book. He showed me his manuscript and gave me a guided tour of the many wonders of his work, with a view, I think, of securing funds.

I noted, but refrained from comment upon one hymn "To be Sung Before the Sermon":

Now may the gospel's conqu'ring power

 Be felt by all assembled here

So shall this prove a joyful hour

And God's own arm of strength appear.

A Howard sermon "a joyful hour"? The man is fooling no-one but himself. If Bob Cock advertised goods in this manner he would find himself in court on a charge of uttering falsehoods.

A Paper found between the pages of Hindmarsh's Diary

A Call To Action

By the Sons of Lee

The failure of Benthamite Utilitarianism to produce lasting, meaningful political and social change, charged with the tortured cry from the heart of the Romantic soul, places post-Malthusian industrial society in a debilitating crisis that exposes the rotten hollow at its spiritual core.

We call on Artists to rise up and put their sketchbooks and watercolours to good use in the service of the cause of the betterment of Civilisation!

Let there be no more pretty landscapes! No more still life paintings with spaniels! It is the duty of the artist to record, with a clear and dispassionate eye, society as it is, in order to build society as it may become!

JUDGE NOT LEST YE BE JUDGED ALSO!

We call on Artists to record the truth they see around them as they truly see it. If they should paint a pretty landscape let it be seen that there was a pretty landscape before them. If there be a spaniel then let it be because a spaniel was present.

And let them paint without bias, interpretation or judgement. But this lack of judgement is, itself, a judgement!

Arise, fellow artists and do not judge! Only then can you pass judgement!

Those who look on our work can see the truth clearly laid before them. To them we say:

LOOK ON OUR WORK OH WATCHER AND DESPAIR!

We call for the Equality of Man.

We call for Women's Rights.

We call for the Equality of the Coloured Races.

We call for Free Love Between the Sexes.

The Equality of Man

We demand that it be recognised that all men across Europe - Germans, Italians, Danes, Dutch, Greeks, Magyars, even probably the French and possibly the Irish, are capable of being held as equals with Englishmen. 

Let it be understood that the advantages of English society and culture that are a native Britons birthright might be attained by those from elsewhere in Europe or even America by dint of exertion and effort.

Women's Rights

We demand that it be recognised that women have a right to exist as the helpmeet and companion of man.

Let it be understood that those tasks natural to a woman such as cooking, cleaning, washing, sewing and child rearing are to be held as having equal dignity and value as tasks carried out by any other menial labourer

Equality of the Coloured Races

We demand that it be recognised that the worth of a member of the coloured races is not dependent on the colour of his skin, but on his aptitude, diligence and loyalty as a servant. All members of the coloured races are equally capable of working as valuable servants to the white race.

Let it be understood that a servant's worth will reflect the example set by his master and hence it follows that all members of the coloured races who are servants of Englishmen will be the most capable.

Free Love Between the Sexes

We demand that it be recognised that the old ideas of vice and sin be swept away and a new ideal of the relationship between the sexes be allowed.

Let it be understood that the world must allow that a boy and a girl should be free to hold hands without shame and even be able to give each other a hug without being treated as moral outcasts.

Arise and March into a Better World!

Sunday, 17th June, 1838

And, as usual, I write that all will be well and immediately, all Hell breaks loose.

"That should be that," I said, after helping Harding with his mail. "A job well done."

Except, of course, that was not that. Indeed, that was very far from that.

We arrived back in Adelaide late on the evening of Saturday last and made our way to Government House. After a warm, comfortable night in our own beds, the next morning I had Strangways draft a letter to Tom Gilbert, the Post Master General, explaining what had happened with the mail so that he could know and understand the circumstances that led to his precious mail bags being opened and resealed. This, I thought, would keep him happy.

And did it? Did it buggery.

Within minutes he was at my door, telling me that he could choose to do nothing other than protest in the strongest terms. As it happened he could have chosen to not make a mountain out of a mole hill and I told him so, but this only seemed to annoy him further. I sent him on his way, telling him not to be impertinent.

Of course, before you could say "Knife in the back", Fisher got involved, huffing and puffing about "the sanctity of the mails" and "the trust of the people". Since then there has been a public meeting and much throwing about of harsh words, all of them making me out to be some combination of sneak thief and tyrant.

The public meeting, called, with admirable bravery, through an anonymous handbill that appeared about the town, though really at the behest of Fisher, was held last Wednesday at the Tavern, where, no doubt, Fisher stood everyone rounds of drinks to get them well soaked and pliable. Indeed, I am told that the attendance at the meeting was sparse and quickly became sparser once the grog ran out. 

David McLaren took the chair with his usual Hibernian gloom, ensuring an evening of hi-jinks and hilarity. Fisher tore up the place, making a speech of such drama that people were moved. Many moved outside and more were moved to laughter.

It seems that the seal of the Royal Mail is sacred and inviolate and yours truly, like the low cad and bounder that I am, broke that seal, apparently in search of pound notes and food parcels.

What Mr Fisher seems unable (or, more likely, unwilling) to understand is that (1) I opened the mail bags reluctantly and at the insistence of Captain Harding that these were exceptional circumstances (2) As the Queen's representative here in the Province I am invested, by law, with the right to open the mail (3) The opening of the bags was conducted by and witnessed by duly appointed Government officials (4) Tom Gilbert has stated that the official tally of letters and papers received at his office corresponded exactly with the memorandum made at the time by the Advocate General. So no harm was done.  

No, the only injury was to Tom Gilbert's sense of self importance and this was, it seems, enough for Fisher to construct a case against me with all the force of a castle in the clouds.

Such nonsense!

What was not nonsense was Stevenson showing me a handbill that had been printed by his underlings while he was travelling with me to Encounter Bay. Material of a seditionary and revolutionary nature!  

Fifty copies of a handbill promoting, the Equality of Man, Women's Rights, the Equality of the Coloured Races and (most shockingly) Free Love Between the Sexes. Naturally, this sort of thing cannot be encouraged and, indeed, must be stamped out before it leads to some unfortunate social upheaval such as that which occurred only recently in Cornwall at Tolpuddle.

The handbill purports to be written by "The Sons of Lee" who are, I am informed, none other than Mary's group of shady artistic youths who meet at Lee's Coffee House. I have spoken to Mary and she tells me that the thing was written by "Endymion", the Gothic looking young man who lurks about the Coffee House.

The thing starts with a few paragraphs concerning "passing judgement on Society" that read like bilgewater to me, but which Mary assures me are "Too deep for an old man to understand".  

It then makes demands of the extra-ordinary nature previously outlined.

I have informed Mary that it is not possible for a child living in Government House to be seen to align herself with ideas of a revolutionary nature and she is to cease her visits to Lee's Coffee House, which has earned me the title of "World's Worst Father" and resulted in me being told that "Only Mr Stephen understands me!"

That outburst led me to a conversation with Milner Stephen, in which I suggested, none too subtly, that it would ill become the occupant of the one of the Chief Legal Offices in the Colony to be associated with a group of youths aiming at Social Reform of an extreme and morally dubious nature. I also suggested that it would be looked on askance if it was thought that he had inculcated such ideas into the mind of an innocent girl for whatever purpose. He was quick to assure me that "whatever purpose" was far from his mind and not to be considered.

I have ordered Stevenson to burn the copies of the handbill and give young Endymion his money back. (I stumped up the few shillings Stevenson was out by) And as for young Endymion I shall do nothing. First, because he is a young man with silly ideas. Second, because I blame his parents more than him. And third, because if I have him dragged before the court on a charge of sedition I may find Mary being dragged in as well and that will not do.

With luck, we need never speak of this again and no-one need ever know of this.

Saturday, 9th June, 1838

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.

Thursday, 7th June, 1838

I write, this evening, on board the Pelorus, an 18 gun brig-sloop of the Cruizer class, Captain Harding at the helm.

H.M.S Pelorus

Tomorrow we travel on board to Kingscote in order to inspect that ill rumoured location.

We have spent the past two days riding to the Murray River and back, in order to inspect the possibilities of the land along the South Coast. 

Mrs Hindmarsh, I need scarcely say, is enamoured of the countryside and rates it, if not quite so highly as Boston Bay, then certainly higher than Adelaide and spent the two days fulsomely expressing her regrets over Colonel Light's lack of sense in siting the Capital where he did.

The country is certainly very pretty, although formed as it is as a thin strip of plain backed by a range of steep hills that would prove insurmountable to horse drawn carts, the only reliable communication between Adelaide and any township established on the South Coast would be by ship and therein lies the problem.

The current anchorage at Rosetta Head is, as Johnny learnt through hard experience, not worth a damn. The anchorage at the private whaling station in what Captain Crozier named "Victor Harbor", seems protected, but I am not convinced. Everything else we saw seemed either too small, too shallow or too rough to be of much use as a working port. And everywhere in between has the Southern Ocean thundering in and making much of the coast impossible.

My wife was in  raptures yesterday evening and this morning when we were at the Murray River lakes, opposite Johnny's island. "There's your port!" she pronounced, emphatically.

 For a moment I did not quite understand what she meant, but as she explained further I came to see the details of her plan. All that was needed was to land goods at Sydney Cove, bring them overland to a convenient point on the river and then sail them down the river to a township on the lakes, where they could be finally delivered.

When I pointed out that, as a solution to bringing goods up from Port Adelaide or Glenelg, bringing them halfway across the continent seemed impractical at best, I was told that I lacked "imagination" and "resolve". When I spoke of the costs involved I was accused of being a "penny pinching, miserly, niggard" which seemed harsh.

Imagination I may indeed lack, but I am not so incapable that I cannot imagine the response to such a plan back in London.

Tomorrow we set out for Kingscote, land of failed Mullberry groves, poxed sealers and Lutherans. No doubt we will have experiences to remember.