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.