Perth, _3d June_.
We only arrived last night, tired and jaded and worn, but a good sleep
and a bright lovely morning has already taken the sting out of the
memory of all our seafaring troubles.
I am afraid we were in too great a hurry to start that Thursday morning
upon which I last wrote. We got on board easily, and then steamed right
out into a terrific sea. And it rained! you could not tell which was
the spray dashing up, and which was the rain pouring down. The little
steamer pushed bravely on, and managed to keep her head the right way,
but that was about all she could manage. The weather became worse and
worse every hour, the nearer we crept, fighting every knot of distance
against the freshening wind, and huge tumbling waves, to Cape Leewin.
This means the Cape of the Lioness, and one can easily fancy what a
knocking about the old Dutch navigators must have got just hereabouts,
when they christened the bold headland by such a fierce name.
I remained on deck, huddled up with every sort of rug and covering,
but not even a huge tarpaulin, thrown over me and my chair by the kind
captain, could keep me either dry or warm. So, after the top of a big
sea had jumped on deck, and washed across, nearly carrying me overboard
with it, I thought it would, at all events, be drier and warmer down
below, so I lurched and tumbled and struggled down the tiny companion
into my wee cabin. I assure you it felt as if we were inside a cockle
shell, the way the poor little steamer was tossed about like a cork on
the waves. She must have been a capital sea-boat, for not a drop of
water found its way down below, and she bobbed about like a duck, still
fighting her way slowly on round that terrible Leewin. To say that we
were all ill—to say that we could not keep in any one position for half
a minute at a time, but had to hold on tight to whatever was nearest
in order to keep ourselves in our berths at all, is but to give you a
very faint idea of our misery! One could not help laughing at the way
our clothes and bags and boxes behaved! I derived some faint amusement
from watching the antics of my bonnet. As for picking it up myself, or
caring what became of it, I was far too ill for such an exertion. The
stewardess used to totter and tumble into my cabin whenever she could,
and she always seemed shocked and disappointed to find this bonnet in
some strange and unexpected place, no matter how carefully she had
secured it. No peg could keep it for five minutes, even when tied on,
nor would it stay in a berth, and more than once it rolled right out
into the saloon, and it was constantly found among the glasses and
bottles in the bar. Everything else slid about, but nothing was so
lively as that bonnet, and not even its being occasionally trodden on
by your father—who lurched in from time to time during that dreadful
long night to ask how I was getting on, and to tell me how wretched he
felt—could keep it at all quiet in one place.
Then I have an absurd memory of stopping somewhere (that was in the
middle of the second night), and hearing that we had reached some
place, and that a deputation had come on board to welcome Pater! The
ship seemed comparatively quiet, for we had got into some kind of a
harbour, but the sea still ran high, and there was not much difference
in the motion. I thought the gentlemen who ventured out to the ship
on that dark stormy night must have been extremely brave as well as
polite. My wee cabin was only separated from the saloon by a jalousie,
so I could hear everything; and, faint and ill as I felt, it was
impossible to help laughing. First of all some one said, in a tone of
surprise, “Why, here’s a bonnet!” (I think that was at the foot of the
companion ladder), and when I had finished a furtive hysterical giggle
at that, I was set off again by the absurd contrast between the polite
speeches of the Governor and his Private Secretary, and the weak and
quavering voices in which they were uttered. It was too comic, also,
when I caught a glimpse through the swaying curtain before my door,
of their tall dressing-gowned figures, and pale woebegone faces. I
could only thank the Fates that _I_ had not to get up and receive a
deputation! What finally made me laugh till I cried, was hearing some
one, in a strong, bluff, _land_ voice, ask one of our gentlemen how
he liked Western Australia? And if you could have heard the dejected,
weak, sea-sick voice, in which the wretched voyager answered, “Oh,
very much, indeed; I think it is _delightful_!” and then came a hearty
“that’s right,” in reply. Whenever I could even think of anything
except keeping myself in my berth, I felt thankful that poor little
Louis and Catherine were not with us.
About mid-day on Saturday, that was the day before yesterday, we at
last got under lee of the land, and the wind moderated and the sun
shone out again, and it was once more a bright and sunny afternoon when
the _Otway_ slowly warped herself up to the pier at Freemantle, and we
could see more arches and flags, and a guard of honour, and crowds of
people. When at last the little gangway was fixed there was quite a
rush of officials and other gentlemen and ladies on board to welcome
your father. Everybody seemed very kind and nice, and so sorry that
the passage had been such a rough one. I felt weak and exhausted and
could hardly stand; but it was delightful to feel one had got to the
end of the long, long voyage at last, and everybody looked so cordial
and cheery that I took courage to keep up, besides being much revived
by the sight and smell of an enormous and beautiful nosegay which one
of the ladies brought me. After a little we landed and walked through
lanes of pleasant-looking civil people until we got to a place made gay
with flags and flowers and red cloth; then came speeches of welcome and
some champagne, and everybody drank everybody else’s health, and so on
to the railway station and into the special train in waiting (which had
been made bright with boughs and bouquets), and up to Perth in less
than an hour.
The Perth Railway Station looked really extremely pretty, with its red
carpets and green boughs, and rosettes of red geranium, and a very
great many people were there, besides lots of ladies and children. One
sweet, pretty little boy came forward with a bouquet as big as himself
for me, and I was so pleased that I could not help stooping down and
giving him a kiss, for he made me think of all of you when you were
little, only “Harold” was ever so much prettier! So now I had two big
nosegays to carry, and my hands were quite filled with flowers. We
drove as quickly as possible to Government House, for your father had
to put on his uniform and go to the Town Hall to be sworn in, and we
were obliged to make great haste, for it was fast growing dark. But
there was just time to drink a cup of tea, standing all ready in the
drawing-room, before we had to get into the carriage again and drive
through the decorated streets. The big clock struck five as we arrived,
to find an immense crowd inside and outside the handsome building which
is the Perth Town Hall, and where the Mayor, in his robes, waited to
receive us. Everything seemed very well arranged, and we were taken to
our places without any difficulty. Then began all sorts of ceremonies
which it would not interest you to hear about, and indeed of which I
can hardly remember anything, for the whole place, platform and all,
seemed to be swaying about like the deck of the _Otway_. Just as father
took his oath the artillery outside boomed out the salute, and I feebly
thought how glad I was not to be in the carriage with the very prancing
horses!
It was delicious to get back to a blazing fire and a good dinner, and
it was great fun looking all over the large and handsome house which
is to be our new home. As we were sitting down to dinner a telegram
arrived from Louis and Catherine to say they had reached a place called
Kojonup, and were going to sleep there that night, having got so far
quite safely and with beautiful weather. You may imagine how glad I was
to have news of them. I feared they might be rain-bound at some little
roadside inn.