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.