“As you men so often do,” returned his aunt, “I made it a rule with my late husband to inform him of everything at least three times, so I could be certain he would recall it.”
“A wise precaution, aunt, and no doubt he was grateful for it.”
“Your brother Tom is in town, I believe,” his aunt replied, unperturbed, as she retook her seat and resumed her sewing. “I wonder he does not stay here with us, we have bedchambers enough and I have seen that everything has been scrubbed and aired out and put in order. Your wife has engaged this house until the New Year, I suppose you know—and I do not wonder at it, for we are so well situated! The offices are too small, and the bedchambers are oppressively warm in the evening, but taken all in all, we are fortunate to have this for our family home in London.”
Edmund was going to raise his eyebrow at his aunt’s use of “we” and “our,” but, as he had invited her to stay, he had only himself to blame.
* * * * * *
July 29, at sea
Dear Fanny,
I hope this letter finds you and Mr. Crawford well. Even though in all likelihood I will hand this letter to you in person, as we may reach England before the next packet, I can relieve my feelings by noting down some lines about the adventures we have undergone. The first ship to which I was assigned as a lieutenant has gone to a watery grave, and although the poor old Solebay was a rotten old tub, unfit to cross a duck pond, let alone go to sea, I shall always feel a sentimental tenderness toward her and lament that my career on her was so short. I was not aboard her when she was lost, nor were any of the officers, for I was placed in command of a launch, carrying a detachment of soldiers to attack the French outpost of Barbague—I doubt you will find that in the atlas—and the ship was left in charge of the Master.
We left her anchored in the Gambia River, close enough to bring her guns to bear upon the Frenchies, but overnight, she shifted in her berth and went aground. These African rivers are treacherous, barely navigable but, we had to risk encroaching as far as possible upstream if we were to bring Maxwell’s troops to attack the settlement, and on the bright side of the matter, we took the Frenchies by surprise when we showed up at their doorstep with a frigate and a sloop, and commenced firing on them, so that they took tail and ran, and none of our men injured, though a few sadly were drowned. So that is one nest of slave traders cleared out, and Senegal is now a British colony!
So now we are bobbing about in the ocean, two ships’ crews crammed aboard the one, the Derwent. Therefore, we must land frequently for more water and firewood, which, unfortunately, exposes us to the unhealthy air of the coast. Many of the men have fallen, including, I am sorry to tell you, our mutual friend, Mr. Gibson. I searched his possessions to find his supply of Jesuit bark, only to discover that he had given almost all of it away, when our cabin boys, his students, fell ill last month. So typical of his generous nature! He has contracted a severe case of putrid fever, and is in the ship’s infirmary with many others. I pray that he will hang on until we reach Portsmouth, and more can be done for him there, I trust.
But may I tell you of a signal service he performed for us just before he fell ill, one which will give every man on board some prize money—we have captured a slaver! The lookout spotted a brig last week, we gave chase and the ship heaved to, flying the Portuguese flag. Captain Columbine chose Gibson and me to go with the first lieutenant as part of the boarding party. (I speak a few words of Portuguese that I picked up in Gibraltar), and we get aboard and meet with the captain, who is as friendly as you like, and says to us, why yes, they are transporting Africans to the Indies but, as the vessel is neither English nor French, there is nothing that the British Navy can say about it.
While the officers were talking and me attempting to translate, Gibson was looking around him at some of the sailors, and observing their tattoos, and he sees one or two that were tattooed with English words, such as ‘Roast Beef & Liberty’ or ‘Heart of Oak’ and suchlike. So, he whispers to me, “say something provoking to them in Portuguese, Mr. Price,” which I did—I shan’t repeat what I said—they all just looked away and refused to answer me, and I thought, the Portuguese sailors I met in Gibraltar would have had their knives at my neck for such a remark and no error. So I said it again, with illustrative gestures, and one of the cabin boys swore a stream of oaths at us—in perfect English, or at least perfect English of that particular sort—and, the game was up!
It was an English ship, the Clementine, from the Bristol dockyards, but flying under a false flag, and the so-called captain was the only Portuguese on board! We turned up her real captain and her papers, all English, and then, below decks, we discovered—well, Fanny, I cannot find words to express it and, I hate to think of my sister even knowing of these things, as I know your
