Station Life in New Zealand - Lady Mary Anne Barker (read the beginning after the end novel .txt) 📗
- Author: Lady Mary Anne Barker
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need not whisper, nobody is asleep." I heard one plaintive murmur "Think of all our warm beds, and of our coming up here from choice." I must say I felt dreadfully ashamed of myself for my plan; it was impossible to express my contrition and remorse, for, always excepting Mr. U----, they were all too cross to be spoken to. It certainly was a weary, long night. About one o'clock I pretended to want some hot tea, and the preparation for that got through half an hour, and it warmed us a little; but everybody still was deeply dejected, not to say morose. After an interval of only two hours more of thorough and intense wretchedness we had a "grogs," but there was no attempt at conviviality--subdued savageness was the prevailing state of mind. I tried to infuse a little hope into the party, by suggestions of a speedy termination to our misery, but my own private opinion was that we should all be laid up for weeks to come with illness. I allotted to myself in this imaginary distribution of ills a severe rheumatic fever; oh! how I ached, and I felt as if I never could be warm again. The fire was no use; except to afford occupation in putting on wood; it roasted a little bit of you at a time, and that bit suffered doubly from the cold when it was obliged to take its share of exposure to the wind. I cannot say whether the proverb is true of other nights, but this particular night, certainly, was both darkest and coldest just before dawn.
At last, to our deep joy, and after many false alarms, we really all agreed that there was a faint streak of grey in the east. My first impulse was to set off home, and I believe I tried to get up expressing some such intention, but F---- recalled me to myself by saying, in great surprise, "Are you not going to stop and see the sun rise?" I had quite forgotten that this was the avowed object of the expedition, but I was far too stiff to walk a yard, so I was obliged to wait to see what effect the sunrise would have on my frozen limbs, for I could not think of any higher motive. Presently some one called out "There's the sea," and so it was, as distinct as though it were not fifty miles off; none of us had seen it since we landed; to all of us it is associated with the idea of going home some day: whilst we were feasting our eyes on it a golden line seemed drawn on its horizon; it spread and spread, and as all the water became flooded with a light and glory which hardly seemed to belong to this world, the blessed sun came up to restore us all to life and warmth again. In a moment, in less than a moment, all our little privations and sufferings vanished as if they had never existed, or existed only to be laughed at. Who could think of their "Ego" in such a glorious presence, and with such a panorama before them? I did not know which side to turn to first. Behind me rose a giant forest in the far hills to the west--a deep shadow for miles, till the dark outline of the pines stood out against the dazzling snow of the mountains behind it; here the sky was still sheltering the flying night, and the white outlines looked ghostly against the dull neutral tints, though every peak was sharply and clearly defined; then I turned round to see before me such a glow of light and beauty! For an immense distance I could see the vast Canterbury plains; to the left the Waimakiriri river, flowing in many streams, "like a tangled bunch of silver ribbons" (as Mr. Butler calls it in his charming book on New Zealand), down to the sea; beyond its banks the sun shone on the windows of the houses at Oxford, thirty miles off as the crow would fly, and threw its dense bush into strong relief against the yellow plains. The Port Hills took the most lovely lights and shadows as we gazed on them; beyond them lay the hills of Akaroa, beautiful beyond the power of words to describe. Christchurch looked quite a large place from the great extent of ground it appeared to cover. We looked onto the south: there was a slight haze over the great Ellesmere Lake, the water of which is quite fresh, though only separated from the sea by a slight bar of sand; the high banks of the Rakaia made a deep dark line extending right back into the mountains, and beyond it we could see the Rangitata faintly gleaming in the distance; between us and the coast were green patches and tiny homesteads, but still few and far between; close under our feet, and looking like a thread beneath the shadow of the mountain, ran the Selwyn in a narrow gorge, and on its bank stood the shepherd's hut that I have told you once afforded us such a good luncheon; it looked a mere toy, as if it came out of a child's box of playthings, and yet so snug for all its lonely position. On the other hand lay our own little home, with the faint wreath of smoke stealing up through the calm air (for the wind had dropped at sunrise). Here and there we saw strings of sheep going down from their high camping-grounds to feed on the sunny slopes and in the warm valleys. Every moment added to our delight and enjoyment; but unfortunately it was a sort of happiness which one can neither speak of at the time, nor write about afterwards: silence is its most expressive language. Whilst I was drinking in all the glory and beauty before me, some of the others had been busy striking the tent, repacking the loads, very much lighter without the provisions; and we had one more excellent cup of tea before abandoning the encampment to the wekas, who must have breakfasted splendidly that morning. Our last act was to collect all the stones we could move into a huge cairn, which was built round a tall pole of totara; on the summit of this we tied securely, with flax, the largest and strongest pocket-handkerchief, and then, after one look round to the west--now as glowing and bright as the radiant east--we set off homewards about seven o'clock; but it was long before we reached the place where we left the horses, for the gentlemen began rolling huge rocks down the sides of the hills and watching them crashing and thundering into the valleys, sometimes striking another rock and then bounding high into the air. They were all as eager and excited as schoolboys, and I could not go on and leave them, lest I should get below them and be crushed under a small stone of twenty tons or so. I was therefore forced to keep well _above_ them all the time. At last we reached the spur where the horses were tethered, re-saddled and loaded them, and arrived quite safely at home, just in time for baths and breakfast. I was amused to see that no one seemed to remember or allude to the miseries and aches of that long cold night; all were full of professions of enjoyment. But I noticed that the day was unusually quiet; the gentlemen preferred a bask in the verandah to any other amusement, and I have reason to believe they indulged in a good many naps.
Letter XVIII: A journey "down south."
Waimate, May 1867. In one of my early letters from Heathstock I told you that the Hurunui, which is the boundary of that run, marks the extreme north of the Province of Canterbury; and now I am writing to you from the extreme south. I hope you do not forget to reverse in your own mind the ordinary ideas of heat and cold, as connected with those points of the compass. The distance from our house to this is about 160 miles, and we actually took two days and a half to get here!--besides, into these miles was compressed the fatigue of a dozen English railway journeys of the same length. But, I suppose, as usual, you will not be satisfied unless I begin at the very beginning. The first difficulty was to reach the point where we were to join the coach on the Great South Road. It was less than thirty miles, so we could easily have ridden the distance; but the difficulty was to get our clothes all that way. They could not be carried on horseback, and just then the station-dray was particularly employed; besides which it would have taken three days to come and go,--rather a useless expenditure of the man's time, as well as of the horses' legs, where only two little portmanteaus were concerned. Fortunately for us, however, this is a country where each man is ready and willing to help his neighbour, without any inquiry as to who he is; so the moment our dilemma was known various plans were suggested for our assistance, of which this was the one selected:--
On a certain bright but cold Wednesday afternoon, F---- and I and our modest luggage started in a neighbour's "trap" for the station I have already mentioned on the Horarata, where Mr. C. H---- and I stopped on our way to Lake Coleridge. It is on the plains at the foot of a low range of downs, and about twelve miles from us. You cannot imagine a more charming little cottage _ornee_ than the house is, capable of holding, apparently, an indefinite number of people, and with owners whose hospitality always prompts them to try its capabilities to the utmost. A creek runs near the house, and on its banks, sloping to the sun, lies a lovely garden, as trim as any English parterre, and a mass of fruit and flowers. Nothing can be more picturesque than the mixture of both. For instance, on the wall of the house is a peach-tree laden every autumn with rosy, velvet-cheeked fruit; and jasmine and passion-flowers growing luxuriantly near it. Inside all is bright neatness and such a welcome! As for our supper, on this particular day it comprised every dainty you can imagine, and made me think of my housekeeping with shame and confusion of face. We had a very merry evening, with round games; but there was a strong prejudice in favour of going to bed early, as we all had to be up by three o'clock: and so we were, to find a delicious breakfast prepared for us, which our kind hostess was quite disappointed to see we could not eat much of. Coffee and toast was all I could manage at that hour. We started in the dark, and the first thing we had to cross was a dry river-bed, in which one of the horses lay deliberately down, and refused to move. This eccentricity delayed us very much; but we got him into a better frame of mind, and accomplished our early drive of sixteen miles in safety, reaching the accommodation-house, or inn, where the coach from Christchurch to Timaru changes horses for its first stage, by six o'clock. There we had a good breakfast, and were in great "form" by the time the coach was ready to start. These conveyances have a world-wide celebrity as "Cobb's coaches," both in America and Australia, where they are invariably the pioneers of all wheeled vehicles, being better adapted to travel on a bad road, or no road at all, than any other four-wheeled "trap." They are both strong and light, with leathern springs and a powerful break; but I cannot conscientiously say they are at
At last, to our deep joy, and after many false alarms, we really all agreed that there was a faint streak of grey in the east. My first impulse was to set off home, and I believe I tried to get up expressing some such intention, but F---- recalled me to myself by saying, in great surprise, "Are you not going to stop and see the sun rise?" I had quite forgotten that this was the avowed object of the expedition, but I was far too stiff to walk a yard, so I was obliged to wait to see what effect the sunrise would have on my frozen limbs, for I could not think of any higher motive. Presently some one called out "There's the sea," and so it was, as distinct as though it were not fifty miles off; none of us had seen it since we landed; to all of us it is associated with the idea of going home some day: whilst we were feasting our eyes on it a golden line seemed drawn on its horizon; it spread and spread, and as all the water became flooded with a light and glory which hardly seemed to belong to this world, the blessed sun came up to restore us all to life and warmth again. In a moment, in less than a moment, all our little privations and sufferings vanished as if they had never existed, or existed only to be laughed at. Who could think of their "Ego" in such a glorious presence, and with such a panorama before them? I did not know which side to turn to first. Behind me rose a giant forest in the far hills to the west--a deep shadow for miles, till the dark outline of the pines stood out against the dazzling snow of the mountains behind it; here the sky was still sheltering the flying night, and the white outlines looked ghostly against the dull neutral tints, though every peak was sharply and clearly defined; then I turned round to see before me such a glow of light and beauty! For an immense distance I could see the vast Canterbury plains; to the left the Waimakiriri river, flowing in many streams, "like a tangled bunch of silver ribbons" (as Mr. Butler calls it in his charming book on New Zealand), down to the sea; beyond its banks the sun shone on the windows of the houses at Oxford, thirty miles off as the crow would fly, and threw its dense bush into strong relief against the yellow plains. The Port Hills took the most lovely lights and shadows as we gazed on them; beyond them lay the hills of Akaroa, beautiful beyond the power of words to describe. Christchurch looked quite a large place from the great extent of ground it appeared to cover. We looked onto the south: there was a slight haze over the great Ellesmere Lake, the water of which is quite fresh, though only separated from the sea by a slight bar of sand; the high banks of the Rakaia made a deep dark line extending right back into the mountains, and beyond it we could see the Rangitata faintly gleaming in the distance; between us and the coast were green patches and tiny homesteads, but still few and far between; close under our feet, and looking like a thread beneath the shadow of the mountain, ran the Selwyn in a narrow gorge, and on its bank stood the shepherd's hut that I have told you once afforded us such a good luncheon; it looked a mere toy, as if it came out of a child's box of playthings, and yet so snug for all its lonely position. On the other hand lay our own little home, with the faint wreath of smoke stealing up through the calm air (for the wind had dropped at sunrise). Here and there we saw strings of sheep going down from their high camping-grounds to feed on the sunny slopes and in the warm valleys. Every moment added to our delight and enjoyment; but unfortunately it was a sort of happiness which one can neither speak of at the time, nor write about afterwards: silence is its most expressive language. Whilst I was drinking in all the glory and beauty before me, some of the others had been busy striking the tent, repacking the loads, very much lighter without the provisions; and we had one more excellent cup of tea before abandoning the encampment to the wekas, who must have breakfasted splendidly that morning. Our last act was to collect all the stones we could move into a huge cairn, which was built round a tall pole of totara; on the summit of this we tied securely, with flax, the largest and strongest pocket-handkerchief, and then, after one look round to the west--now as glowing and bright as the radiant east--we set off homewards about seven o'clock; but it was long before we reached the place where we left the horses, for the gentlemen began rolling huge rocks down the sides of the hills and watching them crashing and thundering into the valleys, sometimes striking another rock and then bounding high into the air. They were all as eager and excited as schoolboys, and I could not go on and leave them, lest I should get below them and be crushed under a small stone of twenty tons or so. I was therefore forced to keep well _above_ them all the time. At last we reached the spur where the horses were tethered, re-saddled and loaded them, and arrived quite safely at home, just in time for baths and breakfast. I was amused to see that no one seemed to remember or allude to the miseries and aches of that long cold night; all were full of professions of enjoyment. But I noticed that the day was unusually quiet; the gentlemen preferred a bask in the verandah to any other amusement, and I have reason to believe they indulged in a good many naps.
Letter XVIII: A journey "down south."
Waimate, May 1867. In one of my early letters from Heathstock I told you that the Hurunui, which is the boundary of that run, marks the extreme north of the Province of Canterbury; and now I am writing to you from the extreme south. I hope you do not forget to reverse in your own mind the ordinary ideas of heat and cold, as connected with those points of the compass. The distance from our house to this is about 160 miles, and we actually took two days and a half to get here!--besides, into these miles was compressed the fatigue of a dozen English railway journeys of the same length. But, I suppose, as usual, you will not be satisfied unless I begin at the very beginning. The first difficulty was to reach the point where we were to join the coach on the Great South Road. It was less than thirty miles, so we could easily have ridden the distance; but the difficulty was to get our clothes all that way. They could not be carried on horseback, and just then the station-dray was particularly employed; besides which it would have taken three days to come and go,--rather a useless expenditure of the man's time, as well as of the horses' legs, where only two little portmanteaus were concerned. Fortunately for us, however, this is a country where each man is ready and willing to help his neighbour, without any inquiry as to who he is; so the moment our dilemma was known various plans were suggested for our assistance, of which this was the one selected:--
On a certain bright but cold Wednesday afternoon, F---- and I and our modest luggage started in a neighbour's "trap" for the station I have already mentioned on the Horarata, where Mr. C. H---- and I stopped on our way to Lake Coleridge. It is on the plains at the foot of a low range of downs, and about twelve miles from us. You cannot imagine a more charming little cottage _ornee_ than the house is, capable of holding, apparently, an indefinite number of people, and with owners whose hospitality always prompts them to try its capabilities to the utmost. A creek runs near the house, and on its banks, sloping to the sun, lies a lovely garden, as trim as any English parterre, and a mass of fruit and flowers. Nothing can be more picturesque than the mixture of both. For instance, on the wall of the house is a peach-tree laden every autumn with rosy, velvet-cheeked fruit; and jasmine and passion-flowers growing luxuriantly near it. Inside all is bright neatness and such a welcome! As for our supper, on this particular day it comprised every dainty you can imagine, and made me think of my housekeeping with shame and confusion of face. We had a very merry evening, with round games; but there was a strong prejudice in favour of going to bed early, as we all had to be up by three o'clock: and so we were, to find a delicious breakfast prepared for us, which our kind hostess was quite disappointed to see we could not eat much of. Coffee and toast was all I could manage at that hour. We started in the dark, and the first thing we had to cross was a dry river-bed, in which one of the horses lay deliberately down, and refused to move. This eccentricity delayed us very much; but we got him into a better frame of mind, and accomplished our early drive of sixteen miles in safety, reaching the accommodation-house, or inn, where the coach from Christchurch to Timaru changes horses for its first stage, by six o'clock. There we had a good breakfast, and were in great "form" by the time the coach was ready to start. These conveyances have a world-wide celebrity as "Cobb's coaches," both in America and Australia, where they are invariably the pioneers of all wheeled vehicles, being better adapted to travel on a bad road, or no road at all, than any other four-wheeled "trap." They are both strong and light, with leathern springs and a powerful break; but I cannot conscientiously say they are at
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