Part 3

I need hardly say that the very first place to be arranged was Louis’s little room next mine, and it looked as cosy and bright as possible by the time the travellers drove up, on a lovely sunshiny morning, about mid-day, three days after I last wrote. Happily the weather remained gloriously fine until they were safely housed here, and you may imagine how thankful I felt when I heard the wind and rain beating on the roof the very first night after they had arrived, and thought that my little boy was snug in bed in the next room. He and Catherine declare they enjoyed themselves immensely, driving slowly through the dense bush, only going 35 or 40 miles a day. They took nearly a week about it, stopping to lunch at mid-day out in the bush or forest, under the shade of the big trees, and lighting a fire to boil their potatoes or their kettle. This was half the fun to Louis, who declares he is now an expert bushman, and is always inviting me to come and “camp out” in the bush. They were under the charge of a police constable who drove, and who seems to have taken great care of them. Louis tells me, with breathless delight, of seeing kangaroos darting across the track, almost in front of the horses, and of flocks of screaming white cockatoos overhead, and of having himself dislodged an opossum rat from a hollow log, which he was turning over lest a snake should have taken up its winter quarters there. They did not start until after breakfast each day, and managed to get under shelter by the early dark evenings. Only once were they out after five o’clock, and then it was over a very bad bit of road, where the horses had to walk nearly all the way, so deep were the water-filled holes. I really believe Louis liked that belated bit the best of all the journey.

He was full of stories, as you may imagine, but the one you will like to hear is about the puppy, who also enjoyed the overland journey hugely. You must know Monsieur Puppy, unlike every other pug I ever heard of, is a capital ratter, and flies at everything he suspects of being a rat. One day they had stopped to lunch near a settler’s cottage, and whilst they were eating their cold pressed-beef and biscuit, a sow and a lot of baby pigs came grunting up to see what they could get. The pigs were very, very small and quite black. Puppy must have thought they were rats, for in an instant he had darted at them, seized one unoffending little pig by the back of its neck, and was shaking it violently. You can imagine the scene, can’t you? The old mother’s grunting dismay, the shrieks of the captured pig, and the squeals and rapid flight of the rest of the family. Nothing would induce the puppy to let go; even when the sow ran at him he merely took his victim farther off, and if he dropped the wretched little animal for a moment, it was only to seize it again in a firmer grip and shake it even more furiously. He could not understand what sort of rat he had got hold of, which screamed so loudly, and I am sure the pig could not think what strange wild beast had caught him. Louis and Catherine declare they could not interfere for the little pig’s protection, because they were laughing so much that they had no voice to call off Monsieur Puppy, and it was only the appearance of an old woman with a broom which persuaded puppy to let go. But he was very pleased with himself for a long time afterwards, though he evidently suspected there must have been a mistake somewhere.

We are having deluges of rain every day just now, and it is extremely cold, but I am much too busy to think about the weather, and we never can get enough rain here, so every one speaks of the wet weather as a “splendid season.” There are such quantities of things to do and to buy. For we seem to need everything all at once! Horses, cows, cocks and hens and ducks; but everybody is very kind in advising, and helping us to supply our needs. A thousand times a day Louis and I say, “Don’t you wish Guy were here?”—to see something specially delightful—but I can’t allow myself to go on thinking about that. Some day you will be with us we hope, and we must only look steadily forward to that happy time.

Louis has been reading the _Swiss Family Robinson_ on board ship, and is very keen on carrying out their mode of life here. In fact he has cut down so many young bamboos to build huts, lighted so many fires in the garden, and generally done so much mischief that within three days of his arrival I had to pack him off to school. Fortunately the High School is a very good one, with a capital head master (curiously enough, a great friend of your former “Head”), and it is not too far off for the young pickle to walk up to school at nine o’clock every morning. It is generally raining when he ought to be coming back in the afternoon, and it is quite in vain that I send up an umbrella and greatcoat for him. He considers it much more delightful and “grown up” to start off in a pelting shower, dodge my messenger, and arrive at home drenched and breathless. One day he returned on pony-back, hatless, and holding tight on to the saddle fore and aft. He had begged for a ride from one of his schoolfellows, and the pony had galloped off as soon as Louis mounted. This was “scarcely wonderful,” as Alice says in _Wonderland_, for he had made himself a spur of a long orange thorn, and as he has never ridden in his life he had no more idea of holding in the pony than a monkey would have had. However, he was by no means daunted, and will no doubt try again very soon, in spite of my precautions.

We have given, and been to, a great many balls and dinners and pleasant parties of all sorts, but, although they were very nice and amusing to ourselves, still I fear you would not care to be told about them, nor would it interest you to hear about our excursions to Fremantle and Guildford, or about the visits to Schools and Orphanages which we have made; and I cannot yet tell you as much as you would like to know about the various football clubs or cricket matches. You must wait till summer for them, you know.

LETTER V.

Geraldton, _3d October 1883_.

If you look on your little map you will see where we are—a long way up North, and you must remember that means warmer latitudes. The spring weather has been delicious for some time past, and Perth looked extremely pretty when we left. All the trees were out in blossom and leaf, the grass as green as possible on the terraces, and my beautiful garden full of flowers and vegetables, with lots of fruit already showing everywhere.

Our start was made from Fremantle one bright afternoon, more than a week ago, and we had a quick and prosperous voyage up here, keeping land in sight most of the way. This place is a growing and flourishing seaport, known almost equally well by either of its two names, Champion Bay or Geraldton. They certainly seem very extravagant in names in Western Australia! We did our 300 miles along the coast in about twenty-one hours, and steamed up to this jetty exactly at noon the day after we started. The whole place had been made gay with flags and Venetian masts and arches everywhere, and the good people of Geraldton were just putting the finishing touches to a sort of four-sided arch—like a room without roof or walls—of bush flowers as we came in sight, an hour or two earlier than had been expected. You never saw anything so perfectly beautiful and fragrant, and all the time Pater stood there, receiving addresses and reading his replies, I had leisure to look first at one side of this exquisite bower and then at the other. The dear little school children, drawn up on one side, sang their “God save the Queen” very sweetly, and my hands were soon filled to overflowing with beautiful nosegays, given to me by sundry pretty little girls.

Although no one had dared to be actually ill on such a calm voyage, still I had eaten nothing all the time, and felt very shaky and pale and dishevelled. Indeed, we were all very glad to find ourselves delightfully established in a most comfortable and well-furnished hotel, where baths and breakfast—or rather luncheon—soon set us to rights again. Directly afterwards we set out for a long drive by the seashore, the Governor taking every opportunity to inspect something. You must know that when we come to a strange place _I_ want to see one set of things and father wants to see quite a different set, so it is difficult to make the plans and movements of both fit in! For instance, during this drive we passed a beautiful garden, and an old gentleman, who was standing at the gate, asked us to come in. Of course I was delighted, and jumped out of the carriage directly, but your father said, “Very well, you can stay here; I should like to go on and look over that lighthouse,” and in an instant the carriage and everybody in it had dashed off! However, it was not too long before they came back again, but by that time I was beginning to feel quite ashamed of the heap of flowers my kind host had given me.

Ever since that afternoon we have been busy, whirling about in all directions, visiting schools, hospitals, churches, institutions of all sorts and kinds, and making excursions in every direction. That was our daylight work, and every night brought its banquet or entertainment of some sort, for the Geraldton people have evidently royal ideas of hospitality. One day we went—a large party—up to Northampton, about 35 miles off, by rail. Everything had been charmingly arranged, and it was a lovely day, though we seem to have jumped suddenly about six weeks farther on into summer, but that is because we have come so much farther north, and you have to remember how upside down we are, and that the very points of the compass mean different things.

I was much touched and pleased at one little roadside station where the engine stopped for water, and where a knot of the stokers and railway people had assembled, and came shyly forward with an immense bouquet of the beautiful pink and white everlastings, growing on the low hills round, which they had gathered, and gave me. It was neatly and tastefully made up, and they looked pleased at my genuine delight with it. Then just before reaching Northampton we were slowly passing the crossing which was on the way to a very large sheep station. Every one of course had a holiday, but before coming into the little town the shearers and all the station hands had congregated at this place to give three tremendous cheers for “our squatter Governor,” and to fling a shower of flowers into the already bower-like railway saloon. I liked that very much, for it was entirely the men’s own sudden idea, and it was so hearty and genuine. They were pleased because your father had once owned a sheep station in dear New Zealand, and they thought he would know all about sheep.

Everybody seemed to be at the railway station (which, I should say if I were asked, was entirely built of flowers) when we got there, and there were more addresses and replies to be received and read before we drove off to a pretty place quite near, to lunch. After lunch we set off to visit the lead mines, some 6 or 8 miles away, and your father inspected everything to his heart’s content, whilst I lazily sat on a bag of lead in a shed and drank tea. There is an enormous quantity of excellent ore in these fine mines, but unfortunately the price is now so low that the mines are not at all prosperous, which seems a great pity. Good miners have been brought from England, and a great deal of money invested, and now it is all a dead loss, they say.

Next day the Governor had been asked to drive in, or plant, the first pole of the new telegraph line, stretching far, far away through the wild and distant country between this and Roebourne in the North-West territory. The pretty ceremony took place in another bush-bower, arranged so as to shelter us from the sun; and there were heaps of speeches and good wishes for the new line. I asked for, and was given, a little bit of the great coil of telegraph wire, and they hammered it into a sort of bangle or bracelet for me on the spot. So you will see it some day, as I shall always wear it.

I could not help thinking, as I looked at the great stack of telegraph poles, and the tons of wire lying at our feet, and then at the little band of sunburnt, bearded, resolute-looking men standing by, who were going to carry it over country, where fatigue and hardships and dangers from drought and hunger, and even from natives, beset them on every side; where for months and months they would have no shelter at night, and sleep in their blankets on the ground, how wonderful it all was! How proud we ought to be that there are plenty of such brave and fearless men to be found, who step forward and say, “We will carry your line for you; we will open up the country and put the other end of that slender wire into the hands of our few countrymen, hundreds and hundreds of miles away, so that if they are in trouble or danger they can let you know and you can send help.” I hope, dear, you are old enough to understand what I mean, and to thrill—soldier though we hope you are going to be some day—at the thought of these other dauntless soldiers in the battle of colonisation.

There was just time, after all this, to drive out to that sheep station I told you about, from which the shearers had come, and to lunch and go over the wool-shed; a visit which delighted your father, for old times’ sake, and so back by the train. It was late in the lovely, soft, balmy evening, when we reached our nice hotel at Geraldton, very sunburnt and sleepy.

I am now finishing my letter before breakfast in the verandah, from which I can see the process of packing going on in the street below, packing the bags and little portmanteaus into the carriages for the long overland journey, I mean; for all our own packing was done yesterday, and the big boxes are to come round by the steamer next week. We can only take with us just the barest necessaries, for they say every pound weight will tell on the horses when we get to the sand-plains. I really believe nothing of mine would have been taken if Catherine had not stood in the street, watching the packing, for whenever some one in a coaxing tone of voice would say, holding up my poor little package, “Need _this_ go,” Catherine cried, “Yes, certainly; whatever else is left behind that _must_ go; it is my lady’s.” So the end was that everything got itself packed in, even to the case of soda water, which stood apparently a very bad chance at one time on account of its size and weight.

I hear hammering going on, and when I peep cautiously round the corner, see that all the pretty mottoes of welcome are being changed for equally kind farewell greetings and good wishes. If I have not told you about the splendid ball Geraldton gave us last night, it is because you are hardly old enough to care to hear about it. If you were only a girl now, I should know that even at thirteen years of age you would like to be told of the pretty decorations which turned the large hall into a really lovely ballroom, a room which would have made a sensation in London on account of the extraordinary wealth and beauty of the flowers. There were lots of pretty girls in pretty frocks, and it all looked gay and bright. But I really believe the part you would have liked best to see was the smart Guard of Honour—all stalwart Volunteers—which received the Governor on his arrival and departure.

I see groups of people assembling outside, and here are pattering steps coming along the verandah, which belong to some sweet little girls, each carrying a nosegay nearly as big as herself. My bouquet of last night, made entirely of bush flowers, must certainly be taken on with me, for it is still quite fresh, and far too lovely to part from, so I know _one_ carriage (four are standing packed outside!) which bids fair to be filled with flowers.

Now for breakfast and then half-a-hundred adieus. It is a perfect morning, with a light air just cooling the brilliant sunshine, and everything is still sparkling with the heavy dew which keeps things alive during the long months without rain, which lie before us.

LETTER VI.

Dongarra, _4th October_.

There is so much to write about that I must begin my letter at once from here, where we are most comfortably housed, and from whence we make our final start to-morrow morning.

The drive of yesterday and the day before was delightful; we went about 40 miles each day. The first night we slept at a capital hotel, in order to have time for a banquet to your father, given by the farmers and settlers of the district, and where a sort of little agricultural show was also to be held, to which we went. The name of that place was Hampton, and an early but heavy shower of rain made our start next morning delightful, so fresh and fragrant was the air, besides laying the dust. The roads, so far, have been very good, and the open country looks green and pretty, with low hills making a dark blue edge to the horizon. The wattle bushes were all covered with their yellow tufts of bloom, and a network of white clematis seemed to spread over every clump. There were, besides this gold and silver colouring, great patches of pink, or else what looks like a giant field of ox-eyed daisies. But they are not daisies at all, only large everlastings. We are accustomed to think of everlastings as stupid little dusty buttons, hardly worthy of the name of flowers at all. So it was quite a surprise to see acres upon acres covered with these large lovely and brilliant blossoms, which are yet everlastings, and will live for months. It is a long time before they fade and get powdery, which is all that happens to them in the way of perishing.

We drove in a sort of procession of little carriages, which got along much better than big ones would have done, and allowed of the horses being constantly changed. First came the Governor and his private secretary, driven by the Member for the district, and with two mounted orderlies, following close behind. Then I was _very_ happy in the next carriage, because my charming driver—the Resident Magistrate—knew every leaf and flower, and could tell me their names, and all about the birds. This carriage of ours was simply a mass of nosegays. They were piled up in front till we appeared to have an apron of flowers over our knees. Then came two more vehicles, one with the Inspector of Police, who had charge of us, and another gentleman, and the last held the servants. So you see we made quite a grand procession.

At each little hamlet along the road, wherever even two or three houses stood, the people who lived in them had either built an arch across the road, or sometimes they just tied the trees at their gate together, and decorated them with flowers and flags. Kind words and “Welcomes” waved from every cottage door. You can’t think how bright and pretty it all looked, or how cordial was the greeting everywhere. At one little “township”—village you would call it—the school children had been drawn up under a pretty arch, and they sang the National Anthem very sweetly, your father pausing in his carriage beneath the span of flowers to listen. He then drove on, amid tremendous cheering, and when my little phaeton passed under, what do you think happened? A string was pulled and a shower of tiny nosegays, artfully concealed at the top of the arch, tumbled down right into the carriage, nearly smothering me! The children clapped their hands, and shouted with glee at my astonishment! Even the horses gave a jump at this sudden rain of flowers, and for a long time after bits of bouquets remained sticking all over their harness.

One of the prettiest things, however, happened at a very desolate part of the road. A little cottage stood all by itself, a short way back in a field, and the grown-up people belonging to it must have locked it up, and gone off to make holiday at the next township; for no one was to be seen except some nice little children, who had been left behind, apparently in charge of the eldest, a small personage of about eight years old. These little people had determined to give a greeting of their very own to the Governor. So the biggest of them had taken a stick, and traced a huge “Welcome” in large and wobbly letters in the sand, right across the road. The rest had picked the everlastings near, and had thickly filled in the hollows, so as to make an immense pink word for papa to drive across. And after all they seemed much too timid to come forward and be thanked and petted, but stood huddled together with their backs turned to us at their little gate, shyly glancing over their shoulders to make sure the Governor’s carriage had crossed their flower-greeting. I thought it was very pretty of them, and father was greatly touched and pleased.

Farms lie all along the road between Geraldton and Dongarra, and the young wheat looked green and nice after the heavy spring showers.