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Title: The Golden South
Memories of Australian Home Life from 1843 to 1888

Author: Lambert Kathleen

Release Date: July 11, 2018 [EBook #57484]

Language: English

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THE GOLDEN SOUTH




THE

GOLDEN SOUTH

MEMORIES OF AUSTRALIAN HOME LIFE

FROM 1843 TO 1888

BY

‘LYTH’

‘Such is the patriot’s beast, where’er we roam,
His first, best country ever is at home. ’

LONDON
WARD AND DOWNEY
1890




INTRODUCTION


As I stood on the deck of one of the largest of the Peninsular and
Oriental Company’s steamers, that now almost annihilate distance between
England and her colonial possessions, taking a last look at the land
where I had left youth, womanhood, kindred, friends, and the dust of
parents, I thought, “Is there anything I can do in return for all God
has done for me here--anything to prove my gratitude to the many true
friends I am leaving: the Australians, young and old, who have thronged
around us to bid us farewell?” Nearly half a century has passed since
the good ship _Euphrates_ came to anchor in this, one of the grandest
harbours of the world, and I stood, as I am now standing, looking at the
beautiful shores of Sydney Harbour . But what a change! Then few signs of
habitation were to be seen, and now one sees stately mansions, countless
and beautiful, surrounded by foliage almost to the water’s edge, silent
witnesses of God’s goodness and man’s perseverance. One stately house
there was, with battlements and tower, set in terraced grounds, with
beautiful trees, shrubs, and flowers that only bloom under glass in
colder climes; and over all a sky blue and transparent beyond
description. In this house there dwell the descendants of two who stood
near me when first I saw this lovely land. They are now in a still safer
and more beautiful haven, having lived a good life here, and left their
children the priceless inheritance of a stainless name. Two of that
family have just left us; I need not say, “Go and do likewise, ” for
already they have laid up treasures in heaven.

Why do I wish to write of Australia , more especially of New South Wales ,
when such men as Froude, Trollope, and Forbes have done so? Firstly, I
promised, and secondly, because travellers like those mentioned are
merely birds of passage for a few months or weeks, staying amongst us,
feted by a few men in power or position, travelling by special trains
through the country, or on mere pleasure excursions, seeing what is to
be seen under the most favourable conditions, and listening to
interested or interesting descriptions of places and people that they
have not had time to investigate. They leave without having the
slightest idea of the real homes, lives, intellects, and capabilities of
either country or people; and of the best families, scattered over her
vast territory, they know little or nothing. The descendants of military
and naval men, doctors, lawyers, clergymen, and merchants of the old
days, too often not the richest or most powerful men now. Therefore
travellers in these days come and go, either disparaging or fulsomely
praising, just as some do who have visited England, and give a bad
impression of our people and homes. I cannot help alluding to this, as I
have heard many stories of colonists’ behaviour when in England during
the Colonial Exhibition in London . These may be, and no doubt were, in
many instances true, still, if we were to judge the English people, or
indeed any nationality, by those who have visited our shores since the
“gold mania, ” I am afraid our experience would be equally unfortunate.
No! let us not be too hasty in judging the many by the few; to my
readers in both countries I say it. This record of a woman’s life and
experience does not pretend to any literary talent; it is written with
the hope of bringing the people of both homes nearer together,
especially the young. Let the older country have patience with the
younger, and lead them by patience and experience, as well as timely
advice, to serve their God, Queen, and country.

To the younger I dedicate “The Golden South. ”




CHAPTER I


On a cold dull March morning we left our home in London for the Waterloo Station , to go by the London and South-Western line to Southampton , from
thence to Portsmouth to join our ship. After dining at the Ship Hotel,
we went on board the vessel which was to be our abode for four months
and a fortnight. Now, though nearly fifty years have passed, I see the
place and recall the strangeness of it all. The ship was an old East
Indiaman with only four large cabins opening into the saloon or “cuddy, ”
as it was then generally called. Our family had two of these, so we were
very well off for room and comfort. We left on 25th March, and were
tossing about the famed Bay of Biscay until 10th April. As I am not
writing a diary of our voyage, I will merely mention its chief
incidents. On the 12th of May, when south of the equator, we sighted a
French vessel bound to Buenos Ayres , that diverged from her course with
the view of “speaking” to us. They invited us to dinner; but on our
refusal, accepted an invitation instead to dine with us. The captain and
two passengers were to be our guests, our boat going for them. They
were most delightful people, and Frenchmen-like, full of compliments to
our cook. As some of our passengers spoke their language fluently, the
result was a very pleasant change in the usual monotony of a long
voyage. Just imagine such a thing being done in these days of steam and
quick passages: the passengers from one vessel dining on board another,
spending a few hours, then returning, and being near enough to hear the
music played on board of each vessel, the Frenchmen vainly trying to
give us “God save the Queen. ” We were able to give them the
“Marseillaise” splendidly, having some good musicians on board. On 30th
May we encountered a terrible gale, carrying away part of our bulwarks
on the lee side: during this dreadful weather what was left of our live
stock died. This weather continued till 8th June when off Table Bay , and
we had to lay-to all night. No one thought of sleep. Tales of phantom
ships and wrecks recurred to the nervous. However, about 9 A. M. of the
9th June we anchored safely in the bay. We were unable to land for some
hours, but at last went on shore and took rooms at the George Hotel.
What a rest from the unceasing noise of a ship and all its miseries to
the landsmen! Cape Town was lovely, at least I thought so, --very
different from England , the deep red-clay of the roads, numbers of
natives, strange waggons drawn by bullocks, the mountains for a
background, and now (while off it) the beautiful sea in front. The
bazaar-like shops, strange carriages and horses, the hotel so different
from anything I had ever seen--all come back as a picture, as I write.

We remained at the Cape until the 19th June, and had many drives. In
carriages drawn by six small horses we started for Upper Constantia , Van
R----’s vineyard and wine estate, where there is a well-constructed
house of modern style, elegantly furnished. In the garden there was a
Kaffir’s hut, with clay figures life-size, orange trees, subtropical
fruit trees, and flowers everywhere around. We were conducted through
the cellars, and tasted the wine, which has so great a reputation. We
went also to Lower Constantia , where the vineyard of Van C---- is
situated. This was quite a different style of place, close to the
mountains, with the house, garden, and people of the old Dutch type. In
the cool garden violets, primroses, and other English flowers were
blooming, the last I saw for many a day, and those dearest to me never
saw again. We were delighted with the wildflowers, my father making a
collection for his herbarium, --geraniums, phlox, and many others.

While at the Cape there was a ball given at Government House, to which
some of our passengers went, my father and mother among the number, and
in that out-of-the-way place the former met an old schoolfellow; so even
in those early days, when steam was almost in its infancy, the smallness
of the world was exemplified.

We left on the 19th June, and had very favourable weather, only having
two gales, in one of which we lost a man overboard--the carpenter. We
had three families of returning colonists, --the Attorney-General,
Archdeacon C---- , with his wife and two children, and another lady and
gentleman, with one child. Divine service was held every Sunday, and
though the archdeacon was seventy-five years of age, he was a good
preacher and very active. He had gone home blind from cataract, but
Alexander, the famous oculist, restored his sight.

As we neared the end of our voyage, it became very monotonous to some,
as we were growing tired of one another; and to those who were going to
an unknown country and who had heard a great deal more about that
country than they had known prior to leaving, there was a dread of “what
the future might hold in store for us”; and in my own family especially
this thought would intrude. “We had better have remained in England ;”
but it was too late now.

We were sailing through Bass Straits , passing islands, and with the
Tasmanian land to the south of us, in a few days expected to see the
land of “The Golden South. ” We passed Sydney Heads late, and until the
anchor was let go did not know that we had at last reached our
destination. A resounding knock at our Venetians made me wake up.
“K---- , ” said my mother, “we are in fairyland; look out of the port. ” I
did, and my eyes were dazzled by the brilliant sunrise of an Australian
August morning, the long white beaches fringed by heights wooded down to
the rippling bay. I was very soon on deck, and even now can almost feel
the thrill of delight at the view then presented before me. Many have
seen this and written of its loveliness since, in these days of travel;
but not as I saw it then, as to a certain extent man’s improvements
(save the mark!) have marred some of the Master’s works. Few houses were
to be seen, only a few cleared spaces surrounded with trees of the most
luxuriant foliage. We waited till the health officer came on board and
pronounced “All well;” then the pilot took charge of the ship, and we
were soon gliding towards the anchorage, from which we could see Sydney
and the north shore with its few houses buried in foliage. Soon the deck
was crowded.

Our archdeacon’s eldest son, I think, was the first on board to greet
the parent so loved and respected. “I can see you now, ” were the old
man’s words of greeting. We were soon standing on the quay, a small
affair then, and entered the hired close carriages brought by my
father’s partner to take us to his house. We drove along George Street ,
past the Gaol and Barracks, then into Pitt Street . “Well! what do you
think of it, K----?” asked my mother, I suppose from seeing the blank
look on my face; I was so dreadfully disappointed. “It is like E---- ,
where we stayed last summer, not a bit like a foreign country; Cape Town
is much prettier. ” “Ah! Miss K---- , you will find it foreign enough by
and by, ” remarked our host. My mother was delighted at what troubled me.
“I can fancy myself at home sometimes, ” she murmured. She was a true
child of the city. London had always been her home, and though, for her
children’s sake, she left it every summer for the country, she only
endured the change, and like Charles Lamb, saw nothing in it. “ London
suits me best, and humanity is more satisfying than mountains, trees, or
flowers. ” Poor mother! I remembered afterwards our host looked pityingly
at her beautiful face when she said this.



CHAPTER II


George , Pitt , King , and Hunter Streets were those alone worthy of the
name, and they were disfigured by irregular buildings, very small and
mean-looking shops and private houses, and by broken patches of vacant
land. The footpaths were miserably bad and the roads ill kept. There
were no omnibuses or cabs, only old private carriages for hire from the
livery stables. This to a woman like my mother, who had never walked two
miles consecutively, was indeed misery; however, when we found a house
of our own in Elizabeth Street , she brightened for a time. Such a house
to her fresh from one in a London Square! Our Sydney house contained six
bare rooms, a kitchen outside, and servants’ room over it, without
fixtures or cupboards of any kind, no water but what was bought or
brought from the city taps by our servants at certain hours of the day;
and for this house and small paved yard the rent was £100 per annum. I,
being young, could not realise the discomfort of such a home, and found
Sydney and its suburbs quite foreign enough for me.

When we had quite settled in our first Australian home, to find the
nearest Church of England was a consideration. To find our parish (St.
Laurence’s) church was a disused brewery was another terrible shock to
my mother’s idea of the fitness of things. However, when the incumbent
proved to be a clever Oxford M. A. and fine preacher, her troubles in
this respect ended. To me it was the greatest gain to become one of his
children; he was so kind, loving, and genial, and had that great gift of
leading young men and women to see in religion the love and pity of God.

Out of that one parish, extending then over many miles, there are now at
least ten made, each with a church and congregation much larger than
those of the old mother parish.

It was a pleasant walk across the racecourse, now called Hyde Park , to
the Domain and Botanic Gardens. In another direction miles of sandhills;
in another, towards Wooloomooloo , there were lovely walks by the waters
of the harbour. For six months I practically lived out of doors, the
clear fresh air was so exhilarating, except when a strong southerly wind
was blowing; then it became anything but pleasant, as the sand from the
hills, mixed with the pulverised clay of the roads, formed a dust which
covered and penetrated everything and everywhere. This was generally
known as a “Brickfielder. ”

My father had letters of introduction to many residents in Sydney ,
Elizabeth Bay , Darling Point , and Rose Bay ; and visiting at these
places, we soon found that New South Wales was not wanting in cultured
gentlemen and families. The reason for stating this is that I find,
since returning to England , it is thought by some “that people in those
early days of Australia lived almost like savages, ” and “that colonial
society was composed only of very low people. ” How different was the
reality, for in many houses we enjoyed the society of educated and
scientific men, and of accomplished and gentle women, surrounded by all
the comforts and refinements of life.

The schools in the colony were few and far between. The chief were the
Sydney Grammar School, Normal Institution in Sydney, and the King’s
School, Parramatta; the latter being a boarding-school for boys, where
most of the young Australians were educated. Dr. Forrest, one of the
early principals of the school, from all I have heard, was a second
Arnold. One of his pupils in later days filled his former master’s place
worthily and efficiently, after working some years in a country parish.
He only resigned his position a few years ago, when a master from
England was appointed, but since I left Australia last year another
change has been made, and a new master has just arrived there. Only one
ladies’ school of note had been established at this time.

The schools certainly were of the best, and conducted by men and women
who understood their duties, and I have often questioned whether the
advantages of the present system of education in the colonies is an
improvement on the past. Everything is now made so easy, books of all
kinds and on all subjects doing away with any necessity for thought,
and therefore any special talent or genius in the pupil may wither or
die for want of the stimulant to exertion, and this generation, I am
afraid, like our Australian parrot, will only repeat the words of
others.

Our family were to a certain extent for a time independent of schools,
as both our parents were above the average in intellect and knowledge of
books. My father was a great reader, especially on all subjects
connected with natural history, a great lover of the stage, and an
enthusiastic entomologist, having a splendid collection of English
specimens in two cabinets he brought to Australia. My mother was also a
great reader, well informed in history, biography, and all the writers
of the day. Shakespeare was a household word, and most of his plays I
have heard read by both, each taking part. All the chief poets’ works
were well known to them. We had Byron, Scott, Wordsworth, Campbell,
Rogers, Shelley, Pope, and Moore as our guests of an evening: Bulwer,
Thackeray, and Dickens, the latter personally known to my father; in
fact, all the best writers of the day were our teachers. I have always
been a quick and insatiable reader as long as I can remember, and having
a good library to gratify my desires, I only required some one to direct
me and talk over the books I read to finish an education begun early in
England. My mother soon found a French lady to teach us French, music,
and singing, so for the first year we only attended her classes.

Sydney and its suburbs to-day are, I need scarcely say, very different
from what they were when my mother thought “ Redfern out in the country
and a dreadful place. ” When we were at Liverpool she drove out to
Redfern one day, and it was unfortunately after a bush fire, so that for
some miles nothing but dark charred trees were to be seen. It was her
first and last visit beyond Parramatta , which could be reached by water;
she never would go into the country again. Since those days I have often
sat by her grave, on the highest part of the Church of England Cemetery
in Elizabeth Street , and thought, as I looked on the panorama spread
before me on every side, “What would she think of the city of the Golden
South now?” What has been done in only forty years since we left her
there is marvellous; then there was only just a fringe of civilisation
and progress on its coasts. No railways, few churches; the interior of
the country almost uninhabited, reached only through mere tracks or
roads, nearly impassable, only traversed by that band of pioneers, the
squatters, --a terribly maligned people--who had explored and made the
country. Only those who have lived amongst them on far-away stations can
ever realise what the squatters had to endure before “the desert
blossomed like the rose, ”--losses by fire, drought, floods, and the
raids of the Blacks and bushrangers; roads impassable, drays with
supplies kept weeks on the roads, while anxiously looked for. Famine
sometimes stared them in the face, for delicate women and children could
not exist upon meat alone. Just before our arrival things were in a
terrible state; my father could have bought thousands of sheep at
sixpence a head, and this price included homestead, improvements,
horses, and lease of land. I have sometimes heard later colonists say:
“The squatters want it all their own way. ” If they do, surely they have
a right to a large share of the cake they certainly made under most
trying conditions.

I have often ridden through townships, the nucleus of which was the
homestead of some early settler; or in later days whirled in the train
in a few hours to what once took weeks to reach, for sometimes drays
would be delayed for months through the rivers being up. Then even
though money was made, consider the isolated life of the squatter. Once
a year a visit to Sydney to sell their wool and purchase supplies. It
was my good fortune to meet many of these squatters, and certainly, I
must say, better informed, more intellectual, and often accomplished
men, I have never met. Certainly some were quiet in manner, owing, no
doubt, to the nature of the lives they were leading away from mixed
society. Many were from the old country, and sons of military and naval
men. I need scarcely say, though they were unused to the society of
ladies, their behaviour was always gentlemanly. I have heard at times in
town “they were a little wild”; but who can wonder, after months of
solitude, without any softening and refining influence, that the old
Adam should become master! Well, well, the noble, hospitable,
single-minded, real squatters will soon die out, but their children, in
their native country, or settled in other lands, should never be
ashamed to own their fathers or country. I fancy I hear some say, “But
how about the first colonists; who were they?” To this I will answer in
the words of Him who was the truest and holiest teacher, “He that is
without sin, let him cast the first stone. ” How many men and women were
there in the days I write of amongst all classes, and in every station,
who were as guilty and sin-stained as those referred to, but were not
found out? In my long sojourn in Australia I have met with some of them,
and many of their descendants, but, with very few exceptions, have found
them kind, generous, and clever, like other folk--in fact, better than
many who have emigrated. Above all, fond and proud of their native
land--the land that gave freedom to their ancestors, and in most
instances an independence which they could scarcely have attained to in
the old country. No wonder an Australian is proud of his country, which
appears to me the most wonderful example of the determined energy of the
Anglo-Saxon race. When I used to wander through the Exhibition of 1880,
this was always present in my mind, “Less than one hundred years ago
this country was untrodden by the white man. Where this beautiful
building now stands, there were only the Gunyahs or homes of the poor
savages. That glorious stretch of ocean unknown, and now---- but words
of mine can ill express the change. ” But, my fair Australian maidens and
stalwart sons, remember, though your fathers helped to make this change
through determination and energy, and the lessons learned in the older
and more experienced land of their birth, the danger of thinking, “We
can do without England , ” I cannot advise you too strongly to guard
against, as it is both unwise and ungrateful. Your country is a very
beautiful one, but not faultless; it has one feature to prevent it from
becoming quickly populated--want of rivers that are permanently
navigable. In this it is so different from America , where water carriage
is generally practicable and cheap. But the children, like the country,
are young, and youth is always a little unreasonable. With this warning
I will finish this chapter, only adding, be strong to write, each one a
page of your life’s history, to improve the present, and adorn the
future annals of your country.




CHAPTER III


My eldest brother, visiting Sydney from the station, thought we had
better go to school for a year. Fortunately one was found where there
were only eight boarders. The lady principal was the daughter of an
English clergyman, and her brother, also a clergyman, had charge of the
parish in which she resided, about forty miles from Sydney . She was a
highly educated woman and a true Christian. We were treated as her own
daughters, guarded from everything that could possibly sully the pages
of our dawning womanhood. I have often thought what a wise thing it was
that my brother suggested our going there. No poetry or novel reading
now; more solid food for the mind helped to leaven what might have
proved dangerous. My chief amusements were music and singing, and even
in “The Golden South” I remember getting up in frosty weather to
practise by candlelight with mittened hands and chilblained fingers.
These schooldays were very happy. The large brick house with verandahs
and balconies all round: the garden only divided from the river-bank by
a thick hedge of aloes, and on the other side the high wall of the
recreation ground of the Liverpool Asylum: this wall was the only one I
ever saw fruit trees growing against as in England . Liverpool was
certainly just the place then for a school, as we might walk from one
end of the township to the other without seeing a single individual; but
unfortunately for Madame’s peace of mind there were two residents who
had large families of boys; however, as they were always absent from
home during the week, and we never went out on Sundays except to church,
she felt relieved. Our dear Madame never thought that her girls
occasionally found boyish epistles written on aloe leaves. On Saturdays
we were never allowed out of the grounds, so on these mornings attended
to our wardrobes, and in the afternoon had a delightful time in an old
weatherboard cottage in the garden roasting cashew nuts, of which
delicacy Madame had a large quantity brought from the West Indies by a
friend. We used to make presents of these, when properly prepared, to
our friends.

One Sunday evening a great event for us happened. As usual we went to
church, but being a cold dark night, no one was religiously inclined, so
the Rev. Mr. Duffus, I suppose, thought “his sister and her schoolgirls
were not sufficient congregation, ” and adjourned to his house opposite.
We with Madame followed, and I for one thought it a very good idea, as
we with his children spent the evening before a splendid log-fire in
their nursery. This and going there on Her Majesty’s birthday were the
only occasions I remember anything like amusement away from the school.
Being an exceedingly loyal people, the birthday was kept up by a huge
bonfire in the paddock after a girls’ picnic in the Bush, on which
occasion I saw a snake for the first time in Australia . Bessie D---- and
I having gone at my suggestion to wander about in couples to see “who
could find the most curious thing, ” upon an enormous carpet snake,
decidedly the most curious find. We ran away screaming; but Madame soon
came to the rescue and killed the dreadful creature. Only two of that
band of girls are now left; one in her native land, and the other
writing this near a small village in Hampshire , with a bitter
north-easterly wind blowing.

That year at L---- was truly a resting-place for me before the real
battle of life began, and it was well spent, for it drew together the
threads, a little tangled, of a rather exceptional education. The dear
Madame, who joined warp and woof so gently yet firmly, I can never cease
to love. She has gone where her work will follow her; loved by many
here, and in “the world beyond the stars” may have met some of her
children again who have lived to call her blessed. This is a digression;
but having finished my education and lived the greater portion of my
life in the colony so many people despise and throw stones at, I feel
bound to let my readers know that such things were more than forty years
ago. Yet I cannot help adding that Sydney in the forties was in many
respects not a comfortable place to live in, especially to those who
had only been accustomed to all the luxuries of London life. Tradesmen
were not over civil, domestics were scarce, and what there were, very
incompetent. The older colonists were in this respect far better off. I
knew a family who had a splendid estate about sixty miles from Sydney .
The owner was a retired major who had at least forty servants, many
living in huts near the house, among them a carpenter, blacksmith, and
shoemaker, and also a large store on the property. One of the men, an
Italian, taught his sons and daughters music, the flute, violin, cornet,
and piano; he also formed a band of musicians from the men on the
“Height. ” There was also a theatre and billiard-room; in fact, this
place fifty years ago was like a large manor-house with every
arrangement for comfort and amusement. The owner once had the whole of
one side of George Street south offered to him for a few hundred pounds,
which he refused, as he wanted to add to the “Height. ”

His eldest son and two daughters were amongst the dearest friends of my
youth, the two eldest most accomplished musicians on piano and flute; I
have often spent hours listening to them playing together. As was the
case with many others of the early colonists, not a rood of land ever
came into the possession of their descendants. In this case part of the
estate was sold for a trifle to a friend of mine, who was having it put
into partial repair when, by a strange fatality, it was burned down on
the same night that the major’s eldest son died many miles distant. Some
years after the youngest son bought back a piece of the old estate,
intending to build a cottage residence on it: the plans were completed
and all arrangements made when he died from a neglected cold. They are
all gone now. The sons never married, so the name has died out, except
that the estate and one street in Sydney still bear it.

* * * * *

When my school life ended, I returned to my home, which was now a pretty
cottage, surrounded by a garden full of lovely flowers and shrubs,
enclosed by a high white paling fence. The house had a verandah in front
covered with white jasmine, roses, and honeysuckle. The entrance led at
once into the drawing-room, from thence into another we called the
music-room, and farther on into a back hall, from which you entered the
dining and bed rooms. At the back a flight of stone steps led to
kitchen, servants’ room, and laundry; at the other side a well-room and
larder; at the end of the front verandah was a room we used as a study,
and at the side a door leading to another flight of steps to a stone
passage between our house and the next. It was the prettiest and coolest
house I ever lived in in Sydney . While there my mother seemed to rally
from a severe illness she had had and became her bright self again, with
all her children around her once more; and having two very good
servants, affairs were a little more cheery. My father nearly losing his
life brought back again all her dislike to the colony. He had gone over
to the north shore by the ferry collecting for his Australian cabinet
of insects, when about four miles inland, going through the scrub, he
felt something sting his leg; on looking down he saw one of the most
deadly snakes gliding away. His first thought was, “If I have not a
knife I am a dead man. ” He had one fortunately, so sitting down on a
fallen tree he cut the piece of flesh out round the bitten part, then
tore his handkerchief in half, and tied the pieces tightly above and
below the wound. It was an intensely hot January day, so that his
four-mile walk through the scrub and sand was dreadful. When he reached
the ferry the boat was on the other side; but a boatman near saw that
something was the matter, and running towards him, asked, “What is
wrong, sir?” My father was just able to answer, “Met with an accident;
take me to the nearest doctor in Lower George Street , ” when he fainted
from loss of blood and over-exertion. The doctor knew my father, and
when he had given him some brandy and restored him to his senses, asked
him to relate what had happened. When we returned home from church the
house was in commotion. My father was being walked up and down between
two men, who were not to allow him to sleep on any account. He often
said afterwards he remembered little about it, as he believed the brandy
the doctor had given him made him intoxicated, he being a very temperate
man, and never taking spirits at any time. The snake, as he thought, was
one of the most deadly kind, and the doctor said the long walk after the
bite had caused some small portion of the virus to mix with the blood.
It was one of the few cases of recovery from that reptile’s poison ever
heard of, and for some weeks the wound was most painful. This made me
always most nervous in regard to snakes, and often spoiled my enjoyment
of country walks. On two occasions I was only just saved from treading
on them by the merest chance. Once sitting on the verandah of a friend’s
house at Double Bay on a Sunday morning, I heard the words, “Don’t move;
there is a snake round the leg of the chair you are on. ” I obeyed, but
the creature, disturbed by the voice, moved off the verandah and
disappeared. That same day we were sitting at dinner when the report of
the gun was heard, which at that time used to be fired by the mail
steamers on arrival in Sydney Harbour ; and my friend went out to see the
steamer pass, when there was monsieur snake on the door-mat basking in
the sun. This time nothing was done to disturb him till means were
procured for his destruction, and he was killed. On the other occasion I
was walking across Balmain with a friend. When passing through a rocky
part we came to some water, James said, “Let me go first. ” Just as he
did so, I saw a large “whip snake” lying on the path. In an instant his
foot was on it. Being a heavy man he crushed the head: if it had been my
lighter weight it would only have disturbed the creature. I nearly
fainted; but my friend began to scold and then laugh at my fears.




CHAPTER IV


We had some congenial visitors at this time in two officers and the
artist belonging to H. M. S. _Fly_ and _Bramble_ , which were visiting
Sydney occasionally, being on an exploring and surveying cruise among
the islands in the Pacific . The explorer Leichhardt also spent some
evenings at our house, my father taking so great an interest in the same
pursuits. It was very pleasant listening to their conversation on such
subjects. We also had men in the colony then worth listening to.
Responsible government had not yet been granted, and for the real
welfare of the country it would have been better if it had been withheld
another twenty years at least. Such men as Wentworth, Darvall, Cowper,
Windeyer, Lowe, and others, were fit to hold the reins, and knew how to
legislate, and would not sell its best interests as long as they
remained in power, as our later legislators have done.

We had two daily papers--the Sydney _Morning Herald_ and the _Empire_.
The latter became the political stepping-stone of the man whom some
consider the chief cause of the large liabilities of New South Wales . In
fact, nearly the whole of the Australian colonies have suffered through
their legislators being needy men without any knowledge of financial
matters, --men who were unable to finance their own small affairs, and
have only existed on polities while in place, and borrowing while out.

What would the children of the present day think of there being only one
toy-shop in Sydney --Reeves’s in Elizabeth Street , --where the lowest
priced doll was five shillings, a common box of toys half a crown? There
was another shop in Hunter Street where better class things could be
purchased, principally in wood and ivory. I have often been in both, and
since have seen the owner of the latter the companion of princes.
Fortune plays extraordinary pranks sometimes, and certainly in a new
country shows her usual fickleness more frequently than in older ones.
Impudence, assurance, egotism, and a supreme belief in one’s own ability
goes a long way with some people, and the everlasting _I_ is believed
in, and pushes its way to the front.

Nothing could be more beautiful than the views from our friend’s
verandah at Darling Point , the clear intensely blue sky and the small
islands covered with foliage dotted about the harbour. We used to sit
there for hours after dinner watching the beautiful effects of light and
shade on the sea. The mosquitoes were not so troublesome as in Sydney .
Such a splendid garden and orchard full of novelty to us
Londoners, --apricot, peach, nectarine, and bananas in blossom or fruit;
Norfolk Island pines, eucalyptus, cedars, camphor laurels, and numbers
of others I forget the names of. Beneath the gardens, on the rocks, we
could gather oysters _ad libitum_ , taking a hammer to dislodge them, and
some bread and butter with porter for the elders. In this way we had
many a delicious impromptu lunch, and then started for a long walk to
Double and Rose Bays . There were no people’s grounds to trespass on
until we reached Point Piper , but green swards and trees, almost to the
water’s edge. Now there are gardens, terraced and flat, bathing-houses,
and jetties, where lie yachts and pleasure boats. Picnics were the chief
outdoor amusement (croquet and lawn-tennis were not known then): I
really think I have been to all the available spots for these sometimes
rather trying amusements, as with the thermometer at 90 to 100 degrees
in the shade you had mosquitoes and flies innumerable, and what with
ants of various sizes, and the horror of snakes, I often felt that “I
would rather remain at home and keep the skin on my nose. ” Nevertheless
when there, I danced and sang with the rest. My brother started on a
fishing excursion with a friend one Saturday afternoon, intending to
return by moonlight. A southerly wind set in suddenly. They managed to
get under the lee of an island, and then made for Middle Harbour ; but
their boat when near shelter capsized, and they with it were dashed
against the rocks. Both escaped without injury, excepting the boat. They
soon found an overhanging rock to shelter them, lighted a fire, and
determined to remain the night, taking off their clothes by degrees to
dry them, and then sat down to tea, damper, a smoke, and yarn. Presently
a bright light roused them. On looking round they saw their clothes were
on fire, --fortunately coats and hats only. The next morning they started
early to walk to the nearest ferry so as to arrive in Sydney during
church time. Such a disreputable pair made their appearance, footsore
and weary! I said, “You will not go fishing again in a hurry, H----;”
but he did, the next Saturday afternoon. Amusements were not plentiful
in Sydney, --only one theatre, and that too poor in every respect for a
family who had so recently seen the best in London . Concerts were
occasionally held in the large room of the Royal Hotel, and lectures at
the School of Arts. There were also some good private players and
singers.

The flower shows were a great treat, held in a large marquee in the
Domain. The display of flowers, fruit, and vegetables was most
interesting to us, consisting as it did of so much we had been
accustomed to consider rare or uncommon, --peaches, nectarines, loquats,
and passion fruit. Then the flowers, --camellias, Daphnes,
Bouganvilliers, Hoyas, Tecomas, and others I had never seen before. Now
we revelled in them. My mother even acknowledged, “We could not obtain
such in London . ” At this time she would hardly allow that, as owing to
the present system of railways, flowers like these are brought from
Italy and the south of France in great quantities.
The Queen’s birthday was a great day for Sydney , a close holiday.
_Levée_ in the morning, a grand review in the afternoon, and the
evening for the ball at Government House, with a grand display of
bonfires and fireworks for the people. Can you imagine George Street
closely packed with people, with squibs, rockets, and crackers being let
off from one side of the street to the other, Catharine-wheels fastened
to pieces of wood and held aloft? I saw this from a window between
Market Street and the Royal Hotel in 184-. Saturday too for some years
in the same locality presented a great contrast to its present quiet.
The only market was very small, so carts, barrows, and baskets lined the
street, filled with everything the poorer class could want, --second-hand
clothes, boots, books, dairy produce, fruit, vegetables, poultry--in
fact a regular _Olla podrida_ , as is at present displayed in the stalls
at “Paddy’s Market, ” which was then only a hay market. A few months ago,
to my great astonishment, in going from one part of the west end to
another in London I was reminded of this; but the English street market
was in the daytime. We have nothing of the kind in Sydney , neither is
the pavement of our principal streets taken up by itinerant dealers
displaying mechanical toys, or taking in the unwary by selling them
wonderful bargains. Government House hospitalities were far more
exclusive than now, only a certain class had the _entrée_; but on the
Queen’s birthday the members of both Houses of Parliament, professional
men, civil servants, and merchants were invited. Shopkeepers were
excluded. What a change now! Ministers of the Government are
hotel-keepers, and members of Parliament keep shops or stores; but this
is gaining ground all over the world. Money makes the man, and if
impecunious peers and peeresses in England take to trade, surely our
colonists of every degree may try to legislate if they have education,
talent, and means. It is the needy, self-seeking politician who will say
and do anything to keep his place and pay, I object to. I hope for the
wellbeing of the country I love that in the future there will be
Australians who will legislate for the good of their country and not for
their own selfish interests. Now, alas, though there are some few,
disgusted with the present state of things, they cannot stem the power
of the majority created by manhood suffrage, giving every loafer an
equal voting power with the intelligent and honourable man.

I have been present at several birthday balls in the far-away days, and
could relate many amusing episodes, but will not, to raise a laugh at
the ignorance or _gaucherie_ of kindly people. Lady G----’s guests were
from all classes: some from the lonely “Bush” living in country style,
and only visiting Sydney once a year, who, if they were a little
awkward, or talked about dairies, poultry, and their children, thought
finger-glasses were “tumblers” and bonbons “fireworks, ” were
warm-hearted, hospitable, and generous. “Being from the old country” was
a passport to admit the stranger to their hearths and homes. And I have
no doubt at this time in England there are many living in country places
the iron-horse has not yet reached just as unsophisticated, for even now
in this village, only one hour’s train ride from London , there is a
woman who never heard of false teeth, but thought “dentists could make
teeth grow. ”

Boating and cricket were the principal recreations of the young men. My
father had belonged to one of the best cricket clubs in London , and I
had seen matches played at Lord’s; but he did not join in anything in
Sydney , devoting the whole of his spare time to entomology and botany.
My brother H---- belonged to both cricket and boat clubs. They used to
play on the racecourse in Elizabeth Street every evening. The new
racecourse at Homebush was a centre of attraction to many; but we were
not a racing family, so we never went. My parents were not fitted for
colonial life, having been always accustomed to London comforts and
amusements. My mother had no idea of housekeeping even there, keeping
the same experienced and faithful servants for years. Even if fortune
had proved kinder, she would never have liked the colony, and her five
years there, spent wearily and sadly, I am certain helped to kill her.
One of the few amusements then was the Military Band which played once a
week in the Barrack Square , and afterwards in the Domain , attracting all
the _élite_ and idlers of Sydney . Dress was displayed and criticism
indulged in. The drive in the Domain was the antipodean “Rotten Row. ”
The baths in the Domain were owned and managed by one of our
fellow-passengers who had been home to see his friends in England . All
through the summer at some time in the day we went to have a delightful
bathe; most of the Australian women could swim.

The 26th of January, being the anniversary of the colony, was considered
young Australia’s. The Regatta was the event of the year. Races on land
were all very well; but the colonial “Vikings” revelled in their
beautiful harbour, almost living in it. And, alas, sometimes dying in
it!

One incident at this time made a deep impression on me. Two young men,
sons of one of our first Australian friends, with two others, were in
treaty for a boat, and being in Government offices, could only arrange
to go out on Sunday morning with the owner to try it, my friend calling
to his sister as he left, “I will be back in time to take you and mother
to church. ” The others had been to early service, and were to meet at
Wooloomooloo Bay . When they left, it was a most lovely summer’s morning,
with very little wind. At the time I was staying at Darling Point , and
having dressed for church, was waiting in the verandah for my friends,
when one said, “Look, Miss L---- , there is the ‘White Squall’ you sing
about. ” In an instant the wind rose and the harbour was covered with
waves; we watched some boats hastening for shelter to one or other of
the numerous islands, and in less than an hour all was calm again. The
next morning the news came that my friends had not returned. Hour by
hour their anxious mother hoped on, but no tidings came, and never did,
nor will until “the sea gives up her dead. ” A very sad circumstance
intensified my friend’s grief. Her eldest son had been in the constant
habit of boating on Sunday mornings until about two years before, when
his youngest sister, a schoolfellow of mine, died after a long illness
of consumption. She was a true Christian, and when dying fretted at her
brother’s Sunday boating, and as a last effort made him promise never to
go out boating on Sunday again, which promise he had kept until the
morning he was lost. Sunday was the only day he could go out, and no
doubt he was not so well able to manage a boat as heretofore. It was
supposed they had gone outside the “Heads” and were suddenly caught in
the squall, as not a vestige of the boat or its occupants was ever
found. My poor old friend was left with only one daughter, and she too
died young. As I had been dancing only a few nights before the accident
with the two others of the boating party, it was years before I could
look on the water without fear, and never went in a sailing-boat again.
One walk I shall never forget. We had waited for a friend who was
finishing her drawing lesson in Liverpool Street , near the corner of
Elizabeth Street ; on turning down College Street I suggested going along
the South Head Road , now Oxford Street , and taking a short cut through
where they were quarrying stone for the new court-house, as I had passed
this way a few days previous on my way to Darling Point . As all were
agreeable, we soon entered the quarries; but what to see! A gang of men
chained together, with armed warders on either side guarding them. I
stood aghast! To my companions such sights were but too familiar; to
me, for many a day, it cast a shadow over all that once had appeared
beautiful. The face of one of the prisoners remained in my memory for
years--a weak, though handsome face. We shrank back as he raised his
dark eyes, and for a second when they met ours, the blush of shame could
be seen through his tanned skin. Who and what was he? I have often
thought since that he did not belong to the class of roughs that were
his companions in the gang. I was young and sensitive, and shall never
forget this, my first glimpse of the punishment of crime. That was the
only time I saw a gang of prisoners outside the prison walls. Since then
I became acquainted with the kindly family of the Governor of
Darlinghurst Gaol, and have spent many hours in his house, listening to
his daughters playing, or conversing with his amiable wife; but I could
not feel really happy, not being able to banish from my mind the
proximity to so much misery and crime.




CHAPTER V


Circumstances at this period made me decide upon leaving home. I went to
Newtown and spent nearly three happy years with a family there. My
pupils were a boy and girl, the elder son riding to his school at
Wooloomooloo every day. I was treated more as a daughter than governess.
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were English gentlefolks, and Mr. Johnson was one
of the leading solicitors in Sydney . I had access to an excellent
library, and also mixed in the best society as well as with the best
musical talent of the colony. Our drives were picturesque and
delightful. Sometimes we strolled across the paddocks to Redfern without
meeting more than half a dozen people.

Newtown was very sparsely populated at this time, there being only a few
houses on the main road. Away from the road there were several large
houses surrounded by beautiful and well-kept grounds, such as “Enmore, ”
“The Pines, ” “Linthorpe, ” “The Grange, ” and towards Cook’s River “Bella
Retiro, ” “Tempe, ” and others. I knew these places well, and visited them
with my friends. The nearest church, St. Stephen’s, was at Camperdown ,
where the third cemetery near Sydney was formed. The first, I think,
was in George Street , in which stood St. Andrew’s Church, now the
cathedral; the second, the one I have alluded to before, in Elizabeth Street . I am not quite certain about Cook’s River Church, but think it
was built about this time, and had its churchyard round it.

All these places which I remember so well have been formed into streets
and filled with houses. I used to walk across the sandhills to Pitt Street , Redfern , passing Henderson’s Nursery and Calder House, with its
gardens and paddocks; round it to Woolcott’s Cottages, and so on, to my
father’s house without meeting a single person. Then on the other side,
now called Kingston , Petersham , Stanmore , Norwood , Marrickville , only
some half-dozen houses, and these surrounded by gardens and paddocks.
Now the railway passes through the gardens of most, if not of all of
these places, and some of the houses have gone also; but my home is
still left, though built in at the back, and the garden ending at the
railway fence. I became thoroughly acquainted with this portion of
Sydney , quite unknown to me till I went to live at “The Grange. ” My
relatives lived in another direction, and had never been to this part
before. My friends, being young, possessing means, and wishing to make
me happy and contented, we had many delightful excursions, picnics, and
pleasant days at Botany , Kissing Point , and Cook’s River . Botany was
most interesting to me, as being the first spot trodden by my
countrymen. La Perouse’s monument is quite a relic of the olden time.
Botany Bay was a bleak unpicturesque place compared with Sydney Harbour ,
and the drive to it, through the Waterloo Estate , sandy and barren. I
had some knowledge of this district before, having been introduced to a
family that had a wool-washing establishment at Botany . A few years
after I visited the Water-works, just finished, for supplying Sydney
with water from the Botany Swamps , and I have been twice since to the
Sir Joseph Banks Hotel; but there had been little improvement on the
road. Waterloo has now become the Whitechapel of Sydney , the abode of
questionable white humanity and Chinese.

We had now a larger influx of emigrants, and consequently domestic
matters were carried on more smoothly. We knew many bright and agreeable
fresh arrivals from home, bringing with them new books, music, fashions,
dances, and ideas. How well I remember Mr. Hamlyn, his two pretty
daughters in the first Irish jaunting car I had ever seen drive up:
their teaching me the polka after dinner one evening, and then singing
some of Moore’s melodies. Then the Mayor’s Fancy Ball held in the
Victoria Theatre, a very grand affair, dances at Enmore , our own house,
and many others near.

Sydney was always a musical place. The members of the Choral Society and
others were indefatigable, and by this time we had some good teachers
wending their way to our distant shores. There was only one good music
shop when we first arrived; but by this time others were established.
The family I lived with were of great assistance in this respect. One
member was the organist at St. James’s Church, another at Christ Church;
so my musical education was not neglected.

I have often thought since my duties were very light, and how kind
everybody was to me. A governess’s life at the Antipodes in 184- was an
ideal one; but all were not so fortunate as myself. I have since heard
of some who were in very different homes, and were treated as upper
servants, slighted and neglected; but fortunately I never experienced
such treatment then or at any future period. Leaving home was entirely
my own act, as my mother felt that I was too young for such
responsibility; afterwards she acknowledged the wisdom of the step, as
it took me away from cares that might have crushed my spirit. And I was
near enough to see her often and to be with her at the last when, weary
and worn, she went to rest, her last hours soothed by my dear friend and
pastor, the Rev. W. H. Walsh. My sister went to the country with my
brother, the two younger children to school, and so for a time the home
was broken up.

After the loss of my mother I returned home and lived in a pretty
cottage on the Glebe Road , owned by the grandfather of a man whose
marriage I saw announced in a society paper a few days since to a
daughter of one of our old Scotch families. Australia is not by any
means a bad place for daughters of good families to visit, as they often
find desirable _partis_ with plenty of means, houses, and lands. Some
of the sterner sex have found Australia by no means an undesirable
country to seek a wife, as gentlemen from the naval and military
services can attest. They have shown their good sense and taste in doing
so; for without being partial, our Australian girls are fair,
fascinating, accomplished, and more useful than their English sisters. I
have seen two generations of girls, so may give an opinion.

The cottage at The Glebe was surrounded by a perfect bower of flowers,
and opposite the then church glebe land, now covered with numerous
streets and houses. The house we lived in has now a shop front added to
it in the dear old garden, and all the old associations are vulgarised.
We had a fuchsia growing at the side of an outbuilding nearly twenty
feet high. Where the shop counters are now, arches of roses stood. Well,
I suppose it is one of the signs of progress. Change brings change, and
perhaps if the property had been mine, £ _s. _ _d. _ would have proved a
panacea, as it has done to many who have seen the homes of their fathers
pass into the hands of strangers. So many changes have taken place in
Sydney and its suburbs that at times it is difficult to realise them.
Very few of the old landmarks are left. One still remains that is dear
to me--the resting-place of my mother in God’s Acre at the top of
Elizabeth Street ; but every year I expect to learn that it too has
disappeared. Had “The Golden South” been more generous to me with her
wealth, it would have been devoted to the building of a church there, as
it is a splended site. One of our wealthy merchants, whose family
rested there, suggested removing “Christ Church to the spot, ” and as it
was the parish church for some years it would have been most
appropriate, and to myself and all whose dead are lying there would have
been a source of consolation. Christ Church for so many years had been
my sanctuary in times of trial and disappointment. I taught in her
Sunday Schools the lessons learnt from the two most earnest Christians
in every sense I ever knew. The elder was the beloved teacher and guide
of the younger, of whom his father once said, “My eldest son is, like
Nathaniel, without guile;” and in truth he was. His church was built in
part of the parent parish nearly forty years ago, where he lived,
laboured, and died, deeply regretted and beloved by all.

My class in the school, its members’ dwellings scattered over many
miles, and our pastor wishing us to visit our scholars in their homes,
necessitated my taking many walks from the Glebe to Baptist Gardens in
one direction, in another to Darling Harbour. In those days Sunday
School teaching was not easy work; sometimes I had as many as thirty
scholars in my class. We also did our best to assist in visiting the
sick and sorrowing. The Benevolent Asylum being in our parish, we
undertook the visiting there. I could relate many a tale of loneliness,
sorrow, and sin heard in those days, of waifs and strays drifted to
these shores, in which “Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. ”

We were at this period looking forward to the commencement of railways
in New South Wales , and I was present at the turning of the first sod by
the Hon. Mrs. Keith Stewart, daughter of Sir Charles Fitzroy, the
Governor; she having taken up the duties of her lamented mother, Lady
Mary Fitzroy, who was accidentally killed in the Parramatta Domain . Her
death was a great loss to the colony, as she was a kind and noble woman,
interested in every good work for the benefit of the colony. What a day
it was for the commencement of our railways, the rain pouring down in
torrents! Such a sea of umbrellas everywhere, excepting under the
marquee, where the invited guests adjourned for luncheon and speeches,
naturally called forth on such an eventful ceremony, and where for the
time the weather was forgotten! It was a great day in the annals of the
colony when every one looked forward with hope to the future opening up
of the country; but no one could have fully anticipated the rapid
strides the colony was about to make, or the position these colonies
were to arrive at in the world’s history. Now people too often forget
when writing or speaking of “The Golden South, ” the great distance from
Europe , or that a hundred years ago it was only inhabited by almost the
lowest type of humanity, who had little idea beyond satisfying the
cravings of nature. Poor things! they are nearly driven out by the white
settlers, who have shown little thought for their wellbeing. Our boasted
civilisation has culminated in the weaker going to the wall, or rather
in their extermination. The first white settlers did not tend to make
what was then known as Botany Bay a desirable place for the better class
to select for a home when crowded out of England . So the first
half-century of the Australian colonies was spent in a struggle for a
better reputation, and the last half-century paved the way for results,
such as the Exhibition in Melbourne last year.




CHAPTER VI


It would be a difficult task to picture the excitement at the time of
the gold discovery. Most people seemed to have gone mad with the gold
fever. My brother (who was living in Bathurst at the time) , in the midst
of it all, was one of the first to go to Ophir or Sofala , I forget
which.

The first discovery was made by a man who had been in California , and on
seeing the geological formation of the Bathurst district , he at once set
to work to seek the precious metal. I have heard my brother say, “That
with few exceptions there were only old men, women, and children left in
Bathurst when the fever set in. Men of all ranks, professional or
otherwise, flocked to the ‘Diggings. ’ Stores were set up rapidly, and
every week fresh finds and fields were discovered and rushed to. ” In
Sydney the fever for gold was nearly as bad. I have often gone to the
Parramatta Road , standing on the high banks on either side, and watched
the different parties wending their way to the new El Dorado. Some in
comfortable vehicles and well-laden drays, others--more humble
diggers--in carts, and parties of men on foot carrying their “swags” or
leading a pack-horse. All were full of life, hope, and energy. How few
reaped the golden harvest, and to how many who had broken up their
homes, giving up their comforts and family ties, did this bring misery
and ruin, almost, as Tom Hood wrote, “To the very verge of the
churchyard mould. ” The greed for gold leads poor humanity to almost
every extreme. From my own experience in this instance it certainly did,
for in going about amongst the working classes as I did, the accounts
related to me were of the most painful character. The tradesmen leaving
their business, taking with them the earnings of years to sink in outfit
and expenses; the mechanics their trades, leaving their poor wives to
earn a living for themselves and children anyway they could. Little
homes sold or mortgaged, all for the mere chance of making “a pile. ” All
female labour became cheaper, and laundresses in Sydney were plentiful;
female servants could be had for very low wages. Occasionally men would
send for their wives and children “to join them on the ‘Diggings’;” and
after the first rush the wife could make more money by washing than the
man could by digging, and many other ways than actual digging cropped up
to lead to fortune.

The news soon reached England, and steamers came out crowded with
passengers who were going to “make a fortune. ” Such people too! Men who
had never been used to hard work, and had never handled spade or pick,
except perhaps in the soft prepared ground of a little villa garden,
men who had never soiled their white hands with any kind of work, men
delicate in health and used only to refined society. Here is one
instance which came to my notice. A young man with a pretty wife left a
most comfortable home and large circle of friends to go out to the
“Diggings. ” He took a cottage for his wife close to us. Then he joined a
party, and took with him tents, tools--in fact, everything requisite for
a “gentleman digger;” promising his wife “that when the summer set in
she should join him. ” I used to listen sadly to this pretty creature’s
anticipations of how soon her husband would make his fortune and return
with her to her father. In what part of England they would purchase an
estate. Every letter she expected to learn “that her husband and party
had ‘struck gold, ’ and were getting it by the pound at least. ” Then a
week passed without a letter from her husband, and she became almost
frantic. We took every means to find out the cause, and at last the news
arrived. “He was ill, ” so the pretty brave wife decided at once to go to
her husband. My father saw her safely into the wretched vehicle called
“the mail coach, ” and we watched her leave, taking charge of her house
during her absence. On her arrival at the “Diggings” she found her
husband recovering from a severe attack of inflammation of the lungs.
She remained with him until he was convalescent, then returned home,
having obtained his consent to let part of their cottage furnished. We
were aware that their funds were getting low, so, though we thought it a
great risk for her to take strangers into her house, we did not like to
dissuade her. I used to go in to see her every day, and about a week
after her return as usual called after dinner, when she met me beaming
with smiles, saying: “Miss L---- , I have let my rooms to such nice
people, --a young married couple just from home. The gentleman called
this morning and arranged everything. Such a very distinguished and
aristocratic-looking man! He offered such high terms; and I am to engage
a nurse-girl for their baby. ” “I am exceedingly glad, ” I said; “but,
Dora, have you had good references?” Her face clouded, “He never offered
any. ” “Did you ask for them?” “Yes; but he continued talking, and made
me quite forget all about it; still, Miss L---- , I am sure it is all
right. ” I looked at her innocent face and thought, “You are indeed a
Dora after Dickens’s model. ” However the mischief, if any, was done, and
it would not avail to say more about it. I was very glad at the idea
that they might become useful and intimate friends to her, as we were
soon to leave for my brother’s at Wellington , two hundred miles from
Sydney , and her only friends in the colony were made through our
introduction. Well, the next day her lodgers came, and certainly they
were both handsome, the man aristocratic-looking. Everything appeared
favourable enough; Dora was charmed, though a week passed without her
having said more than “Good-morning” to Mrs. Fyling, who she thought was
fretting. “But I never saw greater devotion than his to his wife; she is
very fond of the baby; but whenever he is at home, she sends it away at
once. I think, dear, he must be of a very jealous disposition, and does
not care to see even his own child caressed. ” “Perhaps so. ” “I am sure,
dear, they are good people, ” went on Dora; “they inquired about the
nearest church, and have a Bible and Prayer-book on their
dressing-table. ” “Yes, ” I answered vaguely; somehow I did not feel at
ease about these people, my father having remarked, “He did not think
all was right with them. ”

The next morning I was leaving our gate when a gentleman stopped me and
asked “If I knew which was Mr. ----’s cottage. ” I pointed it out to him.
“Do you know whether he is at home?” “No; he is at Ophir , but his wife
is there. ” “Alone?” “No; she has a gentleman and lady living there. ”
“Thank you, ” and raising his hat passed me. He did not go towards the
house, but towards the town. How long that morning appeared, and when I
started on my daily walk back from Redfern to the Glebe , it seemed twice
its usual distance. I ran into my own home and said, “I will take lunch
with Mrs. ---- , ” which I did. We had just finished, and were waiting
until the maid had removed the things from the next room, when a knock
and ring at the hall door startled us. I looked out, and standing there
was the man I had seen that morning and another gentleman with him. The
girl opened the door. On his asking for my friend, she went towards him.
At that moment Mrs. Fyling crossed the hall. I shall never forget the
yell of the other man or the scream from Mrs. Fyling. He rushed to her
and drew her into her room, asking, “Where is my child and that man?”
Shall I ever forget this scene of agony, reproach, and violence? The
cause of all this had just arrived from town and entered the cottage by
the French window of their sitting-room. The husband left his wretched
wife and rushed at him; but fortunately his friend prevented further
violence, and begged him “to consider the terrified owner of the house, ”
at the same time reminding him that his faithless wife was not worth his
passion or regrets. “You can have your child, and you promised me you
would let those miserable creatures go, as their sin will soon bring
about its own punishment. ” “Hers will, ” said her husband, looking down
on her as she was lying on the floor. “Only two years since you married
me, your father’s trusted friend. Did I ever refuse you anything or pain
you by an angry word? Did I not leave you with every luxury while I was
toiling for your comfort? Oh, God! it is such frail creatures make men
brutes. ” “Forgive me, ” she cried. “Never!” was the stern reply. We left
the room and went into my friend’s apartment, as the nurse had not yet
returned from her walk with the child. When he saw his child, he
snatched it from the nurse’s arms and wept over it in bitter tears.

His friend told Mrs. S---- , “He had only returned from England a few days
before, ” to find his wife and child gone, and a letter from Mr. Fyling
awaiting him, stating “they had started for Tasmania , ” but he did not
believe this, as from his servants he heard that they were still in
Sydney . “I had heard where they were, and fearing that if he should meet
them together unexpectedly something very serious might be the result, I
determined to bring him here. I need not say, Mrs. S---- , how sorry I
am: this was inevitable. ” “Never mind, ” sobbed my friend; “it cannot be
helped; but how could she be so wicked, and with a child of her own to
love and tend?” After a little while poor Captain ---- and his friend,
with the child in his arms, left the house. During the afternoon the
noise of packing in the lodgers’ rooms made me aware they were preparing
for departure, and about five o’clock the nurse-girl brought Mrs. S----
a note to state “they were leaving, ” enclosing a quarter’s rent for the
rooms. A carriage was driven up soon afterwards, Mr. Fyling carrying his
unfortunate companion to it, and thus they passed out of our lives.
After this my poor young friend let her house furnished, and went to
live with her husband on the Ophir diggings.




CHAPTER VII


My stay in Sydney was to end for a time, as my brother had gone to
Wellington , a small township in the western district, and wished us to
join him. My sisters and I left on a fine February morning in the mail
coach for Bathurst ; this coach, not unlike a large baker’s cart, holding
eight inside and two on the box seat. The joltings and creakings must
have been most trying to the elderly passengers. We were young, and
merely felt the heat, which was compensated for by the novelty and the
idea of seeing the country. We went as far as Penrith the first day,
arriving late in the evening, and leaving again at four o’clock the next
morning. It was lovely and fresh crossing the Nepean River in the ferry,
thence through Emu Plains and the valley of the Grose ; and looking back
from Lapstone Hill the view was very charming. Then came into view the
scenery of the Blue Mountains , which we had plenty of time to admire. As
the weary horses had to be considered on the steep inclines, male
passengers would get out and walk, and sometimes the females preferred
to do so, becoming much cramped by sitting in the shaky vehicle. At that
time there were not any fences on the roads, so at times we appeared on
the verge of being precipitated over the rocks into the valley below,
the bottom of which we could not see. When the horses had been changed
at some wayside inn and were somewhat fresh, we held our breath with the
fear of going over the precipices. We had glimpses of deep ravines and
gullies, a mass of foliage, the sides and hollows green with ferns of
various kinds. At times the clouds seemed beneath us. Having had some
heavy rains, there were grave doubts as to whether we should be able to
cross the river lying between us and Bathurst . On arriving at the river,
and while fording it, we experienced a decidedly creepy feeling,
expecting every second that the water would reach us in the coach;
however on this journey such a misadventure, we were thankful, was
averted. Soon after crossing the river the Bathurst Plains were in view,
and then we had the curious sensation of travelling on a sea-like
stretch of land, not a tree to be seen for miles, --nothing save grass,
land, and sky, with an occasional flock of sheep in the distance. At
last we arrived at the yard of the principal hotel in Bathurst , where we
were to remain till my brother should meet us, and our escort gave us
over to the care of the landlady. We were not to remain there long, as
an old friend of ours, learning of our visit, came the next day and took
us over to his pretty cottage on the outskirt of the town. We were glad
to rest, as only half our journey was accomplished. In a week we were
again on our way to our new home, passing through Orange and Molong ,
busy little places, owing to the gold-fields surrounding them. We were
constantly meeting parties of diggers on the road, sometimes a few,
returning cityward, looking already depressed; they had evidently found
gold was hard to get. Our first landmark of nearing home was Wellington Valley , and it was certainly a cheery one, with its mountainous
background, its few farms, and peaceful aspect. The township of
Montefiores is on the farther side of the River Macquarie , and the
driver stated “that he had heard the river was ‘a banker. ’” “If so, ” my
brother remarked, “we shall have to wait until it lowers;” but we
managed to get over safely with only a little water in the bottom of the
coach, and soon drove up to my first Bush home, a comfortable brick
cottage, with a nice garden at the back, and my brother’s place of
business at the side. We were all very tired, so after a refreshing bath
and some tea we retired to beds made on the floor, as our furniture was
on the road. It being a bachelor’s home, there was very little furniture
on our arrival, and it was nearly a month before our belongings reached
us by the lumbering drays. Harry had an excellent cook there, and a
young woman in the township came to help. Shortly after a great
misfortune befell us. My brother’s cook--an old man--died, and then
indeed my troubles began. No servants could be got except Chinamen, and
these at fearful wages; for being so near the gold-fields, men would not
undertake domestic work, and if women were hired in Sydney they might
come, remain a month or two, and then leave for the nearest diggings.
As there were three of us, I determined to try and do without them
except for laundry and rough work. But what trials and mistakes attended
us in starting! Bread-making was a terrible experience, and certainly
after the utter failures and waste of flour for days, who could blame my
brother for saying, “When I marry, it shall be a country girl, ”--which
of course he did not, as his chosen wife had never been beyond
Parramatta . We had at last to fall back on “damper” until I learned the
art of bread-making. The yeast gave the most trouble; it was either
flat, or else so lively as to cause a cannonade by the bottles bursting.
However at last we succeeded, and were famous bread-makers; though we
always had to knead each loaf separately, as neither of us were of the
muscular type of female. All our water had to be drawn from a deep well
by a windlass. This work I could never accomplish; but my youngest
sister (a girl of fourteen) became very expert, though I was constantly
expecting to hear that she had gone in search of Truth. Fortunately we
had an excellent American cooking stove, as well as an immense open
fireplace, in which three of us could stand, and a baker’s oven large
enough to bake for a dozen families. We soon became very good managers,
and were able to attend church every Sunday morning and have an
excellent hot dinner as well. It was a very happy home, three girls and
the head of the house not thirty years of age. All our friends were
young: the manager of the largest station near, with a young wife; the
clerk of petty sessions, his young wife and her sister--in fact, except
the doctor, an old bachelor, and clergyman and his wife, all were under
thirty.

I undertook the education of my youngest sister, and many an afternoon
we would walk a mile or two, choose a shady spot, and hear her lessons,
or prepare others for the following day, while we worked. Life for a
time was like one long summer day. Pianos were scarce in the district,
only one in Montefiores, until we had one from Bathurst . I managed,
without the aid of a master, to play the flutina for accompaniments and
dance music. The manager of the station could play the guitar, and one
of his superintendents the flute. What pleasant days and evenings we
spent there, dining at seven, dressing for dinner of course, and waited
on by the Chinese butler and his assistants in costume! All the indoor
servants at the station were Chinese, the outdoor aboriginals. I shall
never forget a terrible night we spent there. It was at the election
time; Mr. Dunlop and all the gentlemen were at the election dinner in
Montefiores, Mrs. Dunlop, ourselves, and two other ladies were in the
house alone. It was a long low house with small rooms opening one into
the other; most of the windows were French windows, opening on to
verandahs. We were chatting in the drawing-room when we heard fearful
shrieks proceeding from the barn and wool-shed about three hundred feet
from the back of the house. “What’s that?” I inquired. Mrs. Dunlop
listened for a while, and answered, “Some of the blacks beating their
‘gins’--wives, I mean. ” But soon we heard men’s voices in the verandah,
and my young friend jumped up and ran to see if the shutters were
fastened, and then said, “We will go into my room, where the windows are
higher from the ground and the shutters are closer than these. ” Putting
out all the lights here, the five of us went quietly into her room, and
sat there listening. The noise increased, coming nearer and nearer, when
Mrs. Dunlop said, “I am afraid the Chinese and the blacks are fighting;
if so, they will kill one another. I know Yang-See and Ah-Sing were in
the township all day; I am afraid they have brought drink home. ” Imagine
our horror at hearing this; we might all be killed before the gentlemen
returned. At that moment a violent knocking at the door of the room made
us all think “What next?” when a woman’s voice said, “Let me in, Missy;
they will kill me. Missy Dunlop, let me in. ” “I will call your master, ”
was the answer; “you go to Mr. Brinsley’s room. ” The woman ran across
the verandah to an outer room; at the end we heard her rush in and lock
the door. More voices were heard in the verandah, so Mrs. Dunlop said
very loudly, “David, have you your revolver loaded?” “Here it is, ”
turning the handle of the door. In an instant we heard the pat, pat of
naked feet running past the windows, and knew her ruse had succeeded.
The men thought their master had come home, and knowing from experience
that he would not hesitate to use his revolver, went back to their huts
and camp. How thankful we were when about two hours after the sound of
horses’ feet told us our friends had returned! They were astonished to
see us all up; but at our urgent request did not go down to the camp or
shed. The next morning when I opened my window I saw Jenny, the “gin, ”
cleaning the verandah with her head bound up; but otherwise she appeared
nothing the worse for her husband’s little corrections of the previous
night. When I asked her what it was all about, “Too much rum, Missy,
ba’al budgery drink. ” “Did he hurt you very much?” She showed me a
terrible gash in her head. “Nullah, nullah, ba’al budgery, Missy, ” said
poor Jenny. “They were all drunk, Missy, like gentlemen; but my Missy
did wise. ” “Did they go to Mr. Brinsley’s room?” “No, no; me yabber,
yabber to him, ” and then she laughed like a child, showing her white
teeth. “Stupids tink him in there; me know him in Montefiores. ” “Did you
go to the camp when he came home?” “No, no; master put me in stable.
Chinamen no good, Missy, ” she said with conviction. I thought, better
than your people. The two races never did agree, and were always
quarrelling; but they had to be borne with, as near the gold-fields a
white man could not be kept for any time. Mr. Dunlop liked the
celestials; they were steady, methodical workers, never forgot an order,
cost little to keep, and only occasionally became troublesome, when they
managed to get opium and have a smoking feast. Our cook nearly died
after one of these opium feasts. He asked my brother if he might go to
Nanima one Sunday. Of course he was allowed to do so. Monday morning
came, but Boney did not put in an appearance; Tuesday he was still
absent, so my brother rode over to Nanima to see if he was there. Mr.
Dunlop said, “No; I sent him off the place this morning. He will be
useless for a week; my men are in a terrible state, like so many logs;
look at them. ” The Chinamen were lying about in a large tent looking
like corpses. Mr. Dunlop turned one over with his foot, and a shocking
countenance was disclosed. “What will you do with them?” “Let them sleep
some of it off, see that they have not hidden any, and then have some
good strong soup made for them. ” My brother came home and found Boney
lying on the floor of his room, outside the house. He was a very
difficult patient; he “no wantee livee, ”--he wanted to be left
alone--“no chin chin master; Joss wants Boney; me die. ” But he was far
too valuable to be allowed to die without an effort to save him. My
brother insisted on his taking food, threatening him with all manner of
punishment, and standing by to see him take sufficient nourishment; but
it was several days before he could attend to any duties. He was an
excellent cook, exceedingly clean, and afforded us much amusement
watching his ways. Before he did any cooking he would wash his hands and
arms; this was done very often, a dozen times in a day. He did not
consider himself bound to obey any one but “the master;” “Missee no
good. ” When I told him that “I was the mistress of the house, ” he said,
“No, Missee not master’s wife. ” He was also very much surprised to see
us engaged in any household work. “Ladies no work in my country. ” Boney
was an invaluable servant, most economical and quiet; then as a gardener
he was most useful. Until his advent I had taken the flowers under my
care; but it was hard work, as there was nearly a quarter of an acre to
attend to. We had brought many of our old favourites from Violet Cottage
at The Glebe , and soon obtained some plants from our friends. We were
the first to introduce violets into the district, where they grew
luxuriantly; most of the dear old English flowers flourish there. At the
present time my brother has many to remind him of the old country, but
at the time I write of I only remember the violets. The climate, though
perhaps better than Sydney , is drier, and frosts in winter and spring
severe. Geraniums, heliotrope, and all tropical plants have to be
housed. Peaches, nectarines, apricots, figs, and the vine flourish.
Nearly every fruit will grow there; but owing to the frosts oranges only
in a few sheltered spots. Acacias, cedars, mimosa, and many other trees
grow very freely. At the entrance gate of Gobolion there were two
magnificent almond trees, and when in blossom were very lovely. In
travelling it was not uncommon to come across a peach tree flowering in
mountain gorges or gullies, sprung up from peach stones thrown down by
travellers.

We found our Sundays terribly long when we first went to Montefiores;
the river being up, the Rev. Mr. Watson was unable to cross, and we were
without service for nearly two months. That river, or rather the two
rivers, as Montefiores was at the junction of the Bell and Macquarie rivers , were my _bête noir_; no one could cross except by swimming their
horses. The Rev. Mr. Watson had been one of the early missionary
clergymen sent out to the Blacks, and had settled on the Wellington side
of the river, where he lived surrounded by a small colony of them. He
and his wife were now growing old, and all their interest was centred in
the poor natives, whom they taught to read, write, and sing. They had
sweet voices, and they were the only singers in the choir. The church
was a most primitive building of wooden slabs, the imperfect joints in
places admitting the daylight, wind, and dust. The seats or forms were
rough, the unpolished pulpit and chancel low, constructed for Mr.
Watson, who was a little man. The only music was human voices, and the
church bell was hung in a tree at the side; but what mattered it when a
temple not made by hands could be seen from the open door and windows.
Such a beautiful view of Mount Arthur , and above such a dome of glorious
blue, to make us feel how near we were to Him who fashioned it all. How
well I remember our first going to church for morning service! We had
been informed “that half-past ten was the time for service to commence;”
but as Mr. Watson’s time and that of Montefiores differed very
considerably, the warning bell continued its ringing till he made his
appearance. Those who rode or drove to church left their horses in the
open ground outside, as there was no enclosing fence. This morning Mr.
Watson was early, so we were really in church by a little after ten;
service commenced at once, and was finished before twelve. It was a
delicious morning in April, so we decided to take a long walk before
returning home, and started off by the river. We walked for some
distance without meeting any one, everything fresh and delightful. After
a time we sat down by the river, and I heard my youngest sister her
Collect and Catechism, then talked over the great desire I had to
establish a Sunday School as soon as Mr. Watson could be consulted as to
the best means of doing so; when Louisa reminded me that Mrs. Richard
had said, “He will not consent, as he does not care about the white
children when he has the black ones round him. ” “I will try at any
rate, ” concluded our conversation. “Now we had better go home. ” We
started to return, but it was not so easy to accomplish, as we had
unthinkingly wandered from the river, and found ourselves surrounded by
hills, nothing except sheep tracks to guide us. We tried first one, then
the other, without success; all seemed to lead to the hills. Tired,
faint, and frightened we sat down to rest. “We had better go towards the
sun, ” suggested Bell quietly. She was so delicate I began to dread the
effect of this terrible time on her; but she was the quietest and
calmest of the three. At last I began to get so bewildered, nervously
anticipating the horrors of being “lost in the Bush, ” I could go no
farther, but sat down and wept bitterly. I was again aroused by my
sister’s gentle faith; “Harry will know we have lost our way, and he
will soon find us. ” I did not tell her I knew my brother would not be
home until the evening. Vainly we proceeded, only to get nearer the
hills, when Susan said, “Look, there are some broken branches; let us
take that track, and follow it up. ” We did so, and in about an hour came
in sight of a shepherd’s hut we had passed when we had first left the
river; and saw in the distance Mount Arthur , at the foot of which
nestled the township, and in a short time we could see the smoke rising
from the houses, and we were not long in reaching home. My brother said
we had been walking in a circle for hours.

Gobolion, a homestead near us, was almost a ruin; it adjoined the
doctor’s property on the bank of the river. His house was a small
weatherboard building, but quite commodious enough for the bachelor
medico, a tall gentlemanly old man, whose garden and pets were his
“Lares and Penates. ” On my first visit there I could not understand his
reason for allowing several large mounds to remain in the front of his
house; they were not very sightly, though an attempt had been made at
ornamentation by planting flowering runners on them--one was nearly
covered with the small scarlet verbena. He told me the reason afterwards
why he had not had the mounds levelled. When he purchased the land some
years before, this spot was the burying-place of one of the principal
tribes, whose custom it was to inter their dead in an upright position,
and the mounds were heaped up over the bodies. He had ordered several of
the mounds to be removed, when he was told “That he would bring down
terrible vengeance on himself, as the aboriginals were tenacious on the
subject of the last resting-place of their people, and had been known to
travel hundreds of miles to bury their dead. ” So the doctor at once
prevented more being done, and for several years allowed them to bring
any of their tribe to the old ground. I have since thought, when looking
at the neglected state of the cemetery in Elizabeth Street , Sydney , the
poor despised blacks had more feeling in this respect than their white
brethren. I felt pity for them then, and more still now, for they have
nearly all disappeared before the white race’s rule. The Australian
blacks have not found many advocates, I am aware, but they could have
been taught to be useful. I know this from experience to be the case. A
friend of mine had a woman, Emma, an excellent laundress; her husband,
Harry, was groom and handy man, and Fanny was nurse to my friend’s first
child; these came from the Mission, and could all read and write. One
great drawback was that they never would rest contentedly in a house; so
my friends allowed them a tent in the paddock. There was a very clever
black called Darby who was frequently in the township, and while we were
there was twice converted, first by the Roman Catholic bishop and then
by our bishop. Darby told some one, “He would be converted every week to
get money. ” He could read, write, and play cards--in fact, he was quick
in learning. Once at a sale he was making a noise, when the auctioneer
threatened him with a spade. “Oh, Mr. , do you want to make me the knave
of spades?” was Darby’s comment. Drink was the ruin of the natives; they
could never refuse it, and it not only debased them, but caused them to
die young from pulmonary complaints.

I was horrified on hearing them quote Scripture and hymns glibly. One
man, Raymond, when intoxicated would go up and down the road shouting
out the most sacred words from our service, and only ceased when placed
in the lock-up. This poor creature died in his gunyah of rapid
consumption. The blacks were like children, having no forethought,
little if any reason, but affectionate, and easily pleased. They
certainly believe in a future state, hence the idea of burying their
dead in a standing position--“To jump up quick. ” They are also afraid of
an evil spirit doing harm to them. We had one black as outdoor help, who
was exceptionally wild and excitable; but my youngest sister could
manage him splendidly, not having the slightest fear of him; but he too
was fond of rum, and she often teased him about this weakness. He always
called my sister by her name, refusing to add Miss. One great objection
to him as a servant was his dislike to clothing; but this was insisted
on, so shirt and trousers were at last his everyday costume. At
Christmas we gave him a full suit, with hat, boots, and large white
collar, sending him down with a note to Mrs. Richard. He was very
pleased at first, but the next day he returned minus all excepting his
shirt and trousers, having bartered them away for drinks and tobacco.
Soon after this he informed us he must go back to his tribe. “Too hot
for houses now, Louisa; come back winter. ” And he did so, taking up his
work as though he had never left it. He remained on until summer
returned and then disappeared again. He was a simple creature; the only
thing that roused the savage in him was to inquire, “Have you ever been
to Sydney, Franky?” Louisa had been told to do this without knowing why.
The result, Franky glared at her, saying, “No, Louisa; Franky will go
away and never come back. ” Louisa made him understand “she meant no
harm” by the inquiry. We were told afterwards he had been to Sydney ,
sent to gaol there for killing another black, and when let out started
for Wellington , travelling night and day, with scarcely any food or
rest, till he had completed two hundred miles. He arrived nearly dead
from exhaustion, and then took to the “Bush. ” While in prison he had
forgotten all the English he had ever learned. Poor creature! it is easy
to realise how this child of nature suffered, caged up in stone walls,
under prison discipline; and no wonder to us now that he disliked
staying in the kitchen to take his meals, and would merely come to the
door for them.