Eaglehawk Neck. The waters on this inward, Hobarton side of the peninsula were sheltered, ending in a mile orso of beach with rocks at either end. They disembarked and Montagu and Forster walked over to the barracks, while the Franklins climbed the short, sandy path to the top of the dune that formed the spine of the Neck, to look out at the parallel beach on the eastern, ocean side. Here the sight was spectacular, a vast panorama of the open sea rolling in two thousand miles from New Zealand, crashing in great curling breakers onto a long crescent of pale sands.
The narrow neck on which they stood, Booth explained, formed the only land passage between Forestier Peninsula to the north and Tasman Peninsula to the south. This made the latter almost an island: a perfect natural prison, as Governor Arthur had recognised. Even so, in the first year or two after Port Arthur was established there had been escapes—until Ensign Peyton Jones of the 63rd Regiment conceived the idea of the dog-line. Booth pointed to the line of eleven lampposts spaced at intervals across the neck below them. Each post had a large, savage dog chained to it, with a barrel for a kennel. But the line had not worked at first.
‘The first time I came up here there were nine dogs, and the corporal in charge regarded them rather as pets, I discovered. I walked straight between them to the hut, where he was asleep at the table with his head on his arms.’
Later that night, in the privacy of the officers’ tent, the barracks having been given up to the visiting party, Booth came in for a ribbing over his evident bemusement at the Governor’s wife. He shook his head, laughing at himself. Lady Franklin was so unlike her predecessor. Mrs Arthur had always been enceinte or too embroiled with children to venture far—even if she had wanted to, which she gave no indication of. Booth predicted he would not be the only one in Van Diemen’s Land to be set aback by Lady Franklin. But you could not help liking her, admiring her. When you came across such quick understanding in a woman, such good humour . . . They mocked him all the more, of course.
Next day the weather changed. On the journey overland from Eaglehawk Neck down to Port Arthur it rained persistently. Thevisitors were caped, umbrella’d, and wrapped in shawls, cloaks, pelisses and surtouts. Pale faces peered out into the wet. The scarlet jackets and white cross-straps of the soldiers showed vividly against the shining grey-greens of the wet bush. Sir John rode Booth’s horse (poor Jack!) and there were a variety of borrowed mounts for the other gentlemen. Convict bearers carried the makeshift sedan chairs for the ladies. Lowering skies pressed wreaths of mist down between the hills. Booth was disappointed. He had wanted the Franklins to have their first sight of the settlement cove with the sun on it, the whitewashed buildings looking sheltered and delightful as they so often did. Sir John dismounted and Lady Franklin too insisted on walking.
‘Her Ladyship had us deployed in two minutes,’ Booth mentally composed a letter to his sister Charlotte, dear Char: the family correspondent, who had seen Franklin’s appointment to Van Diemen’s Land in the Gazette , and demanded a full account of the Arctic Lion, The Man Who Ate His Boots, and his blue-stocking wife.
Booth must walk here beside her husband, said Lady Franklin, and Mr Montagu beside her, with Mr Forster on that side. Only afterwards did Booth understand that by this means she made certain he was talking to Sir John’s ‘good’ ear during the first tour of the site. Sir John had been deaf on one side since the battle of Copenhagen, he told Booth later at dinner. The roar of the cannons beside him all day had damaged his hearing. Lady Franklin wanted him to let the doctors look at his ear, but he would not allow it.
‘Only consider the great Duke’s experience,’ Franklin said, warming to his subject, no stammer now. Wellington
The narrow neck on which they stood, Booth explained, formed the only land passage between Forestier Peninsula to the north and Tasman Peninsula to the south. This made the latter almost an island: a perfect natural prison, as Governor Arthur had recognised. Even so, in the first year or two after Port Arthur was established there had been escapes—until Ensign Peyton Jones of the 63rd Regiment conceived the idea of the dog-line. Booth pointed to the line of eleven lampposts spaced at intervals across the neck below them. Each post had a large, savage dog chained to it, with a barrel for a kennel. But the line had not worked at first.
‘The first time I came up here there were nine dogs, and the corporal in charge regarded them rather as pets, I discovered. I walked straight between them to the hut, where he was asleep at the table with his head on his arms.’
Later that night, in the privacy of the officers’ tent, the barracks having been given up to the visiting party, Booth came in for a ribbing over his evident bemusement at the Governor’s wife. He shook his head, laughing at himself. Lady Franklin was so unlike her predecessor. Mrs Arthur had always been enceinte or too embroiled with children to venture far—even if she had wanted to, which she gave no indication of. Booth predicted he would not be the only one in Van Diemen’s Land to be set aback by Lady Franklin. But you could not help liking her, admiring her. When you came across such quick understanding in a woman, such good humour . . . They mocked him all the more, of course.
Next day the weather changed. On the journey overland from Eaglehawk Neck down to Port Arthur it rained persistently. Thevisitors were caped, umbrella’d, and wrapped in shawls, cloaks, pelisses and surtouts. Pale faces peered out into the wet. The scarlet jackets and white cross-straps of the soldiers showed vividly against the shining grey-greens of the wet bush. Sir John rode Booth’s horse (poor Jack!) and there were a variety of borrowed mounts for the other gentlemen. Convict bearers carried the makeshift sedan chairs for the ladies. Lowering skies pressed wreaths of mist down between the hills. Booth was disappointed. He had wanted the Franklins to have their first sight of the settlement cove with the sun on it, the whitewashed buildings looking sheltered and delightful as they so often did. Sir John dismounted and Lady Franklin too insisted on walking.
‘Her Ladyship had us deployed in two minutes,’ Booth mentally composed a letter to his sister Charlotte, dear Char: the family correspondent, who had seen Franklin’s appointment to Van Diemen’s Land in the Gazette , and demanded a full account of the Arctic Lion, The Man Who Ate His Boots, and his blue-stocking wife.
Booth must walk here beside her husband, said Lady Franklin, and Mr Montagu beside her, with Mr Forster on that side. Only afterwards did Booth understand that by this means she made certain he was talking to Sir John’s ‘good’ ear during the first tour of the site. Sir John had been deaf on one side since the battle of Copenhagen, he told Booth later at dinner. The roar of the cannons beside him all day had damaged his hearing. Lady Franklin wanted him to let the doctors look at his ear, but he would not allow it.
‘Only consider the great Duke’s experience,’ Franklin said, warming to his subject, no stammer now. Wellington
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