Adelaide, _May 1883_.
This is the first opportunity I have had of writing to my boy since
we left Mauritius, a fortnight ago. It has been very cold nearly all
the time—cold at least to us, after the bright warm sun and soft wind
of our early winter days in Mauritius. At first we were all glad to
feel the fresh wintry air, but soon we began to wrap ourselves up and
walk quickly about the deck, or keep down below in the fine saloon of
the big French steamer after it became dark. It was a beautiful ship;
large, and very clean and comfortable; and there were just enough
passengers on board to be sociable without being overcrowded.
Both Louis and my little maid Catherine were dismally ill at first, but
they quickly got better; and Louis soon found out all manner of ways of
what he considered “helping” the sailors, who were wonderfully kind to
him, and seemed much amused at the little English boy’s love for the
sea and everything about a ship. I don’t think the log was once heaved
during the daylight hours without his assistance, and he easily learned
the French words to tell me the rate of speed at which we steamed. But
the puppy—Monsieur Puppy—and Rosidore, father’s French valet, suffered
terribly from the cold. Rosidore wrapped himself up every day in extra
comforters and greatcoats till he looked like an immense wool-bale,
and at last he found a warm corner near the great funnel, and never
stirred from its shelter. The poor puppy—Tip’s small yellow pug-son—did
not know what to make of the cold. He could not understand how the sun
could have so little warmth in it; but still he frisked about a great
deal whenever he was allowed upon deck, and “_dèmandé-d_” biscuits from
every one. You must know Monsieur Puppy only understands French as yet,
for he has never left Mauritius, where he was born a year ago; the
sailors make a great pet of him, and spoil him dreadfully.
The sky and sea looked grayer and more dull to our eyes each succeeding
morning, whilst the good ship was ploughing her way steadily towards
the south-east through the rough rolling waves. We had no actual bad
weather, but at this winter time of year the great stretch of Indian
Ocean, which lies between the little island of Mauritius and the huge
island-continent of Australia, is always rough and troubled with these
big waves rolling uneasily, and there were constant heavy showers of
cold rain. Still, in so comfortable a ship, with our large deck-cabins
to sleep and sit in, it was not at all disagreeable, and we were always
cheered by hearing the officers of the ship declare the passage would
be a good and quick one.
The very day fortnight that we had sailed out of Port Louis Harbour
was spent standing on deck, all through the short daylight hours,
watching the immense coast-line of Australia growing more and more
distinct. Its endless stretch of sandy beach, with low hills behind,
made a great contrast to the last land we had looked on—the sharp high
peaks, brilliant with the sunset glow, of the lovely little island of
Mauritius. It was very provoking, too, to know that we were now going
quite out of our real way, and leaving behind us the exact spot in
Western Australia where we wanted to land, and that we should have to
come all the way back and round Cape Leewin again. At one time we were
only a very few hours’ steam from the nearest point to our new home;
and Monsieur Puppy, at least, would have been pleased to get on shore.
But still we were very glad of the opportunity of seeing something of
the Eastern Colonies of Australia, and I don’t know which of our party
was the most delighted when at last the big engines, which had been
gradually slowing down, stopped their ceaseless throb, throbbing; then
came a moment’s pause, and finally a great splash,—that was the anchor
dropping down,—leaving us a long way from land however, at a place
called Glenelg, near Adelaide, the capital of South Australia. By this
time the short winter day was over, and it would have been quite dark
except that fortunately the moon chanced to be bright and full.
Though we had arranged to take only a few of our tiresome boxes with
us, still it seemed a weary while before we were all ready to get
into the small steam-tug which came alongside directly. The polite
French captain handed me down the side of his vessel with many pretty
speeches, and Louis took leave of all his sailor friends in his best
French. Then the little tug puffed off towards the land, bustling
bravely along over the calm moonlit sea. But oh, how cold it was!
bitterly, piercingly cold. It must have been about ten o’clock at
night, and we thought regretfully of our nice warm cabin and snug
berths. Catherine and I put Louis between us, and sheltered him as well
as we could, though he would ever so much rather have been darting
about the ship and helping (such help!) everybody. Rosidore seemed
quite frozen and paralysed by cold, and poor Monsieur Puppy crouched
shivering at his feet. I must tell you here that the cold made the
poor little dog very ill, and he nearly died next day. However, a
clever dog-doctor at Adelaide managed to cure him. I reproached myself
afterwards for not having taken more care of him during that freezing
half-hour; but I was occupied in huddling Louis up, and I thought
Rosidore would have looked better after Monsieur Puppy.
We landed on a long pier sticking ever so far out into the sea, and
our luggage was put on trucks and wheeled swiftly along on a little
tram. But we all had to walk a very long way. As it happened, we were
glad of the exercise to warm us, and we all chanced to be well and
strong, and it was a beautiful night, as bright as day. One could not
help thinking, however, how dreadful it might have been on a dark and
wet stormy night, and if any of us had been sick or weak. Then came a
long wait at the railway station, and you may fancy how sleepy Louis
was by the time we lifted him into the nice big railway saloon, which
the Governor of Adelaide had kindly sent for us. It was funny to be
in a railway carriage which seemed to be passing through the middle
of a wide street nearly all the time, and Louis solemnly inquired
whether any little boys were ever run over? I would not give much
for _his_ legs or arms if he lived in the neighbourhood; but the
Adelaide children are probably wise enough to keep off the rails. The
shops, with which nearly all the streets appeared to be lined, looked
gay and busy though it was nearly midnight, and lots of people were
about—returning from the theatre, I heard.
At last we reached the station at Adelaide, and then all our troubles
from cold and sleepiness came to an end directly. A nice warm carriage,
a few minutes’ swift drive, then a big brightly-lighted house, kind
outstretched hands of welcome, blazing fires, supper which we were all
much too sleepy to eat, and then delicious beds.
Can’t you imagine how nice it must have been to wake up the next
morning and rush to the windows and let in all the sunshine, and look
out on trees and distant houses and green hills, after two weeks of
seeing nothing but big dark, dark blue waves tumbling over each other?
We all thought it delightful, I assure you, and set forth directly
after breakfast, to walk about and see everything and go everywhere.
We used often to say to one another, “How much Guy would like that!”
But your turn will come some day you know, and the best thing for you
now is to be working hard at your lessons at school, and playing in the
cricket and football fields, and growing to be a man, and what is more,
an Englishman who must be a credit to his country, and proud of her
wherever he goes. My boy will try to be that, won’t he?
Well, on one of our sight-seeing days we saw lots and lots of boys who
would be a credit to any country, and of whom South Australia might
indeed be proud; for we went with the Minister of Education all over
the splendid Government schools. Louis liked best—for he is quite as
enthusiastic a soldier as he is a sailor—the drill-yard at drill hour
in one of the schools. The boys had real muskets, with only the barrels
shortened, and they went through all manner of military exercises,
almost as cleverly as if they had been real, grown-up soldiers. And
they looked so bright, and strong, and healthy, and happy! Very tall,
as are nearly all Colonial boys, but handsome and jolly.
One could not help thinking several times about what is said in the
papers about the difficulty of finding soldiers of the right stamp for
our army, and if ever I am consulted on the subject, my advice to the
authorities will certainly be to try and get hold of some of these
smart, ready-made soldier-lads! And then they were by no means ignorant
or idle in other respects. No, their copy-books looked as neat and nice
as possible, and they all read and recited capitally. And you never saw
such numbers of children as were ranged on the benches of each school!
After that day of school-visiting, I felt as if I had got into a fairy
city, where each inhabitant was either a bright-faced schoolboy, or a
modest pretty schoolgirl, or, better than all, a rosy, warmly-dressed,
and delightfully impudent “infant”; for there were rows upon rows of
these little people who sang their songs and clapped their hands, and
milked imaginary cows all in fine style, and with many friendly grins.
At one school the pupils, both girls and boys, sang really beautifully,
not ordinary school songs, but lovely part music in unison. As you may
suppose, the schoolmasters and mistresses who had this wonderfully
forward rising generation under their care needed to be clever and to
know a great deal. I felt most of the time that had I been one of the
pupils, I should constantly be in disgrace for ignorance. Do you think
you would?
The shops seemed capital, and sold all sorts of nice things. Louis
bought himself a splendid knife out of his savings, so Catherine bought
some sticking-plaster directly! Then there were such nice book-shops.
I longed to have lots of money to buy books to read on the rest of the
voyage, and I did manage to get one or two. Father was the naughtiest.
He went out and bought me a beautiful bracelet, for which piece of
extravagance he ought to be well scolded. If we had stopped much longer
in Adelaide I don’t think one of the party would have had any—what you
used to call—“pennies” left at all.
We did a great deal of sight-seeing besides the schools, and I assure
you Adelaide is not only a very fine, large city, with imposing,
handsome buildings now, but it promises to be twice as large, and four
times as handsome, within the next ten years. It is no age at all for
a large town, but to look at it you would suppose it had been standing
there for a century at least. It is now midwinter, when it is naturally
rainy, but we have lighted on perfect weather so far, crisp and cold
and clear, and yet the sunshine is quite warm.
One bright afternoon we drove up—climbed up, I might say—to Marble
Hill, the charming country-seat which South Australia provides for her
Governor during the hot summer months, and where, I believe, it is
always cool and pleasant. You can’t think how pretty the road was—very
steep, but at every turn a lovely valley opened out, or else wooded
hillsides, still gay with a remnant of autumn leaves on vine and fruit
trees. Here and there a Devonshire-like coombe sharply cleft the range,
and gabled cottage roofs peeped out from snug sheltering trees and
rocks.
The view from the house, when you reach it, is wide and fair, and
winding walks and rides have been made in every direction. Inside all
is comfortable and commodious, and we had a merry tea-drinking before
packing ourselves again into the carriages. But we had lingered to
watch the beautiful sunset, so every wrap and rug was welcome, and we
came downhill all the way with the break hard down every yard.
You may imagine how sorry we felt when the pleasant four days of our
stay were over, and our delightful drives and walks came to an end, and
it was necessary once more to pack up and go on board another steamer.
It was the Queen’s Birthday, and unfortunately such a wet day! I felt
so sorry for all the holiday folk, and a little sorry for ourselves,
for although we went on board the P. and O. steamer at a different
place, still we were just as much out of doors, standing about in a
cold drizzle waiting for the tug, and getting very wet and dirty. They
seemed so used to fine weather at Adelaide that they don’t take any
care of travellers on a wet day. But I must confess I would rather have
had the wet winter weather, without shelter, than have been obliged to
stand exposed to the broiling summer sun and dust.
However, we got on board the huge _Carthage_ at last, Monsieur Puppy
and all, and off we set once more. If you look at the map you will
see exactly where we had to go. Straight back again across what is
called the “Great Australian Bight”—a big, big bay, with quite as
bad a character for tumbling ships about as the Bay of Biscay; and
unfortunately the Bight is much bigger than what Louis’s Zulu nurse
used to call the “Bisky Bay,” and so takes longer to cross and has
more time in which to knock one about. At first we had horrid weather.
I ventured on deck for a little, and got myself tied into a nice
lying-down chair; one of a row of some fifty or sixty such chairs
all securely—as we fancied—lashed to a hawser. But the ship gave one
sudden heavy roll down on our side. The rope strained or gave in some
way, and we all immediately presented the absurd sight of rising to
our feet, with our chairs firmly lashed to our backs. After balancing
ourselves there and then for an instant, every one, sick and well, old
and young, fell forward flat on their faces, still with a chair over
each one. The last thing I heard, before I was quite covered up with
my rugs and pillows and chair, was a perfect roar of laughter from the
well people who were standing all about, and who saw us. It was too
sudden for them to prevent our toppling over, and, although they all
threw away their pipes and cigars and ran to pick us up directly, they
could not help laughing first. Can you not fancy how absurd we must
have looked? And our faces for that brief instant! Frightened, sleepy,
sick, and cross all at once. Father helped me up, and I felt very much
affronted at the way he was laughing, and yet it was not really unkind,
for no one was in the least hurt; we were all too much huddled up with
fur-rugs and shawls and pillows for that. So I said, in a very huffy
voice, that I would go down below, and I went, and found Catherine
and Louis quite warm and snug in their berths, but much too sea-sick
to stir, or even to laugh when I told them of our absurd tumble. Then
I got into my berth too, and dozed and read all the rest of the time
until the weather cleared.