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than three weeks later. Eliza was present at the baby's death and made her mark on the death
certificate.
A month later, Hannah bave birth to a baby girl, whom she called, with some aspirations to
gentility, Araminta Ellen. Born at Gunnislake on 20 November 1864, the baby died in March
the following year, again the cause was atrophy. This time Louisa was present. There is no
mention of Eliza Glasson, the oldest sister, who was living next door in 1861 - another indication
that she had emigrated by then.
Were these babies of Hannah and Louisa the products of love, lust or ignorance? Or the forced
attentions of some drunken miner? Or mistakes in the
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way of business? Could Hannah and Louisa have been earning a casual living through
prostitution? It seems unlikely. Both babies were born at home; Louisa knew who the father
was and was sufficiently unashamed, even accusatory, to name him - Louisa also left England
with Eliza (who never married) not Hannah, nor on her own, and Hannah was still living
acceptably with her father in Calstockin1871.
Nonetheless the births and deaths of their babies must have soured the lives of Hannah and
Louisa, if not their reputations. In 1865, despite the excitement of a royal visit to Cornwall (that
of the Prince and Princess of Wales, who had married in March 1863) the West was in the
depths of a mining depression, although Gunnislake Mine had been restarted and all the other
local mines were still in production. But in September 1865, The West Briton noted that:
'Employment is more difficult to obtain, emigration is going on upon a scale hitherto
unprecedented... Trade is falling off by degrees, and credit is considerably dearer.' A cattle
plague and a great gale struck the country in November and there were various miners' walk-
outs and strikes.
In 1866 some 7,000 miners left Cornwall, and the suffering of those who remained increased;
women walked for miles to apply for parish assistance.
In August 1867 The West Briton commented: 'Many familes are reported to be without under-
clothing, sleeping upon straw, and living upon coarse dry bread... In the coming winter there
must be very severe distress and great destitution.'
It was a winter Eliza and Louisa Honeycombe never saw. In September they stepped on board
the Canterbury, which had sailed from London on 25 August and stopped at Plymouth to pick
up more passengers, before sailing south to Cape Town and across the Indian Ocean to
Australia.
Before embarkation they would have spent a few days at the Plymouth depot, where assisted
emigrants were lodged and fed, free of charge. It was called the Emigrants' Home - 'a
commodious building, situate at the Baltic Wharf... capable of affording shelter and a temporary
home for no less than 700 emigrants.' There was also a 'Ladies Female Emigrant Society', under
the patronage of the Countess of Mount Edgcumbe, which advised and instructed female
passengers on what to take and expect, and distributed 'employment amongst them to wile
away their time during the long and tedious voyage.'
When the Canterbury arrived at Plymouth, there would have been a delay of a few days while
the health of all the emigrants was checked. They would then have been rowed out to the ship at
anchor. Once on board, Eliza and Louisa would have found themselves crammed into the rear
of the ship with all the other single women, supervised by a matron.
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