In July of this year (1892) my husband and I were fortunately able to make a most interesting journey to the French Colony of New Caledonia. As is well known, certain questions had arisen from time to time between Australia and New Caledonia, as the former Government asserted that convicts escaped from the French penal colony were apt to take refuge on Australian shores; and since the total cessation of convict transportation from Great Britain Australians were, not unnaturally, additionally sensitive to their arrival from any other quarter.
NOUMEA
Apart from this, however, the relations between the British and French “outposts of Empire” were very friendly and a good many Australians had established themselves as free settlers in Noumea, the capital of New Caledonia; and when the French Government heard that Jersey contemplated a visit they sent word (as we learnt later on) that a generous sum was to be spent on the reception of the first Australian Governor to undertake the voyage. Owing to the fact that he had to await permission from home before absenting himself from New South Wales, and as there was then no cable to Noumea, we were unable to name an exact date for our arrival, which after some three days’ voyage took place on July 13th. We sailed in a Messageries boat, the Armand Béhic, very luxurious and with most obliging officers, but much too narrow in proportion to its length, which caused it to roll even when the sea was perfectly calm. This was a common fault with Messageries boats in those days. Probably also it was deficient in cargo, as, despite a large Government subsidy, this line was run to New Caledonia at a considerable loss. I wrote to my mother describing our arrival as follows:
“We were received” (at Noumea) “with a tremendous salute of guns, after which the Conseil de Santé promptly put the ship and all its company into quarantine for 24 hours! We (including Private Secretary and servants) were allowed to stay on board, where we were perfectly comfortable, but all the other passengers from the Armand Béhic and another ship arriving from Sydney at about the same time, were bundled off to the quarantine island. There were about 180 of them and accommodation for about 25. What the rhyme or reason of 24 hours’ quarantine was in a question of small-pox which might appear, if at all, in 21 days, we at first failed to discover, but the solution—and I fancy the true one—ultimately offered was that when our ship arrived with the British Ensign flying there was an awful hullabaloo. They did not know we were coming by this ship, and neither Government House nor anything else was ready, so they cried, “Whatever shall we do? Happy thought! Small-pox at Sydney—let us quarantine them till we have had time to prepare,” (Here let me remark that as a rule Australia was absolutely free from small-pox, but a few cases had lately been brought by a ship, and of course relegated to the New South Wales remote quarantine stations.)
To resume my letter:
“It mattered very little to us, but was awfully hard on the other victims, particularly as they put all their worn linen into some concoction of chemicals which utterly spoilt it. Meantime we went off to the quarantine island for a walk and went up a hill whence we had a beautiful view of the harbour which is lovely ... high hills of charming shapes round it ... the real glow of vivid green, red, and blue which one imagines in the South Pacific.... Well, next morning, at 9 a.m., we were allowed to land in great honour and glory, and were received by the Mayor, girt with his tricolour sash, and all the Municipal Council, and then escorted to Government House, where everything had been prepared, down to unlimited scent-bottles, tooth-brushes, and splendidly bound copies of Byron and Milton, to make us feel at home. The only drawback was that having once established us, and apparently cleaned up the house for our arrival, nobody ever attempted to dust or clean in any way again—and as it rained all the time after the first day, and everyone walked everywhere, including in the ball-room, in muddy boots, the effect was peculiar. Every place was, however, decorated with flowers and flags, which are no doubt excellent substitutes for dusters and dustpans.”
THE GOVERNOR OF NEW CALEDONIA
I shall not easily forget that household. It is hardly necessary to say that the Governor, M. Laffon, was a bachelor, a young man, clever and charming but evidently unaccustomed to domestic details. I believe that he was appointed through the influence of the Paris Rothschild, who was a friend of his father, and who had a predominating share in the nickel mines which constitute the great wealth of New Caledonia. He, however, was a civilian and had no voice in the appointment of the Private Secretary and Military A.D.C. who constituted his staff, and who treated their Chief with a profound disregard which scandalised our Private Secretary, George Goschen.
M. Laffon got up at any hour in the morning to take us to “objects of interest” before the heat of the day, but the staff did not trouble themselves to appear till about noon, and when a ceremonious déjeuner was given we found that the Minister of the Interior was running round to put the name-cards on the places of the guests. These young men told Mr. Goschen that when they did not want to go anywhere they pleaded headache and wondered if their Governor were surprised at the frequency of these ailments. “But don’t you have a headache?” added one of them. “An A.D.C.,” retorted our virtuous Briton, “never has a headache.” “But you have sentiments?” “An A.D.C.,” was the reply, “has no feelings.” “You must feel unwell sometimes?” “Never more than one out of four of us at a time.”
Poor George Goschen was nearly crippled with rheumatism while at Noumea, but would rather have died on the spot than have omitted to set a good example by following us everywhere in a pelting rain. Nevertheless when they deigned to accompany us the two Frenchmen made themselves very agreeable.