I had to leave by the steamer from the A. S. N. Company’s wharf at
night, and so missed seeing anything of the route until we arrived at
Newcastle, when I went on deck, anxious to get a view of the Hunter
River. As I expected, the scenery was totally different in character
from that of the Western district,--flat, but very pretty with very
luxuriant vegetation; many farms with fine pasture lands and orchards.
The vineyards too were a new feature to me. We stopped at several places
to land passengers, mails, and cargo, then proceeded to Morpeth, where
my journey ended, and in a short time I reached my future home, which
was at the house of Mr. Edward Close.
The trying ordeal of introducing myself to perfect strangers, being my
first experience of this position, was anything but pleasant. The house
was large, standing in extensive paddocks, and surrounded by flower
garden, shrubbery, and orchard. The members of the household were the
owner, a retired military man in his seventieth year, his eldest son,
wife, and their two little girls, Rosie and Susie. Rosie and Susie,
with the daughter of a friend near, were to be my pupils.
We were close to the Bishop of Newcastle’s residence and the church; for
walks we had no need to go beyond our own grounds. Morpeth was not
pretty, merely one long street with few buildings of any size; the
bishop’s house and Mr. Edward Close’s were the only two of any
importance in the place at the time I write of. The bishop living so
near was a great advantage, as he generally preached at our church on
Sunday evenings. Our clergyman was very wearying to listen to, and my
little pupils were terribly tried by his long sermons. Strange to say,
almost invariably the poorest preachers preach the longest sermons. My
dear little girls on such occasions showed their difference in
temperament. Susie would whisper very audibly, “When will Mr. W----
stop? I am so tired;” while Rosie with her earnest eyes listened
attentively. I once asked her what the sermon was about. “I don’t know,
Miss L----, but thought it must be good, as it is from the Bible.”
We lived a quiet uneventful life at Morpeth House. Mr. Edward Close
senior was without exception the most Christian-like man I ever knew; he
had lived in the district for years, and the only fault that could be
found in him during a long career was, “He was too good, too lenient to
the faults of others.” At the time I write of he had given up the
management of his estate to his eldest son, spending his mornings in
his flower garden, and after dinner reading in his study. Mrs. Edward
Close junior had been his ward, knowing no other father, as she once
told me, and certainly she was devotedly attached to him. Her husband
was a fine-looking man and enthusiastic volunteer, looking in his
uniform every inch a soldier. Both husband and wife were Australians.
Our evenings were spent in a way in every respect congenial to my taste;
Mr. Edward Close senior for years had read aloud to those in the house
who wished to listen. Mrs. Close and I with our work were always willing
to pass our time thus. The other day, in looking over a diary kept in
that year, I found a list of the books he read, amongst them being Lord
Dufferin’s _Letters from High Latitudes_, Farrar’s _Julian Home_, _The
Tent and the Caravan_, _The Crescent and the Cross_, _Life of Kitto_,
and _Life of the Duke of Wellington_, the last was most interesting, as
the reader had been an actor in many of the scenes described, and in
answer to our questions would place the book aside, and fight his
battles over again; the kind old face would then light up and the clear
eyes flash at the recollection of the days of his youth. Once I
remarked, “I cannot understand how you, Mr. Close, could have ever
wished to kill, when even the sport of shooting is distasteful to you.”
“I cannot understand myself now; but when once the word of command is
given, discipline and duty led us on, and afterwards excitement made the
animal nature forget all else but the desire to conquer. After the
battle to me was always terrible, and I used to think, ‘I can never
fight again.’ Yet I have always felt I could not have been an onlooker
only. War is a terrible necessity; but as long as the world lasts
inevitable. When I read the accounts of the Indian Mutiny, and heard
from the lips of those who witnessed them its horrors, I felt it was
indeed so.” This I could understand, remembering one amongst the many
tragedies. A girl I knew married a young officer visiting Sydney, and
soon afterwards left for India. They were at Meerut with his regiment
when the mutiny broke out, and tried to escape by the river; they were
seen from the shore and pursued. As all hope of getting away from their
pursuers was gone, he whispered a few words to his young wife, to which
she evidently agreed; then clasping his wife in his arms, jumped into
the river, and they were saved from the fate of many which they had
witnessed.
When Sir John and Lady Young paid their first visit to the Hunter River
district, they held a reception and a grand review of the volunteers. We
went of course. Maitland was _en fête_ with carriages of all
description, full of gaily-dressed ladies, and numbers of equestrians of
both sexes. Flags, triumphal arches, and our military made up quite an
imposing spectacle. Mr. Close sent her ladyship a basket of fruit,
amongst it the largest loquats I ever saw, so different from the usual
specimens to be purchased now; they were as large as hens’ eggs, with
very few seeds. Of late this fruit has been very much neglected; a
great pity, as when properly cultivated it is very delicious, and
coming at a season when we have so little fruit, is a great boon. I have
never seen it so fine anywhere as at Morpeth House, and excepting there
have not tasted bananas ripened on the trees, and by comparison those
brought from Queensland and Fiji are not so delicate in flavour.
Early in the spring I went with my pupils to visit a friend of the
family at Newcastle. It was a very pleasant change, especially as
Morpeth House was being painted, which had affected my health, and was
really the cause of our going. The kind old gentleman having noticed my
pale face and constant headache, asked Mr. Bolton to take us for a week
or two. It was a contrast to Morpeth--the town built on a rocky height,
and the streets a series of ascents. We were on one of the highest
points, so we had an excellent view of the glorious ocean with its
restless waves. We often wandered about the beach gathering shells and
seaweed.
One pet at Mr. Bolton’s caused much amusement, an Australian “native
companion,” a species of crane; a pretty tame bird with shaded gray
feathers and graceful neck. It would run races with the children’s arms
round its neck, up and down the garden paths, standing patiently by my
side when they were tired, and waiting for another start.
Newcastle was a busy place then. What must it be after more than a
quarter of a century’s progress I can only gather from the newspapers,
never having been there since, except in passing from the steamer to the
railway station. At Christmas, with Mrs. Close and the children, I went
to Sydney. What a journey! A crowded steamer with only one saloon for
the ladies and children; and every one was ill but the stewardess and
myself. The children were crying, and even Mrs. Close was indifferent to
her baby’s wailings. That night’s experience proved that nothing could
make me suffer from _mal de mer_. How glad we were to get on _terra
firma_ once more. Mrs. Close left me at my friend’s house in Cumberland
Street. What a home it was! The dear, gentle mother and her kind and
pretty daughters always ready to welcome their friends, especially those
without a home. I have often listened to that mother’s conversation, and
thought how innocent and unworldly she was. She had married young, and
was not a great reader, so that her mind was purity itself. Until her
husband’s death, she had never had to think for herself, and fortunately
her eldest daughter, a girl of twenty, had to a great extent taken the
husband’s place, sparing her mother business worries. In her widow’s
dress she looked so pretty and placid, sitting in her usual place by the
large dining-room window looking over the harbour. Always ready to
sympathise with the joys or sorrows of others, she now warmly welcomed
me. Ah me! that dear old home is now broken up, that good mother and
true friend “beyond the stars.” Her children have homes of their own,
only the eldest remaining unmarried; she, without the duties of a home,
takes upon herself those of many. Truly good and charitable, she has
been a “ministering angel” to many of those “we have with us always,”
and will be able to meet her beloved parents some day without a pang of
regret.
In town Mrs. Close had asked me to call on her at Campbell’s wharf,
where she was staying with a connection of her husband’s; so one
afternoon I called. She was out, but Mr. John received me, and, before I
could explain the reason of my visit, began, “Well, young lady, what do
you want a subscription for?” I looked astonished, and he continued, “Do
you know you are the third that has asked me for help to-day.” “But I
don’t want anything.” “Not want anything?” in a surprised tone. “Well,
then, you are very unlike my usual young lady visitors, for they
generally want something for a church, chapel, school, poor people, or
help of some kind. I have neither wife nor children, so am expected to
provide for other men’s.” When he heard my errand he laughed, and said,
“You are certain you do not want anything?” “Yes, quite certain, Mr.
John.” As I would not wait for Mrs. Close’s return, he escorted me to
the gate. This gentleman was the eldest of three brothers, old and
wealthy colonists, pillars of the Church of England, and true
philanthropists, highly respected and honourable men. The one I have
alluded to spent a fortune in doing good, and left a large sum to found
a church in one of the Pacific Islands. He and his brothers assisted in
forming a bishopric in the Southern district. They have all gone now to
reap an eternal reward for good work done here, leaving an honoured name
to their descendants.
Soon after our return to Morpeth, the sad news of our beloved Queen’s
loss, by the death of Prince Albert, reached us. A sad loss to her, her
family, and the nation of which we were part. Sympathy was sincere, and
in most homes it was felt almost as a family bereavement. Mr. Edward
Close senior was so much affected as to be almost unable to read the
usual daily prayer for the Royal family.
We had incessant rain for some time after our return to Morpeth, and
fears of floods were entertained, the district lying low, and most of
the farms near the banks of the river. One night, hearing the firing of
guns and people running about, I knew these fears were realised, and in
the morning heard that Mr. Edward Close junior with our men had been
rescuing persons from the roofs of houses and tree tops. It was
dangerous work, as often the boats would be nearly stove in by striking
against the buildings, fences, and tree stumps, or nearly upset by
floating debris. What a desolate scene it was, as viewed from our higher
ground, now full of stock rescued from the farms! Only the chimneys of
houses and the tops of high trees to mark where a few weeks ago stood
comfortable homes, orchards, and gardens. Poor people, what places to
return to when the water subsided; furniture and clothing soddened with
wet and mud; stock drowned and crops washed away! I remarked to Mr.
Edward Close senior, “They will never live in those places again.” “Yes,
Miss L----, in a few weeks you will see them quite comfortable again.”
Which was the case, for in less than two months, owing to the wonderful
power of the Southern sun, fresh crops were above the ground, the wooden
houses fresh whitewashed, and the soil richer and more productive than
ever, owing to the rich soil deposited. I went for a short visit to
Maitland at this time, and from Government Cottage on the hill saw more
of the effects of the flood than at Morpeth. Dead stock, produce,
furniture, and whole stacks of hay floated down the stream. Yet Mr. Day
said, “Floods in the Hunter were nothing to those in other districts,
where many lives would be sacrificed ere aid could be obtained.”