Part 11

I was really within easy saving distance, though they could not see me, and should certainly have interfered had I thought Griselda was in danger; but it was very amusing to watch the way she daunted and delayed the cockatoo. Even by the help of her beak on the ground, which she used as a third leg, the poor little bird could not keep much ahead of the cockatoo, who waddled more swiftly and easily. When he got too near, quite close behind in fact, the parrot would stop short, turn round so as to face her enemy, stretch her wings out, crane her head forward, and yell at the pitch of her voice the word “Boy,” in the most perfectly human tone. The cockatoo had evidently never heard any of his species speak, and must have considered this human voice, proceeding from a bird’s throat, nothing less than witchcraft or sorcery. He always stopped dead short, and remained as it were turned to stone by surprise, standing motionless, with his beautiful crest raised high up, staring stupidly at Griselda who, the moment she had produced the intended effect, turned round and scuffled away once more as fast as ever she could. The instant Joe could pull himself together he started after her in hot pursuit, to be again checked by the word “Guard,” called in equally distinct tones. There was no need for my interference at all, and Griselda saved herself by her own cleverness entirely.

Besides their Sunday afternoon tea-parties with me, the parrots and cockatoos are let out whenever I can spare time, and they all assemble at the door of their cage the moment they see me, in case I am able and willing to open it. As soon as they are let out they waddle and flutter off to their favourite places in the garden or on the lawn. There is generally some particular berry they love, and I keep them well supplied with raw vegetables. Once, and once only, they found their way to the kitchen-garden, and had a field-day among the green peas! Some of them can fly in spite of their cut wings, and keep me in a state of anxiety by their prolonged excursions to the nearest tree-tops. However, when the others are put back into the aviary—they always walk in of their own accord—I am sure to hear a rustle and cry behind or above me, and this is the truant, swiftly descending from his lofty branch in a great hurry, and terribly afraid of being shut out.

And now I have only left myself a little space to tell you of my canaries. They have been sent to me from Sydney and from Melbourne. Such beauties, as yellow as gold, and the cocks sing splendidly. They have an enormous cage divided in two, and with nests all round in which they rear many families. It was a terrible business moving this great cage over here just after Christmas. The instant it was taken down from its stand or table the poor baby canaries tumbled out of the nests in every direction. I was in despair, and gave them up for lost. However, I collected the little bare and hideous creatures (more like bubbles with beaks than respectable young birds!), put them in a basket, fed them as well as I could for a day or so, and then, the moment we arrived here, returned them to their parents’ care. Strange to say they all lived, and are now as big as the old ones.

The cage stands on the sheltered side of the verandah, where the wind is not too strong, and the gay singing of my little pets enlivens the house without deafening us. They are so happy with incessant fresh baths and heaps of green food. Two pair of very well-bred canaries were sent to me the other day from England in a small travelling cage. The voyage had proved a terribly long one, and my little birdies must have felt it dreadfully. They arrived quite bald, and had not a feather of a tail left among them, but I am sure they will soon recover. The cocks sing away as if nothing was the matter, and it was pretty to see their astonishment and delight at the space provided for them. They behaved exactly as we should do after many weeks of a sea-voyage. They first took a bath—a series of baths in fact—and then flew down on the heap of green food, and ate as if they never meant to stop! I can’t bear to keep a canary in a small cage; but these birds have as much room as they can possibly want—over 6 feet each way, and lots of gravel and water and green food. The ants are our only trouble, and if I do not take care that the saucers of water in which the castors of the cage stand are always full, a swarming line of ants makes its way up the mahogany legs, and then the whole cage has to be turned out.

Sometimes an emeu comes gravely stepping round the corner and looks in, then I hear a terrified “tweeing,” and have to go and drive away the greedy intruder. Or else one of the cows puts her head in at the verandah in search of pears, and I am obliged to bribe her to follow me round to her proper side of the house by a large slice of water-melon. So you see my pets bully me a good deal, in one fashion or another.

LETTER XVIII.

Government House, Perth, _1st May 1884_.

Before we left Rottnest at the end of March, the dry weather showed signs of breaking up, and the extreme heat gave way before an occasional distant thunderstorm, of which only a few heavy drops of rain reached our island; but even these cooled the air, and freshened us up amazingly. One great inconvenience which we escaped by spending the summer at Rottnest, has been the extra heat caused by the numerous bush fires on the mainland. They could be seen, blazing belts of fire by night, and thick clouds of smoke by day, in three or four places at once along the coast. Sometimes it looked as though Fremantle itself must be on fire, but the morning light showed us the smoke hanging heavily over the background, and the white houses of the little Port gleaming cheerfully in their accustomed place.

It is impossible to say what sets the bush on fire so often during the summer. Of course, sometimes it is owing to gross carelessness, but more often the blaze is started by a burning-glass, made by an accidental bit of an old bottle flung aside months, or it may be years, before the sun happens to find it out. The sheltering bush into which the glass was thrown has perhaps been cut down, or itself burned in a former fire; the scanty grass and leaves are just so much dry tinder, and a little extra heat in the sun’s rays is all that is necessary. It is, however, curious to see how long and how fiercely a fire will rage through a “bush” (remember I mean a giant forest!) and how little real damage it will do. Of course until the next heavy rains everything looks charred and ruined; but when the spring comes round again, all the herbage and underwood is greener than ever; the few trees which have fallen are as busy putting forth young shoots as if they knew nothing of the fire, and only the blackened stems of the thick enormous jarrah trees are left to show what has happened. This blackening only means singeing, and the tree is as good as ever.

I had to go across to Perth on business for a couple of days, at the end of February, and I can hardly tell you what an aggravation of the heat these immense fires caused. As I drove up from Fremantle I saw how one fire had only been stopped, by a wide and bare bit of road, from burning up a little homestead on the opposite side of the way. The poor people who lived in the cottage must have been sadly frightened, for the tops of the tall gum trees, close by, had plainly been on fire at one time, and their bit of garden looked quite scorched from the flames darting across the road. On the return sail across the bay we specially noticed how cool and light the air became, in spite of a hot sun, as soon as we got far enough away from land to escape the breath of the fires.

For the last month the evenings and mornings have been deliciously fresh, and the nights really cold. Certainly the spring and autumn months are exquisite in Western Australia. Long stretches of absolutely perfect weather. Some days of the summer are too hot for comfort, and there are rather long intervals of cold rain and wind in winter; but neither extreme lasts for more than a week or two at a time, and is therefore quite bearable.

I have been very busy ever since my return arranging all the nice new furniture, and enjoying the flowers and fruit of the garden which has remained green all summer. Every other blade of grass in and about Perth looked shrivelled and burnt up at the end of April; but these cool arcades of vines, and clumps of shady olives keep as delightfully green and fresh. The abundance of fruit is nearly over, but we still have grapes and figs, and the oranges are coming in. The quality of the fruit is not very good, but that is only for want of proper pruning and grafting. Sandy as the soil is, it appears capable of growing anything with cultivation. I dare say you would have been quite content with the peaches, pears, and apricots, which were very sweet, though small, and rather tasteless, but in great quantities. There are lots of almonds, too, in the garden, and a few apples.

The only thing I have to tell you about this mail is my postponed Christmas trees; you remember they had to be put off, first, on account of the measles, next, for our going to Rottnest, and even after that, for other reasons. However, we luckily chanced on three absolutely perfect days towards the middle of April, and upwards of five hundred children in Perth saw a Christmas tree for the first time in their lives, in Easter week. I don’t believe we could have had the trees at Christmas, even if the measles had not broken out, for I am sure the tapers would all have melted in the shut-up room, large as it was.

The first afternoon I gave a sort of large garden-party, to which all my friends’ children, as well as themselves, were asked; and very pretty the little people looked in their smart frocks, with eyes wide-opened from expectation. The brilliant tree, with its large dangling waxen angel, rather alarmed the younger ones; but they only clung the more to their mothers’ hands, and were soon quite bold and happy, with a drum, or trumpet, or something which made a hideous noise. All my friends declare I have turned quiet Perth into an unbearable place by my musical instruments!

One of the groups which helped to make this first Tree-day so pretty was formed by my “Own Cadet Corps.” I assure you I am very proud of my soldier lads; they know their drill so well, and are ardent in the performance of their duties. They furnished the Guard of Honour for the tree, and you can’t think how smart they looked. We have more recruits than uniforms, and I really believe if I could only clothe them, I should have a youthful regiment all to myself. They have spent an afternoon here occasionally before this, and gone through their military exercises on the lawn, in a highly satisfactory manner, enjoying a game of football, and a heavy tea afterwards, immensely. Their captain who has, by the way, ever so many other things to do, takes such enormous pains with them that it would be odd if they were less perfect in their drill than they are. The serjeant is a very fine handsome lad, and Louis is the corporal! I am sure if either of those boys eventually becomes a Field Marshal (which is the least I expect from them), their _bâtons_ will not give them half as much pride and delight as their stripes have afforded them. Perhaps the soldier to whom my heart most inclines, is a wee dot, full of martial ardour, but of such tender years, that not only is he too small for the ranks (that fault will be cured next year we hope!), but his rifle has to be made for him. The other boys carry rifles of a disused pattern, cut short in the barrels, but still capable of being fired off. The only time I ever feel inclined to summarily disband my Corps is when I know they are going out for ball practice, with real cartridges in their pouches. I live in terror of Louis’s secreting one of these deadly missiles, and practising in the garden. It is quite dangerous enough as it is to walk in the garden and have a light spear, tipped with a needle or pin, thrown with terribly accurate aim, flitting past you, nor do I find Louis’s shout of “Don’t be afraid, I’m aiming over your head!” at all reassuring.

But to return to my tree, I confess that I enjoyed the second day more, and the third day most of all. It was so satisfactory to see the way the school children first ate an enormous tea, then had a noisy game of romps on the large lawn, and finally, as soon as it grew dusk enough to light up, the sight of the tree. I could invite but fifty girls or boys from each school, and that only represented about a-third of their number. Still we numbered over two hundred that second evening, and still more on the third. The children came in charge of their teachers, looked very nice, and behaved perfectly well. After tea and a romp outside they marched in, one school at a time, took a good look at the tree, and then Pater—who enjoyed it every bit as much as I did—helped me to hand each child its little gift from the tables at the side. We did not touch the tree till the last evening, and then we “looted” it for the amusement of the Orphans.

As I told you, we enjoyed this third evening the most of all. In the first place it seemed a greater treat to these poor lonely little people, whose lives are not so brightened by amusement and presents as those of the children who can live at home with their parents; and in the next funnier things happened. Besides one hundred and fifty Orphans I had contingents from the children of the Police, from the Pensioners’ children, the Volunteer Band, all the Mission children, and a great many outsiders who did not belong to any particular class. We recognised several little guests on that third day, who had also been present the day before, which was against all rules; but they were so intensely happy it was impossible to send them away, and I contented myself by not giving them a second lot of presents. However, they did not mind that; what they most cared for was the romp on the grass, and another sight of the tree. One funny, fat, little fellow was standing at the tea-table munching a bun with great contentment, when father came up and recognised him as having been there the day before. He wore such a conspicuous cap, with a large red tuft at top, that one could not help knowing him again, so the Governor said, “Hulloa! you were here yesterday, weren’t you? Who are you?” The little chap looked up as brave as possible, nodded his head, and said fearlessly, in answer to the two questions, “Yes, I was, sorr; I’m an Independent, and I’m coming again to-morrow.” You may think how we all laughed.

Another very pretty sight was the serjeant of Pensioners, with the dozen little children he was in charge of, and whom he kept near him all the time. The contrast between this fine handsome old soldier, covered with medals, and the group of blooming children at his knee, was really charming. He apologised gravely to me for the wilfulness of a thirteenth child, who had refused to stop behind and had run after him, not being included in what he called “the draft.” One could not help laughing at this little monkey, but he was much too pretty to scold; he had huddled on his best clothes in such a hurry they were all upside down, and he carried his shoes in his hand. The anxiety and eagerness in his chubby face was something wonderful, and when I laughed and said, “Oh yes, he may stop,” he gave a sigh of relief, and instantly sat down on the grass to put on his new shoes.

It was a brilliant moonlight night, and, even after coming out of the tree-lighted room, everything looked as clear as day. The children were quite as much pleased with the tapers and flags and shiny things off the tree as with their presents. The dear little orphans from the Roman Catholic Homes grouped themselves in front of the house, and before they left sang, quite charmingly, some of their prettiest songs, winding up with God save the Queen, “by the whole strength of the company!”

It was all very successful, and personally I enjoyed it quite as much as even the small “Independent.” The children, big and little, rich and poor, all looked so nice, and behaved so admirably well. My one regret was that I could not manage to have all those who were left out in the cold, for want of room, poor little dears; and I make many projects of trying to have other Trees, specially for them, next year, please God.

I was quite astonished to find how many children attended the various schools in Perth. I should think there must be about eight hundred; a good many for so small a place.

I am sure I never could have got a bun into each child’s mouth, or a present into its hand, those two last days, if it had not been for “my girls.” You don’t know anything yet about my girls, do you? Ah, well! I am sorry for your ignorance. Imagine being able to choose from a bevy of charming volunteer daughters, with not an ugly one among them. They are all quite as useful and as devoted to me as if they were real daughters fifty times over. Whenever I want flowers settled, or children fed, or help with bazaar work, or anything, I have only to summon “my girls,” and lo, whatever is pressing on me with a sense of weight, is done directly. At these Trees, not only did they slave at the tea-tables, saving me all trouble and fatigue, but one took the bags of marbles in her charge, another the tiny sacks of sugar-plums, a third the flags, a fourth the spare tapers (which I really believe the children prized more than anything else), and so forth. My Cadet Corps was highly ornamental that first day, but my girls not only looked like so many blossoms, but were exceedingly useful on the three afternoons, and must have been much more tired than I was, when everything had ended happily.

LETTER XIX.

Government House, Perth, _June 1884_.

I have never told you of two or three delightful picnics we have had, lunching in the bush each time. The ground was carpeted with a quantity of maiden-hair fern, and lovely flowers, though no flowers are equal in my eyes to the glories of the sand-plains. But it was very delightful strolling about in the cool green shade, or sitting down on a fallen log and listening to the whistling and chattering of the magpies. Louis’s chief delight consisted each time in making a fire in the hollow trunk of a tree, which served as a fireplace, with a famous chimney.

He had a still greater pleasure at one larger and later picnic, when he went with some gentlemen up the hillsides, and set fire to several “black-boy” stumps. The whole country is a mass of “black-boy.” I don’t know how to describe it. The name tells you more than I could, for the dark stem stands up tall and straight just like a black boy, with a shaggy green head. The trunk is the curious part, for a slender pith stick runs through it, and round this stick is set a sort of ring, 5 or 6 inches wide, of resinous flakes, black outside, which burn splendidly, and are the finest things in the world for lighting or reviving a fire. Inside, they look like varnished splinters, and are full of resinous aromatic tar, or pitch. We are making gas out of them for Fremantle and Perth.

I always have a boxful of these chips (they weigh scarcely anything) in a corner of the drawing-room, and am glad of an excuse for throwing a shovelful on my fire, so splendid is the blaze, and so nice the smell. In a country where there is so much camping-out, and consequently where fires are so often wanted at a moment’s notice, Nature has kindly provided the best kindling wood in the whole world for travellers and explorers!

You can, therefore, imagine Louis’s glee at putting a match into the dead leaves which always hang down beneath the green crown of the black-boys, and so making a splendid blaze. The hillsides seemed lit, as though by torches, as each straight stem caught and flared straight and steadily up in the still sunset air. I often think it might be worth some one’s while to teach all England, and indeed, all Europe, the advantage of “black-boy,” as kindling wood. It is just one of the many things one sees in a new world like this, lying ready to man’s hand, waiting for him to come and take it, and use it.

Our winter has now set in too severely, however, for loitering picnics, or other pleasant ways of dawdling out of doors in delightful weather. It rains a good deal in winter, and blows also; but we have “spells” of simply enchanting sunny days, and very cold nights. Unless it is a thoroughly wet day, I seldom have a fire until towards sunset; but by five o’clock when it is nearly dark we are glad of a fragrant, blazing wood-fire.

On one of these brilliant Saturday afternoons I made a “kylie tea” on the racecourse, some 5 miles away from Perth. I took a large party, riding and driving, and there was also a dog-cart, with the kylie-throwers—native policemen—and the tea. You would have liked it immensely, and although it was really very cold, even in the sun, when we stood still to watch the two men fling their kylies, still I could hardly get any one to turn their backs on the circling flights, and come to the fire and have tea. We were obliged to go as far away as we could from glass windows and people; and the racecourse was the only place without trees.