by Jim Musgrave
May 23, 1863
Now that we are married, I believe I am a changed woman. As I watch all the others making plans for life on the island, all I can write down is my desire to have a child! Dear Journal, I cannot relate these feelings to anyone, as yet, as I know they all believe we will be living an adventure that will be quite different from our lives back home in England and America. It is difficult to explain, but the moment Captain Sinclair pronounced us "man and wife," I became fixed upon the desire to have a child. Perhaps it is my personal adventure. So be it. Isn't this a woman's true calling, after all? What more adventure can there be than having a child in the wilderness, with no doctor and no hospital to ensure one's safety? Can this be any less daring than any of these men's exploits during war or on the high seas? Alas, every time I speak about the prospects of having children, the other women just laugh and tell me I had best talk with Mister Ericsson about such matters.
I did speak with Captain Ericsson. I must say, his ideas about our New Republic were quite shocking to me! Where is the romance in having children in common? When I registered my disapproval, he just patted my hand in a most condescending manner, and said, "My dear lady, you shall have your children, but having a common parentage will give these children of ours a noble purpose. Not knowing their mother or father will make all of us their mothers and fathers. Thus, our Republic will be their parents." I can't imagine it! It's too horrid to imagine. How can a child be nurtured properly without the special care only her mother can give?
I spoke to Dana about what Captain Ericsson told me, and he was also very patronizing. "Captain Ericsson is planning our new government, Anna, and we must not question his authority."
Dear Journal, I do so want to be a good wife and good citizen, but something inside me is repelled by the thought of giving my child over to the masses. Captain Ericsson says it will free me to go out and be something much more than a "mere" doting mother. He says I can be a huntress or warrior. Humbug, I say! Is it so criminal to want to wear fine things and be a mother to one's child? Is it too much to ask? Apparently it is. However, I will bide my time, and when the right moment comes, and it shall come, I will get my own way. I remember the Biblical stories about women who were able to overcome the same masculine pride and control, and I am no less of a woman! I, too, can be a noble Tamar, who was able to trick her father-in-law and have her own way. If I must use my sexuality to get my way, so be it! We shall be cast out onto this uncivilized land, and perhaps it will take uncivilized actions to succeed! Ah, a woman's adventure is never-ending!
Chapter Forty-Six: Dana Greene's Journal
February 12, 1863, at sea
Anna and I are back together again, and I suppose this should be enough, but the transition to life aboard ship again has been a bit strenuous for me. My last days with the Monitor were quite horrendous, and I was actually looking forward to time away from the sea. Alas, this is not meant to be, so I shall make the best of my situation. We certainly cannot go back to our relatives. My father would disown me as a coward, and the Union Government would, most likely, imprison me. It is true; we have gone over this journey thousands of times. Ericsson and I have had our plan ready for months, but now we have some new additions that make me uncomfortable. This Captain Sinclair and his wife are not, in my opinion, worthy citizens for our new island life. They both seem too autocratic and inflexible, and they are not the type of people to understand the reality of life in Nature. Certainly, Captain Sinclair understands life at sea, but it is the understanding of the competitor and not of the assimilator. One must learn, as the Transcendentalists have taught us, to harmonize with Nature and become open to the power of the Over-Soul. Here, I have it! Dr. Emerson says it better than I can:
Behold, it saith, I am born into the great, the universal mind. I, the imperfect, adore my own Perfect. I am somehow receptive of the great soul, and thereby I do overlook the sun and the stars, and feel them to be the fair accidents and effects that change and pass. More and more the surges of everlasting nature enter into me, and I become public and human in my regards and actions. So come I to live in thoughts, and act with energies, which are immortal Thus revering the soul, and learning, as the ancient said, that ‘its beauty is immense,’ man will come to see that the world is the perennial miracle which the soul worketh, and be less astonished at particular wonders; he will learn that there is no profane history; that all history is sacred; that the universe is represented in an atom, in a moment of time. He will weave no longer a spotted life of shreds and patches, but he will live with a divine unity. He will cease from what is base and frivolous in his life, and be content with all places and with any service he can render. He will calmly front the morrow in the negligency of that trust which carries God with it, and so hath already the whole future in the bottom of the heart.
I plan to live my new life with this profoundest of philosophies steadfast in my mind. The war has led me to this place, it is true, and I can be something greater if I can overcome the curse of being fractured by division. I am not simply a part of a single government, a single people, and a single marriage. I am part of the universe, a child of the One, and I will see to it that my life continues to expand, as Nature envelopes me in Her totality!
Chapter Forty-Seven: John Ericsson's Journal
March 10, 1863, at sea
My grand experiment is going smoothly, even though the addition of Sinclair and his wife has caused me to change some of my plans. I have had time to reflect and to read, and it has been Plato who has been my ultimate salvation. His Republic has given me the inspiration to design my plan so that it will serve us well in our new environs. Combined with my exploration into the characters of my passengers, this philosophical treatise will become the bedrock upon which we will build our community on Easter Island.
First off, Plato's understanding of the human soul has been of great assistance to me in my own designs for the future. He believed that each of us could be categorized according to our class and according to our interests and virtues. And, beneath our surface life, there is the motivation of the soul. My chart of Plato's teachings helps me to plan my own Republic on Easter Island.
I note, with pleasure, that I can place each of my new citizens into one of these three categories. For example, Sinclair and Greene are perfect candidates for the Warrior Class. They have the spirit and courage that is demanded of these "Guardians of the Republicas Plato calls them. I know that Greene has been aspiring toward something he believes is knowledge, but the Transcendentalists are not true philosophers. Emerson never lived in Nature, about which he preaches so profoundly. And Greene has been truly fooled by the chimera of unity. It will not take me long to put him back into the class upon which his soul is truly based, the warrior of spirit and courage! As for Sinclair, he is the epitome of Platonic spirit. He even saw the South as men who were fighting for honor, and thus he became a compatriot for their cause. Sinclair will be easily swayed by the manipulations I will use on him.
The Commoner Class shall, of course, be the natives on the island, as well as Mister Charles McCord, the Catholic. Even though McCord fools himself onboard ship, once he gets out into this pleasure-seeking wilderness, he will become his old self again. We will work on his temperance.
The rest of the group will be groomed to serve, with me, as the Philosopher Kings of our island paradise. Together with the Warriors, we will be the Guardians of Justice. We shall live in poverty, as an example to our public that we hold their best interests in mind. In addition, we will hold all our wealth in common, as well as our wives and our children. Children will be raised in common and will not know who their real parents are. These children will not be randomly conceived. They will be bred deliberately to produce the best offspring. As Plato suggests, we will keep the breeding process secret from them. Every year after the breeding committee, or whatever I will choose to call it, secretly makes its choices, there will be a kind of fertility festival. Everyone will choose names by l
ot, and the name he or she draws, or no name, will be the choice of the gods for them. This is the kind of thing that Plato called a "noble lie"; the lottery is to be rigged by the breeding committee. Everyone will actually draw the name designated for him or her; those who draw a blank will simply be undesirable for offspring. I have already spoken to Amelia, and she has agreed to serve with me on our breeding committee.
There will be no racism or class imperative, as I have chosen young Chip to be in our Philosopher Class, and most of the women are also chosen, except for Greene's Anna. This poor girl is too caught up in the pleasures of the world, and even though I have agreed to marry them before we land, I will soon, thereafter, announce our New Republic.
Socrates said that he hesitated to make an issue out of it, but that, yes, there will be women Guardians. Women have all the same parts of the soul and so all the same interests, virtues, and personality types as men. Since children will be raised in common, individual women will not be burdened with the task of child rearing and will be free to take their places in their proper occupations along with the men. If the warrior women are not as strong as the men, then they may not be at the forefront of the battle, but they should be at the battle. This equality even extends to athletics, which is somewhat shocking, since Greek athletes went naked. Words like "gymnasium" and "gymnastics" both derive from gymnos "naked." The Greeks rather prided themselves on not thinking that it was shameful or ridiculous to go naked, as all the "barbarians," their neighbors, thought. But Socrates says that nothing is ridiculous except what is wrong, and that in time people would get used to naked women athletes just as at one time they got used to naked men. I am certain the natives on Easter Island will find our ideas quite acceptable. And, over time, so will my public.
In addition, if any of the natives is seen to be a possible candidate, we will certainly honor his or her attributes and potential with the schooling necessary for members of our class. All will stand a chance to become Philosopher Kings, make no mistake, and our new Ericssonville will stand the test of the future to come!
Chapter Forty-Eight: Penelope Sinclair's Journal
April 6, 1863, at sea
Captain Ericsson performed the wedding ceremony, and it was a wonderful affair! Anna wore one of my French gowns, and Mister McCord let us imbibe in one of the bottles of champagne that Captain Ericsson has locked away. I know of McCord's problem with alcohol, having witnessed the incident in the dining room when he attacked Captain Ericsson, and I specifically asked him if our celebrating with champagne bothered him. He smiled rather balefully and said, "No Mum, I'll just let you drink your little fizzy water. It will have no effect on me, as long as I stay on this side of the room." I must say, he did look a bit downcast, especially when we began to dance following the wedding ceremony. But, as I am one to keep a party going, I dragged him off his feet and we danced a good while, even though my feet were not fit for walking when he finished stomping on them. Mister Greene even composed a song for his new wife, Anna, and Anna sang it to my husband's harmonica accompaniment. Afterward, I was so intrigued by the groom's little tune that I inscribed it to add to this journal:
Our love will go on, like the heat of the sun, And your moonchild eyes will haunt my soul, Until dawn fuses with dusk, and snowflakes burn, Let me kiss your lips, and feel your hands, Patiently waiting, for our hearts to become one.
That young man has quite a romantic nature! Amelia and I often discuss the possibility of educating our husbands into the ways of romance, but we know their hearts are not in it.
"After all," says Amelia, "they're still young. The bloom will soon be off the rose." However, the young Greene is quite handsome, and when he is making love to his young wife, I often get pangs of envy that creep over me, like rabbits loose in the Garden of Eden. I love it when Mister Greene talks about our new life to come on Easter Island. When he mentions that we shall perhaps "turn native," and "wear little or nothing about our bodies," I can see my poor Walter's face cringe in a distasteful way. But, I must admit, my heart begins to race at the thought of cavorting in the tropical wilderness with the likes of young Mister Greene about! Am I so evil, dear journal, to want both romance and adventure? Dear Walter, he has always been so strong, and I love him dearly. However, when I see him next to Mister Greene, I can't help but see what I have missed. When we have all arrived at our new paradise, I am anxious to let Nature take hold. Things should be different, and my own passionate nature will be given a much wider berth.
Until then, I shall play the doting wife, and secretly write in this journal to confess my heart's desire. The things I tell you, I shall not tell another soul! I am, after all, a liberated woman.
I can learn from the dark side of humanity by watching young Chip Jefferson. He reads his novels and books, and I wonder what bold ideas he concocts inside his black brain? Does he lust after us? Walter has told me these slaves have an insatiable desire for the white woman that often boils over into criminal acts. I suppose Chip will revert to his primitive state once we land. They are so close to being monkeys, or so say many of the scientific books. Monkey see, monkey do. He sounds intelligent, too, and that's what amazes me the most.
Amelia says his slave owner, a woman who believed these Negroes could learn basic skills, educated him. I must admit, he is a novelty, especially when he recites his knowledge of Easter Island. He sounds so professorial, I laughed out loud the first time I heard him. He just looked embarrassed until Captain Ericsson bid him to continue. I don't say a thing, anymore, when he does it. I know Chip shall revert to his wild nature when the time comes. And, so shall I! Won't it be grand?
Chapter Forty-Nine: Walter Sinclair's Journal
May 18, 1863, at sea
We've had some rough seas the last week, as we sailed around Cape Horn, and most of them have been walking past me like ghosts, hanging onto the rails, weaving down the passageways, spewing forth at any mention of victuals being served in the galley. I expected as much from the women, but even the men have been under the weather, except for Greene and his little darkie. I suppose they were in some rough weather when they were sailing around Cape Hatteras in the Monitor, and that's enough storm surges to give a two-year-old toddler his sea legs. I decided we had to put to shore at Tierra del Fuego, as the storm on the 17th of May was especially tumultuous. We would most certainly have gone under if I hadn't made this decision.
We made it into the strait of Le Maire at noon, and I held the ship close to the Fuegian shoreline to stay away from the currents. At about three that afternoon we finally anchored at the Bay of Good Success, and the storm at last began to subside, although the clouds still hung above us like gloomy bugbears. As Captain Ericsson advised us, this was the same spot that Charles Darwin and his Beagle landed in 1832, and the others seemed quite impressed. I had been here once before, in 1860, running some slaves from the South Pacific to Nassau.
A group of about fifty natives were on shore when we arrived, and the men of the tribe approached us, with the gray and grizzled elders staying in front, with sagging breasts and animal skins wrapped around their loins. I knew their ways, so I brought along some tobacco, and they smiled broadly when I handed it to them. They also talked their chirping gibberish, with those infernal clicking sounds deep in their throats. They sounded rather like Bedlam lunatics, but Ericsson seemed quite taken in by their antics. When they motioned to their younger folk to come up and begin dancing, in our honor, I would suppose, Ericsson immediately began to imitate their prancing, whooping leaps. However, what appalled me the most was when the women and that little black shoeshine boy, Jefferson, all began to sing and dance with them as if they'd been at it for many years!
Was this what it was going to be like once we landed at our "paradise" Easter Island? I certainly hope not! My fiancée, Penelope, was especially strange when all this native paganism was taking place. She kept dancing around young Mister Greene, as his obvious shyness seemed to be a lure for her to embarrass him with her le
g kicks and shrill screams. I must say, I wonder if dear Pen has lost a bit of her English reserve. I must talk to her about decorum when we have a few moments alone together.
The storm finally let up, and we all bid adieu to our friends the Fuegians. Captain Ericsson pointed out that "our" natives on Easter Island would be much more isolated, with practices that would probably fascinate us even more than these "primitives."
Chapter Fifty: Chip Jefferson's Journal
January 7, 1863, at sea.
I am really happy to have a secret place to write down my thoughts about what is going on around me. My Papa always told me that literacy was what separated the classes in a democratic society, and so I was taught at an early age to read and to write. I was taught, even though we were slaves, because our masters were much different than most of the owners in the South. Mrs. Sims was always reading to me and teaching me how to read and sound out the words. It's kind of a magic way of seeing the world through symbols, and now that we will journey to our "new world," I will no longer be looked at as strange because I can read and write. Some of the men aboard the Monitor were nice to me, and I would often read them letters from home, and I was even paid to write love letters, although the quartermaster got angry when his lady friend severed their relationship after getting one of my epistles. However, many of them thought I was very strange, and even called me names, just because I could read and write! They said "our people" should not have this skill because we would never do anything except the low-class jobs.
As the youngest aboard this ship, I am given the duties of a cabin boy, but Captains Ericsson and Sinclair have promised me that once we land on Easter Island I will be free to establish my own livelihood, and I will no longer be considered a subordinate. Even at home I did not feel totally free, as my parents, even though they loved me, were also quite a burden.