We left on the 19th June, and had very favourable weather, only having two gales, in one of which we lost a man overboard—the carpenter. We had three families of returning colonists,—the Attorney-General, Archdeacon C——, with his wife and two children, and another lady and gentleman, with one child. Divine service was held every Sunday, and though the archdeacon was seventy-five years of age, he was a good preacher and very active. He had gone home blind from cataract, but Alexander, the famous oculist, restored his sight.
As we neared the end of our voyage, it became very monotonous to some, as we were growing tired of one another; and to those who were going to an unknown country and who had heard a great deal more about that country than they had known prior to leaving, there was a dread of “what the future might hold in store for us”; and in my own family especially this thought would intrude. “We had better have remained in England;” but it was too late now.
We were sailing through Bass Straits, passing islands, and with the Tasmanian land to the south of us, in a few days expected to see the land of “The Golden South.” We passed Sydney Heads late, and until the anchor was let go did not know that we had at last reached our destination. A resounding knock at our Venetians made me wake up. “K——,” said my mother, “we are in fairyland; look out of the port.” I did, and my eyes were dazzled by the brilliant sunrise of an Australian August morning, the long white beaches fringed by heights wooded down to the rippling bay. I was very soon on deck, and even now can almost feel the thrill of delight at the view then presented before me. Many have seen this and written of its loveliness since, in these days of travel; but not as I saw it then, as to a certain extent man’s improvements (save the mark!) have marred some of the Master’s works. Few houses were to be seen, only a few cleared spaces surrounded with trees of the most luxuriant foliage. We waited till the health officer came on board and pronounced “All well;” then the pilot took charge of the ship, and we were soon gliding towards the anchorage, from which we could see Sydney and the north shore with its few houses buried in foliage. Soon the deck was crowded.
Our archdeacon’s eldest son, I think, was the first on board to greet the parent so loved and respected. “I can see you now,” were the old man’s words of greeting. We were soon standing on the quay, a small affair then, and entered the hired close carriages brought by my father’s partner to take us to his house. We drove along George Street, past the Gaol and Barracks, then into Pitt Street. “Well! what do you think of it, K——?” asked my mother, I suppose from seeing the blank look on my face; I was so dreadfully disappointed. “It is like E——, where we stayed last summer, not a bit like a foreign country; Cape Town is much prettier.” “Ah! Miss K——, you will find it foreign enough by and by,” remarked our host. My mother was delighted at what troubled me. “I can fancy myself at home sometimes,” she murmured. She was a true child of the city. London had always been her home, and though, for her children’s sake, she left it every summer for the country, she only endured the change, and like Charles Lamb, saw nothing in it. “London suits me best, and humanity is more satisfying than mountains, trees, or flowers.” Poor mother! I remembered afterwards our host looked pityingly at her beautiful face when she said this.
CHAPTER II
George, Pitt, King, and Hunter Streets were those alone worthy of the name, and they were disfigured by irregular buildings, very small and mean-looking shops and private houses, and by broken patches of vacant land. The footpaths were miserably bad and the roads ill kept. There were no omnibuses or cabs, only old private carriages for hire from the livery stables. This to a woman like my mother, who had never walked two miles consecutively, was indeed misery; however, when we found a house of our own in Elizabeth Street, she brightened for a time. Such a house to her fresh from one in a London Square! Our Sydney house contained six bare rooms, a kitchen outside, and servants’ room over it, without fixtures or cupboards of any kind, no water but what was bought or brought from the city taps by our servants at certain hours of the day; and for this house and small paved yard the rent was £100 per annum. I, being young, could not realise the discomfort of such a home, and found Sydney and its suburbs quite foreign enough for me.
When we had quite settled in our first Australian home, to find the nearest Church of England was a consideration. To find our parish (St. Laurence’s) church was a disused brewery was another terrible shock to my mother’s idea of the fitness of things. However, when the incumbent proved to be a clever Oxford M.A. and fine preacher, her troubles in this respect ended. To me it was the greatest gain to become one of his children; he was so kind, loving, and genial, and had that great gift of leading young men and women to see in religion the love and pity of God.
Out of that one parish, extending then over many miles, there are now at least ten made, each with a church and congregation much larger than those of the old mother parish.
It was a pleasant walk across the racecourse, now called Hyde Park, to the Domain and Botanic Gardens. In another direction miles of sandhills; in another, towards Wooloomooloo, there were lovely walks by the waters of the harbour. For six months I practically lived out of doors, the clear fresh air was so exhilarating, except when a strong southerly wind was blowing; then it became anything but pleasant, as the sand from the hills, mixed with the pulverised clay of the roads, formed a dust which covered and penetrated everything and everywhere. This was generally known as a “Brickfielder.”
My father had letters of introduction to many residents in Sydney, Elizabeth Bay, Darling Point, and Rose Bay; and visiting at these places, we soon found that New South Wales was not wanting in cultured gentlemen and families. The reason for stating this is that I find, since returning to England, it is thought by some “that people in those early days of Australia lived almost like savages,” and “that colonial society was composed only of very low people.” How different was the reality, for in many houses we enjoyed the society of educated and scientific men, and of accomplished and gentle women, surrounded by all the comforts and refinements of life.