LETTER VIII.
Berkshire Valley,
Monday, 8th October.
Our mid-day rest and lunch to-day, after a very long stage, was at a comfortable sort of farm, or rather sheep-station house. We were still on the sand-plains, so the sheep had to be kept farther back where there was good feed for them; but it had been found more convenient, as was the case where we slept last night, to have the house, and farm, and woolshed close to the road and the telegraph poles. In fact there was a telegraph station here cleverly worked by one of the daughters of the house. A pretty garden lay round this house, planted with lots of fruit trees, oranges, figs, and peaches, and plenty of vines. It was too early for fruit yet, but there appeared to be lots of vegetables. Of course the house had been built where they could easily get water by digging wells.
We were very glad of the shaded rest indoors, for the glare was getting rather wearying to our eyes, and it was delightful to sit in the verandah, looking over the garden, and shelter ourselves from the flood of sunshine behind a thick screen of creepers. But all the halts on this journey have to be very brief, for we must always be housed by dark, on account of bad bits of road only safe to travel over with plenty of light, and the houses lie very far apart. So another long afternoon was spent slowly toiling through miles of heavy sand, but this is the last and longest stage of the worst part of the “sand-plains,” and towards its close we got upon patches of gravel, and the clumps of trees were not so distant from each other, and here and there we could see a small homestead standing a little way back from the track.
The orderly brought me this afternoon such a beautiful and curious flower, or rather two flowers, which he had picked from a low tree—not a bush, he said, and indeed they seemed to belong to one of the endless varieties of gum trees, from the aromatic smell of the stalk and leaves. One was a large beautiful crimson flower, like a closely-set ball of fringe—or like a cactus flower, cut short and trimmed. The bud was the curious part however. It was as large as the flower, but it had on a comical night-cap or extinguisher, of a pale green, and you could not see a division or place where it was likely to open anywhere. I must tell you the night-cap ended atop, in a tall fantastic peak or stem; in fact it was exactly like the barreta, or pointed cap the Portuguese lads wear in Madeira.
Well, I held these flowers carefully in my hand for about an hour, and was looking about me at the endless stretch of flowers when some one cried, “Look, look,” and there was my bud blowing! The green cap had split exactly half-way down the green bowl which held the flower as neatly as if cut round by the sharpest pen-knife, and it was rising slowly, slowly, with the vivid crimson fringe bursting out below it. I wish I had seen the beginning. In a moment or two the cap had lifted itself quite off and fell into my lap. It was as lovely, in its way, as the flower, and of a delicate fragrant green, lined with a soft web like the finest white satin. But the curious part was that, although I tried directly, before the flower was half a minute old, nothing would induce the cap to fit on again. It was too small, or rather the flower became too large in an instant of time. I wanted to bring these blossoms and the green cap safely into Perth and ask Ethel to paint them for me, but, alas, though I put them in water directly I arrived at a house, they were quite shrunken and withered next morning.
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.