Gillian Dooley’s Matthew Flinders: The man behind the map is an exploration of Flinders the man, rather than the decorated navigator and leader, idolised by generations of admirers. In this lovely guest post, Gillian retraces Matthew Flinders through Mauritius, giving advice to documentary producers, surviving a cyclone, giving talks on Flinders, and dealing with delayed flights.
Read her lively piece below.
I arrive in Mauritius on 18 February 2024 and get through immigration with no problems. Outside the airport I meet the driver who has been organised to take me to my hotel in Port Louis, about one hour’s drive away. I arrive to a warm welcome at the Hotel Champ de Mars, where I had stayed when I visited in 2018. A colleague has contacted me to let me know the plans for my stay, and to make sure I have everything I need. I will be in Mauritius for about six-and-a-half days in total, leaving on 24 February.
On 18 February 1804 Matthew Flinders had been in Mauritius for two months. His journal entry for that day (and the next) read: ‘These two days I saw nobody’. For the next six days he said not much more: hardly saw anyone, no news.
These desolate sentences are preceded by a longer journal entry:
Wednesday 15 to Friday 17 February Neither these three days or the preceding one did I see the interpreter or any one else. I have received no answer or the least notice from the captain-general. I am yet a stranger to the cause of my confinement, and to the length of time it is to continue. It is indeed a most cruel suspence in which I am kept. I know not whether death is not almost preferable to it, when accompanied with such contemptuous treatment as is bestowed upon me. Even in the dusk of the evening when I could see nothing, I am not allowed to stretch my legs with a walk, or to speak to any one except the interpreter, who has lately favoured me with very little of his company. These things with the reflection that I am kept from my country, from my family, from the employment where I expect to reap honour prey sorely on my mind: well it is for me that I have books and charts and employment. It is useless to prove my innocence, for no crime is alleged against me. It is useless to write, for no answer or other notice is returned. It is useless to ask for an audience, for it is denied. What it will end in, God knows, the arm of oppression being once stretched out there is no knowing to what length it will go.
Yes, you guessed it: my trip to Mauritius (a place I love to visit – but I always need an excuse) is to do with Matthew Flinders and the six-and-a-half years he spent here, from 17 December 1803 to 14 June 1810. I am meeting the producers of a forthcoming documentary and feature film about his life, and giving a lecture at the Royal Society of Arts and Sciences on Wednesday. I am also connecting with an expert in the musical history of Mauritius who I hope might help me find some resources for a paper I’m working on about the song that Flinders wrote for his wife in 1805, and about the musical culture of that period more generally. Because, despite the long and anxious time Flinders spent here, detained by the French governor for reasons which nobody has ever quite been able to explain, he was soon allowed more freedom, and one of the ways he spent his time was playing his flute, both alone and with the friends he made among fellow prisoners and the French settlers on Mauritius.
On Wednesday 21 February I wake before dawn, listening to the 5 am call to prayer from the two mosques within earshot and watching with some concern the restless shadows of the trees in the Sunnee cultural centre next to my hotel. I check the weather report again: Cyclone Eleanor is likely to hit tonight. I wonder how that will affect my Royal Society lecture.
Yesterday I met the Director of the Conservatoire de Musique and the President of the Royal Society of Arts and Sciences, with Marcel from the film production team. We talked for hours about Mauritian music and science, and Indian indentured labour, and political and maritime history.
Thursday 22 is cyclone day – it courteously held off until late last night but now it’s been promoted from Grade II to Grade III, which means don’t go out. It is rather windy and rainy out there, it’s true. Apparently we can expect the worst in the middle of this afternoon. It’s a bit of a shame because it takes a day out of my Mauritius adventure but it’s not a catastrophe. Today’s radio interview and lunch date can be rescheduled. I am reminded that Flinders was grounded by cyclones several times during his stay: this is my first cyclone, and I feel as though I have undergone a necessary rite of passage. On 10 January 1807 he was at the house of his neighbours M. and Mme Chazal, sitting for his portrait (the one that’s now in the Art Gallery of SA) when the ‘hurricane’ hit:
Not being able to return home I staid all night. In a conversation on religion, I found sentiments of tolerance pushed further event than mine. I believe, that Voltaire is pretty generally read amongst the married ladies here as well as in France; and that their fidelity to their husbands does not arise from religion, nor I think from fear or shame: little slips are spoken of, and laughed at, but do not prevent either one party or the other from being admitted into all societies.
I don’t have such an edifying conversation, and nobody is painting my portrait, but I have plenty of time to read (not Voltaire, I hasten to reassure you) and do some writing.
Last night (Wednesday) I gave the lecture on Flinders for the Royal Society of Arts and Sciences at Centre Culturel d’Expression Française in Curepipe. The Australian High Commissioner was there, and the Vice-President of Mauritius. The expected audience of 90 was somewhat reduced by cyclone caution but the room was full of Flinders aficionados, several of them descendants of Flinders’ Mauritius friends. At supper afterwards (including delicious peanut butter sandwiches made by the RSAS President’s French wife) I met dozens of friends, new and old. Unfortunately I didn’t have stock of my book – a problem at this end, nothing to do with Wakefield Press) – because I could have made a lot of sales.
Friday 23 and the weather is calm, cloudy but bright and warm in typical Mauritian style. Looking out on the Champ de Mars – once the French colonial parade ground, now the racetrack – I see no signs of cyclone damage, even though this was apparently one of the windiest places on the island yesterday. I am collected after breakfast by the descendant of Flinders’ host family on Mauritius, who takes me to view the monument that Flinders had organised for the lost explorer La Perouse, on the land which he briefly owned and where he lived with his fiancée for a year before things went wrong for him. The plaque on the monument reads, ‘Le Capitaine Flinders dit “In this spot he once dwelt perhaps little known to the world but happy”.’ The more I know Flinders, the more I think he was an incurable romantic. We then have lunch at the Dodo Club, established in 1928. Interesting relic of colonial days.
Above: Champ de Mars, post Cyclone Eleanor
Sunday morning, 25 February. I should be in India by now, but the vagaries of travel have caught up with me and I am on a minibus hurtling back down the length of the island to the airport to catch the flight postponed from last night. It is less than a day’s delay but frustrating nonetheless, entailing a restless night in a hotel that’s about as far from the airport as it is possible to be. I recall the words of Matthew Flinders in a letter to his wife: ‘I shall learn patience in this island’. Wise and necessary words for the traveller, then and now.
Above: Monument for La Peruse, organised by Matthew Flinders
Dear Gillian, your interest in Matthew F. is extensive. Here is something you may, stress may, not have found in your research. My daughter-in-law is a direct descent of M. F.’s father via his second wife, Henrietta. Her family were heavily involved with the 2002 SA celebrations. I acted as childminder when they had afternoon tea with the Govenor and danced at the ball. My five-year-old grandson was convinced his ancestor was a … pirate!! No convincing then, would alter his idea. Quote, “His ship looks like a pirate ship”. D-in-law’s mother has a copy of your book and intends to pass it onto another grandchild. They have given me the OK to give their name if you wish. Best regards, Barb Fraser.
Hi Barb, how interesting! I know that Henrietta married Mr Chambers around the time Flinders died, but I haven’t followed up further. In 2002 I was only at the beginning of my Flinders research. I remember a large gathering of descendants out at Flinders University but I wasn’t invited to government house!