Captain Wentworth's Diary

Monday 25 July

And so, the Laconia has come into Plymouth at last. The war is over, my fortune is made, and my time at sea is at an end.

I can hardly believe it. The Navy has dominated my life for so many years that it is like a part of me, and I cannot imagine how I will feel when it has gone. No more living on board ship; no more sailing the oceans; no more coming into distant ports, with all the excitement it brings; no more hot, clear skies; no more foreign tongues around me; no more markets with strange and wonderful produce, or palm trees swaying beside white beaches.

And yet, although I am sad to see it go, I find I am looking forward to my new life on shore. I have been away from England for so long that it has all the novelty of a foreign port. The soft, damp sir, the muted colours and the cooling breeze all have their charm, and I am glad to be home.

Tuesday 26 July

I went on shore for a few hours this afternoon, and I was greeted everywhere by cheers and thanks. Men shook me by the hand and children trailed after me, whilst women blessed me for saving them from the scourge of Napoleon. I tried to tell them that I had not won the war single-handedly, but they would have none of it, for they wanted someone to praise, and I was close at hand. And indeed, for the war to have ended at last, when it had been waging for so many years that the children who swarmed around me had never known a time of peace, was a great thing, after all.

Impromptu plays were being performed, with Napoleon— played by a variety of men of all sizes and girths—being defeated as the Allies went into Paris. There were many ribald comments, but it was all good-humoured, and there was the feel of a holiday in the air.

At last I returned to the ship.

‘Admiral Croft is here to see you,’ said my lieutenant, as I went on board, and there, sure enough, was Benjamin.

We clapped each other on the back, and congratulated each other on our service, and when we had talked of Sophia and Edward and all Benjamin’s family, we settled down to talk of other things.

‘I am just on my way back to Taunton,’ he said. ‘Sophy and I are looking at some estates down there. We mean to rent one as soon as possible, for now the war is over, we need somewhere to live. You must come and stay with us when we are settled.’

‘I would like nothing better.’

He told me he had just come from London, where he had been seeing to some business.

‘I have never seen anything like it,’ he said. ‘The streets are thronged with people morning, noon and night. The fuss that was made of the Russians last month was enormous. The Tsar could scarcely appear without provoking spontaneous cheering. The crowd loved him, and they loved his sister, the Grand Duchess, too. A pretty young woman if ever there was one, though young to be a widow, poor lady.’

‘The war has made many widows,’ I said.

‘Ay,’ he said, thinking of some he had known. He roused himself. ‘There was talk of her marrying again, to cement an alliance with England, but I heard the royal dukes were not to her taste. And then, of course, there were the usual arguments about the Princess of Wales, with the Whigs backing her efforts to attend the Royal Drawing-Room and the old Queen saying she could not be received. The public were on Princess Caroline’s side, they booed the Regent when he passed in his carriage, and shouted out, “Love your wife!” but he, as always, took no notice.’

‘And did you see any of the great military men?’

‘It was impossible not to. Blücher was there. He was unable to move without people congratulating him, in fact, he was so surrounded by well-wishers in Hyde Park that he had to stand with his back against a tree! Wellington was there, too, but refused any pomp and circumstance, and rode round with a single groom. There were celebrations everywhere, and still are, with the Regent giving dinner-parties at Carlton House—a fairyland, by all accounts—and making plans for the Jubilee.’

‘London seems awash with news!’

‘It is. If you can get a leave of absence, you must go and see the Jubilee celebrations next week. They promise to be spectacular. There are coloured lanterns in St James’s Park, and there is a Chinese bridge across the canal. There is to be a balloon ascent, and a re-enactment of the storm of Badajoz. And there is something that will interest you, as a naval man, for there is to be a mock Battle of the Nile on the Serpentine.’

‘And how are they to manage that?’ I asked, astonished at the idea of staging a battle in London!

‘With ship’s barges, fitted out with miniature cannon.’

‘It is a good thing we had more than barges at our disposal, or we would never have won anything!’ I remarked. ‘But I will go if I can.’

He took his leave, and I found myself looking forward to the coming weeks: a trip to London, a sojourn with Sophia, and, at last, a chance to visit Edward and meet his new wife.

Friday 29 July

I saw Jenson this afternoon. His ship had just come in, and we exchanged news. He told me that Lencet had been killed in action in January, and he asked about Harville, whom he had not seen since we all served together in the year nine. I told him of Harville’s wound two years ago, but that otherwise Harville, Harriet and their children were well. I told him, too, that Harville’s sister, Fanny, was engaged to Benwick, and he was pleased to hear it.

We talked of our plans now that the war was over. Jenson told me he had decided to go into his family’s business in the wine trade, and was planning to expand it by buying a fleet of ships, so that they could transport the wine as well as buying and selling it.

‘And I suppose you will captain the flagship?’ I asked.

‘Of course!’

I told him about the celebrations in London and we decided to go there. He agreed to join me for breakfast, so that we may set out tomorrow together.

Saturday 30 July

Jenson and I were in the middle of breakfast, making the final plans for our trip to London, when a note arrived for me.

‘I will take a turn on deck,’ said he, preparing to rise.

‘No need,’ I said. ‘It is from Harville. Stay. You will like to hear what he says.’ I unfolded the letter and began to read it aloud. ‘He is in Plymouth ... is glad I am put in to shore ... Oh, no!’ I said, as I saw unhappy news, ‘Oh, no!’

‘What is it?’ Jenson asked.

I shook my head in disbelief. I could barely bring myself to say the words.

‘It is Fanny, Harville’s sister. She is dead.’

‘Dead?’ he asked in horror.

I could do no more than nod my head.

‘All the beauty ... such a superior mind ... this is terrible news,’ he said. ‘She had all her life before her.’

I read on, my eyes quickly scanning the page, and letting out a groan when I saw what Harville had asked of me.

‘No! Oh, no, I cannot!’ I cried aloud, shrinking from it. And yet, even as I did so, I knew it must be done, and that there was no one better than me to do it.

‘What? What is it?’ asked Jenson.

‘Benwick,’ I said. ‘James. He does not know.’

Jenson’s face fell.

‘He has just come back from the Cape, and is under orders for Portsmouth. Harville cannot bring himself to break the news. He asks me to do it for him.’

‘Frederick ...’ he said, with the deepest sympathy, for it was a task no man would envy.

And yet it could not be avoided. I folded the letter resolutely.

‘I must do it at once. I must write for a leave of absence.’

‘I will take the letter for you.’

‘Thank you, Jenson, from the bottom of my heart. And I must hope it is granted, for I cannot wait for the answer.’

I wrote my letter and then stood up.

‘I must go at once. Poor Benwick. How will he bear it? To lose her just when his hopes were to be realized, when his long engagement was to come to an end, and when he was to take Fanny to wife. He has waited for this moment for years, and now for it to be snatched away from him, and in such a way. It is too cruel.’

He nodded in mute agreement.

And then I left the ship, and set out on my dreadful errand.