In the morning they were all up to see me off, and there was a scene of great excitement. Amongst the rest there were blacks from all round, shouting at the top of their voices, "You white lubra, what for you go away from my country." I had a very[Pg 73] kindly2 send-off, and with tears in my eyes, I bid adieu to all. All the way along the driver pointed3 out to me places of interest with such queer names, such as "Biscuit Flat," "Black Joe's Corner," "Binney's Lookout," and many others which I have forgotten. What interested me most was, however, the name of the place where I was to stop for the night. It was called "Mosquito Plains," and I wondered if any mosquitoes were there.
That evening we reached the "Mosquito Plains." I forget the name of the hotel where we stayed for the night, but I remember that the old landlord was making way for a new one and that there was a great crowd in and about the bar. Mr. Sinclair, the mail-driver, took me to the woman of the house and asked her to find a room for me, as I was leaving by the mail in the morning. I never saw him again.
I slept little that night, as the people were pacing about the hotel all night. The woman I had seen before told me that the coach would start about 3 o'clock in the morning. Daylight was just breaking as I wearily got ready for my unknown journey. The driver of the mail was a quiet young man. There seemed a lot of parcels and luggage, but I was the only woman among the passengers. I hoped to reach Kingston that night. I was not much interested in our stopping-places, as I was longing4 to be back in Adelaide.
I had no one to talk to, so I stood by the coach while the horses were being got ready. I heard a gentleman say, "Has anybody thought of getting a cup of tea for this girl?" and the answer was "No." Then he said, "I will." In the bar they were all drinking by the lamplight, and he held a little saucepan over the lamp and made me a cup of tea. I watched him from where I was standing5, with grateful thoughts that could not find expression. I often saw that gentleman afterwards in Adelaide. I was often tempted6 to go up to him and thank him for that cup of tea, but I did not like to do so, as I never learnt his name.
At last we were off. The inside of the coach was filled with luggage, so the passengers all sat outside, and the arrangement was not very comfortable, as there was nothing to rest one's back against. Some of the men who mounted the coach that morning were the worse for drink. Still, no one said anything unpleasant to me. We went speeding along through desolate7 scrub. The road, or, rather, the mail track, was very uneven8, and I expected every moment to be thrown out. I asked the driver what I was to hold on by. He laughed and answered, "Hold on by your eyebrows9." There were places on the wayside for refreshments10, and about 8 o'clock we had breakfast at one of these.
I would have liked to stop at Mosquito Plains to have a look round, but on account of the change of landlords the hotel was topsy-turvy, and I did not care for the woman I saw there. I was disappointed, for I knew that I would have to wait at Robe[Pg 74] till the wool-dray came with my things, and there are some very interesting caves near Mosquito Plains, which is now called "Narracoorte."
We arrived at Kingston and drove at once to the Kingston Hotel, which was kept by an ex-trooper from Adelaide. To my astonishment11 a nicely-dressed little blackgirl met me at the door. She came to see what I wanted. She was about 12 or 13 years old, and was the only female attendant in the hotel. I was a little upset, but I thought that I must not be too particular for one night, so I told her I would like some tea. She brought me quite a nice cup of tea on a tray and told me that the master would come and see me soon.
Presently the landlord came in. He was evidently in difficulties. He told me that his wife had been dead two months, and his sister had been keeping house for him; but that, owing to the sickness of his little son, she had to take the boy away to his grandmother. He said she would return on the following day. I asked if there was no other white woman about the place. He answered—"Yes, there is one; but she is ill in bed: and I am at my wit's end." I asked if I could see her, as, being a working-girl myself, I thought I might do something for her. The man was much agitated12 and replied—"Yes. She is a married woman and has been in my employ for six weeks. She had a baby this morning."
He led me through a long billiard-room and a kitchen, where some black-gins were sitting round a fire smoking, into a little back-room in the yard. There lay the poor woman and her face lit up with joy to see another white woman. I soon learned her story, which was like that of many other wanderers. Her husband had gone away to look for work, and had forgotten to come back. I sympathised with her trouble and did what I could for her that night.
On enquiry I learned that there was a doctor staying at the hotel. He was attending to several men, who were suffering from ophthalmia after shearing13. But my sympathy was all with that weak woman and the dear, little baby. I learned, also, that there were only a few white women in Kingston.
Two young men who had been shipmates with me in the Morning Star came into the hotel the next morning. Their name was Ring, and they were with their father, Mr. Herbert Ring, who had a contract to facilitate the shipping14 of goods at Kingston, as before that no ships could come in near the shore. I was pleased to see them. They are both in Adelaide now as sharebrokers. They brought their father to see me and it seemed like civilisation15 again. But I had not yet done with the mail-coach.
As the coach left Kingston every day, I determined16 to stop with the sick woman till the landlord's sister came home. [Pg 75]Meanwhile the people about were negotiating with the landlord to get up a supper as they wished to celebrate the opening of a branch of some lodge17. I think that the Messrs. Ring were the principal officials in that lodge. So when the housekeeper18 came I set to work and helped her prepare this bush "banquet." I did not know very much, but every little was a help, and they all said the supper was splendid.
Just in the middle of the preparations for supper a travelling dramatic company arrived and began to get ready to hold a performance that evening in the billiard-room. I never saw such a mixed lot of people together. I looked for the doctor, expecting to see a man in decent black clothes, but he was dressed in old, tattered19 garments, just like the poor shearers to whom he was attending. I understood the reason of this when I saw him staggering about. Be was a very clever man, but abandoned to drink.
The little black girl was a great help. She could fetch and carry for these poor men, who, I am afraid, were very much neglected. I saw a little of the country about Kingston and liked the look of the whole place very much. My stay at the hotel lasted from a Tuesday to the following Saturday, when the landlord drove me into Robe in his own waggonette. I had no bills to pay and received some remuneration for being so helpful. For years afterwards, if anybody who knew me stayed at the hotel, they heard kind things of me and brought me nice messages. Neither my trunk nor the steamboat had arrived, so I had to wait till the next Saturday at the Robe Hotel. The same people were there as when I went to Mr. Binney's. I felt just as if I were at home with them, for they were so interested in my experiences all through that year in the bush. I had enjoyed good health all the time I was away, and I arrived in Adelaide safe and well.
It was on a Sunday afternoon when I reached the Port, and my brother was on the dock waiting for me. Father and he were living at Hilton. They had a horse and trap, and my brother drove me to Hilton; but I was not many days at home, when I found that my father seemed in touch with some acquaintance I did not like; I felt outside of everything, and asked myself why I came back if there was nothing to come back for. I was out of sympathy with my surroundings, I learned that my father was about to get married again, and I felt as if I was not wanted. I could see that the old condition of things had changed. In any case, everything seemed hard for me, and I could not put matters right for other people. At best, there would be a muddle20, and I thought if things came to an end quickly it would not be so hard to go. I had to go forward alone, I knew, and to face bitterness and desolation. When some one said, "I wonder you sent for your people," I thought[Pg 76] that it did not matter whether or not I lived at home, for I could not skip out of their lives. Wherever they were they were my relations. Still, if there are no love-ties, that makes loneliness more solitary21. There was no ill-will, but my brother said that he would not live with father and his new wife.
So we had to do something. I told my brother that I must have some work to do, and then we might manage some little business. What else could we do? It was either that or we would have to go and live in a top-garret somewhere. So we took a house with a shop attached in Rundle-street. It stood this side of the Tavistock Hotel, but it was pulled down many years ago. There is now a saddler's business there. I had it fixed22 up as tearooms, and my brother made furniture. In any case I had to face a new kind of life, and I had no right to grumble23. When we were children I remembered the happy comradeship which always existed between my brother and myself, and I was glad to be alone with him. It was a splendid time and we did fairly well, and had something to give thanks for. I could not expect that happiness to continue, and when we had been there for some time I had a strong belief that all the rest would come right in time. It was a joy to feel that I was working for my brother. Such trivial incidents may not seem worth recording24, but that was my only experience in business on my own account. Youth is full of hope, but I did not know what I hoped for. There was the present and the future to think about.
Just at that time a Scotch25 corps26 of volunteers were raised. It was the first in South Australia to wear the kilts. There was such merriment about this dressing27 every day. Mr. Buik had an ironmongers shop in Rundle-street, and he was the captain. My brother also became a kilted volunteer. The kilts were sent from Scotland partly made, and then altered so as to make a suitable fit. They looked nice, only the stockings were of some kind of checked tartan, with no shape or figure. I knew how to knit, so I knitted a pair of stockings for my brother, and set in the wool in different coloring and in diamond shape. They looked unlike the others, and they were made to fit. Mr. Buik came to me and asked me if I would do a hundred pairs. I was so surprised, that I thought I would not knit any more stockings which could be seen. In the Foot Police at that time there was a Scotchman who stood, so they said, over six feet in height; his name was Archie Dixon. He had his own kilts and knitted stockings, together with the bagpipes28. He brought all the equipage with him from Scotland, and truly he did look a picture in the kilts. The past is, indeed, past, but it all comes back to me when I want it.
The news spread about that in a few months the Queen's son, the Sailor Prince, would visit Australia. I can trust my memory for that time. It can never be forgotten. As for the people, it is no exaggeration to say they were full of joy, as in some sort[Pg 77] of way it appeared that this visit was to be made a pleasure for all. I seemed to have no plans in life except to see the Prince. In a few weeks the warship29 Galatea came in to port. It was a fearfully hot day, and the Scotch Volunteers, with Mr. Archie Dixon in the front playing the bagpipes, went all the way to the Port, with other volunteers as well, to meet Prince Alfred. The town was all one "festival." They marched in procession and came to the city. In their route they marched around the spot where the new Post-Office now is. I had a nice seat on some of the old buildings in King William-street. The men who wore the kilts must have suffered from the heat. However, there was the Queen's son, bowing and looking so distinguished30 as he passed along to Government House. Sir Dominick Daly was there, too. There was no electricity then, but the splendor31 of the gaslight in the night-time will not easily be forgotten, nor the vast crowds who gathered there.
The drawback all this gaiety had for us was that we had not much capital. I did not want anything in the way of stock, but my brother's work was different, for to make it he needed materials; worse still, he let furniture go on credit, not realising enough to meet his debts. On turning back to that time my thoughts were not glad. I could not be gay, for I could see no brightness in the future. It was said by some that my acts and life showed great self-denial, but if it did it did not bring me any of the inward satisfaction which is said to come from such deeds. I thought I must try and get a new place, for I could see that my brother was seriously in love with a young woman. Then came the final decision, and I went and saw Mr. J. N. Hines, at Parliament House, with the hope of getting some employment daily, as he had so much catering32 to do while the Prince was here and in other ways. I used to go to the Town Hall, and also help at Parliament House. My first employer, at No. 10, Rundle-street, had got married, or I should have liked to go back there. Having to be independent and to take care of myself for more than eleven years I had learnt to use my knowledge and be hopeful. I daresay there are plenty who will remember the stampede of that time. There was a sense of whirl during the whole time of that brilliant visit, and its influence was considerable with us so far as ways and means were concerned.
We both made up our minds not to get into debt, and we did not, but as matters went it might have been better to have gone to a situation at once. I could not take any particular kind of work, but I could help with most things generally. I can easily recall how little attempt there was to understand anything regarding cooking, and there were no men cooks in Adelaide then. The foundations of the Club House on North-terrace were being dug out while I was at No. 10, Rundle-street, and it was occupied when I came back from Moonta. A married couple had the management of[Pg 78] the Club, and I got to know the manager through being at the Town Hall banquets and other places, so I went to help at the Club. The cooking was very crude. The manager had been a steward33 on board ship, and was not well up as a caterer34. The work was not at all delicately done, and I did not like either the manager or the manageress. I did not stop long at the only club that was then in Adelaide. Many years have rolled away since then. The affairs of myself and brother were disposed in such a way that I had many doubts as to what I should do; but youth is delightful35 while it lasts.
One thing, I could not be idle. I secured a situation with a lady at New Glenelg, and was to undertake, with the lady's teaching, household duties. There were no children. The lady was Mrs. Brind, and another young girl was kept. It was a comfortable home. We had everything suitable, and I had a nice bedroom. For the first time since I left Scotland I found myself living close to the sea, and that suggesting the great joy of bathing in the ocean once again. How I loved that exercise, and the sea was only such a little way from the house. My sister had the care of my brother, and he used to come and see me occasionally. There was something kind and admirable about Mrs. Brind. She was a leader in society, there could be no doubt. She went everywhere, and did all sorts of things. She could sing and act and dance, and, with the number of guests always at the house, she made a charming hostess. In figure she was somewhat stout36, but had such a nice face, with not a furrow37 of anxiety or care upon it. Mr. Brind was her second husband. She found time, despite her society arrangements, to do kindnesses amongst various persons, and more particularly to the children. She was whimsical and kindly, and one day she came and asked me if I would let her alter the cut of the skirt I wore on Sunday. Gored38 skirts were worn then, and I suppose mine must have been straight up and down. Anyhow, it did not please her. I let her have it, and with her own hands she altered it and made it look so different. This unexpected treatment of my clothing was done so pleasantly that I could not be angry. In respect of dress I was old-fashioned, and had but little choice.
I shall never forget one particular day. It was the other girl's day out, and I had to attend to the bell. Mrs. Brind had also gone out. Cards or messages I was to see to. I learned that Sir R. D. Ross and Lady Ross and a baby girl were coming to stop for a few days. They had come back from the Mainland war, and I confess I was pleased to get everything in order for their arrival. It seemed so strange to think that I was at the Government Farm to receive them the day, they were married, and there I was again, two years afterwards, preparing for them again. What a difference I saw in Sir R. D. Ross. His eyesight had failed, and he could hardly see. But when he learned that I was in waiting he[Pg 79] came and brought his dear little daughter to show me. He must have had exciting times in New Zealand, for he looked so worn and worried. He had seen the Prince, and showed me a ring given to him by the young Prince. I never saw Sir R. D. Ross again, but he was a thorough gentleman, according to my standard, and he was Scotch. I forget now where they had met the Prince first, but it was either in New Zealand or in some of the other colonies. Any way, when the Prince came back they were quite friendly. All this seems only the other day. I confess to feeling fatigue39 in those years, but I have never felt myself rusting40, and even now I am hard at work, and, in apparent hopelessness, will not despair.
I stayed on at Mrs. Brind's, and found comfort in my work by the seaside. The picture of what Glenelg looked like then is in my remembrance yet. There was no railway, and the only way you could get to Adelaide was by a kind of mail coach at stated times. You could book a passage beforehand, but if you lost this bus or coach you would have to walk to Glenelg or stop in town all night. The driver was Mr. George, or "Dick" George. He had a pleasing manner, which made him the friend of all. What with his teams of four or six horses and his cheerful voice ringing out he made the Bay-road very lively. His voice had a haunting ring never to be forgotten. There was a charm and quiet about the place which is not present in the much-altered Glenelg of to-day. I think of the mysterious and resistless disappearance41 of the people whom I knew then, and it gives a touch of seriousness to my thoughts.
But what a trial it was to me to have to mix so much with strangers; still I managed to pull through. When we are very young we believe that everyone has a heart. I brought myself to such a state that I had no high aspirations42 except to live in a pure atmosphere. That remained, even when all was gone, and I was left where the last tide had stranded43 me.
Many thoughts of the old time stir within me now. I can see a lady of lofty lineage, who used to come so much to Mrs. Brind's. Her name was Lady Charlotte Bacon. She looked dejected and laden44 with care. While she was wandering about by herself sometimes she would come and sit down by me on the sand, just as though she belonged to the disappointed and ill-used of this life. I saw her some years afterwards sitting on the steps of the Post-Office, in King William-street. She had a black bag in her hand. I did not make myself known to her, and I heard of her death not long after. Yes, there are noble sorrows on the high road. The lofty are beaten by the tempests, which are as oppressive to them as they would be to me, who am without defence.
So life went onwards by pleasant dreams to a comfortable future. When I had been with Mrs. Brind for about a year she[Pg 80] used to get me to come and read for her, as she was not well. She was very fond of Scotch stories, and I could read them easily. There were no trained nurses in those days, and Mrs. Brind grew so ill that she was advised to go for a voyage and change of air. So it was decided45 that the house would be closed for a time. We had plenty of time to find employment. I can at this moment recall that without any effort on my part I was sought for. I did not lack either energy or sincerity46. I would fain have stopped with Mrs. Brind, but I could not.
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1
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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6
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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8
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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10
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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12
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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13
shearing
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| n.剪羊毛，剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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14
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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15
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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16
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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19
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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20
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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22
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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25
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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26
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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27
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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28
bagpipes
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| n.风笛；风笛( bagpipe的名词复数 ) | |
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29
warship
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| n.军舰，战舰 | |
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30
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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31
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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32
catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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33
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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caterer
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| n. 备办食物者，备办宴席者 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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37
furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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38
gored
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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40
rusting
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| n.生锈v.（使）生锈( rust的现在分词 ) | |
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41
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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42
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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43
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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44
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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45
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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46
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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