Julia then happily recalled that Fanny used to share some parts of William’s letters with the family (William blushed to recollect how warmly he used to abuse Aunt Norris, and trusted that his sister had been discreet in which portions she read), and she surprised herself with the impulsive suggestion that he ought to correspond with his uncle, Sir Thomas, who, she was sure, would be pleased to hear from his nephew. William pronounced it a capital idea, as his uncle had in fact been his first benefactor, even before Henry Crawford. He promised to write regularly, and dared to hope that his uncle might have time to write him a line in reply, as letters were very precious things to sailors far from home, and with a final warm smile and a bow, he left his fair cousin.
Julia skipped upstairs, feeling more light-hearted than she had in weeks. Whether or not she ever saw that pleasant William Price again, the fact that he gave her heart a little flutter was proof that she was in a fair way of recovering from having it broke by Henry Crawford. She went into the bedchamber she shared with her sister and found Maria being sick into the washbasin.
“Whatever is the matter, Maria?”
Maria looked at her with despairing eyes. “Nothing. Some bad mussels, I think. I’m going to lie down now.”
* * * * * *
Dear Fanny, I am forwarding a letter from Mr. Gibson for your perusal, as I am sure you would like to read of his adventures first hand—Yours affectionately, H. Butters.
Apr 15—
My dear Mrs. Butters,
Madam,
I am writing to you from the deck of the victualling ship, Agincourt, currently at harbour in Portsmouth. Would you please inform our mutual friend, Miss Price, that I have now seen the ramparts of Portsmouth and the sea beyond and can confirm that it in no way resembles Heaven, at least not to my eyes. She will understand.
The mystery of my impressment has now been unfolded to me—some of our merchant friends in Bristol, seeking revenge over the loss of their profitable trade in human souls across the Atlantic, and the corresponding end of their trade in trinkets and cloth to the corrupt African chiefs in exchange for the unhappy victims, paid a bribe for me to be abstracted from the streets.
However, Fate may have hoisted my persecutors on their own petard. They arranged for me to be swiftly transported to Portsmouth, evidently to thwart any efforts by my friends to effect my release, but in so doing, they put me in the way of being selected for the West Africa Squadron. Think of it—the merchants of Bristol have paid to send another man to help put an end to the diabolical slave traffic. Therefore, please inform our Bristol colleagues that I am growing daily more resigned to this unexpected adventure. For, imagine if you will, Ma’am, the account I could write for the public, once I have witnessed the reality of the slave trade in person! I feel, in all modesty, I could be of signal aid to our cause. Further, I shall be paid wages while I collect material for a book, and a man must live upon something, as I can attest, having attempted to live upon nothing for several years now.
I am no sailor, but I am trading on what little I have learned over the years just by breathing the sea air of Bristol and hearing the talk of nautical folk.
I know that you will keep me in your thoughts and I will write to you as events permit. And now for my most urgent request—may I beg you to send me, as swiftly as possible, a quantity of Jesuit bark? The more experienced sailors have impressed upon me the hazards of the miasmatic air of the African coast, and the high probability that I may contract fever. That, and protecting my one pair of spectacles from being broken, are my chief concerns. A ream of paper or some notebooks would also be a godsend.
Thank you for your kind solicitude and also please tender my regrets to Miss Price, as we had planned to establish our own little circulating library, and exchange our thoughts by correspondence, which is now, alas, impossible unless the bluestocking females of the Ghana tribe write three-volume novels on coconut fronds. (Here, Mr. Gibson had written several lines but had crossed them out completely so they were impossible to read.)
your devoted servant, Wm. Gibson.
p.s. –. Apr 17—This letter is being conveyed to London by my new friend, second lieutenant William Price. And to answer your next question—yes, he is. He is her brother. And he is a fine fellow, not yet one-and-twenty, cheerful, encouraging, and he has been extremely helpful to me and has prevented me from making many ‘lubberly’ errors which would have earned me the derision of my shipmates. He has informed me that his sister has recently married. Will you please tender her my congratulations on having exchanged uncertainty for certainty. And do not forget that you owe me a shilling. Wm. G.
* * * * * *
Apr 21, at sea
Dear Fanny,
I trust this letter finds
