Unknown - "The World English Bible (WEB): Malachi"

John Greenleaf Whittier - "Tales and Sketches"

Robert Ames Bennet - "Out of the Primitive"

William Shakespeare - "The Tragedy of Titus Andronicus"

Station Life in New Zealand

L >> Lady Barker >> Station Life in New Zealand



Produced by P J Riddick






Station Life in New Zealand

by Lady Barker.

1883



Preface.

These letters, their writer is aware, justly incur the reproach of
egotism and triviality; at the same time she did not see how this
was to be avoided, without lessening their value as the exact
account of a lady's experience of the brighter and less practical
side of colonization. They are published as no guide or handbook
for "the intending emigrant;" that person has already a literature
to himself, and will scarcely find here so much as a single
statistic. They simply record the expeditions, adventures, and
emergencies diversifying the daily life of the wife of a New Zealand
sheep-farmer; and, as each was written while the novelty and
excitement of the scenes it describes were fresh upon her, they may
succeed in giving here in England an adequate impression of the
delight and freedom of an existence so far removed from our own
highly-wrought civilization: not failing in this, the writer will
gladly bear the burden of any critical rebuke the letters deserve.
One thing she hopes will plainly appear,--that, however hard it was
to part, by the width of the whole earth, from dear friends and
spots scarcely less dear, yet she soon found in that new country new
friends and a new home; costing her in their turn almost as many
parting regrets as the old.
F. N. B.



Letter I: Two months at sea--Melbourne.


Port Phillip Hotel, Melbourne. September 22d, 1865.
.... Now I must give you an account of our voyage: it has been a
very quick one for the immense distance traversed, sometimes under
canvas, but generally steaming. We saw no land between the Lizard
and Cape Otway light--that is, for fifty-seven days: and oh, the
monotony of that time!--the monotony of it! Our decks were so
crowded that we divided our walking hours, in order that each set of
passengers might have space to move about; for if every one had
taken it into their heads to exercise themselves at the same time,
we could hardly have exceeded the fisherman's definition of a walk,
"two steps and overboard." I am ashamed to say I was more or less
ill all the way, but, fortunately, F--- was not, and I rejoiced at
this from the most selfish motives, as he was able to take care of
me. I find that sea-sickness develops the worst part of one's
character with startling rapidity, and, as far as I am concerned, I
look back with self-abasement upon my callous indifference to the
sufferings of others, and apathetic absorption in my individual
misery.

Until we had fairly embarked, the well-meaning but ignorant among
our friends constantly assured us, with an air of conviction as to
the truth and wisdom of their words, that we were going at the very
best season of the year; but as soon as we could gather the opinions
of those in authority on board, it gradually leaked out that we
really had fallen upon quite a wrong time for such a voyage, for we
very soon found ourselves in the tropics during their hottest month
(early in August), and after having been nearly roasted for three
weeks, we plunged abruptly into mid-winter, or at all events very
early spring, off the Cape of Good Hope, and went through a season
of bitterly cold weather, with three heavy gales. I pitied the poor
sailors from the bottom of my heart, at their work all night on
decks slippery with ice, and pulling at ropes so frozen that it was
almost impossible to bend them; but, thank God, there were no
casualties among the men. The last gale was the most severe; they
said it was the tail of a cyclone. One is apt on land to regard
such phrases as the "shriek of the storm," or "the roar of the
waves," as poetical hyperboles; whereas they are very literal and
expressive renderings of the sounds of horror incessant throughout a
gale at sea. Our cabin, though very nice and comfortable in other
respects, possessed an extraordinary attraction for any stray wave
which might be wandering about the saloon: once or twice I have been
in the cuddy when a sea found its way down the companion, and I have
watched with horrible anxiety a ton or so of water hesitating which
cabin it should enter and deluge, and it always seemed to choose
ours. All these miseries appear now, after even a few days of the
blessed land, to belong to a distant past; but I feel inclined to
lay my pen down and have a hearty laugh at the recollection of one
cold night, when a heavy "thud" burst open our cabin door, and
washed out all the stray parcels, boots, etc., from the corners in
which the rolling of the ship had previously bestowed them. I was
high and dry in the top berth, but poor F--- in the lower recess was
awakened by the douche, and no words of mine can convey to you the
utter absurdity of his appearance, as he nimbly mounted on the top
of a chest of drawers close by, and crouched there, wet and
shivering, handing me up a most miscellaneous assortment of goods to
take care of in my little dry nest.

Some of our fellow-passengers were very good-natured, and devoted
themselves to cheering and enlivening us by getting up concerts,
little burlesques and other amusements; and very grateful we were
for their efforts: they say that "anything is fun in the country,"
but on board ship a little wit goes a very long way indeed, for all
are only too ready and anxious to be amused. The whole dramatic
strength of the company was called into force for the performance of
"The Rivals," which was given a week or so before the end of the
voyage. It went off wonderfully well; but I confess I enjoyed the
preparations more than the play itself: the ingenuity displayed was
very amusing at the time. You on shore cannot imagine how difficult
it was to find a snuff-box for "Sir Anthony Absolute," or with what
joy and admiration we welcomed a clever substitute for it in the
shape of a match-box covered with the lead out of a tea-chest most
ingeniously modelled into an embossed wreath round the lid, with a
bunch of leaves and buds in the centre, the whole being brightly
burnished: at the performance the effect of this little "property"
was really excellent. Then, at the last moment, poor "Bob Acres"
had to give in, and acknowledge that he could not speak for
coughing; he had been suffering from bronchitis for some days past,
but had gallantly striven to make himself heard at rehearsals; so on
the day of the play F--- had the part forced on him. There was no
time to learn his "words," so he wrote out all of them in large
letters on slips of paper and fastened them on the beams. This
device was invisible to the audience, but he was obliged to go
through his scenes with his head as high up as if he had on a
martingale; however, we were all so indulgent that at any little
_contretemps_, such as one of the actresses forgetting her part or
being seized by stage-fright, the applause was much greater than
when things went smoothly.

I can hardly believe that it is only two days since we steamed into
Hobson's Bay, on a lovely bright spring morning. At dinner, the
evening before, our dear old captain had said that we should see the
revolving light on the nearest headland about eight o'clock that
evening, and so we did. You will not think me childish, if I
acknowledge that my eyes were so full of tears I could hardly see it
after the first glimpse; it is impossible to express in a letter all
the joy and thankfulness of such a moment. Feelings like these are
forgotten only too quickly in the jar and bustle of daily life, and
we are always ready to take as a matter of course those mercies
which are new every morning; but when I realized that all the tosses
and tumbles of so many weary days and nights were over, and that at
last we had reached the haven where we would be, my first thought
was one of deep gratitude. It was easy to see that it was a good
moment with everyone; squabbles were made up with surprising
quickness; shy people grew suddenly sociable; some who had
comfortable homes to go to on landing gave kind and welcome
invitations to others, who felt themselves sadly strange in a new
country; and it was with really a lingering feeling of regret that
we all separated at last, though a very short time before we should
have thought it quite impossible to be anything but delighted to
leave the ship.

We have not seen much of Melbourne yet, as there has been a great
deal to do in looking after the luggage, and at first one is capable
of nothing but a delightful idleness. The keenest enjoyment is a
fresh-water bath, and next to that is the new and agreeable luxury
of the ample space for dressing; and then it is so pleasant to
suffer no anxiety as to the brushes and combs tumbling about. I
should think that even the vainest woman in the world would find her
toilet and its duties a daily trouble and a sorrow at sea, on
account of the unsteadiness of all things. The next delight is
standing at the window, and seeing horses, and trees, and dogs--in
fact, all the "treasures of the land;" as for flowers--beautiful as
they are at all times--you cannot learn to appreciate them enough
until you have been deprived of them for two months.

You know that I have travelled a good deal in various parts of the
world, but I have never seen. anything at all like Melbourne. In
other countries, it is generally the antiquity of the cities, and
their historical reminiscences, which appeal to the imagination; but
_here_, the interest is as great from exactly the opposite cause.
It is most wonderful to walk through a splendid town, with
magnificent public buildings, churches, shops, clubs, theatres, with
the streets well paved and lighted, and to think that less than
forty years ago it was a desolate swamp without even a hut upon it.
How little an English country town progresses in forty years, and
here is a splendid city created in that time! I have no hesitation
in saying, that any fashionable novelty which comes out in either
London or Paris finds its way to Melbourne by the next steamer; for
instance, I broke my parasol on board ship, and the first thing I
did on landing was to go to one of the best shops in Collins Street
to replace it. On learning what I wanted, the shopman showed me
some of those new parasols which had just come out in London before
I sailed, and which I had vainly tried to procure in S---, only four
hours from London.

The only public place we have yet visited is the Acclimatization
Garden; which is very beautifully laid out, and full of aviaries,
though it looks strange to see common English birds treated as
distinguished visitors and sumptuously lodged and cared for.
Naturally, the Australian ones interest me most, and they are
certainly prettier than yours at home, though they do not sing. I
have been already to a shop where they sell skins of birds, and have
half ruined myself in purchases for hats. You are to have a
"diamond sparrow," a dear little fellow with reddish brown plumage,
and white spots over its body (in this respect a miniature copy of
the Argus pheasant I brought from India), and a triangular patch of
bright yellow under its throat. I saw some of them alive in a cage
in the market with many other kinds of small birds, and several
pairs of those pretty grass or zebra paroquets, which are called
here by the very inharmonious name of "budgerighars." I admired the
blue wren so much--a tiny _birdeen_ with tail and body of
dust-coloured feathers, and head and throat of a most lovely
turquoise blue; it has also a little wattle of these blue feathers
standing straight out on each side of its head, which gives it a
very pert appearance. Then there is the emu-wren, all sad-coloured,
but quaint, with the tail-feathers sticking up on end, and exactly
like those of an emu; on the very smallest scale, even to the
peculiarity of two feathers growing out of the same little quill. I
was much amused by the varieties of cockatoos, parrots, and lories
of every kind and colour, shrieking and jabbering in the part of the
market devoted to them; but I am told that I have seen very few of
the varieties of birds, as it is early in the spring, and the young
ones have not yet been brought in: they appear to sell as fast as
they can be procured. But before I end my letter I must tell you
about the cockatoo belonging to this hotel. It is a famous bird in
its way, having had its portrait taken several times, descriptions
written for newspapers of its talents, and its owner boasts of
enormous sums offered and refused for it. Knowing my fondness for
pets, F--- took me downstairs to see it very soon after our arrival.
I thought it hideous: it belongs to a kind not very well known in
England, of a dirtyish white colour, a very ugly-shaped head and
bill, and large bluish rings round the eyes; the beak is huge and
curved. If it knew of this last objection on my part, it would
probably answer, like the wolf in Red Riding Hood's story, "the
better to talk with, my dear"--for it is a weird and knowing bird.
At first it flatly refused to show off any of its accomplishments,
but one of the hotel servants good-naturedly came forward, and Cocky
condescended to go through his performances. I cannot possibly-tell
you of all its antics: it pretended to have a violent toothache, and
nursed its beak in its claw, rocking itself backwards and forwards
as if in the greatest agony, and in answer to all the remedies which
were proposed, croaking out, "Oh, it ain't a bit of good," and
finally sidling up, to the edge of its perch, and saying in hoarse
but confidential whisper, "Give us a drop of whisky, _do_." Its
voice was extraordinarily distinct, and when it sang several
snatches of songs the words were capitally given, with the most
absurdly comic intonation, all the _roulades_ being executed in
perfect tune. I liked its sewing performance so much--to see it
hold a little piece of stuff underneath the claw which rested on the
perch, and pretend to sew with the other, getting into difficulties
with its thread, and finally setting up a loud song in praise of
sewing-machines just as if it were an advertisement.

By the next time I write I shall have seen more of Melbourne; there
will, however, be no time for another letter by this mail; but I
will leave one to be posted after we sail for New Zealand.



Letter II: Sight-seeing in Melbourne.


Melbourne, October 1st, 1865.
I have left my letter to the last moment before starting for
Lyttleton; everything is re-packed and ready, and we sail to-morrow
morning in the _Albion_. She is a mail-steamer--very small after
our large vessel, but she looks clean and tidy; at all events, we
hope to be only on board her for ten days. In England one fancies
that New Zealand is quite close to Australia, so I was rather
disgusted to find we had another thousand miles of steaming to do
before we could reach our new home; and one of the many Job's
comforters who are scattered up and down the world assures me that
the navigation is the most dangerous and difficult of the whole
voyage.

We have seen a good deal of Melbourne this week; and not only of the
town, for we have had many drives in the exceedingly pretty suburbs,
owing to the kindness of the D---s, who have been most hospitable
and made our visit here delightful. We drove out to their house at
Toorak three or four times; and spent a long afternoon with them;
and there I began to make acquaintance with the Antipodean trees and
flowers. I hope you will not think it a very sweeping assertion if
I say that all the leaves look as if they were made of leather, but
it really is so; the hot winds appear to parch up everything, at all
events. round Melbourne, till the greatest charm of foliage is more
or less lost; the flowers also look withered and burnt up, as yours
do at the end of a long, dry summer, only they assume this
appearance after the first hot wind in spring. The suburb called
Heidelberg is the prettiest, to my taste--an undulating country with
vineyards, and a park-like appearance which, is very charming. All
round Melbourne there are nice, comfortable, English-looking villas.
At one of these we called to return a visit and found a very
handsome house, luxuriously furnished, with beautiful garden and
grounds. One afternoon we went by rail to St. Kilda's, a
flourishing bathing-place on the sea-coast, about six miles from
Melbourne. Everywhere building is going on with great rapidity, and
you do not see any poor people in the streets. If I wanted to be
critical and find fault, I might object to the deep gutters on each
side of the road; after a shower of rain they are raging torrents
for a short time, through which you are obliged to splash without
regard to the muddy consequences; and even when they are dry, they
entail sudden and prodigious jolts. There are plenty of Hansoms and
all sorts of other conveyances, but I gave F--- no peace until he
took me for a drive in a vehicle which was quite new to me--a sort
of light car with a canopy and curtains, holding four, two on each
seat, _dos-a-dos_, and called a "jingle,"--of American parentage, I
fancy. One drive in this carriage was quite enough, however, and I
contented myself with Hansoms afterwards; but walking is really more
enjoyable than anything else, after having been so long cooped up on
board ship.

We admired the fine statue, at the top of Collins Street, to the
memory of the two most famous of Australian explorers, Burke and
Wills, and made many visits to the Museum, and the glorious Free
Library; we also went all over the Houses of Legislature--very new
and grand. But you must not despise me if I confess to having
enjoyed the shops exceedingly: it was so unlike a jeweller's shop in
England to see on the counter gold in its raw state, in nuggets and
dust and flakes; in this stage of its existence it certainly
deserves its name of "filthy lucre," for it is often only half
washed. There were quantities of emus' eggs in the silversmiths'
shops, mounted in every conceivable way as cups and vases, and even
as work-boxes: some designs consisted of three or five eggs grouped
together as a centre-piece. I cannot honestly say I admired any of
them; they were generally too elaborate, comprising often a native
(spear in hand), a kangaroo, palms, ferns, cockatoos, and sometimes
an emu or two in addition, as a pedestal--all this in frosted silver
or gold. I was given a pair of these eggs before leaving England:
they were mounted in London as little flower-vases in a setting
consisting only of a few bulrushes and leaves, yet far better than
any of these florid designs; but he emu-eggs are very popular in
Sydney or Melbourne, and I am told sell rapidly to people going
home, who take them as a memento of their Australian life, and
probably think that the greater the number of reminiscences
suggested by the ornament the more satisfactory it is as a purchase.

I must finish my letter by a description of a dinner-party which
about a dozen of our fellow-passengers joined with us in giving our
dear old captain before we all separated. Whilst we were on board,
it very often happened that the food was not very choice or good: at
all events we used sometimes to grumble at it, and we generally
wound up our lamentations by agreeing that when we reached Melbourne
we would have a good dinner together. Looking back on it, I must
say I think we were all rather greedy, but we tried to give a better
colouring to our gourmandism by inviting the captain, who was
universally popular, and by making it as elegant and pretty a repast
as possible. Three or four of the gentlemen formed themselves into
a committee, and they must really have worked very hard; at all
events they collected everything rare and strange in the way of
fish, flesh, and fowl peculiar to Australia, the arrangement of the
table was charming, and the delicacies were all cooked and served to
perfection. The ladies' tastes were considered in the profusion of
flowers, and we each found an exquisite bouquet by our plate. I
cannot possibly give you a minute account of the whole menu; in
fact, as it is, I feel rather like Froissart, who, after chronicling
a long list of sumptuous dishes, is not ashamed to confess, "Of all
which good things I, the chronicler of this narration, did partake!"
The soups comprised kangaroo-tail--a clear soup not unlike ox-tail,
but with a flavour of game. I wish I could recollect the names of
the fish: the fresh-water ones came a long distance by rail from the
river Murray, but were excellent nevertheless. The last thing which
I can remember tasting (for one really could do little else) was a
most exquisite morsel of pigeon--more like a quail than anything
else in flavour. I am not a judge of wine, as you may imagine,
therefore it is no unkindness to the owners of the beautiful
vineyards which we saw the other day, to say that I do not like the
Australian wines. Some of the gentlemen pronounced them to be
excellent, especially the equivalent to Sauterne, which has a
wonderful native name impossible to write down; but, as I said
before, I do not like the rather rough flavour. We had not a great
variety of fruit at dessert: indeed, Sydney oranges constituted its
main feature, as it is too late for winter fruits, and too early for
summer ones: but we were not inclined. to be over-fastidious, and
thought everything delicious.



Letter III: On to New Zealand.


Christchurch, Canterbury, N. Z. October 14th, 1865.
As you so particularly desired me when we parted to tell you
_everything_, I must resume my story where in my last letter I left
it off. If I remember rightly, I ended with an attempt at
describing our great feast. We embarked the next day, and as soon
as we were out of the bay the little _Albion_ plunged into heavy
seas. The motion was much worse in her than on board the large
vessel we had been so glad to leave, and all my previous sufferings
seemed insignificant compared with what I endured in my small and
wretchedly hard berth. I have a dim recollection of F--- helping me
to dress, wrapping me up in various shawls, and half carrying me up
the companion ladder; I crawled into a sunny corner among the boxes
of oranges with which the deck was crowded, and there I lay helpless
and utterly miserable. One well-meaning and good-natured
fellow-passenger asked F--- if I was fond of birds, and on his
saying "Yes," went off for a large wicker cage of hideous "laughing
Jackasses," which he was taking as a great treasure to Canterbury.
Why they should be called "Jackasses" I never could discover; but
the creatures certainly do utter by fits and starts a sound which
may fairly be described as laughter. These paroxysms arise from no
cause that one can perceive; one bird begins, and all the others
join in, and a more doleful and depressing chorus I never heard:
early in the morning seemed the favourite time for this discordant
mirth. Their owner also possessed a cockatoo with a great musical
reputation, but I never heard it get beyond the first bar of "Come
into the garden, Maud." Ill as I was, I remember being roused to
something like a flicker of animation when I was shown an
exceedingly seedy and shabby-looking blackbird with a broken leg in
splints, which its master (the same bird-fancying gentleman) assured
me he had bought in Melbourne as a great bargain for only 2 pounds
10 shillings!

After five days' steaming we arrived in the open roadstead of
Hokitika, on the west coast of the middle island of New Zealand, and
five minutes after the anchor was down a little tug came alongside
to take away our steerage passengers--three hundred diggers. The
gold-fields on this coast were only discovered eight months ago, and
already several canvas towns have sprung up; there are thirty
thousand diggers at work, and every vessel brings a fresh cargo of
stalwart, sun-burnt men. It was rather late, and getting dark, but
still I could distinctly see the picturesque tents in the deep
mountain gorge, their white shapes dotted here and there as far back
from the shore as my sight could follow, and the wreaths of smoke
curling up in all directions from the evening fires: it is still
bitterly cold at night, being very early spring. The river Hokitika
washes down with every fresh such quantities of sand, that a bar is
continually forming in this roadstead, and though only vessels of
the least possible draught are engaged in the coasting-trade, still
wrecks are of frequent occurrence. We ought to have landed our
thousands of oranges here, but this work was necessarily deferred
till the morning, for it was as much as they could do to get all the
diggers and their belongings safely ashore before dark; in the
middle of the night one of the sudden and furious gales common to
these seas sprang up, and would soon have driven us on the rocks if
we had not got our steam up quickly and struggled out to sea,
oranges and all, and away to Nelson, on the north coast of the same
island. Here we landed the seventh day after leaving Melbourne, and
spent a few hours wandering about on shore. It is a lovely little
town, as I saw it that spring morning, with hills running down
almost to the water's edge, and small wooden houses with gables and
verandahs, half buried in creepers, built up the sides of the steep
slopes. It was a true New Zealand day, still and bright, a
delicious invigorating freshness in the air, without the least
chill, the sky of a more than Italian blue, the ranges of mountains
in the distance covered with snow, and standing out, sharp and clear
against this lovely glowing heaven. The town itself, I must say,
seemed very dull and stagnant, with little sign of life or activity
about it; but nothing can be prettier or more picturesque than its
situation--not unlike that of a Swiss village. Our day came to an
end all too soon, and we re-embarked for Wellington, the most
southern town of the North Island. The seat of government is there,
and it is supposed to be a very thriving place, but is not nearly so
well situated as Nelson nor so attractive to strangers. We landed
and walked about a good deal, and saw what little there was to see.
At first I thought the shops very handsome, but I found, rather to
my disgust, that generally the fine, imposing frontage was all a
sham; the actual building was only a little but at the back, looking
all the meaner for the contrast to the cornices and show windows in
front. You cannot think how odd it was to turn a corner and see
that the building was only one board in thickness, and scarcely more
substantial than the scenes at a theatre. We lunched at the
principal hotel, where F--- was much amused at my astonishment at
colonial prices. We had two dozen very nice little oysters, and he
had a glass of porter: for this modest repast we paid eleven
shillings!

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.