Dongarra, _4th October_.
There is so much to write about that I must begin my letter at once
from here, where we are most comfortably housed, and from whence we
make our final start to-morrow morning.
The drive of yesterday and the day before was delightful; we went about
40 miles each day. The first night we slept at a capital hotel, in
order to have time for a banquet to your father, given by the farmers
and settlers of the district, and where a sort of little agricultural
show was also to be held, to which we went. The name of that place
was Hampton, and an early but heavy shower of rain made our start
next morning delightful, so fresh and fragrant was the air, besides
laying the dust. The roads, so far, have been very good, and the open
country looks green and pretty, with low hills making a dark blue edge
to the horizon. The wattle bushes were all covered with their yellow
tufts of bloom, and a network of white clematis seemed to spread over
every clump. There were, besides this gold and silver colouring, great
patches of pink, or else what looks like a giant field of ox-eyed
daisies. But they are not daisies at all, only large everlastings. We
are accustomed to think of everlastings as stupid little dusty buttons,
hardly worthy of the name of flowers at all. So it was quite a surprise
to see acres upon acres covered with these large lovely and brilliant
blossoms, which are yet everlastings, and will live for months. It is a
long time before they fade and get powdery, which is all that happens
to them in the way of perishing.
We drove in a sort of procession of little carriages, which got along
much better than big ones would have done, and allowed of the horses
being constantly changed. First came the Governor and his private
secretary, driven by the Member for the district, and with two mounted
orderlies, following close behind. Then I was _very_ happy in the next
carriage, because my charming driver—the Resident Magistrate—knew every
leaf and flower, and could tell me their names, and all about the
birds. This carriage of ours was simply a mass of nosegays. They were
piled up in front till we appeared to have an apron of flowers over our
knees. Then came two more vehicles, one with the Inspector of Police,
who had charge of us, and another gentleman, and the last held the
servants. So you see we made quite a grand procession.
At each little hamlet along the road, wherever even two or three houses
stood, the people who lived in them had either built an arch across the
road, or sometimes they just tied the trees at their gate together,
and decorated them with flowers and flags. Kind words and “Welcomes”
waved from every cottage door. You can’t think how bright and pretty it
all looked, or how cordial was the greeting everywhere. At one little
“township”—village you would call it—the school children had been drawn
up under a pretty arch, and they sang the National Anthem very sweetly,
your father pausing in his carriage beneath the span of flowers to
listen. He then drove on, amid tremendous cheering, and when my little
phaeton passed under, what do you think happened? A string was pulled
and a shower of tiny nosegays, artfully concealed at the top of the
arch, tumbled down right into the carriage, nearly smothering me! The
children clapped their hands, and shouted with glee at my astonishment!
Even the horses gave a jump at this sudden rain of flowers, and for
a long time after bits of bouquets remained sticking all over their
harness.
One of the prettiest things, however, happened at a very desolate part
of the road. A little cottage stood all by itself, a short way back
in a field, and the grown-up people belonging to it must have locked
it up, and gone off to make holiday at the next township; for no one
was to be seen except some nice little children, who had been left
behind, apparently in charge of the eldest, a small personage of about
eight years old. These little people had determined to give a greeting
of their very own to the Governor. So the biggest of them had taken
a stick, and traced a huge “Welcome” in large and wobbly letters in
the sand, right across the road. The rest had picked the everlastings
near, and had thickly filled in the hollows, so as to make an immense
pink word for papa to drive across. And after all they seemed much too
timid to come forward and be thanked and petted, but stood huddled
together with their backs turned to us at their little gate, shyly
glancing over their shoulders to make sure the Governor’s carriage had
crossed their flower-greeting. I thought it was very pretty of them,
and father was greatly touched and pleased.
Farms lie all along the road between Geraldton and Dongarra, and the
young wheat looked green and nice after the heavy spring showers.
Dongarra itself is quite a biggish place, and stands a little back from
the sea, at the mouth of the Irwin river. It is very prettily placed,
and the approach looked charming under arches of bush flowers which
spanned the road every few yards, until we drove up to the Mechanics’
Institute, where a splendid arch had been built, and the modest little
building itself was literally hidden by flowers and ferns. There we
all got out, and Pater received and answered the usual addresses, and
the school children sang really charmingly, and it was all very gay
and pleasant. As I told you before, you must remember that all this
kindness to your father means, and all the addresses begin and end
with, expressions of devoted loyalty to our Queen; and it is just
feeling _that_ is what every arch and flower and motto signifies, which
makes the charm of it all. It is so nice to see the trouble the people
must have taken all along the road, and how they vie with each other in
expressions of attachment to our Sovereign.
A few miles out of Dongarra, an immense cavalcade of gentlemen-farmers
on horseback came out to meet the Governor; they first greeted him
warmly, and then surrounded his carriage and escorted him back into
Dongarra.
We are making the most of our rest and comfort here, in this delightful
house, for to-morrow morning early we begin our real, rough, long,
overland journey. The great Van has arrived from Perth to take us
on,—a much diminished party,—and I hear nothing but questions as to
whether the harness, whipple-trees, axles, etc., are all right, for a
break-down would be a “terrible business”; the van looks stout enough,
however, to bear any amount of jolting, and resembles a large scarlet
tray with seats across, and mounted upon huge strong wheels. There
are some 200 miles still between us and Perth. They do not look much,
perhaps, on the map, but it is a good distance, I assure you; and we
have met the usual fate of adventurous travellers, in being much and
warmly dissuaded from starting at all.
It will be time to set off directly; but I must first tell you that I
have been standing in the road for the last hour watching the packing
or rather loading of the van, before the four horses are put in. It
has been an anxious business for those responsible, and many have
been the consultations over the distributions of the load. Gun-cases
have been stowed away, wraps and pillows, our modest luggage, a box
of soda water, and a basket of tinned provisions and biscuits, to eke
out our wayside inn fare. At the last moment a dangling hat-box, very
battered and broken, was hung on to the back, containing a livery-hat.
It looked so ridiculous, and I feel sure its next neighbour, a kettle,
will soon pommel it into bits. Then there are spare whipple-trees,
ropes, halters, buckets, nose-bags, blankets, and all sorts of queer,
but necessary, odds and ends. We look exactly like the Swiss family
Robinson, even to the extraordinary hats and veils we have all mounted
as shelter from the sun and flies. How you would enjoy it, and Louis
will never cease regretting that he has been left at school in Perth.
We part here from all our kind escort of friends, who return to
Geraldton, and we only take on one small carriage beside the van and
one orderly. Your father is going to ride, attended by some gentlemen,
this first day’s stage, because it is a short one, just a little over
30 miles, and he wants to see some outlying farms, etc., of importance.
So now I must shut up my writing-case, and say good-bye to my charming
hostess, and kiss her sweet little children, who have been hanging
about me ever since I arrived yesterday, to hear stories about all of
you, when you were their age. I am afraid these stories have generally
been thrilling accounts of your scrapes and monkey-tricks!
Fancy my nearly forgetting to tell you that yesterday afternoon,
directly after luncheon, we all started (as if we had not had enough
driving!) to go down to the little harbour, at the mouth of the Irwin
river, 3 or 4 miles off. Pater wanted to see the jetty, and we all
went too, children and all. There were a great many people assembled,
and father made a thorough inspection of the little place, and heard
what was needed in the way of harbour works, and so forth. Then when
we came back all the school children were sent for, and we gave them a
famous scramble for sugar-plums in the garden. There were such myriads
of large fierce-looking black ants swarming all over the paths, that
I was dreadfully afraid of the little bare legs getting nipped; but
I was assured that these big ants are always much too busy building
and storing their food to go out of their way to bite. The children’s
legs did not seem to be in the least danger. Now we are really off;
the Governor must have started, for I hear the blacksmith’s anvil
firing off a salute, and there are anxious inquiries as to where I can
possibly be.
Coming! coming!