The Colonists

The Colonists

The Australians 11 – The Colonists

© Vivian Stuart, 1984

© eBook in English: Jentas ehf. 2022

Series: The Australians

Title: The Colonists

Title number: 11

ISBN: 978-9979-64-236-7

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

All contracts and agreements regarding the work, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas ehf.

The Australians

The Exiles

The Prisoners

The Settlers

The Newcomers

The Traitors

The Rebels

The Explorers

The Travellers

The Adventurers

The Warriors

The Colonists

The Pioneers

The Gold Seekers

The Opportunists

The Patriots

The Partisans

The Empire Builders

The Road Builders

The Seafarers

The Mariners

The Nationalists

The Loyalists

The Imperialists

The Expansionists

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This book is for Bill Mann, as a token of my gratitude for his many years of patient and almost uncomplaining help and encouragement.

Acknowledgments and Notes

I acknowledge very gratefully the guidance received from Lyle Kenyon Engel in the writing of this book, as well as the help and cooperation of the staff at Book Creations, Inc., of Canaan, New York: Marla Ray Engel, Philip Rich, Glenn Novak, Carol Krach, Mary Ann McNally, Jean Sepanski, Pamela Lappies, and last but by no means least, George Engel. All have given me encouragement and a warm friendship that has made my work as an author so much happier and less lonely than it was before I teamed up with BCI.

I should also like to put on record my appreciation of the help given me by my British publisher, Aidan Ellis, of Aidan Ellis Publishing, Ltd., in publicizing The Australians series in the United Kingdom, and my appreciation of the help always so patiently given in the domestic sphere by my spouse and Ada Broadley. My thanks also to the editorial and sales staff of Doubleday Pty. Australia and the many relatives and friends in Sydney who made me so welcome on my recent visit to the land down under, where I lived so happily for eight years.

The main books consulted were supplied by E. G. Glover of Sutton-in-Ashfield, Nottinghamshire, England, and Conrad Bailey of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. These included:

The Australian Encyclopaedia: Angus & Robertson, 1927; The Convict Ships: Charles Bateson, Brown Son & Ferguson, 1959; History of Tasmania: J. West, Dowling, 1852; Description of the Colony of New South Wales: W. C. Wentworth, Whittaker, 1819; The Macarthurs of Camden: S. M. Onslow, reprinted by Rigby, 1973 (1914 edition); Australian Explorers: Kathleen Fitzpatrick, Oxford University Press, 1958; History of Australia: Marjorie Barnard, Angus & Robertson, 1962 (copy kindly supplied by Bay Books); Australian Historical Monographs, various titles, edited by George Mackaness, Ford, Sydney, 1956; Port Arthur: M. Weidenhofer, Oxford University Press, 1981; National Portraits: Vance Palmer, Melbourne University Press, 1940; In Step with Sturt: Swan and Carnegie, National Library of Australia, 1979; For the Term of His Natural Life: Marcus Clarke, Lloyd O’Neil (reprinted 1970); The Beginning: Appleyard and Manford, University of Western Australia Press, 1979.

Other books were kindly lent by Ian Cottam, and research in Sydney was undertaken by Vera Koenigswarter—my other invaluable Sydney researcher, May Scullion, having sadly died last year.

This book, like the others in the series, is written as a novel, with fictional characters superimposed on the narrative. Their adventures and misadventures are based on fact and, at times, may seem to the reader more credible than those of the real-life characters with whom their stories are interwoven. Nevertheless, I have not embroidered or exaggerated the actions of any of them, save where it was expedient to dramatize these a little in order to avoid writing dull history.

CHAPTER I

They are here, Papa, Emily Willoughby announced nervously. "Robert and James. They await your pleasure.’’

Rear Admiral Sir Francis Willoughby looked up from the book he was reading to eye his daughter with stem disapproval. Have I not bidden you to knock before you enter my study? he demanded with asperity.

In awe of him, as she always was, and fearing his temper, Emily apologized. It was of no use, she knew, to tell him that she had knocked; he would not admit that it was his increasing deafness that had prevented him from hearing her. His disapproval, she also knew, was of her brothers, not herself, and although she could only guess at the reason for it, she supposed it was Robert’s conduct that had, once again, aroused their father’s ire.

Since his court-martial two years ago and his dismissal from the King’s service, Robert had been in such constant trouble that, for some time past, he had been forbidden the house, his name never mentioned in the admiral’s presence. For this reason, Emily had been surprised to learn—only the previous day—that he had been sent for, and poor young Jamie with him. Though what Jamie could have done to warrant the peremptory demand for his attendance passed her comprehension.

She sighed. Her younger brother was thirteen, a cadet at the Royal Naval College in Portsmouth and nearing the end of his first year of study there. The excellence of his reports had hitherto afforded their father great satisfaction, and she could not help wondering why—in the middle of term—the boy had been required to make the long journey to Plymouth at what had evidently been very short notice.

Shall I bid them come in, Papa? she inquired, anxious to make her own escape. She would be sent out of the room, of course, once the boys presented themselves. Whatever their father had to say to them would not be for her ears, but she was accustomed to her exclusion, as a female, from purely masculine affairs and, in particular, from matters pertaining to the naval service.

Since her mother’s death eight years ago, she had kept house and supervised the upbringing of her two younger sisters, but, Emily reflected, conscious of a faint twinge of resentment, her duties and responsibilities had been purely domestic and largely taken for granted. She had never enjoyed her father’s confidence or merited the interest he had shown in his sons . . . until, that was to say, poor Robert’s fall from grace.

When news of the findings of the court-martial had reached him, her father had wept, and, for the first and only time that she could remember, he had permitted her to witness his grief and to offer him consolation. Since that moment, however, he had held more aloof from her than ever, as if ashamed that he had allowed her to sense a weakness in him that she had never previously imagined he possessed.

Shall I, Emily began, since he remained pensively silent, shall I serve coffee for you and the boys, Papa? Or a bottle of your madeira? They have had no time to break their fast, and Jamie has traveled all night. He—

No! The admiral cut her short. You will serve nothing.

The book he had been reading was flung down with such force that it slithered across the polished surface of his desk, to fall with a dull thud at her feet. It was a legal treatise, Emily observed with surprise as she bent to pick it up and replace it carefully within his reach.

Her father’s beetling white brows met in a forbidding frown. Offering no explanation, he gestured impatiently to the door. Summon your brothers, if you please. And . . . I wish you to be present when I talk to them, since what I have to say concerns you also, if indirectly. I must warn you, however, that it may well come as a shock to you.

Emily hesitated for a moment; then, her heart suddenly heavy with foreboding, she hastened to obey him.

Her brothers were waiting in the pleasant, sunny room that had been their mother’s boudoir and was now termed the morning room. Robert, tall and in the civilian dress that made him seem a stranger, had, she saw, anticipated their father’s refusal to offer him refreshment, for there was a decanter of brandy on the table beside him, and he had a half-empty glass in his hand.

Jamie, looking ill at ease, cut an oddly contrasting figure in his cadet’s brass-buttoned uniform, his cap tucked correctly beneath his arm and his hands empty, although Hawkins—the admiral’s onetime coxswain and now employed as butler and coachman—had set out a glass for him.

Robert spun round at his sister’s approach, quickly draining the contents of his glass before asking aggressively What does the Old Man want, Emmy, for God’s sake? Why have we been sent for in such an almighty hurry, do you know?

Emily shook her head. I don’t know, Rob. Papa hasn’t told me anything, except that he wishes me to be present when he talks to you. He—that is, he says the matter is of some concern to me also.

Robert swore under his breath. No, he objected. "Plague take it—no! I do not want you there when he takes me to task for my failure to live up to his damned outmoded standards. Please, Emmy, stay away if you care for me at all."

Emily flushed. You know I care for you deeply, Rob. But I cannot disobey Papa. What he has to say is to all three of us.

Her glance at her elder brother was uneasy. His cravat was stained and badly ironed, his shirt cuffs frayed, his jacket worn and in need of repair. Wherever he was now lodging, it was obvious that little care was given to his wardrobe, and . . . Assailed by a sudden suspicion, she asked apprehensively, Rob, are you still in employment? Are you still at the bank in—where was it? In Exeter Street?

Robert laughed shortly. Oh, Lord, no—Old Moneybags dispensed with my services two months ago. And be damned to him—I wasn’t sorry! It was abysmally boring work, and I could never have taken to it. Besides, he’s a tightfisted old swine, and he reported everything I did—or didn’t do—to Papa.

Jamie started to speak and then thought better of it, reddening awkwardly. As she had often done when he was a child, Emily made to put her arm round him, but he evaded her embrace and stammered, eyeing his brother uncertainly, We should not keep Papa waiting, R-Rob.

No, indeed, Robert agreed, with mock humility. "The Lord High Admiral must never be kept waiting. They teach you that at the college, do they not? Respect for your betters—hats off and three cheers for the commandant or take a dozen of the best from your cadet captain! And I bet you cheer your head off, you yellow-livered little prig!"

Jamie’s color deepened and spread. He said in a hoarse whisper to Emily, He’s drunk, Emmy. He—

Robert glared at him. Just you get under way, little brother. Spin the Old Man a yam about how you’re aiming for the term prize or the dirk of honor or whatever they give the cadet who never answers back. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve had another glass of brandy.

His hand, as he splashed liquor into his glass, was shaking visibly, and Emily’s anxiety grew as she watched him. Their father disapproved strongly of heavy drinking, but, as if determined to flout his authority, Robert indulged in the habit as openly as he could whenever he came to the house. On more than one occasion he had arrived in a state of insobriety, as, it seemed, he had this morning . . . She took the barely tasted brandy from him, set down the glass, and linked her arm with his, wishing that there were time to serve the coffee her father had forbidden.

Come, she urged persuasively. Truly we should not keep Papa waiting—Jamie is right; it will only anger him. Try to control yourself, Rob.

I’m not drunk, Robert asserted. I just need a little Dutch courage, that’s all.

He gave her a thin smile and permitted her to lead him across the long, stone-flagged hall. It was a thousand pities, Emily thought sadly, that he still persisted in defying their father. He had done so for almost as long as she could remember, even as a boy, and throughout their mother’s lifetime. Robert had been Mama’s favorite, and looking back now, she found herself wondering whether this fact had soured his relationship with his father. Certainly Mama had indulged him, in every way she could devise. She had insisted on employing a tutor for him, instead of allowing him to go to school, and that had led—after a bitter family quarrel—to his being sent to sea at the tender age of eleven.

It will make a man of him, their father had said. Instead of a spoilt milksop . . . And, for all poor Mama’s tearful pleas, he had refused to alter his decision. Robert had spent his first three years as a so-called volunteer on board the seventy-four-gun Monarch in the Mediterranean, under their father’s command. Robert had never talked to her of those years, Emily remembered, but they had changed him. He had grown to manhood in the King’s service, seeing action against the French and the Americans in other ships and under other commanders, culminating in the great fleet action at Algiers, when he had been commended for his gallantry by the commander in chief, Lord Exmouth.

His father had been proud of him then, but . . . She drew in her breath sharply. All that had changed with his court-martial and the fact that Their Lordships of the Admiralty had declined to confirm his commission twice in the ensuing years. He had been twenty before he had gained lieutenant’s rank, and then . . . Robert’s fingers tightened about her arm.

How is your romance with Dr. Simon Yates progressing, Emmy? he asked, taking her by surprise and grinning at her discomfiture when the embarrassed color leaped to her cheeks. Or perhaps, he added unkindly, there is no need to ask? Has Papa found a way to put an end to that, too?