Sir Haggard’s diaries

Sir Henry Rider Haggard, the British author of many an adventure story set in colonial Africa, often in sympathy with the native populations, was born 170 years ago today. He may have kept a private diary when younger, but the only diary extracts to have been published - Private Diaries and Diary of an African Journey - date from the last decade of his life. In the latter book, Haggard records an interesting conversation with the wife of South Africa’s first Prime Minister about the country’s future.

Haggard was born into a large family, in Norfolk, England, on 22 June 1856. His father was a barrister and his mother a writer. He was schooled at Ipswich Grammar, and then in London to enter the Foreign Office, but he never sat the necessary exams. Instead, in 1875, his father sent him to South Africa to work for his friend, Sir Henry Bulwer, Lieutenant-Governor of the Colony of Natal. By 1878, he had secured himself a job as registrar of the High Court in the Transvaal. In 1880, he returned to England briefly, and there married Marianna Louisa Margitson with whom he had one son (who died young), and three daughters.

The family left South Africa in 1882, and settled in Ditchingham, Norfolk. Haggard turned to the law and was called to the bar in 1884, but, by then, he was more interested in writing novels. His most famous work, King Solomon’s Mines, was published in 1885, and other stories based in Africa followed, most notably She, which has become, according to Wikipedia, one of the best-selling single-volume books of all time. Also according to Wikipedia, his novels portray many of the stereotypes associated with colonialism, ‘yet they are unusual for the degree of sympathy with which the native populations are portrayed.’

Although Haggard failed to get elected to Parliament in 1895, he became involved with reform in the agricultural sector, sitting on land use commissions, and occasionally travelling to the colonies. Apart from his many fiction works, he wrote several non-fiction books, including Rural England (1902) and an autobiography (The Days of My Life, 1926). He was knighted in 1912 and made a KBE in 1919. He died in 1925. Further biographical information about Haggard can be found at Wikipedia and Encyclopaedia Britannica. The Days of My Life is available at Internet Archive or at Project Gutenberg Australia.

From the start of the First World War (until his death), Haggard kept a detailed diary. This was edited by D. S. Higgins and published by Cassel in 1980 as The Private Diaries of Sir H. Rider Haggard, 1914-1925. According to Kirkus Reviews, the published extracts (only some two per cent of the total diaries) make for ‘a live and affecting document’; however the impression the journal leaves is of ‘a fragile, worn-out relic from a bygone era’. Morton N. Cohen, author of Haggard’s biography for the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (log-in required) is less generous: ‘[The diary] is, sadly, the account of a sour old man who sees himself betrayed by fate, a disillusioned imperialist with authoritarian, racist leanings, who ranted against the Jews, communists, Bolsheviks, trade unionists, the Irish, and Indian nationalists (the editor of his diaries omits from the published text most of Haggard’s harangues).’

The full work can be digitally borrowed from Internet Archive. Here are two extracts.

22 June 1921

‘By the lake side, Blagdon. Again my birthday. I am now 65! Alas how swiftly the years go by and I sink into old age. Disguise the truth as one will, it remains a melancholy truth that for me middle age has followed youth into the limbo of the past leaving at best but a few short years of life to be travelled before the last eclipse. Every year my friends grow fewer. Of the small number who still write to me upon my birthday my sister Ella was always one. And Ella has gone whither soon all of my generation must follow her.’

30 March 1917

‘I said to Kipling at the Athenaeum today that I trusted that we should not be expected to inhabit that region in the next world which was occupied by Germans. He replied that he was quite convinced that we should find none in any hell that he and I might land in. I think so too; whatever our sins we have not deserved that!

Rudyard Kipling and Martin Conway¹ were lunching together. Afterwards Conway came into the billiard room downstairs and informed me that Rudyard Kipling had been talking with admiration and amazement of the MS. of the story Yva, which I had given to him to read, saying that it was as full of go and imagination as though I had been sixteen instead of sixty.

Later Rudyard turned up and repeated this and more. He said to me that he had read the whole thing at a sitting ‘interlineations and all’, really read it, and that its grip and ‘freshness’ astonished him. He lay upon a sofa with those slippery sheets before him, unable to leave it, and thought it a remarkable work of imagination - really a new thing. I asked him if he had any criticisms to make. He said that he would not venture to offer any - there was the work - in a way outside of criticism - as good as anything I had ever done - or words to that effect. Evidently too, he meant all he said. This from such a man is complimentary, especially as he is not prodigal of compliments, but I am sure that when it appears the public - or rather the critics - will not discover these virtues in the book. It is not their fashion to praise my work. However, I am glad that the tale pleases its first reader so completely. The truth is that he (Kipling) has imagination, vision and can understand, amongst other things that Romance may be the vehicle of much that does not appear to the casual reader.’

Haggard also kept a diary earlier in his life, although how often is not clear. In 1899, Longmans, Green & Co published a farming diary for the year 1898, A Farmer’s Year (freely available at Internet Archive), and, in 1905, it published A Gardener’s Year (Internet Archive). Both books have diary-like entries, though they were written by Haggard as information books with publication in mind. In 2001, C. Hurst, by arrangement with the University of Natal Press, South Africa, published Diary of an African Journey (1914), as edited by Stephen Coan. Some pages of this can be viewed at Googlebooks (the source of the following extracts). Also, it’s worth noting that Haggard mentions - albeit only a couple of times - a diary in his autobiography.

7 March 1914
‘On this day, together with a number of other people, we were invited by the government to what might be termed a ‘joyride’ round Table Mountain. For one of our party, Mrs. Tatlow, it proved nothing of the sort. The motor she was in collided with another. She was thrown or fell out and has been left behind in bed at the Queen’s Hotel (I write this at Oudtshoorn) suffering from something like slight concussion. We lunched in a tent at the famous house of Groot Constantia. This place was granted in 1684 to Van der Stel, who was the next governor to Van Riebeeck. He built the house and began to cultivate the vines from which the well-known wine Constantia was made. Its last owners were the Cloetes who sold it in 1885 with 280 acres of land to the government for the small sum of £5 500. Since that time the state could have done well on their bargain if, as I was informed by the manager, they refused an offer for it of £28 000. Here there are 103 acres under vines and 56 under fruit trees. The house with its large cool rooms all adorned with ancient and appropriate furniture is really beautiful.

At luncheon which was given in a tent I sat next to, and had an interesting conversation with, Mrs. Botha, who expressed herself as very pleased that I agreed with her husband, the Prime Minister [Louis Botha], as to the uselessness of attempting to emigrate poor white folk to South Africa when already there were enough of them. Such people, unskilled and resourceless, she said, would come right up against the competition of the native, and their exclusion, which in some quarters was set down to race feeling, was really in their own interests. The only openings were for farmers with some capital, a scarce class. We discussed the outlook of the white inhabitants of South Africa in the future and both agreed that it seemed very doubtful - chiefly because of this native question. The native could no longer be suppressed, or even oppressed: he must follow his destiny and often he was an able and a competent person. In practice South Africa must face the fact that all it has to rely on, so far as the whites are concerned, is its present population and their progeny. But here came the trouble - the restriction of population (i.e. race suicide) is creeping in, even among the Boers, except quite in the backveld districts where it would reach ere long. One no longer saw the large families of 30 years ago: they grew smaller and smaller. Moreover those who were growing up, for some subtle reason, in enterprise, in virility and femininity in their widest sense, were not the men and women of the stamp of our generation. She had often said as much to her own children. What was to be the end of it? She could not tell but the future was dark and dubious. Perhaps at last South Africa would be the heritage of the black races with an admixture of white blood. The danger of war between whites and Bantu had gone by, but there were other dangers. Thus what I saw on the previous day, white man and black, working side by side was one of them: it meant the approach of equality. Once that was established how could the dwindling white people hold their own against an increasing race, already four or five times as numerous?

She said it was hard work for a man like her husband to be Prime Minister of the Union in these days and hard for his wife also. It was both exhausting and difficult to deal with politics continually and keep his hands quite clean. We both agreed that time and experience were wonderful softeners of strong views. Thus today I should not write another Jess and she would not think about the English as she had thought even a dozen years ago. She told me that although it seemed a strange thing for her to say, the deportation of the captured Boers had been a very good thing for the people. The sight of other lands had opened their minds and made them more progressive; also they had learnt what the British Empire meant. Such is a summary of this enlightening talk made from notes taken that evening, and I think one that is accurate, although compressed. Mrs. Botha struck me as an able woman in a quiet way and I liked her very much.’

10 March 1914
‘Woke up lo find that we were running over bush-clad sourveld with a few ostriches wandering round lonely Boer steadings. While I was dressing the iron lid of the washbasin fell on and crushed the top plate of the false teeth which were recently fitted with so much discomfort. A most annoying incident. Luckily I have the old temporary set with me which the dentist wanted to destroy.

At lunch time we came to a range of mountains called Outniqiua, or some such name, that tower above a little township of about 2 000 inhabitants, called George, which is largely inhabited by retired persons in search of quiet. The situation is fine on a flat plain dominated by tall grassy peaks down which run waterfalls that look like lines of wandering silver. At the beginning of the pass we went through government plantations of gums [eucalypts] of about 10 years of age which are doing splendidly. There are several of these here. Next we passed through some native bush in the kloofs, then came broom, heather and bracken, clothing the broad hill shoulders. From the crest of the pass the view was grand. The flat plain below diversified with plantations surrounding the scattered town of George and in the distance the great sea. All this district might be afforested, the hills with pines and the plains with gums. As the land seems to be worth no more than 10s. an acre it would be an excellent purpose to which to put it. About 4 o’clock we entered the Oudtshoorn valley, a hot and fertile place surrounded by hills, and everywhere saw ostriches feeding on lucerne in their wired camps.

On arrival we were met by the mayor and notables and taken off to see the farm of Mr. John le Roux where, after 34 years or so. I renewed my acquaintance with that ungainly but profitable fowl, the ostrich. By the way, at the station a gentleman whose name I think was Rex came up and asked me if I remembered him - as I did not he produced from his pocket an official order of the Pretoria High Court, written and signed by myself in 1878, appointing him a sworn interpreter. I wonder if he always carries it about with him. I was glad to see that the order was properly drawn and written in a better hand than I can boast nowadays. The signature, however, is identical with that I use at present.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 22 June 2016.

Sand's Journal Intime

George Sand, the famous French writer, cigar smoker and lover of artists, died 140 years ago today. A hard working and prolific author of novels, she also wrote plays and an autobiography. Her commitment to the diary form was, however, intermittent. Nevertheless a collection of her personal writings, under the title Intimate Journal - taken from the French Journal Intime - were published in English in 1929, and have been reprinted several times since then.

Amandine Aurore Lucie Dupin was born in 1804, in Paris, and educated at Nohant, her grandmother’s estate, and at a convent in Paris. In 1821, she inherited Nohant, and a year later married Casimir Dudevant. In 1831, though, she left Nohant and her husband and went, with two children, to Paris. The same year she published a first novel, Rose Et Blanche, written in collaboration with Jules Sandeau, from whom she took her early pen-name (Jules Sand), and articles in Le Figaro. Her second novel Indiana, in 1832, written under the pen-name George Sand, brought her near instant fame. It told of a naive woman abused by an older husband and deceived by a selfish seducer.

Thereafter, Sand became a celebrity of sorts, famously dressing in men’s clothes much of the time, and having many love affairs, the most famous of which was with the composer Chopin. Her novels, and there were many, were largely romantic, with the heroes often workmen or peasants, living in the countryside of her childhood near Nohant. They were also often autobiographical, coloured by whoever she was involved with at the time, and overtly romantic with love usually conquering obstacles of class and convention.

Sand’s later years were lived at Nohant, comfortably in a relatively stable relationship with a younger artist, Alexandre Manceau, though he died in 1865, ten years before she herself died on 8 June 1876. Further biographical information is available at Wikipedia, Notable Biographies and NNDB. There are also a couple of biographical works freely available online: George Sand - Some aspects of her life and writings by Rene Doumic and translated into English by Alys Hallard in 1910 (Internet Archive or Full Books); and George Sand by E. Caro in 1888 (Internet Archive).

Sand was not a committed diarist though she did leave behind some diary writing in the form of letters addressed to lovers and occasional musings on her intimate relations and on her own shortcomings. These were collected together and first published but Williams & Norgate in an English translation in 1929 as The Intimate Journal of George Sand (edited and translated by Marie Jenney Howe). It has been reissued several times since then - see Googlebooks for a 1977 version by Cassandra Editions, or Chicago Press Review for a 2000 edition.

There are also the diaries - not translated into English as far as I know - that were kept by Manceau. Evelyne Bloch-Dano, author of The Last Love of George Sand: A Literary Biography (translated by Allison Charente, Arcade Publishing, 2013) explains: ‘George Sand had kept a periodic journal during key moments of her life, more to organise her thoughts than to keep a precise record of her days. She lived too much in the present to feel the need. Alexandre [Manceau] decided to record his lady’s activities, meetings, readings, works, and promenades every day, until his death. At first the Diaries were written in the first person, as if Sand was dictating them, but they morphed into the third person after a few weeks. Marceau would also make personal notes throughout the entries, creating an entirely separate character. The Diaries were his own work, even if George added her own details from time to time or occasionally took up the pen in his place.’

The following extracts are taken from the original 1929 edition of The Intimate Journal of George Sand.

1 June 1837

‘I awakened feeling dull. Piffoël’s sleep was disturbed by elusive desires that floated in a pale mist of dreams. The weather is neither cheerful nor depressing. It makes me restless. The trees are tossed by gusty, fantastic wind. The sun is hidden. If I put on my dressing-gown I am too hot, if I take it off I am cold. Leaden day in which I shall accomplish nothing worth while. Tired and apathetic brain! I have been drinking tea in the hope that it would carry this mood to a climax and so put an end to it.

No letter from Everard to-day. He is angry again. Happy man, to find anything worth getting angry about!

Before going to bed. From midnight until one o’clock I explained to Duteil the theory of dissatisfaction with life. I was indignant because he tried to make me believe he is happy every day and almost every hour of the day. Isn’t it exasperating to be treated as a fool by people who do not suffer?’

2 June 1837

‘Late at night. Piffoël walked twelve miles to-day. As soon as life becomes bearable we stop analyzing it. A tranquil day is spoiled by being examined. Shall we always be guided by feeling which distorts our ideas and impressions? Excessive emotion is like cross-eyed vision whose errors our reason tries feebly to correct.’

12 June 1837

‘This evening, while Franz was playing fantastic melodies of Schubert, the Princess walked in the shadows that fall across the terrace. She was wearing a dress of indefinite color. Her head and tall, slender body were swathed in a long white veil. As I watched her move back and forth with a light tread which scarcely touched the ground, the circle she described was cut across by rays from my lamp around which all the moths of the garden were dancing a delirious sarabande. The moon behind the lindens threw into high relief black specters of pine trees that stood immobile in the blue-gray air.

Over the flowers and plants a profound calm reigned. At the first harmonies from the divine instrument the breeze languished, then, falling exhausted on the tall grasses, slowly died. A nightingale had drawn near in the shadows of the foliage and, like the excellent musician he is, had caught the measure and tuned his own ecstatic throat in harmony with the music. He sang on, but as though he had become conscious of rivalry his voice became timid and withdrawn.

We were seated on the steps, listening to strains of the Erlkoenig. As the prelude gave place to the heartbreaking refrain, we sank into the mood of surrounding nature and were engulfed in melancholy enjoyment. And we could not take our fascinated gaze from the magic circle traced before our eyes by the mute sibyl in white. When the music, in a series of sad modulations, merged into tender melody, her steps grew slower.

From that time onward her pace kept the rhythm of the andante and the maestoso, and her movements showed such marvelous harmony that it was as if the music flowed from her as from a living lyre. Slowly she crossed the lamp-lit space, her white veil forming delicate, distinct contours on the dark background of the picture, while the rest of her was obliterated as it floated into the mystery of night. After a moment she drew near out of the dusk, as if she meant to alight on the white lilac. But, fugitive as the shadows, she slowly disappeared. She did not seem to withdraw under the dark foliage, it was rather as though darkness laid hold of her and drew her into its depths by thickening the curtain of shadows. At the end of the terrace she was completely lost in the pines, to reappear suddenly in the rays of the lamp like some spontaneous creation of its flame. Again she withdrew and floated, vaporous and pale, against the light. Finally she became visible and seated herself on a pliant branch, which supported her weight as though she had been a phantom. Then, as if bound by some mysterious tie to this pale, beautiful woman, the music stopped.

Rising, she glided by an inscrutable mounting movement toward the top of the steps and disappeared into the shadowy hall. A moment later we saw a veritable châtelaine of the middle ages cross the adjoining hall under the light of the candles. Her blond head shone like an aureole, and her veil, thrown over her shoulders, followed cloudlike the light and rapid motion of her flying figure.

The fingers straying across the piano were silent. The lights went out. The vision receded into the night.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 8 June 2016.

Of Napoleon, and a turtle

Sir Neil Campbell, a British army officer who rose to become a colonial governor, was born 250 years ago today. He is largely remembered for a detailed and informative diary he kept while in charge of Napoleon Bonaparte during his exile on the island of Elba. That diary, first published in 1869, is the only extant diary left by Campbell, however a biographical memoir by his nephew, mentions another journal, and provides a single extract from it, about the capturing of a turtle at sea.

Campbell was born on 1 May 1776. His father was described as a ‘Highland gentleman of ancient lineage, and fair landed estate’. After being nurtured in his ‘wild ancestral home’, he began his army career by joining the 6th West India Regiment in 1797. After three years service in West Indies, he returned to England and was promoted to lieutenant, and then to major. He returned to the West Indies, to Jamaica, in 1807, and then, after a sojourn in England for health reasons, journeyed again to the West Indies in 1808, this time being appointed Deputy-Adjutant-General to the Forces in the Windward and Leeward Islands. He was present at the captures, from the French, of Martinique and Guadeloupe.

During the Peninsular War, Campbell was appointed colonel of the 16th Portuguese infantry, but in 1814, he was severely wounded at Fère-Champenoise in France. Later, the same year he was chosen to accompany Napoleon from Fontainebleau to Elba (where he had been exiled under the terms of the Treaty of Fontainebleau) with express orders from the British Foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereigh, that he was in no way to act as his jailer, but rather to allow the ex French emperor to take control of the island as a sovereign prince. Although, Campbell’s instructions also implied that he should not remain in Elba longer than necessary, he did promise to stay, at Napoleon’s request, until the termination of the congress of Vienna (which aimed to provide a long-term peace plan for Europe). It is thought that his presence on the island put the English naval captains off their guard, and thus enabled Napoleon to escape rather easily.

Campbell went on to serve at the battle of Waterloo, and during the occupation of France, from 1815 to 1818, he commanded the Hanseatic Legion, consisting of 3,000 volunteers. In 1825, he was appointed major-general, applied for a staff appointment, and was given the governorship of Sierra Leone, reaching the colony in May 1826. The following year, however, he died of a fever. Further information is available online from Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900 or Wikipedia.

Campbell is largely remembered today because of a diary he kept while in charge of the force escorting Napoleon to exile on Elba, and while remaining with him there - until his escape. The diary - published in 1869 by John Murray and freely available at Internet Archive - is titled: Napoleon at Fontainebleau and Elba being A Journal of Occurrences in 1814-1815 with Notes of Conversations by the late Major-General Sir Neil Campbell C. B. With a Memoir of the Life and Services of that Officer, By his Nephew Archibald Neil Campbell Maclachlan M. A.. The book, as the title implies, contains a biographical memoir about Campbell, rather formally written, as well as the journal kept by Campbell himself for a year from April 1814 to March 1815. The latter, in particular, is a valuable first hand account of Napoleon during his exile on Elba.

According to Ravenhall Books, which brought out a modern edition of Campbell’s diary in 2004: ‘It records events as Napoleon builds an empire in miniature on Elba and it keeps an eye on the coming and going of agents and would-be assassins. Frank and enlightening it also reveals much about the personality of Napoleon and of the tensions and subterfuge within the exiled community as Napoleon devises and implements his plans for an escape.’ Here are several extracts from the original 1869 publication.

5 May 1814
‘From daylight to breakfast at 10 P.M. Napoleon was on foot, inspecting the castles, storehouses, and magazines.

At 2 P.M.. he went into the interior on horseback, a distance of two leagues, and examined various country-houses.’

6 May 1814
‘At 7 A.M. he crossed the harbour in Captain Usher’s boat, proceeded on horseback across the island to Rio, and examined the mines, then ascended a number of hills and mountain-tops upon which there are ruins. After a ‘Te Deum’ in a chapel, we had breakfast. On our return we re-embarked in Captain Usher’s boat, but, instead of returning direct. Napoleon visited the watering place, the height opposite the citadel on which he proposes to establish a sea-battery, and a rock at the mouth of the harbour on which he also thinks of placing a tower.

In talking at dinner of his intention to take possession of a small island without inhabitants, which is about ten miles off the coast of Elba, Napoleon said, ‘Toute l’Europe dira que j’ai fait une conquête déjà.” He laughed at this.

Already he has all his plans in agitation; such as to convey water from the mountains to the city, to prepare a country-house, a house in Porto Ferrajo for himself, and another for the Princess Pauline, a stable for 150 horses, a lazaretto for vessels to perform quarantine, a depot for the salt, and another for the nets belonging to the fishery of the tunny.’

7 May 1814
‘From 5 to 10 A.M. Napoleon visited other parts of the town and fortifications on foot, then embarked in boats, and visited the different storehouses round the harbour.

In making the excursions into the country, yesterday and the day before, he was accompanied by a dozen officers. A captain of gendarmes and one of his Fourriers de Palais always rode in front; and, on two occasions, a sergeant’s party of gendarmes-à-pied went on about an English mile before.

On taking our places in the boat, some of us, following Bertrand’s example, kept off our hats; on which he told us to put them on, adding, ‘Nous sommes ici ensemble en soldat!’

The fishery of the tunny is carried on by the richest inhabitant of the island. This person, by his own industry, has, out of a state of extreme poverty, amassed a fortune. He employs a great proportion of the poor, and has much influence. The removal of the stores by Napoleon to a very inferior building, merely for the convenience of his horses, is likely to cause disgust; but this shows how little Napoleon permits reflection to check his desires.’

8 May 1814
‘Before landing from the frigate, Napoleon requested that a party of fifty marines might accompany him to remain on shore. This intention was afterwards changed; and one officer of marines and two sergeants, to act as orderlies, together with a lieutenant of the navy, were sent.

One of the sergeants, selected by himself, sleeps outside the door of his bedchamber, upon a mattrass, with his clothes on, and a sword at his side. A valet de chambre occupies another mattrass at the same place. If he lies down during the day, the sergeant is called to remain in the antechamber.’

22 May 1814
‘Napoleon told me that he had taken Malta by a coup de main; that the inhabitants were so intimidated ‘par le nom de ces républicains, mangeurs d’hommes,’ that they all took refuge within the fortifications, with cattle and every living animal in the island. This created so much confusion and dismay, that they were incapable of opposition.

He requested me to write to the consul at Algiers, to secure the respect due to his flag, agreeably to the treaty.’

23 May 1814
‘I have received a letter from the Admiral, dated Genoa, May 19, in which he states that he had sent transports to Savona for the Guards of Napoleon. He expects to be off this place in a few days, on his voyage to Sicily, with Lord William Bentinck on board. I shall take that opportunity of waiting upon them, to give every information in my power, and to obtain the advantage of their counsel.’

26 May 1814
‘This morning, at 6 A.M., Napoleon went quite unexpectedly on board of the French frigate ‘Dryade,’ and the crew hailed him with cries of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ This, I am told, placed the captain in a very awkward situation. It was not a visit to the captain personally, for he had anchored on the preceding afternoon, and then Napoleon declined seeing him, when he waited upon him, until the following morning at 10 a.m. So that it was certainly done to try the disposition of the Navy, and to keep up a recollection of him in France.

Napoleon also visited the British frigate ‘Undaunted,’ and made a speech to the crew. He thanked them for the good-will with which they had performed their duties during the voyage, said that he felt himself under obligations to them for the period he had been on board, which he had passed so happily, and that he wished them every success and happiness. He sent them, in the course of the day, 1,000 bottles of wine and 1,000 dollars, and presented Captain Usher with a box containing his portrait set in diamonds. Napoleon speaks most gratefully to everyone of the facilities which have been granted to him by the British Government; and to myself personally he constantly expresses the sense he entertains of the superior qualities which the British nation possesses over every other.

Five British transports arrived here this morning from Savona, with about 750 volunteers of Napoleon’s Guards, his horses, and baggage.

To-day I informed General Bertrand that, in case either Napoleon himself or others might ascribe any underhand motive to my remaining here, I was ready to quit the island at once, should such be his wish; that I had only remained after the other Commissioners in order to procure for him those facilities which he had requested, through me, from the British Admiral.

After repeating my conversation to Napoleon, General Bertrand was directed to assure me that my remaining with him after the departure of the other Commissioners was indispensable for his protection and security, in obedience to Lord Castlereagh’s instructions; that even after the arrival of his troops and baggage, there was another article of the treaty not fulfilled, although guaranteed by the Allied Sovereigns, and the execution of which depended entirely upon His Britannic Majesty’s ships in the Mediterranean, viz. the security of his flag against insult from the powers of Barbary; that it would be necessary for me to communicate with the Consul at Algiers and the Admiral, as soon as possible, for that object. I requested that he would address the application to me in writing, and stated that I would prolong my stay in the hope of receiving further instructions from Lord Castlereagh, not having heard from his lordship since I left Fontainebleau.’

13 March 1815
‘About one in the morning a person with a lanthorn entered my room very silently, and told me that the prefect requested to see me immediately. In order to avoid all noise and observation, he led me by a back way, and through a stable, into the house. I found the Count in a state of extreme dismay, and occupied with his secretary. I sincerely participated in his feelings on hearing from him the intelligence he had just received from Aix and Valence, viz., that Napoleon had entered Grenoble upon the 7th at 8 p.m., and that General Marchand, with the staff and most of the officers, had retired. It may be inferred from this that the rest and the private soldiers have betrayed their duty.

This state of affairs is so serious, that I determined to go off immediately to Nice, in order to convey the earliest intimation of these melancholy circumstances to Lord William Bentinck at Genoa. I shall also report to him my observation as to the bad disposition of the troops at Antibes, and the little reliance that can be placed upon the regular army, so that he may prepare for the worst.

No actual disposition has been made by the Piedmontese for the passage of the long bridge over the Var, which separates them from Antibes.

Set off from Draguignan at 3 A.M., and arrived at Nice at 5 P.M. At 10 P.M. went on board of H.M.S. ‘Partridge’ at Villa Franca, but it blew so hard that she could not with safety attempt to beat out.

Lord Sunderland has arrived from Marseilles. There it is universally believed that  the English had favoured Napoleon’s return, and the people are furious against us.  the same idea also prevails everywhere in the South of France and in Piedmont. A newspaper of Turin, just arrived at Nice, states positively this to be the case!’

14 March 1815
‘Sailed out of Villa Franca at 6 A.M., and arrived at Genoa at 8 P.M.’

15 March 1815
‘Wrote Lord Burgbersh with news from Draguignan of the 13th inst., and mentioned a report of Napoleon having entered Lyons.

Madame Mère, as I am informed, states that Napoleon had three deputations from France before he consented to quit Elba.’

18 March 1815
‘H.M.S. ‘Aboukir’ sailed for Leghorn.’

19 March 1815
‘H.M.S. ‘Partridge’ left Genoa for Leghorn and Sicily.’

20 March 1815
‘Left Genoa. During the night robbed of my watch and between fifty and sixty guineas by brigands near Novi.’

21 March 1815
‘4 P.M. at Milan.’

22 March 1815
‘7 A.M. Domo d’Ossola. 7 P.M. Left the Simplon.’

23 March 1815
‘11 A.M. Sion. Carriage-wheel broke. 8 P.M. Vevay.’

24 March 1815
‘Midday, Morat. Overtook Mr. Perry, the courier, who had left Genoa the morning before me.’

25 March 1815
‘11 A.M. Basle. 7 P.M. Fribourg.’

26 March 1815
‘2 P.M. Rastadt. 5 P.M. Carlsruhe.’

27 March 1815
‘3 A.M. Manheim. Passed the Rhine.’

28 March 1815
‘10 A.M. Lisère; passed the Moselle in a flat.

4 P.M. Treves. At midnight, Luxembourg. Stopped four hours to pass through the fortress.’

29 March 1815
‘4 A.M. Left Luxembourg.’

30 March 1815
‘6 P.M. Brussels. Remained three hours.’

31 March 1815
‘6 P.M. Ostend. Sailed at 8 P.M. in H. M. brig ‘Rosario,’ Captain Peak.’

1 April 1815 [Last entry in published diary.]
‘9 A.M. Landed at Deal, and at 9 P.M. arrived in London. Next day had interviews with Lord Castlereagh, and with H. R. H. the Prince Regent at Carlton House.’

It is worth noting that in the biographical memoir section of the book, there is mention of another journal kept by Campbell during his journey to the Windward and Leeward Islands in 1808. Here is what the memoir says about that journal, including an extract from it (although I can find no further information about this journal anywhere else).

‘A Journal kept by him during the voyage, and illustrated by plans and drawings, relates the usual incidents on board a troopship of that period, sailing from Woolwich to Barbadoes, and passing by Porto Santo, Madeira, and Teneriffe. The ‘Creole’ mounted twelve six-pounders and two nine-pounders; had a crew of twenty-four men, including master and mate; and carried, besides Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell and his servant, a detachment of Artillery, consisting of five officers and forty-six men. At the Downs she joined company with 150 sail, many of them transports destined for Spain; but soon after, weighing anchor from thence, the convoy was caught by a tremendous gale, which effectually dispersed it, and blew over several of the vessels - the ‘Creole’ among them - to the French coast near Boulogne, though with no ultimate loss. On November 2nd, off Lymington, a detachment of Foreign Artillery, consisting of one sergeant and twenty-sis men, was taken in.

On the 4th the ‘Creole’ passed through a fleet of light transports beating up Channel. ‘These are probably,’ Colonel Campbell notes, ‘the ships returning from France, after landing the French troops agreeably to the Convention of Cintra.’ ‘On the 18th, the day being a dead calm, the boat was lowered to pursue a turtle, which was spied 800 yards from the ship. Two hands rowed, I took the helm, and the master sat in the bow of the boat ready to seize him. As he seemed to be asleep upon the surface of the water, we approached him with as little noise as possible. When the boat almost touched him, the mate suddenly grasped him by one of his fore-fins, and tossed him into the boat. The exploit being witnessed from the ship, we were welcomed by a loud cheer in exultation of our success. The appearance of the ship with all its sails set, indolently bending from one side to another, her deck and sides crowded with men, the sea clear and smooth as glass, and the delightful warmth of the day, were truly beautiful and cheering to our spirits. There was no small anxiety to view the prize - sailors and soldiers, women and children, all crowding about us to satisfy their curiosity. The turtle was laid on his back upon the deck, to the joy of every one. In course of the evening we made three attempts after other turtle, but none of them succeeded. They were not asleep, and, when we approached within a few yards, lifted up their heads, surveyed us, and disappeared.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 1 May 2016.

Life in Richmond under siege

The American diarist Emma Mordecai died 120 years ago today, leaving behind a rare and detailed civilian record of life in the Confederate capital during the final year of the Civil War. Written in Richmond as military pressure tightened around the city, her diary captures both the routines of domestic life and the growing strain of conflict, offering a contemporaneous account of a society under siege.

Mordecai was born in 1812 in Richmond into a prominent Jewish mercantile family long established in the city. Her father, Samuel Mordecai, was a successful merchant, and the family occupied a respected position within Richmond society. She received a solid education for a woman of her background and remained closely tied to her extended family throughout her life, never marrying and instead living within a network of siblings and relations whose fortunes were intertwined with those of the breakaway Confederacy states.

During the American Civil War, Mordecai remained in Richmond, then the Confederate capital, and experienced the conflict at close quarters. Her household life was shaped by wartime shortages, the presence of enslaved servants, and the constant proximity of military activity. Like many in her social circle, she supported the Confederate cause, and her perspective was conditioned by both her class position and her investment in the South’s social order.

After the war, Mordecai continued to live in Richmond, adjusting to the profound social and economic changes brought by defeat and emancipation. In later life she copied out and preserved her wartime diary, producing a fair version in 1886. She died on 8 April 1906. Further information is available from Wikipedia and the Jewish Women’s’ Archive.

Mordecai’s diary covers the period from April 1864 to May 1865, one of the most intense phases of the war in Virginia, including the siege conditions in Richmond and the city’s eventual fall. The entries vary considerably in length, from brief factual notes to extended passages running to several hundred words. Alongside records of weather, household routines, and visits, Mordecai develops fuller scenes - in hospitals, on the roads, and in the surrounding countryside - combining close observation with moments of personal reflection and judgement, particularly as the pressures of war intensify.

The manuscript survived among the Mordecai family papers and was preserved in archival collections before attracting sustained scholarly attention. A full edition, The Civil War Diary of Emma Mordecai, was published by New York University Press in 2024, edited by Dianne Ashton with Melissa R. Klapper, and accompanied by a substantial scholarly introduction situating the text within the history of the Civil War and American Jewish life.

The path to publication was unusually prolonged. Ashton, a specialist in American Jewish history, had worked on the project for more than a decade and left behind a substantial draft on her death in 2022. Her colleague Melissa R. Klapper took on the task of completing the manuscript, drawing on Ashton’s research while updating the scholarship and preparing the diary for press. The project had already been committed to publication, and Klapper described finishing it as an effort to ensure that years of work did not ‘disappear’. More about the book can be found here, and some pages can sampled at Googlebooks. Moreover, a few of the diary extracts can be found in a pdf thanks to the Rosenbach Museum.

28 May 1864

‘A most beautiful morning, took a sweet little ramble in the woods about Laurel Branch, after breakfast. Got honeysuckle, laurel, lupin & other flowers. Grape vines not quite in bloom yet. How tranquil it was in the wooded pasture, where the cows look as if they would tire themselves with grazing, so uncommonly luxuriant is the growth of grass & clover in the woods around. The negro boys who mind them are happy, careless little beings - as free as Robin Hood’s men “under the green wood tree”. How much better off will they be in the North? Our ruthless invaders do full as much injury to the poor negroes, as to their owners. Spent the day in quiet, grateful rest. It turned very cool and rained in the afternoon. Ate the first strawberries - a few out of the Garden, & some that Fanny Young sent George, but ladies have brought me some to the Hospital all the week.’

29 May 1864

‘Another most beautiful day; so cool as to make our wood fires quite acceptable if not necessary. Rose & Gusta went to church. George & I staid at home, he reading & I writing all the morning, a very long letter to Peggy Mordecai in Raleigh, in answer to one from her rec’d yesterday. When Rose came from Church, she told us that Lee’s Army is very near Richmond. There has been a Cavalry skirmish at Atlee’s Station, about six miles from here. Ewell’s wagon train was passing Mr. Stuart’s, for hours yesterday, going down on the Meadow - Bridge road. The Battle grounds of 1861 seem to be selected by Grant for his next failure, & Genl. Lee is arranging to meet him in his new position. Hear that much of our artillery is in Atlee’s Station, & we may see Willie & John here at any moment. Had an excellent dinner of nice fried chicken, asparagus, boiled onions & rice, with a dessert of cool clauber. After dinner George drove Rose and me in to see Lawrence Young & take buttermilk to the Hospital. I carried my favorite patient, Mr. Horton, of Georgia, a breast of chicken, & a slice of bread & butter. Found him less well than when I left him Friday. He ate part of it, & seemed to relish it, but has little appetite. He has much to contend with. Has lost his left foot, and was severely wounded in the right leg. Poor fellow! so brave & so handsome! - with his white forehead, soft chestnut hair, clear steel blue eyes - strait nose & expressive mouth.

Lawrence Young is not thought to be improving. His surgeon, Dr. Montague (who afterwards married Rosa Young - Lawrence’s sister, with whom he fell in love around her brother’s cot], thinks his condition very discouraging. George saw his wound, & thinks it looks dreadfully. He is said to be the idol of his mother. Several of the men had died since I was there on Friday - all were hopeless cases. Many ladies visited the Hospital this P.M. One brought a large basket of strawberries & dispensed them. The poor invalids enjoy them much. On our way to town we saw several families moving with their servants, cattle, horses, and sheep &c to take refuge within the lines of fortification, as we returned, some were preparing to camp out a common, near the road. Ladies & children seated round a camp - fire, while their carts, wagons and a carriage were drawn up round them, with counterpanes arranged so as to make a sort of tent. Families east of the turnpike, (we are a mile to the west of it) have sent everything they can dispense with, to the City, for safety.’

30 May 1864

‘Beautiful, cool morning, cars not running yet on Fredsbg. Rd. Gusta went in with her uncle John, to school. I could not get to the Hospital. Took a walk in the woods after breakfast. Sewed all the morning mending clothes. Rose felt poorly & lay down most of the time. A perfectly quiet day. No sounds of War. After dinner read a little & took a long nap. Got up & dressed. Mrs. Young sent a large bowl of strawberries, and in the cool of the evening, walked over with the children. Gusta could not get home from school. Willie came about 8 o’clock from Mechanicsville, having ridden ten miles since sunset. He constant expression of his countenance. He had no one to attend to him except at stated periods. No one to keep off the swarming flies, or to answer the many urgent requirements of such a sufferer. Comfortless & perhaps without any one’s knowing it, he will die. The sisters do not allow any outsiders to remain with a patient but 15 minutes, so I had to leave him after this short time. I shall probably not find him there when I go again. I have prayed for him - May God pardon and take him to Himself.’

10 June 1864

‘I had intended visiting the Hospitals to day, but on consulting my Heb. Calendar, I found it was the 1st day of Pentecost, so I remained at home to observe the day as well as I could by reading the services, and reminding myself of my peculiar duties as an Inheritor of law given to us by Him who said “I, the Lord, change not”. Blind & foolish are those children of Israel, who persuade themselves that the laws given to them by the Unchanging One, for them & their descendants to observe forever, are not binding on them. I omitted to mention yesterday that Willie took us by surprise yesterday at Westbrook. He came home & finding we were at his uncle’s he dressed himself decently & went over. Rose sent for Gusta who was still in town, & Mary Chiles, with whom she was staying, came out with her to stay until Monday. Willie spent the night at home, & returned to camp after breakfast. A wagon train camped in the woods in front of the house today - the headquarter train of Stuart’s, now Hampton’s Cavalry. Horses are constantly passing on their way to & from the horse - recruiting camp up the river.’

William Godwin’s diary

The English writer and philosopher William Godwin, an early proponent of idealistic liberalism, died 190 years ago today. He is, perhaps, better remembered for his daughter, Mary, who married the poet Percy Shelley and wrote Frankenstein. Godwin kept a diary throughout his life. Although the daily entries are little more than lists of names and places and books read, the diary as a whole is considered of ‘immense importance to researchers of history, politics, literature, and women’s studies’.

Godwin was born in 1756 in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, into a large family of religious dissenters. Educated into a strict Calvinism, he finished his schooling at the Hoxton Academy, and served as minister in several places before returning to London. But by then he had shed his religion in favour of an idealistic liberalism based on the sovereignty and competence of reason to determine right choice. In order to further his new ideas, he set out on a writing career, contributing to political journals and associating with radical societies. He also tried setting up a school, and writing novels, though these early ventures did not come to much.

In 1793, Godwin published Enquiry concerning Political Justice, and its Influence on General Virtue and Happiness - now considered his greatest work - setting out his positive vision for an anarchist society of small, decentralised communities. After the writings of Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine, it was one of the most influential responses to the French Revolution. He followed this with a (hugely successful) novel - Things as They Are; or, The Adventures of Caleb Williams - which some consider the first ever thriller. In 1795, Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft, who he had first met some years earlier and who now had a daughter, became intimately involved. She fell pregnant by Godwin, and the two married in London in 1797. Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was born within a few months, but her mother died ten days later.

That same year, 1797, Godwin published a collection of essays entitled The Enquirer; and he wrote a biography of his wife, published as Memoirs of the Author of a Vindication of the Rights of Woman (though it was not very well received for being too revelatory). After producing a third and final edition of Political Justice, he turned to literature and history, trying his hand at plays, another novel and a life of Chaucer. In 1801, he married his neighbour Mary Jane Clairmont, who brought two children into the household (in addition to Godwin’s daughter and step-daughter). However, she proved an ill-tempered stepmother and was inhospitable to some of Godwin’s friends. This union produced a son for Godwin, David, who went on to become a journalist but died young from cholera.

In 1805, to secure a better financial situation, the Godwins, with help from friends, began running a children’s bookshop. Godwin wrote a variety of books - fables, histories, dictionaries - for the shop, while his wife saw to the business end, and translated books from French. In 1812, Godwin became a kind of mentor to Percy Shelley, who then visited the house often, and who provided much needed funds (borrowed against his future expectations) in support of Godwin and his family. In 1814, however, Shelley eloped with Godwin’s 16-year-old daughter Mary to the Continent. They returned to England and married in 1816 (after the death of Shelley’s first wife). Only a couple of years later, Mary Shelley’s book Frankenstein, dedicated to Godwin, would be published.

The most notable publications of Godwin’s later career were Of Population, a belated attempt to refute Thomas Malthus’s 1798 An Essay on the Principle of Population - itself a response to Godwin’s ideas (see more on Malthus’s diary at The cost of men and food); History of the Commonwealth of England, from its Commencement to the Restoration of Charles II in four volumes; and Thoughts on Man, his Nature, Productions and Discoveries. Godwin died on 7 April 1836. For more information see Wikipedia, Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, or University of Oxford podcasts.

Godwin kept a diary for most of his life, leaving behind 32 octavo notebooks now held by the Abinger Collection of manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. Although each diary entry - 1788-1836 - is no more than a short list of names, places etc., and often no more than a few words, the entire text has been considered important enough to be fully digitised, analysed and uploaded to a dedicated website hosted by the Bodleian.  This was funded, between 2007 and 2010, by the Leverhulme Trust and others under the direction of Oxford’s David O’Shaughnessy and Mark Philp and Victoria Myers from Pepperdine University, California.

According to the project: ‘The diary is a resource of immense importance to researchers of history, politics, literature, and women’s studies. It maps the radical intellectual and political life of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, as well as providing extensive evidence on publishing relations, conversational coteries, artistic circles and theatrical production over the same period.  One can also trace the developing relationships of one of the most important families in British literature, Godwin’s own [. . .]. Many of the most important figures in British cultural history feature in its pages, including Anna Barbauld, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Charles James Fox, William Hazlitt, Thomas Holcroft, Elizabeth Inchbald, Charles and Mary Lamb, Mary Robinson, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, William Wordsworth, and many others.’

The website offers - freely - an image of every page and a transcription of the text. Moreover, for every person, place, publication, play, meal etc. mentioned in the diary, there is a link to further detailed notes and collated lists of other mentions in the diary of the same subject. Often times, nearly every word of a diary entry is a highlighted link to further information. An introduction to the website can be found here, and an example of how the diary has been used can be seen at the Shelley’s Ghost exhibition website. (See also Write. Read Homer about Mary Shelley’s diaries.)

Although they make little sense divorced of the links and explanations provided by the William Godwin Diary website, here are a few examples of Godwin’s diary entries.

8 March 1790
‘House of Commons: Tobacco act, Capt. Williams’s Petition, Quebec’

13 November 1791
‘Correct. Dyson & Dibbin call; // talk of virtue & disinterest. Dine at Johnson’s, with Paine, Shovet & Wolstencraft; talk of monarchy, Tooke, Johnson, Voltaire, pursuits & religion. Sup at Helcroft’s:’

28 July 1792
‘Write 2 pages, on prosperity. Finish Merchant of Venice: Much Ado, 3 acts. Miss Godwin at tea.’

23 August 1792
‘Walk to Rumford, 3 hours: stage to town, breakfast at miss Godwin’s: dine at Mr Marshal’s. See Cross Partners’

4 February 1795
‘Call on mrs Jennings: tea Johnson’s, Kentish Town.’

9 July 1795
‘Breakfast at Buckingham: dine at Watford: tea Fawcet’s, Hedge Grove, sleep: see Wilson, Smith, &c.’

7 September 1808
‘Church-yard: walk to Thatcham: dine at Woolhampton: tea Theal, sleep. George Dandin.’

10 April 1816
‘Dine at Darlington: pass Durham: sleep at Newcastle—intelligent bailiff, pleasing gentleman, Cumberland farmer.’

27 April 1816
‘Breakfast at Carlisle: coach to Penrith: chaise along Ulswater: dine at Wordsworth’s: call, w. him, on Jackson; adv. Wakefield: circuit of Grasmere. Derwent Coleridge dines: write to M J & Thos Moore.’

1 November 1830
‘Essays, revise. Homer, v. 395. Museum; Du Bartas: theatre, Henry V. 60 / 65’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 7 April 2016.

Up from slavery

‘We talked over together the general interests of the school . . . He promised to give something and said that he thought that he could get one or two other gentlemen to give $100 each.’ This is from a short diary kept by the once-enslaved Booker T. Washington, born 170 years ago today, who grew up in conditions of poverty before emancipation enabled him to pursue an education. This diary, which dates from 1882, can be found online in a multi-volume scholarly edition of all Washington’s writing.

Born into slavery in Virginia on 5 April 1856, Washington worked in salt furnaces and coal mines while teaching himself to read and write. His formal education began at the Hampton Institute, where he studied under General Samuel Chapman Armstrong, graduating in 1875. Hampton’s emphasis on industrial training and self-reliance shaped Washington’s educational philosophy and his later career.

After a period teaching in West Virginia and studying further at Hampton, Washington was appointed in 1881 to lead a new school in Alabama, soon known as the Tuskegee Institute. There he developed a programme combining academic learning with vocational training; and he remained principal for the rest of his life. He married three times - first to Fannie N. Smith (who died in 1884), then Olivia Davidson (who died in 1889), and finally Margaret James Murray, who survived him. 

By the early twentieth century Washington was a nationally known public figure, advising politicians and securing funding for Tuskegee from both Northern philanthropists and Southern supporters. His autobiography Up from Slavery (1901) brought him international recognition. He died in 1915. See Wikipedia for further biographical information. His legacy is preserved in a large body of correspondence, speeches, and institutional records, later edited and published as The Booker T. Washington Papers, a multi-volume scholarly edition drawing on manuscripts held chiefly at the Library of Congress and Tuskegee.

The published papers contain very little that can be described as a diary. Apart from retrospective autobiographical writing, there survives only a brief series of contemporaneous entries from 1882, printed under the heading ‘Diary, May 1-May 8, 1882’. These entries - in volume 2, see Internet Archive - appear to have been written while Washington was travelling in the North raising funds for Tuskegee, and they are closely linked to accounts of money received and visits to potential donors. No continuous journal is known beyond this short sequence.

The surviving entries are concise and factual. On the opening day Washington records: ‘Started from N.Y. at 8 a.m. and arrived at Farmington at noon. Called on Mr. Fessenden who rec’d me kindly and gave me valuable advice, also a general letter and a number of letters of introduction.’ Later the same day he notes his reception at Plantsville: ‘At 8½ p.m. I called on Mr. H. D. Smith who rec’d me more kindly than I had ever been by any white man.’ Staying overnight, he records: ‘We talked over together the general interests of the school . . . He promised to give something and said that he thought that he could get one or two other gentlemen to give $100 each.’

The following days continue in the same manner, recording travel, meetings, and small successes. On 3 May: ‘He rec’d me kindly, but did not care to give any money for real estate. He said that he would help one or two needy students when school began.’ On 4 May: ‘Did not collect any money. Things looked rather gloomy.’ A more successful day follows on 5 May: ‘Collected from individuals $40 . . . gave me encouragement and several good names.’ The entries conclude with brief notes on further efforts and public speaking: ‘Spoke in the evening . . . to an appreciative audience. Rec’d several small gifts.’

How Nobile was saved

Born 130 years ago today, the Swede Einar Lundborg would become, for a brief moment in 1928, one of the most celebrated aviators in Europe - the man who first reached the stranded survivors of the crashed airship Italia and flew its commander to safety. His own account of that rescue, based closely on a diary kept during the expedition, was published that same year.

Lundborg was born on 5 April 1896 in Calcutta, the son of a Swedish missionary, and educated in Sweden before embarking on a military career. He served first in the Swedish army and then, in the turbulent years after the First World War, volunteered in both the Finnish Civil War and the Estonian War of Independence, experiences that brought him decorations from several countries and helped shape his reputation as a disciplined and resourceful officer.

By the mid-1920s he had transferred to aviation, joining the Swedish Air Force at a time when flying was still experimental and hazardous. It was this combination of military experience and technical skill that led to his selection for the 1928 Arctic rescue effort. His life was cut short only a few years later, in 1931, when he was killed during a test flight, leaving behind a brief but intensely dramatic career. Further biographical information is available at Wikipedia.

The episode that secured Lundborg’s place in history followed the crash of the airship Italia, commanded by Umberto Nobile, on its return from the North Pole in May 1928. The disaster triggered one of the first large-scale international polar rescue operations, involving aircraft, ships, and expeditions from several countries, see Wikipedia for more details.

Lundborg’s account was published in English in 1928 by Viking Press as The Arctic Rescue - how Nobile was saved. This can be freely read online at Internet Archive. It records, in practical detail, the conditions faced by the rescuers: uncertain ice, extreme cold, and the constant risk that any landing might be the last. When Lundborg finally locates the survivors on the ice, he describes the landing with characteristic understatement, focusing on technical challenges rather than heroics. The central dilemma - that his small ski-equipped aircraft can carry only one passenger - becomes the defining moment of the narrative. The decision to rescue Nobile first, though controversial, is presented in the diary as a matter of operational necessity rather than personal judgement.

The only diary entries actually quoted are brief and functional. The earliest of these comes not from the ice, but from the voyage north. Describing a violent storm in which the ship ‘rolled so terrifically that it defies all description’, Lundborg notes, ‘a very bad night.’ Later, on the ice, the diary captures something more personal, though still in an understated way. Lundborg explains that he had once objected strongly to cigarettes, but, deprived of pipe tobacco and worn down by long watches, he began smoking continuously. In the book’s narrative, Lundborg, says: ‘My diary for that day reveals: “My first fag.” But it was by no means my last.’ 

The most substantial quoted diary extract comes at a moment of strain within the camp. As tempers fray among the stranded men, Lundborg records not heroism or endurance, but discord: ‘Hard words are exchanged, especially between Viglieri and Behounek. Biagi brazenly sputters something about me and the field, and altogether it looks like the beginning of the most ghastly thing that could happen - abusiveness and dissension.’ Introduced as ‘typical of the mood that prevailed among us’, the entry stands out for its relative fullness, yet it remains observational rather than introspective - a record of behaviour rather than feeling.

Alongside these fragments are a few glimpses of the diary as an object. Lundborg notes, for example, the meticulous record-keeping of Viglieri, whose own large diary tracked provisions ‘down to the very gramme’, with columns for daily use and even ‘Receipts’. And near the end of the episode, he remarks that a map case left behind on the ice ‘contained my diary’ - a passing detail that confirms how closely the act of recording accompanied the events themselves.

The Galtee Boy

The Galtee Boy, the Irish republican activist John Sarsfield Casey, was born 180 years ago today. Imprisoned and then deported for his crimes against the state, he benefitted from an amnesty, allowing him to return to his beloved Ireland, where he helped campaign for the rights of tenants in the Galtee Mountains area. He left behind a memoir about his time in jail, and also a diary of his sea journey to Australia.

Casey was born on 2 March 1846 (according to the Cork City Gaol website) in Mitchelstown, County Cork, Ireland, into a family of shopkeepers. As a youngster, he became involved in the Irish Republican Brotherhood (the Fenians). Calling himself The Galtee Boy, he wrote letters to the Fenian newspaper, The Irish People, describing the round-up of Cork Fenians in 1865, their trials and their experiences in prison. His exposure of tenant conditions in the Galtee Mountains led to a libel case and helped inspire the Land League. Eventually he too was arrested, tried, and sentenced, and in 1867 was deported with other Fenian prisoners to Australia.

In May 1869, Casey was granted a free pardon and sailed for Ireland arriving in February 1870, with nine other released Fenians. Immediately, he threw himself again into the Irish struggle, writing articles on conditions in Australia, and becoming noted for his work on behalf of the tenants of the Galtee countryside. Later in life, he became a Coroner for County Limerick, a position he held until his death in 1896. A little further information is available at the Dictionary of Irish Biography.

In 2005, University College Dublin Press published, for the first time, a memoir written by Casey soon after his return to Ireland, called The Galtee Boy - A Fenian Prison Narrative. It is said to be the ‘most extensive surviving account of Cork Fenianism by a participant’. But another document written by Casey has also survived - a detailed diary he kept during his voyage to Australia. Extracts from this were published in Diaries of Ireland - An Anthology 1590-1987 by Melosina Lenox-Conyngham (Lilliput Press, Dublin, 1998) - a few pages can be read at Amazon.

Lenox-Conyngham’s source was a slim edition of the full text of the diary transcribed/edited by a relative of Casey’s, Martin Kevin Cusack, and published a decade earlier by Dorrance & Co, in the US. This was entitled Journal of a Voyage from Portland to Fremantle on board the Convict Ship “Hougoumont” Cap Cozens Commander October 12th 1867 By John S. Casey, Mitchelstown, Ireland. 

In his introduction, Cusack explains why he wanted to publish the text: ‘It had been my hope for many years to somehow help bring about the opening of this Journal and thereby allow the strength of character, the dedication to freedom, the literary talents, and the enduring faith of John Sarsfield Casey to shine forth as an inspiration to all of us. As a descendant relative of The Galtee Boy, I am proud to identify with his determined, life-long pursuit of liberty. He was a first cousin of my grandmother, Ellen Casey Cusack.’

He goes on to provide further background: ‘It is worth noting that the Journal is regarded as being of great historical interest by scholars and serious students of Irish and Australian history. The Casey Journal has been preserved in the family for 120 years. In May of 1969 it was among the papers of Dan Casey of Mitchelstown, last son of The Galtee Boy. Around the time of Dan Casey’s death, the manuscript was inadvertently delivered into the hands of the Cork County Library. Upon discovering this, a friend of the Casey family, believing he was acting in the family’s best interest, insisted upon its immediate return. It was returned promptly but in those few hours of possession, the Librarian made photocopies of it. The official stamp of the Cork County Library can be seen on the last page before the back cover. It is believed the copying was done without the knowledge of the immediate family and it remained unknown to the rest of us in the family until early in 1987.’

Here are several extracts from Cusack’s book (though, for clarity, I have added a few fullstops and dashes in places where extra spaces in the published text appear to signal a separation of phrases).

11 October 1867
‘Wrote letter - miserable arrangements on board in respect to closets &c - Whilst in port nothing of importance has occured - Rumour that we are to sail on to day (Friday) anchor raised & everything in readiness for sailing’

12 October 1867
‘Sails set - Blue Peter hoisted - 2 PM set sail fair wind. Take a farewell glance at Portland as we sail within one mile of its rock bound coast - Emotions of the pleasant kind. Towed out by the gun-boat “Earnest” - deck crowded with anxious faces eagerly pointing out objects of interest to one another - Pass the evening in playing Chess &c’

13 October 1867
‘Ship rolling very much - feel a little “squeamish” On deck nothing visible but sky and water save a few solitary sea-birds that kept eternally skimming over the crested waves - Had several Interviews with Hr Deleany RCC. Begs of me to serve Mass for him - I consent - Mass on board - I serve with difficulty in consequence of being seasick - Majority of hands troops &c on board Catholics - Mass in main hatchway - wind strong speed 6 knots - still towed out by “Earnest” Eat very little to day - 2 OC exceedingly sick - get some ease by lying in bunk - None sick but myself “spued” off everything I eat - Water distilled & measured out 3/4 pint per man per diem - find I cannot read. Ordered below for night at 4.30. Amuse ourselves every night with a concert.’

25 October 1867
‘Morning cloudy with a slight mist - Convoy still in sight 8 OC. A slight fall of rain till 8.30. Clouds clear off & leave the sun shining brilliantly - Ship’s yards truly square for 1st time - Cannot remain on forecastle for any time - Speed 8 knots under full canvas - 2 OC Air mild and balmy like a glorious summers day in Ireland - Home thoughts crowd upon me of pleasant days spent in the green meadow inhaling the fragrant odour of the newly mowed hay or of pleasant hours spent in company of la bella Maria in Kingstons demesne beside the tinkling stream. Passengers relieving monotony of voyage by various games such as Chess Dominoes Drafts Dice Cards &c. Evening enlivened by music (The Banjo) on deck accompanied with singing & dancing alternately reminds of Scotts lines on Don Roderick: “And to the tinkling of the soft guitar; Sweet stooped the ‘western sun’ bright rose the evening star”. ’

26 October 1867
‘Morning calm breeze light speed, 4 knots 12 OC. Breeze increasing - speed 8 knots - 2 Sail in sight - one of them “our Convoy”. A prisoner received 48 lashes from boatswain to day without wincing for beating another prisoner most inhumanly - At conclusion cheered by his Comerades - got cross irons on his feet - Evening looking gloomy - dark sombre clouds flitting across sky - Sunset very stormy looking - fear a rough night wind increasing sailors furling royals &c. 4.30 All hands below - usual amusements.’

27 October 1867
‘Awoke last night at 11 OC by dreadful noise on deck. Ship pitching - all hands “piped” up - great confusion below for 5 or 7 minutes. Ship tossed about like a cork - Terror increases by Sailors refusing to go aloft - fear a watery grave - cry on deck of breakers ahead - orders given to “bout” ship - sheet lightning flashing in all directions - one of the sails fluttering to the wind another minute & it is carried away - Blowing with terrific violence - ship labouring fearfully & timbers creaking mournfully. Officers mount aloft - Ship stands still for a minute & immediately receives several tremendous dashes of waves which almost capsizes her - sea roaring dreadfully & dashing in over gunwale - wind howling dismally through the rigging - 12 OC - Not much calmer all damage apparently over - Some sailors return to their duty & are working away to the jolly chorus of: Heave haul away, Haul away my dandies.’

4 December 1867
‘Blowing exceedingly hard all night. Speed 12 knots. Not better. Stomach bad - raining very hard all night. All hands obliged to remain below all day - Morning calm, 3 knots - 10 of our lads reported - rope 1 pepper box - 8 deprived of wine for week. Sails hanging motionless.’

5 December 1867
‘Morning dark heavy & inclined for rain - a dead calm - very disagreeable on deck - a thick mist falling. Sailing under a cloud of canvas yet scarcely making any progress.’

6 December 1867
‘Morning cloudy - raining all day - all hands obliged to remain below which is dark damp like hell - the most disagreeable day I ever spent almost becalmed.’

7 December 1867
‘Morning cloudy - raining at intervals with Dr off hospital diet - half starved on it - wind coming in fitful gusts - extremely cold all day &  last night - On look out for flying Dutchman - amusing to see passengers with terror depicted on their countenances at idea of meeting him - Sea very rough - Day has a very strange & ominous aspect. The surface of the ocean & glassy & scarcely a breath of air disturbed the solemn stillness that prevailed. The ship lay motionless yielding only to that never ceasing swell that heaves the bosom of the broad Atlantic - the sails reposed uselessly against the masts or flapped to and fro in dead compliance with the breathing sea. The sky vas of a dull grey leaden hue - no clouds could be seen but the XXX XXX vault of heaven was wrapped in one dark impenetrable veil whose dreariness was made much more dreary by reflection in the waters beneath. This universal stillness reigned during the morning broken only by the shriek of the sea bird as it skimmed over the surface of the waters. About mid-day the rain poured down in torrents such as they only who have witnessed can conceive - This lasted for two or three hours yet the sea remained a perfect calm - the air cold thick and still. When the rain ceased all was silent as the grave - 6 OC. Ignorant of danger we sat down to our customary amusements which were only interrupted by an XXXXXXX ocassional wish to have a breeze spring up - At 6 OC Sails were shortened & everything on deck and aloft made ready for a wild night. At 7 OC the ship was sailing under closely reefed topsails & Mr J Flood who came down informed us that the hatchways were nailed down - At 8 OC we retired to rest but scarcely had two hours elapsed before a dull roaring sound was heard in the distance growing louder and louder as it approached until it seemed to burst over us. In a few minutes the sea dashed into fury & the ship speeding through on a gale of terrific violence - Sleep was impossible - The noise on deck.’

6 January 1868
‘Glorious morning promising another broiling day - Still a dead calm - ship scarcely moving - went about 5 knots per hour during the night. Spanish vessel still in sight about 5 miles to NE of us. Mass on board. Dread that this calm will continue for some time - 12 OC - Not a ripple on the surface of the waters shining like a plate of fretted gold. How slowly creep the hours in those calms especially as we are so near our destination. Nothing to read - nothing to discuss - nothing to while away an hour with except to sit in a state of dreamy thoughtfulness watching the sea birds skimming over the surface of the water - your thoughts wandering back to the green hills the shady groves & the pleasant valleys of “That beautiful land far away; That isle of the blue sea carressed; Where the fields are so green & the mountains so grey; In this isle far away in the West”.

Such a life is intolerable. 4 OC - Supper - Cry on deck of - A Shark A Shark - all hands rush on deck in a state of great excitement and in an instant bulwarks & forecastle are crowded. I too rush up and from the forecastle obtain a glimpse of the huge monster as he slowly glides through the blue waters beneath his green eyes gleaming with a fierce and ominous expression and his body assuming the most gorgeous colours - the principal being a bright emerald green. Two immense fins project beneath the jaws. A bait is thrown out attached to a strong iron hook - in an instant he perceives it & slowly and noiselessly glides towards it. When within two feet of it he turns on his back XXX opens his voracious jaws - exhibiting to the spectators two rows of sharp saw like teeth.’

9 January 1868
‘Blowing hard all night, sailing under scarcely fifty yards of canvas. All hands on deck and hard at work during the night. 6 OC Strong breeze glorious morning. Sky clear - speed 10 knots - On look out for land since 4 OC - 7.45 Land Ahead - on our lee bow a long low range visible surmounted by a lighthouse - Rottenest Island [. . .] The misty outline of the coast is more defined to the R of Island. The mainland appears low & sandy - the range surmounted by “Bush”. The pilot boat appears in the distance - 7 men in her - Fremantle now visible after dinner - a few merchant vessels in roads - prospect cheerless in the extreme - A sober sadness now assails me at idea of being separated from many of my comerades. Look in vain for the emerald green hills dotted with sheep - the waving meadows - the yellow corn fields bowing beneath the golden ear, the broad transparent river meandering through the deep garment of fairest green and the darkly shadowed mountains in the background which gladdened the sight on nearing the shores of Holy Ireland - There all is grand - Here all is dreary desolate & cheerless. How many of the stout hearts now beating are destined to lay their bones in this land. How many will again tread the fair hills of Holy Ireland. Oh! for a dip into the gloomy dark future!’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 25 March 2016.

The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna

Today marks the 190th anniversary of the birth of Ramakrishna, the Bengali temple priest and religious teacher whose influence on modern Hindu thought was profound despite his leaving no written works of his own. Born in rural poverty, he became known for his intense devotional practices and spiritual experiences, attracting a growing circle of followers. This life is documented in unusual detail not through autobiography but through the contemporaneous diary of his disciple Mahendranath Gupta, whose careful observations, were later published as The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna.

Gadadhar Chattopadhyay was born on 18 February 1836 in the village of Kamarpukur, about 65 miles northwest of Calcutta, the youngest child of Khudiram Chattopadhyay and Chandramani Devi, poor but devout Brahmins. His father, known for his strict piety, died when Gadadhar was seven, leaving the family in precarious circumstances. The boy attended the local village school but showed little interest in formal education, preferring devotional songs, religious drama, and solitary meditation. From childhood he exhibited unusual religious sensibility, entering trances during worship and becoming absorbed in images and rituals that others regarded conventionally.

Aged 17, Gadadhar joined his elder brother Ramkumar in Calcutta, where the latter ran a small Sanskrit school and served as a priest. In 1855, Ramkumar was appointed priest at the newly built Kali temple complex at Dakshineswar, endowed by the wealthy patron Rani Rashmoni, and Gadadhar soon followed. After Ramkumar’s death the following year, Gadadhar, now known as Ramakrishna, assumed priestly duties at the temple dedicated to Kali, the Divine Mother. There he underwent a series of intense spiritual experiences, including prolonged trances and visions, which convinced him that the God could be experienced directly. His unconventional behaviour alarmed some observers but attracted others who recognised in him a figure of unusual spiritual authority.

In 1859, at the age of 23, Ramakrishna married Saradamani Mukhopadhyay, later revered as Sarada Devi, who was then about five years old, in accordance with the custom of arranged child marriage. She joined him years later at Dakshineswar and became his spiritual companion rather than a conventional wife; the marriage remained celibate. Over the following decades Ramakrishna’s reputation spread, drawing visitors from across Bengal, including householders, students, reformers, sceptics, and future religious leaders, including Narendranath Datta, who would later become Swami Vivekananda (see This universal religion). Ramakrishna himself wrote nothing. He died of throat cancer at Cossipore, near Calcutta, in 1886, aged fifty.

Although Ramakrishna himself never kept a diary, one of his disciples - Mahendranath Gupta, a young schoolteacher - did keep a detailed record of the last years of his life. Gupta had received an English education and worked as headmaster of a Calcutta school. Troubled by personal and philosophical doubts, he encountered Ramakrishna on 26 February 1882. That very evening, deeply impressed, he began recording what he had seen and heard. Gupta continued this practice for four years, from 1882 until 1886, writing entries immediately after each visit, often the same day. He concealed his identity behind the initial ‘M.’ and preserved his notebooks privately for many years. 

Beginning in 1902 Gupta published his diary in Bengali under the title Sri Sri Ramakrishna Kathamrita (The Nectar of Ramakrishna’s Words), issuing five volumes between 1902 and 1932. The English translation by Swami Nikhilananda, published in 1942 as The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, allowed the diary to become internationally known - it can be read online at Internet Archive. Here are the opening paragraphs of the first two dated entries.

February 1882

‘It was on a Sunday in spring, a few days after Sri Ramakrishna’s birthday, that M. met him the first time. Sri Ramakrishna lived at the Kalibari, the temple garden of Mother Kali, on the bank of the Ganges at Dakshineswar.

M., being at leisure on Sundays, had gone with his friend Sidhu to visit several gardens at Baranagore. As they were walking in Prasanna Banerji’s garden, Sidhu said: “There is a charming place on the bank of the Ganges where a paramahamsa lives. Should you like to go there?” M. assented and they started immediately for the Dakshineswar temple garden. They arrived at the main gate at dusk and went straight to Sri Ramakrishna’s room. And there they found him seated on a wooden couch, facing the east. With a smile on his face he was talking of God. The room was full of people, all seated on the floor, drinking in his words in deep silence.

M. stood there speechless and looked on. It was as if he were standing where all the holy places met and as if Sukadeva himself were speaking the word of God, or as if Sri Chaitanya were singing the name and glories of the Lord in Puri with Ramananda, Swarup, and the other devotees. . .’

11 March 1882

‘About eight o’clock in the morning Sri Ramakrishna went as planned to Balaram Bose’s house in Calcutta. It was the day of the Dolayatra. Ram, Manomohan, Rakhal, Nityagopal, and other devotees were with him. M., too, came, as bidden by the Master.

The devotees and the Master sang and danced in a state of divine fervour. Several of them were in an ecstatic mood. Nityagopal’s chest glowed with the upsurge of emotion, and Rakhal lay on the floor in ecstasy, completely unconscious of the world. The Master put his hand on Rakhal’s chest and said: “Peace. Be quiet.” This was Rakhal’s first experience of ecstasy. He lived with his father in Calcutta and now and then visited the Master at Dakshineswar. About this time he had studied a short while in Vidyasagar’s school at Syampukur.

When the music was over, the devotees sat down for their meal. Balaram stood there humbly, like a servant. Nobody would have taken him for the master of the house. M. was still a stranger to the devotees, having met only Narendra at Dakshineswar.

Sri Ramakrishna said: “When, hearing the name of Hari or Rama once, you shed tears and your hair stands on end, then you may know for certain that you do not have to perform such devotions as the sandhya any more. Then only will you have a right to renounce rituals; or rather, rituals will drop away of themselves. Then it will be enough if you repeat only the name of Rama or Hari, or even simply Om.” Continuing, he said, “The sandhya merges in the Gayatri, and the Gayatri merges in Om.”

M. looked around him with wonder and said to himself: “What a beautiful place! What a charming man! How beautiful his words are! I have no wish to move from this spot.” After a few minutes he thought, “Let me see the place first; then I’ll come back here and sit down.”

As he left the room with Sidhu, he heard the sweet music of the evening service arising in the temple from gong, bell, drum, and cymbal. He could hear music from the nahabat, too, at the south end of the garden. . . ’

Gupta’s diary ends shortly before Ramakrishna’s death on 16 August 1886. Further information is available from Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica and Inner Spiritual Awakening.