In town Mrs. Close had asked me to call on her at Campbell’s wharf, where she was staying with a connection of her husband’s; so one afternoon I called. She was out, but Mr. John received me, and, before I could explain the reason of my visit, began, “Well, young lady, what do you want a subscription for?” I looked astonished, and he continued, “Do you know you are the third that has asked me for help to-day.” “But I don’t want anything.” “Not want anything?” in a surprised tone. “Well, then, you are very unlike my usual young lady visitors, for they generally want something for a church, chapel, school, poor people, or help of some kind. I have neither wife nor children, so am expected to provide for other men’s.” When he heard my errand he laughed, and said, “You are certain you do not want anything?” “Yes, quite certain, Mr. John.” As I would not wait for Mrs. Close’s return, he escorted me to the gate. This gentleman was the eldest of three brothers, old and wealthy colonists, pillars of the Church of England, and true philanthropists, highly respected and honourable men. The one I have alluded to spent a fortune in doing good, and left a large sum to found a church in one of the Pacific Islands. He and his brothers assisted in forming a bishopric in the Southern district. They have all gone now to reap an eternal reward for good work done here, leaving an honoured name to their descendants.
Soon after our return to Morpeth, the sad news of our beloved Queen’s loss, by the death of Prince Albert, reached us. A sad loss to her, her family, and the nation of which we were part. Sympathy was sincere, and in most homes it was felt almost as a family bereavement. Mr. Edward Close senior was so much affected as to be almost unable to read the usual daily prayer for the Royal family.
We had incessant rain for some time after our return to Morpeth, and fears of floods were entertained, the district lying low, and most of the farms near the banks of the river. One night, hearing the firing of guns and people running about, I knew these fears were realised, and in the morning heard that Mr. Edward Close junior with our men had been rescuing persons from the roofs of houses and tree tops. It was dangerous work, as often the boats would be nearly stove in by striking against the buildings, fences, and tree stumps, or nearly upset by floating debris. What a desolate scene it was, as viewed from our higher ground, now full of stock rescued from the farms! Only the chimneys of houses and the tops of high trees to mark where a few weeks ago stood comfortable homes, orchards, and gardens. Poor people, what places to return to when the water subsided; furniture and clothing soddened with wet and mud; stock drowned and crops washed away! I remarked to Mr. Edward Close senior, “They will never live in those places again.” “Yes, Miss L——, in a few weeks you will see them quite comfortable again.” Which was the case, for in less than two months, owing to the wonderful power of the Southern sun, fresh crops were above the ground, the wooden houses fresh whitewashed, and the soil richer and more productive than ever, owing to the rich soil deposited. I went for a short visit to Maitland at this time, and from Government Cottage on the hill saw more of the effects of the flood than at Morpeth. Dead stock, produce, furniture, and whole stacks of hay floated down the stream. Yet Mr. Day said, “Floods in the Hunter were nothing to those in other districts, where many lives would be sacrificed ere aid could be obtained.”
CHAPTER XVI
After twelve months’ residence in Morpeth I left for another visit to Penrith, by this time a much busier place, as the then railway terminus for the Western district. The bridge over the Nepean River was finished, so we could cross without that extremely disagreeable ferry. We spent a few weeks in the mountains, visiting Govett’s Leap, the waterfalls, and other well-known spots, while others we explored on our own account. How lovely it all was! What complete solitude in the gullies and mountain paths! The mountains might well be named “Blue,” for at times they were intensely so. One sunset there was most beautiful. We had spent the afternoon collecting ferns, waratahs, and mountain moss, heedless of time, when a heavy storm came on. Taking shelter under some rocks, we watched the sun emerging from the rain-clouds; in an instant every peak was touched with golden tints, and every valley filled by innumerable rainbows; gradually golden tints faded into purple, clouds broke into silver turrets, and along the horizon was a sea of palest green. My companion whispered, “Can heaven be more beautiful?” We could not so conceive it. The beauty of the scene seemed to make the question “Is there a God?” impossible. If this cannot reach the poorest soul, what can? We often took a drive to “St. Mary’s,” quite an English village in appearance then, with its pretty church and “silent dead” around it. Not silent, for the inscriptions over these last homes are often “sermons in stones.” One always attracted me. It was to the memory of the son of a well-known English house, who, travelling in search of health, gave up the quest here, and died suddenly at the little village inn unknown, in this lonely far-away land. Nurtured in luxury, and favoured with exceptional advantages, he would seem to some safe from common dangers. “The Universal Reaper” says no. This record proves in few words how vain are man’s efforts. But his mother could not have desired a fairer resting-place for her child than here, amidst the humbler graves covered with green turf and shaded by many trees, and under, at night, the emblem of that son’s salvation, “The Southern Cross.”
Now we had a bridge over the Nepean, Mrs. Richard would often suggest drives to various farms on or near Emu Plains. She delighted in paying visits to the farmers’ wives, some of whom had known her in childhood, and would sit and listen with interest to the various details of “how the brindle cow had another calf,” or “when another pig would be killed,” or “the trouble these new-fangled fowls were, not being good mothers, you know,” until we, who were sitting in the waggonette, felt very tired and hot, wishing the good woman to stop this no doubt all-important subject to her. Sometimes our selfish impatience was punished by the kindly offer of “milk and seedcake,” or “any flowers and fruit we could gather.”
The main street of Penrith was not much altered; the railway station not being in it, the post-office was still at a general shop, but the letters were delivered through a window at the end of the verandah, which was used only for that purpose,—a much better plan than that adopted in this English village where I am now staying, twenty-seven years later, where they are delivered at a counter covered with the usual goods of a country store, whence also telegrams are sent, letters registered, and money orders issued, so that inquisitive persons standing near can study their neighbours’ business.
The volunteer movement had fired the ambition of the young men of this district to become soldiers. The son of a captain in the army was the head of “our regiment,” Mr. Richard the lieutenant. A grand volunteer ball was to be held in the hall, and several visitors from Sydney were expected. The stores were very busy, and nothing but the army ball was talked of. It was a most successful affair; not over select certainly, the captain’s wife dancing with one of his men, their butcher’s son, much to her husband’s amusement, who whispered, “Look at my wife; she has not the vaguest idea who her partner is; the uniform does it, you know.” I discovered this later in the evening, when Captain James introduced a partner to me; the face was familiar, and during the first figure of the quadrille I wondered where I had seen it. He did not speak, but danced solemnly; but while waiting for the next figure, he called me “Miss,” and appeared to know me, yet his style of dancing proved he was not accustomed to ladies as partners, for he would put his arm round my waist instead of taking hands. At last I discovered who he was, when, thinking to pay me a compliment, he alluded to my feet. Yes, he had served me with a pair of shoes a few days before. Captain James declared he and Mrs. Richard’s brother knew the instant I found this out by my manner to the poor young man. They were wrong, for I did my best to place him at his ease by talking about the district. It was a very pretty scene; nearly all the men in uniform, and several very pretty girls. The room was gaily decorated with flags. An excellent supper was provided by the ladies of the district, and we left about two o’clock; but the dancing continued till daylight. Being the first affair of the kind, it served as a topic of conversation for months, and the local belles voted picnics and tea-meetings slow by comparison.
Again I wended my way to Sydney, to live with a friend who was a great invalid, and undertake the management of the house and education of her two children. We lived at Surrey Hills, close to the principal nursery garden in Sydney, which was a very extensive property owned by a man who came to the colony with Captain Wilson, R.A., grandfather of my brother’s wife. The land, I think, was a grant from Government; it was a sandy swamp, but eminently fitted for the use it was put to; beautiful flowers and fine vegetables were grown at little outlay. At the time of my brother’s marriage the owner of this extensive property was becoming wealthy, and now it is worth many thousands. Much of it has been built upon. Another very wealthy family in Sydney owe their first step to riches to a similar source, their father having gone to the colony as secretary to my sister-in-law’s grandfather, and acquired land. Captain Wilson only left his children an honourable name; but as I have previously remarked as a curious fact, the large grants of land made to, or large areas purchased for a trifle by the early colonists, especially military or naval men, are not owned by their descendants. The land, apparently of little value, was sold by them to more business-like and far-seeing men; sometimes almost given away.
Afterwards we left Surrey Hills for a house in town near to my first home in the colony, and by doing so formed a close friendship with a family in the neighbourhood; the head of that family was a clever professional man, educated in England, who arrived in the colony when such were few, and by ability and perseverance attained the position he still so ably and honourably fills. A true Englishman of the old school, straight in word and deed, kind and generous—in fact, an example in every relation of life. If we had such men in our colonial parliaments, how very differently they would be conducted, and the country governed; but his professional and home duties during his early career occupied the whole of his time, and now the state of political life is such that good and honourable men often decline to enter the arena; however, he uses his influence and talent in other channels for the benefit of his adopted country.