Part 5

Another curious thing happened. During the last part of this afternoon’s stage our road lay for some miles through one of these copses, of which the track had been roughly chopped out from among the bushes years ago. By this time the trees had sprouted vigorously again from the stumps, so we had to drive over the low thick bushes. The horses did not seem to mind them, in fact, I think they rather liked the thorough brushing they got underneath from the fragrant pliable boughs. And the van rolled boldly over them. You could hear an incessant swish of branches against the planks beneath your feet, and when we looked behind, the thick low brushwood had lifted itself up again, so that it was difficult to believe such a large heavy vehicle, with four horses, had passed over it. I don’t think it would have ever entered the head of an English coachman to attempt to drive along that track (you cannot call it a road), or over those bushes, whereas our driver regarded the sort of green avenue ahead as calmly as if it had been a good turnpike road.

Of course we only went at a foot’s pace, and as there were no flowers to be seen, and I was getting rather fidgety and tired, I kept pulling the low branches of the taller bushes which pushed themselves into my side of the carriage. On one of these bushes, which thus came into my hands, the most curious insect was perched. It was about three inches long, and was exactly like the slenderest twig of the young gum tree on which it grew. Its colour was precisely the same, the body being of the same thickness and shape and colour as the red stem of the little branch, and the legs exactly like the slim narrow green leaves. If it had not moved two slender horns just in front of its black dots of eyes I could not have believed it was alive. However, in an instant, whilst we were still staring at it, and I had determined to preserve it and send it home to you, it gave a mighty leap with these long leaf-like legs right out of the carriage, and the moment it touched the bush on which it alighted you could no longer perceive it, so exactly did it match the stem. Do you know what a _mantis_ is? It was, I think, one of that kind of insect.

I shall never get on if I stop to describe all the curious things by the way.

There is nothing special to tell of our sleeping-place that night, except that after supper Pater having some papers he wanted to look at quietly, we settled him in the little parlour with a couple of candles, and I went into the verandah with the two gentlemen and walked up and down whilst they smoked. Of course we could plainly see into the lighted room through its closed glass window, and once, when we turned to come back from the other end of the long verandah, a group of natives had taken up a position, huddled up against the window, and were staring in with all their might at your father, who had his back to them. One of my companions spoke their dialect—you can hardly call it a language—perfectly, and began talking to them. I wish I could remember all they said, it was so amusing, accompanied by low sweet laughter, for it is very odd how musically a savage _can_ laugh. I used to notice the same thing with our Kaffir or Zulu servants in Natal. They would make a hideous noise among themselves; but if I was talking to Maria, or Prüfer’s Jack, or Zulu Tom, and they happened to laugh, it was the most melodious sound one ever heard. So with these people. They have a sort of instinctive courteous manner when speaking to a white person who addresses them kindly, and their splendid teeth are often shown in a smile; and though a savage seldom understands a joke, he laughs very agreeably when he does.

These natives were quite serious at first, explaining how they had heard that “Big Guvna” was passing that way, and how they had come from far, just to look at him. They were not dreaming of begging, and looked sleek and fat, with lots of furs and blankets. One of the gentlemen put some finely scented chopped tobacco into the hand of a man who was only looking on, not talking. He sniffed it, found it different to the strong coarse stuff he knew, and hastily returned it, shaking his head and smiling, as much as to say, “That’s a very good joke, but you don’t take me in!” So the other gentleman hastened to explain that it was “Guvna’s baccy” and all right. Then they sniffed it again and finally decided to venture on it, amid much low laughter. “We keep-um, nothing bad;” “um” has to be added to nearly every word, and “nothing” is the only negative they understand; “nothing bad” means “not bad.”

The next day took us out of the sand-plains, of which I fear we were getting rather tired, in spite of the flowers which seemed different, and if possible more beautiful every day, and when we halted for lunch it was in a charming spot with bigger trees and open glades. Just before arriving, however, we saw an emeu stalking about amid the low flower-covered bushes. It appeared quite fearless and took very little notice of us, but a dog would have startled it at once. It looked so handsome, and its great size matched the vast far-stretching plain which is its feeding-ground. Of course it was not tame, except as creatures who have never seen a man and a gun are tame.

Towards the close of the afternoon we passed a thick belt of forest (_such_ a jolty track as ran through it!) and found ourselves at once on greatly improved land, with signs of culture and progress on every side. This was an outlying farm of the famous Spanish Mission-Station of New Norcia, and we turned aside a few yards off the track to pay a short visit to the good Brothers. We first noticed there the cross which is sometimes placed on the white smooth stem of a gum tree to mark the Mission boundary. I did not get out of the van, because it is such a business climbing in and out by an iron ladder; but the Governor and his gentlemen went in, and were most hospitably welcomed. After that we pushed on as fast as we could to get here before dark.

It would indeed have been a pity if the daylight had not lasted long enough to let us see all the beautiful arches and banners and loyal mottoes of welcome, which were hung out from even the outlying cottages of this large and prosperous property. It all belongs to one gentleman, and is like an English model farm on an enormously large scale. Everything looks substantial and handsome, very different to the rough makeshift contrivances the poor settlers are generally obliged to manage with. The land seems extremely good, and it is cleared and cultivated in thoroughly English style. The homestead looked comfortable as well as pretty when we had safely passed through the last arch and found ourselves at its hospitable threshold. After our reception and a cup of delicious tea, I devoted myself to making friends with a beautiful cockatoo, of the rare sort called by the natives “jockolokol,”—a creamy white, with orange and red crest, a delicate pink lining to the wings, and with brilliant crimson among the tail feathers. It was quite tame, drinking some water which was dripping from a little pump. We made friends directly, and I felt quite sorry when it became cross and sleepy, and insisted on being put into its cage in the verandah.

You may imagine how well we rested last night in our comfortable little bedrooms, with delicious, clean beds; and we all declare this morning that we feel as fresh as though we had not travelled a yard, whereas Geraldton lies about 150 miles behind us, and you must remember that between 60 and 70 miles of that distance has been through heavy sand and at a foot’s pace. Now we can get along faster, and the road is more interesting and more peopled, but I shall always be glad to have seen the wonderful flower-world of the sand-plains.

Joy to the world! My kind hostess has just given me the beautiful cockatoo! I am so delighted. I should like to take it on in the van with me, but I fear it must be left behind now, and sent down to Perth later in a barred box by the first wool-dray.

LETTER IX.

Mission Station, New Norcia, _10th October 1883_.

I am writing late at night for we start at daylight to-morrow, having a long journey, more than 84 miles, to make before dark, as the Governor wishes to reach Perth in time to catch the outgoing English mail.

I think you would have enjoyed this stopping place more than all the others, and you can’t think how picturesque and charming it looked as we drove up about five o’clock the evening after I last wrote. We had halted for lunch and tea that day at two comfortable and prosperous stations, and our road had afterwards lain through partly cleared forest, with occasional bits of open and cultivated country. Every now and then we had passed small “mobs” of sheep feeding in the “bush,” guarded by a native shepherd and his dogs, and we had seen many paroquets and small birds flitting among the tall trees. There are lots of wild turkeys about—I forgot to tell you we had seen as well as tasted these, in and about Geraldton—but no one could get a shot at them, nor at the “Gnows,” curious birds, something between a common hen and a pheasant, but with the habits of an ostrich! They lay the most enormous eggs, twice the size of an ordinary hen’s egg, and then cover them up in the sand; no nest, just a hole in the sand. The parents don’t trouble their heads any more about the chicks; the sun hatches the eggs, and the instant the young birds come out they can take care of themselves as to food. But the hawks probably get many a meal off them.

However, to return to New Norcia. As soon as we came upon the Mission land we observed here and there a large cross “blazed” upon the trunks of the trees as a boundary mark, and after we had slowly mounted a rather long incline, more than a hill, we came upon the prettiest imaginable sight. Just below us lay a wide fertile valley, with a large and prosperous village or, indeed, town, mapped out by excellent roads and streets, with neat little houses on either side. In the centre stood a good-sized chapel, with fine schools near it; and the large monastery on the opposite side of the road seemed to have a splendid garden at the back, stretching down to the river-side. Between our cavalcade, however, and this building were many arches and flags, and a great concourse of people, chiefly natives and half-castes, all in their best clothes. From amongst these a procession of the good Fathers and the lay Brothers soon detached itself and advanced to meet your father, singing a hymn of welcome. It was really a beautiful sight, and the splendour of the afternoon made it still more beautiful.

We alighted as soon as we met the Fathers, and the Governor walked with them up to the big arch spanning the gateway of the monastery. There an address was presented, and presently we went into the large courtyard, round three sides of which the monastery is built. In front of the wide verandah, on the left, all the school children were drawn up, and behind them again stood the band. Yes, a regular stringed band, some eighteen or twenty strong, of native boys; one playing a big double bass, others violins, a ’cello and so forth. Such nice little fellows—black as jet, but intelligent, well-looking, and well-mannered, and earnest in their work. They were admirably trained and taught, led by a very musical lay Brother.

After the inevitable “God save,” the children sang hymns and some of their own little songs quite charmingly; and then all the men on the station were allowed to let off their guns, in a sort of informal salute, this being their great idea of enjoying themselves. As we were safely on our own feet I did not mind it, but I wonder what the horses would have thought of such popping and banging. I espied one half-caste native who was evidently dreadfully afraid of his gun, and fired it off very much as I should have done, had fate compelled me to discharge a musket. He wriggled and crouched behind the others, turned his head away, held his gun as far off as possible, and high up in the air, tugging desperately at the trigger all the time; just as he must have been beginning to hope that it did not intend to go off at all, _pouf_, came a great bang, and he flung it down and ran off. He was a stalwart young fellow, and all his braver neighbours laughed heartily at him.

We had a delicious supper and most comfortable beds, and only woke next morning to hear the splendid bell, as old as the time of Charles V., ringing for matins. It is impossible to imagine anything more devoted and beautiful than the life these good Fathers lead, or more encouraging than the results of their mission work of about thirty-five years. You can imagine how hard it must have been at first to catch these savages, and to teach them anything at all; and knowing this made it more wonderful to see all these civilised, comfortable, industrious people, whose parents were very little better than beasts of the field in habits and customs. But perseverance and kindness and infinite patience have worked a change like a miracle. One saw the result of it all during the long, pleasant day spent in visiting schools and workshops, going into the neat, comfortable cottages, and finally sitting down to watch a capital game of cricket between the natives and the lay Brothers, most of whom were Spaniards, or of Spanish descent. You would have liked to see that game, and I am sure the way the natives ran would have astonished you! They make capital cricketers, with their correct eye and accurate aim, and love of the game.

Before this the gentlemen had taken a long walk to visit the more distant fields and vineyards, and they too returned delighted with what they had seen. And the good Fathers are so simple with it all, so earnest to do good, so hopeful, such loyal subjects of the land they live in, and so hospitable. Every one speaks well of them, and of the Mission, and of their work. I am afraid you schoolboys would have enjoyed only too much the delicious, sweet things the lay Brother, who cooked, made for us. Such wonderful cakes, such delicate sweeties! Frugal and abstemious as they are themselves, they lavish all sorts of dainties on their visitors. Not only did we eat a shameful quantity of these nice things, but the carriage was loaded with quantities of delicacies, beautiful oranges, a fine, flat kind of macaroni, an ethereal sort of _méringue_, and all sorts of nice things.

This evening, after our supper-dinner, between seven and eight o’clock, we took our chairs out and sat in the courtyard under the soft, bright starlight, whilst, at my request, the children played and sang again to us. The performance did not last so long as I should have liked, for we did not wish to keep the little people up too late, but it was very charming, and we had a famous scramble for sugar-plums afterwards. They trooped off just as the moon was rising, and we heard their shrill, sweet voices calling out “good-night” to us and to each other for quite a long time.

Do you know what Benedictines are? Well, these good Fathers belong to that Order; I don’t understand much about it myself, but I can only say that any order, or any creed, or any country, may well be proud of such excellent, devoted men, and of the results of their life’s work.

Now I must really go to bed, for we start at daylight to-morrow. Every light is out except mine; but my last written word must be to tell you once more how hospitable and kind every one has been to us, and how thoroughly we have all enjoyed our delightful little visit to the New Norcia Mission.

LETTER X.

Government House, Perth, _13th October 1883_.

I am obliged to scribble very fast to get any of my English letters ready for to-day’s mail. But I must make time to tell you what a famous drive we had in from New Norcia the day before yesterday. I believe it has never been done before on wheels, all in one day; and we took exactly eleven hours to travel 85 miles. There were three relays of horses, and the van was much lighter, because all the cases of tinned provisions, and the soda water, and fresh water for tea, etc., had gradually been consumed. The good fathers tried, however, to make up the weight by all the good things they heaped on us; and I am sure, you and all your schoolfellows would have liked to have “looted” that van ten minutes after our start!

The road was very pretty, and nothing could have been more delightful than the early rattling drive through the forest, taking us to the top of Bindoon Hill by sunrise. It is not much of a hill after all; but in this flat country it is considered quite a precipitous and danger-place. Just at the bottom a very shallow little stream crosses the road, only enough to wet the horses’ hoofs; but even that amount of running water was a welcome and novel sight. The road was fairly good all the way, and we trotted along at a fine pace, halting at noon, for exactly one hour of rest and luncheon. Then in and on again with a fresh third team, and in two hours and a half we rattled and jingled up to our own door, triumphant but somewhat jaded, and weary as well as dusty. The poor orderly had collapsed at Guildford, for his horse refused with much good sense and firmness to pass its stable-door.

Monsieur Puppy was very glad to see me, and so were the other parrots and pets of all sorts and kinds. You shall hear about them some other day.

Cullum, near Newcastle, _31st October_.

I have not been able to write much lately, for you see we are again on our travels, and moving about every day is bad for my letters! Whilst we were in Perth (only ten days) we were very gay as well as very busy; and among other festivities I gave away the prizes at some capital athletic sports. It was a lovely afternoon, and the sports were held on a green and pretty spot, almost close to the water’s edge. You would have enjoyed seeing the young men and boys run and jump even more than I did. It was also amusing to watch a flock of large pelicans which sat on the water, gravely looking on at the sports from a safe distance. I wonder what they thought of the shouting and applause? Every now and then a great bird rose heavily up and slowly sailed away; evidently his nerves could not stand the noise.

We had not had time to get rid of our sunburn before we started again, on the 23d, for York. The first 10 or 12 miles was by rail to the pretty and large village of Guildford, nestled amongst its fields and vineyards. We could not stop there this time, but we had often been there before, and it was barely nine o’clock, on a perfect morning, before we were rolling away from the railway station in the old familiar van. This time we did not need to take water or provisions with us; but then our best clothes had to be carried, for we were going into highly civilised regions, instead of rumbling over the dear desolate old sand-plains. So the van looked just as much of a Noah’s ark, or rather a parcel’s delivery cart on a large scale, as ever.

Eastward from Perth I have been looking, ever since I arrived last June, on a certain blue range of rather low hills—the only rising ground to be seen except the Bluff, called Mount Eliza, which is the final headland of a low range outside Perth. These higher hills lie between Perth and York, so that morning we had to cross them, and a very pretty drive it turned out to be. A good road and an easy incline made it pleasant travelling, and the glimpses of the wide plains below us all in their spring green were really charming. The only adventure you would like to hear of is that I nearly sat down on a snake! The road ahead, from where we stopped to lunch, looked so shady and pretty that we all strolled on, leaving orders for the van to follow. But it did not catch us up very soon, and we sat down to wait for it. Just as I was going to seat myself on a log, which had on a sort of loose greatcoat of thick bark, some one said, “Take care, that is the very place for a snake;” so I tapped the bark with my parasol, and out darted a small but active snake, who had hidden himself between the tree and the bark. There are lots of snakes about in the summer, they say, and this is a dangerous time, because they are just beginning to wake up and feel lively after their short winter’s sleep. We also passed several iguanas basking in the sunshine—hideous rugged lizards, a foot or more long—frightful to look at, but perfectly harmless, and a favourite native delicacy. They declare it tastes exactly like chicken.

A couple of miles out of York we were met by a great number of ladies and gentlemen, who escorted us back to the arches and welcomes of that pretty little town. I must say I feel dreadfully ashamed of the untidy, dusty figure I generally present on these public entries. The gentlemen manage much better, for, by taking off an overcoat, and producing a tall hat from a box under the seat, they fill me with envy by their suddenly full-dressed and respectable appearance. In spite of all my efforts I always feel more or less dishevelled, and cannot arrange for a fresh toilette in this rapid manner, though I do my best with a dust-cloak and a veil.