"The First Day..."

From the journal entries of Benedict Marlowe.

The Inn of the King’s Arms, Port Dominion.

Monday, April the 10th
This day marks my first in the service of His Lordship, the Governor. I rose early, for I confess my nerves had stirred me long before dawn’s light crept through my window. At breakfast I partook of a modest meal: a bowl of warm porridge sweetened with a little honey, a small crust of bread with butter, and a cup of strong tea, which seemed most necessary to calm my mind and steady my body for what lay ahead.

Upon presenting myself at the Governor’s offices, I was placed under the direct guidance of Mr. Franklin Benedict, whose manner I would describe as firm yet not unkind. He bears the air of one who has long shouldered the responsibilities of order and precision, and who understands that the smallest misplacement of paper or letter may ripple outward into confusion or worse. Though he is not harsh, there is steel in his words when he reminds one of the gravity of their duties — that all is done not merely for His Lordship, but for the good governance of the Crown itself.

(Mr. Franklin Benjamin, Manager Secretary of Clerks and Scribes)

My first tasks were simple, though to my mind they seemed grave: sorting correspondence according to importance, marking those that must be placed immediately before the Governor’s eye, and setting aside others for later consideration. There were inventories of supplies, reports from the garrison, petitions from local merchants, and a rather heated complaint about tariffs from one of the Dutch traders in port. In truth, much of my work today was spent learning the system by which all these documents flow through the channels of authority — how each letter is marked, distributed, and recorded, so that no matter or grievance is lost amidst the tide of ink and parchment. I was also introduced to the other clerks and scribes within the office; 

Mr. Thomas Hargood, whom is the senior clerk amongst us and seems somewhat weary of younger assistants. 

William Pratchett, who is the middle clerk and while capable in his own right, seems to enjoy gossip and small talk. 

Edwin Clarke, a quiet, methodical fellow like myself in many ways, he keeps his head down and seemingly not prone to gossip.

Mr. Benjamin corrected me gently once or twice when I stumbled in the ordering, as a babe would when learning to take their first steps, but I could see in his eyes that he measures a man not by his errors, but by the swiftness and humility with which he learns from them. By midday, when I took my meal of cold chicken, bread, and a small mug of ale in the clerk’s hall, I already felt more confident in my station. There I overheard two of the junior clerks speaking in hushed tones of the rumored arrival of the HMS Elysium. They say she brings not only provisions, but fresh troops for the garrison — a relief, no doubt, to Lord Whitehall, for even I, in my brief time here, have discerned a tension in the air of Port Dominion, as though the very walls of Fort Hemmerly are too thin against threats both near and distant.

The afternoon passed in further work of sorting, transcribing, and setting to rights the volumes of correspondence, and though the tasks were plain, I found in them a curious satisfaction. To see order wrested from chaos, to know that one’s hand has played even a small part in smoothing the paths of governance, is to feel one is no longer a stranger here, but slowly becoming part of the great machine that keeps the colony alive. For some, the task of such as I have may be seen as dreadfully boring, and perhaps even maddening, however for me in this time in my life, I find it not only quietly fulfilling, but of the sort that I now understand with more clarity what happens to make life here in Port Dominion able to continue without everything crashing down around us. With the amount of documents, papers, charters, letters, and such that we work with here on this island, it befuddles my mind to think of how much more there must be in London to keep Her Majesty's Empire proceeding.

As I left the Governor’s offices at dusk, I allowed myself the idle fancy that, perhaps in time, I might even cross paths with Lady Eleanor herself. I do not know whether to dread or long for such an encounter. Her name is whispered everywhere, and her charms spoken of with both awe and warning. A part of me, I admit, is intrigued — though another part trembles at the thought, for I am but a humble clerk, and she is the Governor’s wife. Best, perhaps, not to dwell on such matters.

For supper, I enjoyed a dish of stewed beef with onions, boiled carrots, and a crust of bread, washed down with a cup of watered wine. A simple but hearty meal, which I ate with gratitude before retiring here to my chamber.

Now, as I sit by candlelight and put down these words, I feel a calm satisfaction. The work is not without weight, yet it suits me. Perhaps I may yet find in this place a purpose, and perhaps — though I scarce dare write it — a future.