England, Voyage Out
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England, Voyage Out
I. To A. H. CLOUGH
C[olonial] O[ffice] April 16th [1847] 1
My dear Clough
f Those are indeed happy who can still hope for England, who can find, in identifying themselves with our political or social institutions, a congenial atmosphere, and a suitable machinery for accomplishing at last all that they dream of. Of such sanguine spirits, alas! I am not one. To imagine oneself called upon to 'do good', in the age in which we live, is an illusion to which I was long subject myself, but of the utter fallaciousness of which I am now convinced. I hope nothing from life, either for myself, or for others through me. Our lot is cast in an evil time; we cannot accept the present, and we shall not live to see the future. It is an age of transition; in which the mass are carried hither and thither by chimeras of different kinds, while to the few, who know the worthlessness of the chimeras, and have caught a glimpse of the sublime but distant future, is left nothing but sadness and isolation. Yet God who knoweth the hearts, surely takes account of those His lonely children, who in a happier time, might have been the loved and honoured benefactors of their kind; and what of spiritual force was in them, is not waited in His sight, and ministers in its measure to the Universal Progress, although they may have lived and died in solitude and obscurity.
I shall remain here so long as I think honour and duty require, that is, for such a time as those who placed me here must admit to be a fair trial; and then I shall go to New Zealand. I do not really believe that I shall ever live to see, there or anywhere else, such a society as we were discussing the other day. But if
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April 1847 To A. H. Clough
one must hope nothing from man, one may hope much from God, and from the opportunity of peacefully communing with Him. Indeed I cannot stand for the Fellowship. 2 I can see no possible justification for my holding it, even were I to stay in England.
Ever yours T. Arnold
[P. S.] I quite agree with you in disliking the notion of this appointment for Matt. 3
2. To A. H. CLOUGH
C[olonial] O[ffice]
Wednesday [19 May 1847] 4
My dear Clough
I have got two Pit tickets for next Saturday, at the very moderate price of half a guinea. You are quite right in coming up; Jenny Lind is such a singer as appears once in a century, and who, once heard and seen, can never be forgotten. The mere sight of her is enough to drive from one's mind for ever all ideals but that of the pure guileless Northern maiden, in whom stormy passion is replaced by infinite supersensual Love, and intellectual power by the direct contemplation of and communication with the Divine. It has truly been said, that no one ever leaves the theatre with any other impression than that she is beautiful. If ever human face wore a superhuman expression, Jenny Lind's did when I saw her in the Sonnambula last Saturday. Yesterday evening I met Carlyle, Leonard Homer, and Sara Coleridge. I will tell you about this when you come.
Shairp slept at my lodgings on Saturday and Monday, and returned to Rugby yesterday. 5 How I like the old fellow. I have
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2 To A. H. Clough May 1847
promised to join him in Scotland in July, if I can get away so soon.
Make Walrond 6 come up by all means. I will find out, and let you know, whether there will be room for him too at my lodgings--unless indeed he despises my humble dwelling.
Ever yours, my dear
T. Arnold
3. To A. H. CLOUGH
C[olonial] O[ffice]
Saturday [22 May 1847]
My dear Clough
Alas! Jenny Lind does not sing tonight! I have just discovered the appalling fact. No one sings but Castellan. Of course I have taken back the tickets, and we can have tickets for the next night that she does sing, which I hope and believe will be Tuesday. I am sorry to say that I cannot give Walrond a bed. But I am extremely glad that he is coming up.
Last night I saw the Beatifica, as you call her, in Roberto il Diavolo. 7 She was of course perfection, but she was ill supported. Fraschini who played Roberto, is an unsupportable ruffian; and the Knights who have to sustain rather an important part, looked and doubtless were, most acrid snobs. The fact is that Robert le Diable is too difficult and too exacting a piece for our corps de theatre to undertake; the Sonnambula on the other hand is of so slight a texture and so familiar to them, that they give no offence in it; while the freest scope is left for the creative genius of Jenny in the character of Amina. The conclusion is, my dear, that I hope the Sonnambula will be performed on Tuesday.
Ever yours
T. Arnold
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4. To MRS. ARNOLD
C[olonial] O[ffice]
Aug. 21st [1847]
My dearest Mother
I am now established in Murdoch's room, 8 which is very large and comfortable, and better in every respect than my old one. Of course I shall have to turn out when he comes back. Every one whom I meet pities me for having to return to London at this dull season; but to my own feelings it is not worse now than at other times. The things which would make me loathe the thought of passing my life or even several years in London, do not depend on summer or winter. It is the chronic, not the acute ills of London life, which are the real ills to me. 9
I meant to have talked to you again, before I left home, about New Zealand, but I could not find a good opportunity. I do not think you will be surprised to hear that I cannot give up my intention. It would really be unjust to myself, if I were to speak of what leaving you all will cost me, and I am sure that though you may think me wrong, you will believe that no cold-heartedness towards home has assisted me in forming my resolution. Where or how we shall meet on this side of the grave, will be arranged for us by a wiser will than our own; nay, if we only walk by faith, may we not believe that that was a true word which said, 'all these things shall be added unto you'? To me, however strange and paradoxical it may sound, this going to New Zealand is become a work of faith, and I cannot but go through with it.
If you would wish me, dear Mother, to explain myself at greater length on any point, tell me so, and I will try. I would rather that you said nothing to Uncle about it at present, please. 10
Love to all
ever yours most affectly T. Arnold
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5. To MRS. ARNOLD
C[olonial] O[ffice]
Aug. 28th 1847
My dearest Mother
Your kind letter was a great pleasure to me. I care little for the disapprobation of all the world besides, if those nearest and dearest understand me and sympathize with me.
That you may not think I give up much by leaving the C. O., let us examine the utmost possible result that my stopping here could have. I might in a few years' time, if I were excessively fortunate, be made Governor of some small colony. In such a position I might no doubt originate many material improvements, develop trade, encourage schools, and the like. On the other hand the official work would be so heavy as to leave no time for that meditation and self-examination which are so necessary to the advance of a character. I might gain a reputation but the inward life would suffer; and I am sure you would not hesitate on which alternative you would prefer for a son of yours and Papa's.
Dear Papa; I so often think of him now, and fancy that if he could read my inmost heart, as perhaps he both can and does, he would say, 'God speed thee, my son.' It does not trouble me much that I hold many opinions which are different from his; for while I feel that I owe to him the love of truth and the hatred of injustice, I feel that the highest part of my nature owes its awakening and fortifying to his influence.
I met Miss Martineau 11 yesterday at the Huttons'; 12 she desired me to send her love to you. She looked remarkably well and talked very agreeably. She smokes regularly, and says that it does good to her deafness; this however, I was told by the people she was staying with, is a pure figment of the dear creature's brain. She is going to Ambleside in October. 'The book' is not yet actually begun, I understand.
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August 1847 To Mrs. Arnold 5
A horrible accident took place on the river yesterday. A steam-boat blew up as it was lying at a wharf, and 20 or 30 people were blown to 'hattoms'; the number is not yet ascertained. 13
My life is very monotonous, as you may suppose, so I have little to tell by way of incident. I see a good deal of Edward Whately; 14 to whom mesmerism does not seem to be doing much good.
Let me know when you hear from Walter. With love to all.
Ever yours most affectly
T. Arnold
6. To JANE ARNOLD
C[olonial] O[ffice]
Sept 22nd 1847
My dearest K
You do indeed deserve a jolly letter, in return for your thumper of last Saturday. Tell Mother that she never sent me the letter of Walter's 15 which she speaks of, and that I am very anxious to see both that, and the last one.
The gusty and rainy weather which you speak of has visited London as well as other places, but somehow or other there are many days now, on which I find that no cheerlessness of things without can repress a sort of exuberant buoyancy of spirit which is supplied to me from within. There is such an indescribable blessedness in looking forward to a manner of life which the heart and conscience approve, and which at the same time satisfies the instinct of the Heroic and Beautiful. Yet there seems little enough in a homely life in a New Zealand forest; and in-
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6 To Jane Arnold September 1847
deed there is nothing in the thing itself, except in so far as it flows from a principle--from a faith. But the poor--the toiling poor--whom Lord Ashley 16 pets, and the Free Traders cajole,--these multitudes of human souls, whom we coolly talk of as 'the masses' or 'the lower classes'--what a joy will it be to come amongst them as their brother, their equal, their friend; to share their burdens, and to shew them purer objects of ambition than wealth,--objects which the weak no less than the strong, the gentle no less than the energetic, may attain, and live thereby. I do not think indeed that any great or general change can take place for many many years to come, but sooner or later it infallibly must come.
I wish I had met Mrs. Lawrence; 17 for I always liked so much anything that I heard of her. I do not wonder at the poor little boy's thinking of Fox How on that evening in Manchester; for the society of which I think I have as little liking as yourself. How Carlyle can like it I cannot conceive; I suppose he takes to it as a refuge from ennui. He is much to be pitied; having a philosophy that teaches him to be discontented with the life of other men, without shewing him how to attain to a higher. 18
A precis of mine is to be printed for the use of the Cabinet, when it meets. I wonder whether Lanny 19 will recognize a family likeness in the style to that of his Secretary. Allen who is here now met the good old man in Germany; but strange to say, he did not mention that Matt was about to be elevated to the Peerage.
My manner of life is uniform and simple. I breakfast at half past 8, practise a little, 20 and read or write, till a quarter past 11, when I go down to the office, generally through the Parks. I have my luncheon or rather dinner at 2. Soon after 5 I leave the office, and have a very enjoyable walk through the Green Park,
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September 1847 To Jane Arnold 6
and in and about Hyde Park, for an hour or more, before going in to tea. The sunsets latterly have been glorious. Yesterday, after the sun had sunk, the whole of the western sky was occupied by a bright reddish yellow haze, from behind which, the most beautiful pink rays, singly and in broad streaks, shot up almost to the Zenith, something as I have seen the Aurora Borealis do; more to the north, at the edges of the bright haze, there were tints of lilac and every shade of purple, and even of green; all which tints, as you turned round towards the East, merged into the deepening still deepening blue, in the very depths of which hung the almost full moon, with her cool chaste silvery light, so unlike the warm gorgeous splendours of the West. This is a long description, dear, and perhaps has tired you; but remember you have no sunsets at Fox How, 21 and therefore I have a right to suppose that you did not see last night's. To go on with my day. Before going in, I generally buy a few pears, which are very cheap at this season, and extremely good, and they make a very agreeable addition to my tea. I never touch meat; 22 except that about once a week, tell Mother for her comfort, I have a plate of very good soup. After tea, if it is not one of my music nights, I read or practise till between 11 and 12, when I go to bed; nearer 12 perhaps of the two. Do you not think I may say?
Haec est
Vita solutorum misera ambitione gravique;
His me consolor,--
23
At the same time I fully agree with Mrs. Lawrence's little boy that there's no place like Fox How, where you must be all very jolly together just now, I should think.
I have been to Mortlock's. Will you or Mamma tell me at once, exactly what is wanted; how many cups and saucers etc. If I was ever told I have forgotten.
Ever yours, dearest
T. Arnold
[P. S.] When does Mary 24 return?
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7. To MRS. ARNOLD
[London] Oct 9th 1847
My dearest Mother
Many thanks for your last letter. Upon considering what you say, and calculating the thing again, I think it would be better to say £200; more than that I will not take. 25
I have just seen Stephen. 26 He talked a good deal in his strange way, disapproving of course of my intentions, but saying that he knew perfectly well it was no use to combat them etc. At the end he said, that if the thing was fixed, he thought I had better write at once to Lord Grey, 27 and resign, and then leave the office at once. As he advises this, of course it is best to do so; it indeed almost amounts to a command. But this is so sudden, that I have not yet had time to think what I shall do.
I feel indeed now that God is my only strength; how terrible would it be if I thought that He condemned me, at the same time I feel the deep pain of incurring the disapproval of others of His servants, whom I cannot but respect and esteem.
I shall send my letter to Uncle tomorrow. 28 Please write to him also.
Every yours most affectly
T. Arnold
8. To A. H. CLOUGH
Fox How Oct. 23rd 1847
My dear Clough
Your letter reached me in Borrowdale, where I have been re-
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October 1847 To A. H. Clough 8
maining for some days in a dignified seclusion, surrounded by my family. Today my sister 29 and I walked home over the Stake. I think Borrowdale by far the most beautiful thing in this country, and regret that I could not stay there long enough to make myself thoroughly familiar with it.
I shall certainly come to Oxford for two or three days before I sail; I am afraid I cannot spare more time. I shall probably sail on the 1st of December. New Zealand is certainly rather far off; but the Cape is not so very much nearer, and never had any attractions in my eyes as a place to settle at. And in Prince Edward's Island, the winter as you observe, is enough to deter any one but a polar bear. As for Chartist allotments, I confess the whole affair always seemed to me terribly prosaic. I read in the papers once an account of a Chartist Colony in Hertfordshire. They bought a picturesque old Hertfordshire farm, with large trees and old high hedges scattered over it. They began by cutting down every single tree, and rooting up all the hedges. They next divided the land into ugly parallelograms, and built an ugly house upon each; in the centre of the piece of land they erected an ugly little school house, and a still uglier chapel, or meetinghouse, or schism-shop, whichever we choose to call it. 30 No; Chartism, at its best, is 'very dreary'. And after all, in case of a blow up here, one could always return. 'Wheresoever the carcase is'--etc.
Matt I suppose is now at Oriel; give him my love, and Walrond also.
Monday.
I have just come in from cutting down a tree; you, I suppose, are at this moment training up the young mind of Oriel to--what shall we say? --Pantheism? Meantime the bright sun shines on us both, and seems to promise all things to every true endeavour of a faithful heart. If we could but all open our eyes, and behold ourselves fresh and young with the immortal youth of Nature:--see, that though 'ancients of the earth', we are yet 'in the morning
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8 To A. H. Clough October 1847
of the times'. 31 This will perhaps sound rhapsodical to you; however it not unworthily describes my present feelings.
Believe me
ever yours
T. Arnold
9. To MRS. ARNOLD
[London] Saturday [? November 1847] 32
My dearest Mother
I have only time for a few lines, but you will like those better than none. To day I have been ordering tools and agricultural implements, which I have found much cheaper than I had been led to expect. There are a light plough and a pair of harrows among the things ordered, and yet the whole bill is under £18. In ordering, I went upon the calculation of what would be sufficient for two or three men, working together.
Dearest K and Mary breakfasted with me this morning; and I, dog that I was, 33 overslept myself, so that they were obliged to come to me, instead of my going to fetch them. What will Fan 34 say to that? Mary looks as if she had suffered much, yet she was
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November 1841 To Mrs. Arnold 9
in tolerably good spirits. I grieve to say there has been a change for the worse in Aldred. 35 I am just going to Rugby.
Ever, dearest Mother
your most loving son
T. Arnold
[P. S.] I shall go to Laleham to see Susy 36
10. To A. H. CLOUGH
Mount St. [London] Thursday evening [18 November 1847] 37
My dear Clough
I write to tell you that the good ship does not leave Gravesend till Tuesday; though she clears out from the Docks on Sunday; consequently I shall not go down to Gravesend till Monday night or Tuesday morning. I hope you will still be able to come down and see me embark. I have now nearly done everything; the cabin is fitted up, my books and other traps have been packed and sent down to the Docks; and so far as depends on me, I could be ready to sail tomorrow. I hope I shall like the Free Church people; 38 how alarmed the dear creatures would be, if they knew what a mass of heresy and schism I had got down in the hold. Rousseau! Spinoza!! Hegel!!! Emerson!! Stanley 39 observed that Spinoza and Hegel had probably never crossed the Line before.
Goodnight, my dear
Ever yours T. Arnold
[P. S.] When is Walrond coming up? The gun is bought; it is a good strong single-barrel, fitted to carry a ball. 40
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II. To MRS. ARNOLD
Falcon Hotel Gravesend
Tuesday [23 November 1847]
Dearest Mother
I came down here by a steamer with Edward, 41 and arrived a little before 5. I took a boat immediately and went with all my things (13 packages) on board the John Wickliffe. She is lying in the stream, and will probably sail tomorrow morning. The ship was a scene of bustle and confusion of course; however I got all my things into the cabin, and then went ashore again, having been invited to dine with young Mr. Wakefield. 42 So here I am now, and in about an hour I shall go on board again, and turn in. I am very happy now; though parting with Matt rather upset me. 43
About free emigration, the case is this. The Company sends out labour free by means of the proceeds from the sale of its lands. At present the land fund is quite exhausted and therefore there is no immediate prospect of free emigration in the Company's vessels. But if you or any one write at any time to Mr. Harrington the Secretary, New Zealand House, Broad St. Buildings, he will tell you what is being done, and what is contemplated
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November 1847 To Mrs. Arnold 11
You will hear from me once again by the Deal pilot.
Adieu, dearest ever 44
12. To MRS. ARNOLD
The 'John Wickliffe' off the Nore
Nov. 24th 1847 Wednesday evening
My dearest Mother
I commence my journal to you, as is fitting. Yesterday evening, after dining with Wakefield and two of my fellow-passengers, Lieut. Smith of the Artillery, and a Mr. Smith, of whom I knew nothing but his most unidentifying name, we all went on board. It was a brilliant moonlight night, and not cold, and the short row to the ship was delightful. There she lay, clear and glistening in the moonlight, and the boatmen, as we approached, applauded her trim, which was slightly by the stern. When we got on board, most of the passengers were already in their cabins. The appearance of my cabin was quite appalling. Mr. Cutten 45 was in it, in his shirt sleeves, working away in a space so confined as literally to leave him hardly room to turn. Gun cases, carpet bags, brown paper parcels, cuttings of fruit trees, etc etc, it formed altogether the most bewildering heap of confusion, and seemed to defy the power of Method. Everything was piled into the cabin for the night, and how I contrived to find my nightgown and get into it, is still a mystery to me; I did it however, and made my bed after a fashion, and after extinguishing the lamp, we turned into our berths. I did not get much sleep, the cabin was so close; and soon after 7 I got up. The morning was fine, and we were told that the captain 46 was coming down by the first steamer from London, and that we should sail in the middle of the day.
Wedn. Nov. 24th.
About 8 o'clock I went ashore to make various trifling purchases, and took the opportunity to dress and breakfast at Wates'
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12 To Mrs. Arnold November 1847
Hotel, which was very comfortable. In two hours I went onboard again, and we set hard to work at cleaning out our cabin, by taking down divers packages that we did not want for immediate use, into the hold. So things now look a little more promising. At 12 the captain arrived, with the broker; the necessary business was soon got through; the pilot came on board; and soon the cheering sound was heard 'loose the fore-top sail', followed by all the orders that are usual before weighing the anchor. While I was in my cabin, knocking in nails and hooks, I was clapped on the back by Ffolkes. A few minutes conversation were all there was time for, as the sails were quickly loosened and set, the anchor cable was hove short, and soon all hands were called to man the windlass. Up came the anchor at last, and we began to move. The voyage was begun.
We ran slowly down the river, the tide being against us; the weather was beautiful, and every one was on the poop, watching the various vessels that we passed. I soon made acquaintance with Mr. Garrick's children; 47 and little David (so called perhaps after the actor) is now on terms of the most intimate familiarity with me. I will not now speak of the other passengers, as I have not seen enough of them to know them. We dined at 3, and in the middle of dinner we heard the noise of a chain running out, and felt the heavy dragging tugs of the falling anchor. We had just passed the Nore, and the pilot had thought proper to anchor for the night. You know, while the pilot is on board, he has the entire management of the vessel, and the captain does nothing. So here we lie, under the bright stars; and we are to sail at daybreak tomorrow. Goodnight, dearest Mother
Thursday Nov. 25th.
I slept well last night, and got up at seven, to look at the preparations for making sail. It took a long time, partly perhaps from its being a new crew; but the anchor was lifted at last, and we made sail. It is now about 11, and we are running South East. We are very fast, and pass everything we fall in with. The pilot will leave us at Deal, I suppose, and I dare say I shall have time to finish up this letter, before he goes.
Thursday evening.
We have anchored for the night off Margate, because the wind is contrary. This is slow work, but it can't be helped. We are
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November 1847 To Mrs. Arnold 12
scarcely half a mile from the chalk cliffs, just inside the North Foreland. The pilot has just come in to say, that he intends taking the ship thro' the Downs tonight, should the wind, as he expects, get round to the North. This pilot is a strange character. He seems to have read a great deal, and naturally he has had a great experience of men, and having also a gift of words, he forms one of the best conversers I ever heard. Some of the passengers try to chaff him, but they find him a rough customer, for he always contrives to turn the laugh against them. He is an acute reasoner, and floors most of those whom he argues with; but it is curious to observe how hi(s) logic falls like water off the thick sides of Capt. Car(gill's) interminable declamations. Capt. Cargill 48 is one of those broad assumers with whom it is impossible to argue, because he is incapable of seeing a distinction, and is invincibly satisfied of the truth, perhaps one might say of the exclusive truth, of his own views. Yet he seems a good old man, and though certainly prolix, he becomes interesting when he talks of the Otago scheme, and of the principles on which he is founding his colony. These, he says, are unchanged and unchangeable, they are what the Church of Scotland has always held from the first; they animated the Pilgrim Fathers, and their results have been seen in the astonishing growth of the United States; and he anticipates similar results from his own efforts. All this is interesting; yet one sighs as one listens, and thinks to oneself how times are changed. Puritanism is no longer at the van of human thought; it is vain to try to cheat oneself into the belief that it is; and a man preaching Puritanism now, is like St. Paul preaching Judaism, when a better light had come into the world. 49 Goodnight dearest Mother, and goodbye for the present; for I fear I shall have no time to write in the morning. Ever yours most affectly
Love to Fan
T. Arnold
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13. To MRS. ARNOLD
Haslar
Dec 8th 1847
Dearest Mother
You will begin to think that you will never hear the last of me. I turn up, like a bad shilling, now at the Downs, now at St Helen's, now at Haslar Hospital. Last Saturday night we encountered a heavy gale near Cape Barfleur, which forced us to bear up for St Helen's, where we have been riding out a continued gale since Sunday; but this morning we worked up to the 'Motherbank' off Ryde, and I was able to get on shore, and then I thought of calling here, and I am glad I did.
We shall sail with the first fair wind.
Please remember this. I cannot find among my things a quarto manuscript book, which perhaps you might have seen me using at Fox How. I may possibly have left it at my lodgings; therefore will you ask Matt to call there and ask about it, and if it should be there, to tie it up, as it contains loose papers, and keep it for me. 50
It has been a great pleasure to hear of you all from Lady Richardson. 51
As we may be wind-bound for some days please write a line by return of post, directing
The John Wickliffe
lying at the Motherbank
off Portsmouth
Ever dearest dearest Mother in haste
yours most affectly
T. Arnold
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14. To MRS. ARNOLD
'John Wickliffe'
off St Helen's
Dec 14th 1847
My dearest Mother
We are under weigh again with the wind South by East, working out into the Channel, in company with H. M. S. Bellerophon 80 guns, which we are passing close to on every tack, and exchanging compliments with her by dipping our ensigns. She is bound to the Mediterranean with troops, and I dare say we shall see a good deal of her before we diverge on our respective routes. I do hope that we shall not drop anchor again till we reach N. Zealand, for this lying in harbours is very harassing work. Thank you dearest, and thank dear Fan and Rowland, 52 for all your kind notes. Give my love to Willy 53 and tell him that I congratulate him heartily on being fairly launched at last. I would write to him if I had time; but the pilot will soon be going off, and my fingers besides are quite stiff with the cold.
Last Saturday Cutten and I slept on shore at Ryde, and the next day we walked to East Cowes, that I might see Slatwoods. 54 The day was beautiful, and I have seldom enjoyed a walk more. We passed through Whippingham, and I hunted all over the church-yard to find Grandpapa's grave, but could not find it; so I suppose it must be inside the church. Dear old Slatwoods looked just as I remembered it, with its beautiful willows, and the elms planted by Grandpapa, that line the coach road. I thought it excusable to pull a small piece of bark off one of them as a memorial of Papa's early home. As I stood leaning on the gate, I thought of his boyish years, and tried to fancy him wandering alone about the walks, or reading his Smollett on the grassy slope in front of the house.
I retract what I said before of Cutten. I like him more and more, and there is no one in the ship whom I would so soon have
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14 To Mrs. Arnold December 1847
as a partner in the cabin. I am going to lend him the Life, 55 and I shall be curious to see what impression it makes on him educated as he has been in so totally different a sphere.
The letters must be got ready for the pilot. You did not say whether you got my two journal-letters from the Downs. In future, please acknowledge my letters by their dates, that I may know which of them get safe. Should you see anywhere a memorial to the N. Z. Comp[an]y from the passengers of the John Wickliffe about an indignity that was yesterday offered to Capt. Cargill by a contumacious tradesman, you will know that it is partly my composition.
Ever dearest Mother
your most loving son
T. Arnold
15. To MRS. ARNOLD
The John Wickliffe
60 or 70 miles west of Lisbon
Dec 22nd 1847
My dearest Mother
At length, after having exhausted all the horrors of sea-sickness, we are racing along before the wind down the Portuguese coast at the rate of 240 miles in the 24 hours, under a cloudless sky and in a genially mild atmosphere. We have gone thro' much, very much, however, in order to arrive here. On the Tuesday evening of the day that we left the Motherbank, I first felt ill, and it was not until Saturday that I began to feel at all comfortable. It is curious to observe how differently sea-sickness affects different persons. In a concentrated regular constitution like mine, the thing took an even course; I held up for a long time, then felt rather ill, declined by slow degrees from bad to worse, and from worse to worst, and then by equally slow degrees, but without any falling back, rose to a perfect recovery. For two days, while I was at the worst, I scarcely touched a morsel of food. On the other hand, most of the other passengers, the ladies especially, became sick almost as soon as there was the slightest motion, but still contrived to eat enormous meals in the intervals; the consequence of which was that though they were never quite
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December 184. 7 To Mrs. Arnold
so ill as I was, they did not recover nearly so soon, but went on in a sort of variable half and half state for days, which I should think must be more disagreeable than utter prostration. Our course has been this. We got well out of the Channel by Thursday morning in last week, 56 but that evening a gale sprang up from the S. W. and forced us to lie to for that night and the whole of the next day, under close reefed topsails, drifting fast to leeward towards the Irish coast. On Saturday the wind changed, and on Sunday it turned to a strong Northwesterly breeze, and has continued northerly ever since, so that we have been bowling along in fine style, running down more than 3 degrees of Latitude each day. Yesterday we passed a Screw-schooner homeward bound; we showed our number, that is, our name, to her, and she signalled that she understood; so that I hope you will hear of our having got safely so far. At this moment, I am within 100 miles of dearest Walter; 57 what would I not give to be able to see him. But it is in vain that I strain my eyes to catch even a glimpse of the land. On Christmas day we shall probably be in sight of Madeira, and we are making preparations for a great feast on that day, an event of no small importance to people on a sea voyage. I wish Matt could have seen the delight painted on the faces of the passengers the other evening when I brought out the first pot of marmalade. They all declared that they had never tasted anything like it in their lives. The next pot will appear in honour of the dear old fellow's birthday. I shall go on writing this letter from time to time, though I have no idea when I shall have an opportunity of sending it.
Dec 23rd
The air became softer and softer, and the sea is now so smooth that there is scarcely any motion; how different from the angry rolling sea which we met with while skirting the Bay of Biscay, where we shot up on the top of a wave and saw beneath us a long watery valley stretching out as far as the eye could reach, and hemmed in on each side by great ridges of wave, white-capped like snowy mountains. Last night I remained a long time
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15 To Mrs. Arnold December 1847
on the poop, enjoying the mild air. All our studding sails are now set, and we sail on by day and by night almost without touching a rope. There is something in a vessel's unceasing uninterrupted course by night and day, that reminds you of the ceaseless motion of the planets in their orbits, or of the periodic changes of the seasons, or of anything else that goes on for ever without break and without stay, and is as unlike as possible to the jerky way of travelling which we are used to on shore.-- This morning we were all down in the 'tween decks, overhauling our luggage, great part of which was put there, instead of in the hold. Some of us wished to get up the boxes containing their summer apparel; I merely wanted to see that all my things were there safe; and I am glad to say that I saw every one of my packages, except one, and that I have no doubt is there. The hamper of china, packed by dear Rowey, is there, and I think nothing is broken at present; but I have some misgivings as to what its fate will be, if we meet with any heavy storms before the end of our voyage. However everything is now repacked in as secure a manner as possible. Before I left London, I received a nice little iron bed-stead as a present from Lake; 58 it is neatly packed up in a small box with a lock and key, and is likely I think to be a most useful present. That dear old Allen, in his sollicitude for my comfort, bought me on the very day before I started, a beautiful plated teapot, a sort of Dutch oven which will bake bread as well as roast meat, and a saucepan, an iron for ironing clothes, besides seeds of different sorts, and also two or three books of husbandry. Ah! how I should like to get the dear old fellow out in New Zealand. I never knew any one with whom it was so easy to live as Allen; there was something pleasant and refreshing to me in the very sight of him. Ah me! one learns to love more nearly as one ought, when one is far far away from those whom one loves.
Christmas Day 1847.
A merry Xmas to you dearest Mother, and to all at Fox How. I hope most of them are at home now. You may have a fine Xmas day, but you cannot have such a one as ours. The climate is now so warm, that this morning I put on all my summer clothing. The sky is of a pale blue, and the clouds are more filmy and delicate than you see them in Northern latitudes. Three
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ships are in sight, one of which is a Spaniard, bound probably to Manilla. Yesterday we had the treat of seeing land. At 12.30 we sighted the island of Porto Santo, one of the Madeiras, appearing like a light cloud on the horizon ahead of us. Gradually it rose and became clearer, until about 5. 20 when it was nearly abreast of us, about 15 miles off, and presented a serrated mountainous outline, most beautiful to behold. I took down the outline at the time as exactly as I could, and here is the attempt at it.
Madeira next came in sight, farther to the S. and W., but the declining day hindered us from seeing much of it. I so longed to be on shore on Porto Santo were it but for two days, to wander amongst those beautiful mountains in such a heavenly air, or to sit in an orange grove, eating oranges and drinking Madeira. I tried to put myself in the position of the old Portuguese navigators who first discovered this beautiful island, and found shelter under its lee, and named it 'Holy harbour'. What a pity it is that the world is all explored, and that there are no 'undiscovered islands' left. But ad rem of exploring, I will tell you of a delightful project which young Cargill and I have planned together. 59 It is that during the month while the ship is lying at Otago, and the Otagians are putting up their houses, I should go a little expedition into the unknown interior, to explore the upper valley of the Molyneux, a large river near Otago, and to endeavour to gain a sight of the great snowy chain which runs all along the western coast of the Middle Island. The thought of this expedition makes me half wild with delight. Two other Wellington passengers talk of coming, but I shan't be at all sorry if they don't, and I think it is not at all unlikely that they'll change their minds when it comes to the point. I shall take a bag of flour with me, a compass, a tinder box, a small kettle, some tea, and my gun and pistols; and I shall try to obtain the services of a native, and then hey, ho! for the interior.
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15 To Mrs. Arnold December 1847
Capt. Cargill highly approves of the scheme, for as he says, it may be very useful to the settlers to know something of the country some way inland of them.
Dec. 29th.
We are now about in Lat. 22° North, and have got fairly into the N. E. Trade Wind. The Trade winds, you know, blow all the year round from the N. E. and S. E., one on each side of the Line. Here is a diagram for Fan, a la Walter:
The John Wickliffe is about where the cross is marked. We shall run down before this Trade nearly to the Line; after crossing which, we shall cross the S. E. Trade to the small island of Trinidada or thereabouts; there we shall find westerly winds; which will carry us past the Cape, and through the great Southern Ocean to New Zealand. Hitherto, since leaving the English coast, we have got on magnificently; the Captain says it is the best run he ever made. Usually ships meet with calms and baffling winds near Madeira.--Do you know, I think it is not unlikely that I shall stop at Wellington after all, if I can get the land without any bother. It will save the expense of the passage to New Plymouth, and I shall have a market for my wheat close at hand, besides other advantages. N. Plymouth is certainly much the finer country, but then it has no harbour, and I fancy that letters would be much more irregular in coming there than at Wellington. But of course I shall not make up my mind till I reach Wellington. All this time I have not told you that last Sunday we saw the Peak of Teneriffe. Though 80 miles off, we had a distinct view of the immense cone, piercing the evening sky. We passed close to Palma, another of the Canaries, which is also a high mountain and had snow on its summit. We could even distinguish trees, and white houses scattered here and there over the furrowed sides of the mountain. You have no idea what an intensely delightful sensation the sight of land produces at sea, and such land. Certainly, I thought to myself, if these beauti-
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December 1847 To Mrs Arnold 15
ful islands were not under the dominion of those rascally Portuguese, there would be no need to go so far off as New Zealand.
New Year's day 1848. Lat. 13°, 10' N.
Yesterday according to the Scotch custom, a custom, to my mind, 'more honoured in the breach than the observance', we drank in the New Year over two bowls of punch. Let me, this morning, according to our fashion, wish you dearest Mother, and all within the walls of sweet Fox How, and all friends in the valley, a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. On this day, while perhaps Matt and Edward are skating on Rydal Lake, the thermometer here is 76° in the shade and swarms of flying fish pursued by their enemies the porpoises, tell us that we are really in the torrid Zone. The flying fish are beautiful; when you see a whole shoal of them firing at once out of the water, you can hardly believe that it is not a flock of birds. It seems to be a small fish, about 9 inches long; the back is dark, and underneath it is a silvery-white.--I have hitherto said little of the passengers, and I am sorry to say that there is not much good to be said of any of them, excepting Capt. Cargill and his son. Failing in inward resources, and tormented by ennui, many of them indulge, in their conversation and habits, in a license of manners which often borders on the gross. In this, strange to say, the Miss Cargills are conspicuous. They appear to think that because they are going to a rude and young society, they may throw off the restraints of manners, and do all sorts of things which in England, in the absence of a refinement of nature, the dread of opinion would prevent them from doing. They allow the young men to kiss them when they are found asleep on the deck, eat sweetmeat with the same spoon with the mate, and exhibit the utmost greediness without shame or reserve. I do not consider myself very scrupulous either, but I must say that their conduct fills me with disgust. Oh! a ship is a very Palace of Truth for unveiling the secret vanities and weaknesses and meannesses of those whom you live with, while the pure metal shines only the purer for the trial. Capt. Cargill is an instance of the last; there is a real kindness and unselfishness in him, which comes out more and more. His son too, who is a sailor, I like very much, and I like Cutten, though it is impossible that there can ever be much sympathy between us. I rather like Mr. and Mrs. Garrick, and Mrs. Nicholson the clergyman's wife, who is an invalid, and
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15 To Mrs. Arnold January 1848
much gentler and softer than the other women. 60 The remaining passengers are Lieut. Smith, Mr. Smith, Mr. Burrell (an old dried up East Indian), a lad of 17 called Jeffreys, a plain young lady of about five and thirty called Miss Alexander, and the Revd. Mr. Nicholson; and it is difficult to say which of all these persons grate most unpleasingly on the moral or artistic sense.
Jan 5th 1848.
In Lat. 4° N, and Long. 22° West, about.
We have just lost the Trade wind, and it is nearly a dead calm. Every pen is busy, for a homeward-bound sail has just hove in sight, and we shall probably exchange letters and newspapers. Though so near the Line, the heat is not very great; at least I do not very much feel it. In the early morning now I take a salt-water bath by having buckets of water thrown over me on the poop, and it is very refreshing. We have made a very fine run thus far, and probably we shall not be very long becalmed. We hope to reach Otago about the middle of March. I shall hope to find a letter awaiting me when I arrive at Wellington. Yet no; that is scarcely possible. Goodbye dearest mother; with truest love to you and every one of the dear darlings, and to Rowey and all who remember me, believe me,
ever your most loving son
T. Arnold
16. To MRS. ARNOLD 61
Jan 28th 1848
Lat. 28°, 37' South
Long, about 27° West
My dearest Mother
I am quite taken by surprise, a homeward bound ship having
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January 1848 To Mrs. Arnold 16
just come up, and signalled to us to send letters on board, when the captain had told us that we should have no opportunity. She is the Woodbridge bound to Falmouth. 62 This is just to tell you that I am quite well and to send you my dearest dearest love. I have kept my journal regularly, therefore you will have the account of the voyage in due time. The weather is and has been most beautiful. Ever dearest Mother, and all
your most loving son and brother
T. Arnold
17. To MRS. ARNOLD
Feb: 9th 1848
about Lat. 38°, 0' South, Long. 10°, 0' East
My dearest Mother
Though it is very unlikely that I shall have an opportunity of sending this letter before arriving at New Zealand, I shall yet begin to write it, partly as an occupation, partly because it is so pleasant to hold communication with home even in this imperfect way. To give you an idea of the voyage up to this time, I will make a sort of abstract of my journal, since Jan. 5th the day when I sent home my long letter by the 'Ocean'. From the 5th to the 13th we had only calms, and light airs, as is usual between the two Trade winds, and made very little progress.
Jan 7th. Moderate breeze from the South. Conversed by signals with a large ship to leeward. She was the 'Patriot Queen' and said that she was only 19 days out of port. A shoal of bonita followed the ship. In the water this fish has a head of a dark heath-brown colour, green glittering sides, and golden fins. One was speared by one of the sailors, and out of the water it lost all its brilliant colours. Lat. 3°, 43' N. About 2 p. m. tacked to the Eastward.
Jan 8th. Heavy tropical rain after breakfast. Knocking about all day, and making little progress.
Jan 13th. A steady but moderate breeze from the S. S. W. Brilliant weather. This was Neptune's day, and the sailors had great fun forward, but none of the cabin, and only one or two of the
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17 To Mrs. Arnold February 1848
steerage passengers were shaved. Lat. 1° 25' N. Glorious starlit sky to the S. Saw the Southern cross and the False cross, and one of the Magellan clouds. The milky way actually threw a reflection on the water.
The Southern cross is not a very fine constellation, one of the stars which form the cross being so small. The Magellan cloud is an immense multitude of stars close together which from the distance appear like a light white cloud in the southern sky. The milky way is far brighter in the Southern than the Northern Hemisphere. It is like a great arch of light spanning the sky.
Jan 15th. Steady S. E. Trade: worked at the sail for the Otago boat. Early this morning we crossed the Line. Lat. at noon 0° 50' S.
This sail-making I have found very pleasant work. There is a boat on board for the use of the Otago settlement, and young Cargill, who has been a sailor, has had to make the sails for her, as she will be wanted immediately upon our arrival to carry food from the ship to the shore. He has taken me as his apprentice in this work; as we call it in joke, and I have learnt to sew the cloths together, to table the edges (a sort of hemming) to make grummets, eylet-holes, hanks, and what not. I sewed together the cloths of the jib almost entirely myself, and the Captain said it was very neatly done. One cannot be always reading and this sail making forms a very agreeable passe-temps. A description of one morning at sea will serve almost as a description of all, so here you have it.
We are sailing log along close-hauled in the S. E. Trade. Cargill and I are on the poop working at our sail. The air is warm, and the sky almost without a cloud. Of the other passengers, some are down reading in the cabin, others walking about and one or two netting on the poop. A large Dutch barque is in sight about two miles astern going the same course as ourselves. All our sails are set. Presently a large cloud appears to windward, increases rapidly, and bears down upon the ship. The captain steps out of his cabin and comes up on the poop; looks at the coming squall, then up at the sails, and calls out 'Stand by the main-royal clew-lines'. The squall comes nearer; beneath it the sea assumes a dark purple colour, and is lashed into short angry foam-crested waves. Cargill and I roll up the sail and take it down below out of the way of the rain. The captain sends for his oil-skin coat and South-wester. Now the first drops of rain fall, and the force of
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February 1848 To Mrs. Arnold 17
the wind bends down the ship to leeward. 'Clew up the main-royal' shouts the captain, and then 'Aloft some one on the yard, and furl the sail'. Both main and fore royals are furled, and the ship thus relieved. A sharp shower falls, and lasts for about a quarter of an hour; then it all drives away to leeward, the sun shines out bright again, the royals are re-hoisted, we bring up our sail, and all goes on as before. But the quiet is soon interrupted by a loud barking and snarling on the quarter deck; we run to the poop-rail, and there are Tiger and Billy one a retriever, the other a terrier, having a battle-royal for the fiftieth time. Some one takes Tiger by the tail, and pulls him away, another gives a kick to Billy, and the combatants are separated, Tiger coming out of the field unhurt, and Billy with a lacerated ear. Meantime another squall has enveloped the Dutchman in mist and darkness, and in advance of this squall, as if to clear the way before it, is seen a waterspout rushing along the water with inconceivable rapidity, and whirling round and round at the same time. At 1 o'clock the children have their dinner, and at 3 we have ours. After dinner we go on deck again and either work at the sail, or lounge about looking at the sunset. At 6 we have tea, and after it cards; a round game at the top of the table, patronized by the captain and the ladies, and a whist-party at the bottom, of which I am generally one. At 10 the lights are put out, and after a walk on deck we go to bed.
Feb. 29th 1848.
For some time past the weather has been so cold, and the ship has had so much motion, that I have discontinued writing altogether, except my daily journal. We are now about in lat. 50 S. and long 80 E., and hope to reach New Zealand in three weeks if the wind is favourable. I will go on with the extracts from the journal.
March 4th.
I was interrupted the other day; since when we have made rapid progress Eastward, and are now about in Long. 100 E. Every one is anxious enough to get to land, as you may suppose. There has not been very much downright quarreling during the voyage, but a great deal of idle gossip and tittle tattle, and consequent jangling. Indeed, I have some trouble to abstain from gossiping myself, from pure want of occupation. The passengers are, or perhaps I should say were, for things are going on very amicably now, divided into two parties, one headed by the Cargills (ex-
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cluding the old Captain and his son) and the other by the Garricks. The captain adheres to the Cargill faction; indeed it is said, but do not tell this to anyone out of Fox How, that he has proposed to Miss Cargill, been accepted by her, and rejected by her father. It happens that the captain has a private store of good things, such as cherry brandy, sardines, green tea, pickles, etc, which he sometimes brings on the table; and distributes about to the Cargills who sit near him, but does not pass farther down the table; and you can hardly conceive how much jealousy and talk has arisen out of this and other similar 'trifles light as air'. I fear it is undeniable that the Miss Cargills are very greedy, and never lose any good thing for want of grabbing at it, or asking for it. When I look at their coarse features, and see their gross manners, I often think of my own sweet K and indeed of all my sisters, and tears come into my eyes when I think of them and you, dear mother, being so far away. When I think of home, there is no scene that comes oftener before my mind than Borrowdale with its glorious crags, and mountains robed in their autumn dress, and the little inn at Rosthwaite, and the tea cakes and honey, and the pleasant readings about Isabel and the Colonel;--ah, it is too much. Tell dearest Fan that I will be sure to remember her charge about opening the hamper in which the hips and haws are.
March 16th.
We are now about in Lat. 49°S. and Long. 152°E, and expect to come in sight of Stewart's Island on Sunday, and to have our anchor down in Otago harbour, if the wind favours, on Monday. We are flying along before a W. N. Wly wind, which carries us over 6 degrees of longitude in a day. The note of preparation is evident throughout the ship; oars are being made, the boats are being caulked and painted, the boarding pikes have been got up from below and are being furbished up, and every one is overhauling his luggage more or less. The one subject of conversation is on what day we shall first see land. I still hope, if possible, to make the expedition into the interior while the ship is at Otago, but I have resolved to go alone, if go at all, and not with those of the passengers who talk of going. In the absence of real true friends, I find myself shrinking back more and more from common acquaintances, and I now find no peace or happiness except when alone. Once I should have enjoyed well enough the society of any merry hearty fellows on such an excursion, but
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March 1848 To Mrs. Arnold 17
now I have not the spirits to bear it. I laugh at their idle jokes out of complaisance, but my heart aches and pines the while, and I long to be alone with my recollections and musings. You will easily understand that what has brought this premature old age on my spirit is the sad fate of a love which had inwoven itself into every fibre of my existence. 63 Now that every earthly hope is gone for me, what comfort can I find in civil speeches or idle laughter and jokes, what peace except in solitary communion with my own heart? Then my soul opens itself before God in humble prayer, and I bless the hand which has stricken me, and feel that though He has taken away from me all beside, He has yet left me Himself. Then too I live over again the happy days and hours passed at home or in the society of loved friends, and though the tears flow, the heart is comforted and strengthened.
There is really very little to tell about the voyage, for it has been as monotonous as possible. We passed close to Kerguelen's Land, 64 and were becalmed for a day at 10 miles from the island. This was a grand scene. Nearest to us, rose an enormous peaked mountain, the furrowed ravines in whose craggy top were filled up with ice and snow, and in a vast hollow which seemed as if scooped out in its face, was a glacier larger than any that I have seen in the Alps. This mountain must have been, I think, 6 or 7000 feet high. To the left of it, stretched away a magnificent range of snowy mountains, as far as the eye could trace the land; to the right the land rapidly sank, and receding, seemed to form a beautiful harbour, which we longed to explore. To the right of the harbour, the land rose again and continued in a rugged and fantastically broken mountain-chain as far as the Easternmost promontory that we could see. I longed to go ashore, and if I ever have a schooner of my own in New Zealand,
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17 To Mrs. Arnold March 1848
I fully intend to make an expedition to explore this island. 65 At one point, with the help of a telescope, I could actually see a stream falling over the cliff, reminding me somewhat of Birker force in Eskdale. The southern side of this island, off which we were, is scarcely ever seen by ships, which when they do make the land at all, make some point on the north side. We have several times seen the Southern Lights, and last night in particular they were magnificent; far brighter than I have ever seen in England. Spiky columns of flame-like trembling light travelled round the sky from S. W. to S. E. and when they had passed, the sky behind them was of a bloody red.
Sunday March 19th.
Dearest Mother and all, I have to tell you that this evening at 10 minutes before 6 we got a sight of Stewart Island, the southernmost island in New Zealand. The land was high and bold. Thus far the good hand of God has brought us in safety, and we hope, if the present wind holds, to be anchored in Otago harbour tomorrow evening. The air is delightfully mild and soft and the sun has set in glory among golden clouds. Many feelings press upon one at such a time, and surely, love for all of you, my darlings, is not one of the weakest. There is a singular charm too in the first glimpses of a country, which has for so long had a subjective existence in one's imagination, that when actually seen its features seem already homish and familiar, and the peculiar feeling comes across one of having seen it all before.
Monday March 20th.
I got up before sunrise this morning, and went on deck; and there sure enough was the Middle Island. The land was about 10 or 15 miles off, and showed as a long range of low undulating hills. The sunrise was gorgeous and splendid beyond description, and a lofty rainbow rose in the South West, just as the sun rose out of his 'burning bed'. If you have a map, you will find 'Bernardin Bay' marked down about at the place where we first saw the land. The wind was N. W., and allowed us to steer towards the shore. After 7 o'clock it was very thick and showery for some hours, but it cleared up at 11, and we then found ourselves close to the land. Beautiful it was to see mountain after mountain, and point after point emerge from the cloudy screen. Though a moist haze
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March 1848 To Mrs. Arnold 17
still hung over the land, we should distinguish the trees that clothed the hills and the green grass on the tops of the cliffs. Ahead of us were some little rocky islets which we found to be the 'Nuggets' which form the southern headland of 'Molyneux Bay'. After passing these, the low receding land to the north pointed out the valley and mouth of the River Molyneux. We are going slowly along, with Cape Saunders, the south promontory of Otago Harbour, in sight on the larboard bow. We shall lie to during the night, and make for the Harbour in the morning. Goodnight dearest.
Wednesday March 22nd.
Off Tairoa Heads.
We are at anchor at last, dearest, and I am just scribbling these lines after breakfast before going ashore. I shall send this by a schooner that is going to sail to Wellington today or tomorrow. Yesterday we were becalmed off shore all day and a most lovely day it was. Boats came out of the harbour this morning to meet us and pilot us in; in one of them was Mr. Kettle the N. Z. Comp[an]y's Surveyor; 66 he is ridiculously like Charles Penrose. 67 The appearance of the land is beautiful; hills clothed with wood, and red cliffs down to the sea. Goodbye dearest dearest Mother and all of you; yours most affectly,
T. Arnold
18. MARY ARNOLD to T. A.
Fox How,
March 18, 1848.
My dearest Tom,
I hope while I live and am able, never to let a packet of letters be sent to you without a few lines at least from your old mother, but the portions will be sometimes smaller and sometimes larger. I can think of you now as perhaps landed in New Zealand, a country which, from the time it becomes your country, becomes so much mine also, and in which I have taken so lively an interest long and long before you, my darling Tom, thought of
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18 Mary Arnold to T. A. March 1848
making it your home. I find that Lieut. Governor Eyre is exceedingly pleased with what he has seen of the natives, but does not admire the climate, though he believes it to be remarkably healthy. This does not, however, seem a question for Mr. Eyre to settle--so long had it been acknowledged to be a fine climate. We shall hear what you say of it. I should like, for instance, to know how the weather is with you to-day, this 19th day of March, you being in your early autumn, and we in our early spring-if spring it may be called with a thermometer at 42°.
March 20
As you will of course see English newspapers, I need not attempt to tell you of the events of world-wide interest which are going on in France, and exciting the deepest interest in every thoughtful heart, for the present commotion is fraught with importance to the whole human race. How much I have thought of you, my own dear son, in many of the objects proposed by the provisional Government, by Lamartine and Albert [and Louis] Blanc, I 68 have the very designs, unless I am much mistaken, which you have most longed to accomplish. Most instructive will it be to see what is the event--whether any approximation is made towards that brotherly consideration of Man for Man which would indeed seem like the coming of God's kingdom--but even in the very measures which are taken for equal rights, one already sees the system of exclusion. The extreme Republican party is unwilling to allow the moderates even a fair share in the representation. At this moment Paris seems ready to boil over at fever heat, and it will be a grief indeed if bloodshed and anarchy come to mar the wonderful example we have had of how a total revolution of the established order of things can take place without sanguinary violence and with the most remarkable absence of all spirit of plunder or of cruelty. The attitude of the army is most extraordinary. It neither seems to move hand or foot. As dear old Wordsworth said to-day, it seems like a state of suspended animation. You may suppose with what almost breathless interest we await the news from France. No one either abroad or at home has a word to say for Louis Philippe, and what a fine position he once had if he had met his people with an open and true heart. He might not then have
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March 1848 Mary Arnold to T. A. 18
been able to stand his ground in a country whose monarchy seems in itself odious to them, but how far different would have been his fall. It is said that Marie Amelie was quite indignant at the craven way in which he met his doom, and that when the crowd broke into the room where they were in the Tuileries and he exclaimed 'On va me tuer', she replied: 'Eh bien, il faut mourir comme un Roi'. One letter which I saw spoke of his 'moral murder of the little Queen of Spain' for which this might well seem a judgment. But now I will really try to turn from the subject, and to seek home news for you--and we had important news yesterday. Nothing less than that the St. Vincent was at Cork, but we have not heard yet from our dear little sailor. Miss Martineau had seen the fact mentioned in the Times as its latest intelligence, and came over here to tell us, and you should have seen her joy when she found she was the first to communicate the good tidings. Her eyes sparkled, and she almost skipped with pleasure, so happy was she at making happy.
March 25
We have a welcome son letter to-day, for there is one from dear Willy, who had reached Malta, but not nearly so soon as he ought, in consequence of their tossing about in the Bay of Biscay. He had been very much charmed with Gibralter and with the blue of the Mediterranean. In passing by and seeing the island of Galita, you will believe he thought of the poor Avenger. 69 We have at last a delicious day, quite spring-like, and on the table we have a profusion of delicious daffodils, so fresh and sweet that it does one good to look at them. I have been at Ambleside with Luke who is staying there. We met Miss Anna Maria and heard from her that insurrection had burst forth in Milan, and the last accounts report the sound of cannon. It scarcely seemed possible that Lombardy should not claim independence, when all around them they see the success of such efforts. It is hardly possible to follow all which--
March 29.
The above was written some days ago, as you will see, and the news from Milan has just reached us of a fight between the people
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18 Mary Arnold to T. A. March 1848
and the Austrians, which lasted for three days, and the result not known. In fact it was a struggle still going on, and the gates were closed, but people from far and near come flocking to give their help to the cause of independence. My dearest Tom, what stirring times these are! and how must the old world seem to you boiling over--while you are perhaps at this very time wandering where the foot of civilized man has never trod. Tell me, beloved son, what are your hopes for the future of New Zealand. I hope you will have got, before this reaches you, the copy of a letter from Governor Grey which I sent to you in the beginning of this month. 70 Much--very much--must depend on his character, and the extent of his views, for he appears to be invested with nearly absolute powers, and surely it is absurd to try to regulate the local affairs of New Zealand from the other extremity of the Globe. K. will tell you that we have delightful letters from our sailor, and is in fact writing at such length that I shall trust many of the domestic details to her, and will content myself with copying for you Walter's account of the way in which he heard the French news.
He was at Lisbon, and says: 'The Queen's men were at exercise ashore, and most of the St Vincent's were there. We saw then the Packet coming in, and the Admiral saw the packet coming across with despatches. He sent me down to bring them up as quick as possible. As soon as he read them, he said: "We are ordered to Cork, Captain Davies. Louis Philippe has abdicated, and is wandering about on the coast. Bend sails this afternoon; complete provisions and water, and as soon as possible we will sail.".' And now, beloved son, I must say good bye, and may God bless you ever! and may father, mother and children meet where there are no partings.
Yours,
Mary Arnold.
[P. S.] Your picture is such a pleasure to us. 71 I ought to have told you that old Mrs. Briggs, who is thought to be on her deathbed, sent to me the other day to know if I had heard from you.
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19. JANE ARNOLD to T. A.
Fox How, Ambleside,
March 28, 1848
My dearest Tom,
Susy and I have agreed to despatch a letter to you by the next Sydney mail, thinking that this may be a safer way of sending it than by any of the unauthenticated ships which advertise themselves as sailing direct for Wellington. 72 My own dear Tom, you seem already divided from us by a gulf of time, so great and numerous have been the events which have shaken all Europe since you left us, and it seems so strange not to hear your dear voice among the many which are daily discussing the present or speculating upon the future. To think that you as yet know nothing of it! that while you are supposing Louis Philippe still on his throne, he and the poor old Queen are living on the scantiest means at Claremont, bargaining for a house in Lancashire, and with no other prospect than that of dying Queen Victoria's subjects--as Louis Philippe said in the letter he wrote to her when he landed--that while you are in idea turning your back upon a quarter of the globe in which the upper classes carry all their own way, the fact is that the mob are paramount in Paris, and with 'liberty' and 'fraternity' in their mouths, are already exercising a species of terror which compels all the quiet people to fly the city, and which they find so agreeable to themselves that they are doing their best to put off the meeting of the National Assembly and continue themselves for some months more tyrants of France. Fine and noble traits come out, of course, but he must be an obstinate advocate of popular rule who has not been sickened of it in the last month--every day it claims more extravagant and arbitrary powers, powers to which Russian despotism is anarchy, and every day contracts their exercise into a narrower circle. France has been absorbed into the great cities, the cities into Paris, Paris into the middle and lower classes--these into the 'ouvriers', the Ouvriers into the clubs, and now it only remains for these to be silenced by a military despotism--the last and only hopeful step of the whole. The Provisional Government is now little more than a shadow--a tool I will not call it, for many of the members show themselves brave men, Lamartine especially. Meantime all Germany is moved; the Austrians have forced Metternich to fly. At Berlin,
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Jane Arnold to T. A. March 1848
after a bloody conflict the King had been compelled to place himself at the head of all the advance movement and to veil the defeated monarch in the character of Champion of the German Empire. In all corners of Europe Kings cannot give constitutions, Ministers cannot resign, armies cannot vanish into air fast enough for the times. In spite of its gravity there is a ludicrous side in it too, in the haste with which the powers that were are stripping themselves of their honours and outbidding each other as competitors for the favour of the powers that be, the omnipotent people. But you will be able to read all this in the newspapers and will want to hear some of the domestic chronicles wherewith the papers do not concern themselves. I will not, however, apologize for having dwelt so long on public matters, for considering that my dear Tom's dear sister has thought of and dreamt of little else during the last month, a total omission of such subjects would have proved that only a poor little fraction of her found its way to the Antipodes. And that is not at all the case, my dearest Tom; for love is omnipresent, is it not? and I, sitting in this drawing room at Fox How, solitary by the light of the lamp, near the hour of midnight, declare that my whole heart and mind are with you--who now perhaps, near the hour of noon, are penetrating primeval forests, or tracking some poor water-course across hot and barren plains in the country behind Otago. Or perhaps you are still in the John Wickliffe, or perhaps helping Captain Cargill to raise his log hut--but it is really getting so late that without another 'perhaps', I must wish you good night and go to bed....
I suppose we shall hardly see dear old Matt this Easter; but he is very good in writing and sending us newspapers. We get the 'National' regularly from him. I rather think he considers himself bound to do duty for two sons now that you are away. We shall see Edward some time next week for the Easter Vacation; he will bring little Jamie Hearn with him, who will probably be a member of our family for some time, as Mr. Hearn does not get any better--his is a very similar case to Aldred.
Next week too we expect Jane Whately; she will stay with us till the rest of the Whatelys come over in the beginning of May, and then join them at Cheltenham. We expect a visit from the whole party, and also from Col. and Mrs. Lawrence and the Hulls and divers other people in the course of the summer; but all our plans are so uncertain that it is no use to send you a programme of what may never take place. I should think the
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March 1848 Jane Arnold to T. A. 19
Whatelys would be glad to leave Ireland for a little; it is in a terrible state at present, and but that Irishmen do not seem able to act in combination for any length of time, I think there would be every reason to expect a repetition of the scenes in Lombardy. Every Englishman now in Ireland must feel that he is living in a nation of enemies; the Whatelys say that the most bitter and revolutionary songs are sung nightly under their windows; bonfires on every hill celebrate any rumour of a triumph gained in any shape over military police or magistracy. All this, I daresay, has made them more anxious to leave Ireland. I think they were disappointed that the Archbishop was not moved either to York or Canterbury; but I think they could hardly have a better man at Canterbury than the Bishop of Chester.
This is a day which reminds one of Wordsworth's poem on the first mild day of March, so balmy is the air and so bright the sun, so soft the white clouds which float in the deep liquid blue. We have just finished dinner, and I am now trying to finish my letter before post time; though Susy and Luke are reading the newspapers over the fire, the window is wide open, and Banks and his wheelbarrow occupy a conspicuous place on the lawn across which Fan's dear little figure is every now and then darting. From the valley come rural sounds, the ploughman with his team, the hammer in the quarry, the rushing of the Rotha, and the fluttering of the wind in the red leaves which have not yet been pushed off the oak-trees by the swelling buds. Within doors there is the same scene of admired confusion which has characterized Fox How ever since it was built--letters, drawings, dictionaries, Bibles, needle-books, and daffodils are scattered all about. Presently we are going to meet Miss Martineau at Miller Bridge and walk with her to the Brathay Man; she has just finished her book on Egypt, which is to be out by Easter; we have heard most of it already in evening readings, and with very little pleasure. I should not half so much complain of her way of treating the Old Testament, but all that part which belongs to the New Testament, to her travels in the Holy Land, is miserable. I cannot but think that Unitarians must be annoyed at having their views set forth to so little advantage the first time they are presented in a popular form--so bare, so cold, so senseless--to escape a simple acceptance of the literal narrative resorting to such extravagant and impossible solutions--straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel with a vengeance. The old Wordsworths are very sad still. I think they will never recover
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19 Jane Arnold to T. A. March 1848
Dora's death. 73 Most of the other neighbours remain in statu quo. A house is to be built above the Matthew Harrisons for the Ambleside clergyman, and it is expected that the country will this year be more crowded with tourists than ever, as people will be afraid to go to the Continent.
I cannot tell you, dearest Tom, what delight your letter gave us, written about New Year's Day; very sorry we were that your fellow passengers should many of them have been so odious. I should like to pillory the ladies for libelling their sex in their persons. How anxious we are to hear what you did at Otago. It frightens us a little to think of your making an exploring expedition alone; take good care of yourself, my own dear Tom. We so often look at your pictures; the one Kate Stanley drew is framed very nicely and stands always on the chiffonier; but the daguerreotype is my favourite, because I think it the best; and besides, I think of the day when I went with you to have it taken, and then went back with you to your lodgings and helped you direct your packages, and got the camphorated spirits to cure your toothache. I wonder whether this letter will ever reach you. I have not time to add more now, but will begin another letter soon. God bless you now and ever, dearest Tom. Ah, give yourself to Him daily more and more--'a heart devoted to God,' that is indeed Heaven begun even amid the waves of this troublesome world. May we all be drawn nearer and nearer to Him, till He gathers us into Holy Kingdom, to Himself.
Ever your most truly loving Sister
Jane Martha Arnold
K.
