You have often asked me what we have to eat, so this will be a good opportunity of introducing our daily bill of fare, prefacing it with my recorded opinion that here is no place in the world where you can live so cheaply and so well as on a New Zealand sheep station, when once you get a start. Of course, it is expensive at first, setting everything going, but that would be the case in any country. I will begin at the very beginning:—Porridge for breakfast, with new milk and cream a discretion; to follow—mutton chops, mutton ham, or mutton curry, or broiled mutton and mushrooms, not shabby little fragments of meat broiled, but beautiful tender steaks off a leg; tea or coffee, and bread and butter, with as many new-laid eggs as we choose to consume. Then, for dinner, at half-past one, we have soup, a joint, vegetables, and a pudding; in summer, we have fresh fruit stewed, instead of a pudding, with whipped cream. I was a proud and happy woman the first day my cream remained cream, and did not turn into butter; for generally my zeal outran my discretion, and I did not know when to leave off whipping. We have supper about seven; but this is a moveable feast, consisting of tea again, mutton cooked in some form of entree, eggs, bread and butter, and a cake of my manufacture. I must, however, acknowledge, that at almost every other station you would get more dainties, such as jam and preserves of all sorts, than we can boast of yet; for, as Littimer says to David Copperfield, "We are very young, exceedingly young, sir," our fruit-trees, have not come into full bearing, and our other resources are still quite undeveloped.
However, I have wandered away terribly from my first intention of telling you of the daily occupations to a description of our daily food. After I have finished all my little fussings about the house, I join F—— who has probably been for some time quietly settled down at his writing-table, and we work together at books and writing till dinner; after that meal, F—— like Mr. Tootes, "resumes his studies," but I go and feed my fowls again, and if I am very idly disposed I sit on a hencoop in the shade and watch the various tempers of my chickens and ducklings. A little later F—— and I go out for some hours: if it is not too hot, he takes his rifle and we go over the hills pig-stalking, but this is really only suitable exercise for a fine winter's day; at this time of year we either go for a walk or a ride, generally the latter—not a little shabby canter, but a long stretching gallop for miles and miles; perhaps stopping to have a cup of tea with a neighbour twelve or fifteen miles off, and then coming slowly home in the delicious gloaming, with the peculiar fresh crisp feeling which the atmosphere always has here the moment the sun sets, no matter how hot the day has been. I can hardly hope to make you understand how enjoyable our twilight hours are, with no fear of damp or malaria to spoil them; every turn of the track as we slowly wind up the valley showing us some beautiful glimpse of distant mountain peaks, and, above all, such sunset splendours, gradually fading away into the deep, pure beauty of a summer night.
In one of our rides the other day, after crossing a low range of hills, we suddenly dropped down on what would be called in England a hamlet, but here it is designated by the extraordinary name of a "nest of cockatoos." This expression puzzled me so much when I first heard it, that I must give you as minute an explanation as I myself found necessary to the comprehension of the subject.
When a shepherd has saved a hundred pounds, or the better class of immigrant arrives with a little capital, the favourite investment is in freehold land, which they can purchase, in sections of twenty acres and upwards, at 2 pounds the acre. The next step is to build a sod but with two rooms on their property, thatching it with Tohi, or swamp grass; a door and a couple of window-frames all ready glazed are brought from Christchurch in the dray with the family and the household goods. After this rough and ready shelter is provided, the father and sons begin fencing their land and gradually it all assumes a cultivated appearance. Pig-sties and fowl-houses are added; a little garden, gay with common English flowers, is made in front of the house, whose ugly walls are gradually hidden by creepers, and the homestead looks both picturesque and prosperous. These small farmers are called Cockatoos in Australia by the squatters or sheep-farmers, who dislike them for buying up the best bits of land on their runs; and say that, like a cockatoo, the small freeholder alights on good ground, extracts all he can from it, and then flies away to "fresh fields and pastures new." But the real fact is, that the poor farmer perhaps finds his section is too far from a market, so he is forced to abandon it and move nearer a town, where the best and most productive land has been bought up already; and he has to begin again at a disadvantage. However, whether the name is just or not, it is a recognized one here; and I have heard a man say in answer to a question about his usual occupation, "I'm a Cockatoo."
This particular "nest" appeared to me very well off, comparatively speaking; for though the men complained sadly of the low price of their wheat and oats, still there was nothing like poverty to be seen. Ready money was doubtless scarce, and an extensive system of barter appeared to prevail; but still they all looked well fed and well clothed; sickness was unknown among them, and it did one's heart good to see the children—such sturdy limbs, bright fearless eyes, and glowing faces. They have abundance of excellent food. Each cottager has one or two cows, and the little ones take these out to pasture on the hills, so they are in the open air nearly all day: but their ignorance is appalling! Many of them had never even been christened; there was no school or church within thirty miles or more, and although the parents seemed all tidy, decent people, and deplored the state of things, they were powerless to help it. The father and elder sons work hard all day; the mother has to do everything, even to making the candles, for the family; there is no time or possibility of teaching the children. The neighbouring squatters do not like to encourage settlers to buy up their land, therefore they carefully avoid making things pleasant for a new "nest," and the Cockatoos are "nobody's business;" so, as far as educational advantages go, they are perfectly destitute.
When I mentioned my discovery of this hamlet, and my dismay at the state of neglect in which so many fine intelligent-looking children were growing up, every one warned me not to interfere, assuring me the Cockatoo was a very independent bird, that he considered he had left all the Ladies Bountiful and blanket and coal charities behind him in the old country; that, in short, as it is generally put, "Jack is as good as his master" out here, and any attempt at patronage would be deeply resented. But I determined to try the effect of a little visiting among the cottages, and was most agreeably surprised at the kind and cordial welcome I received. The women liked to have some one to chat to about their domestic affairs, and were most hospitable in offers of tea, etc., and everywhere invitations to "come again" were given; so the next week I ventured to invite the men over to our Sunday services. Those who were fond of reading eagerly accepted the offer to join the book-club, and at last we started the educational subject. Many plans were discussed, and finally we arranged for one woman, who had received an excellent education and was quite fitted for the post, to commence a day-school; but this entailed so much loss of her valuable time that the terms she is obliged to ask seem disproportionately high to the people's means. She wants 2 shillings and 6 pence a week with each child, and this is terrible heavy on the head of a family who is anxious and willing to give them some "schooling." However, the plan is to be tried, and I have promised to start them with books, slates, copybooks, etc. It was quite touching to hear their earnest entreaties that F—— would come over on Sunday sometimes and hold a service there, but I tried to show them this could not be managed. The tears actually came into their eyes when I talked of the happiness it would be to see a little church and school in their midst; and the almost invariable remark was, "Ah, but it'll be a far day first." And so I fear it will—a very far day; but I have often heard it said, that if you propose one definite object to yourself as the serious purpose of your life, you will accomplish it some day. Well, the purpose of my life henceforward is to raise money somehow or somewhere to build a little wooden school-room (licensed for service, to be held whenever a missionary clergyman comes by), and to pay the salary of a schoolmaster and mistress, so that the poor Cockatoo need not be charged more than threepence a week for each child. The Board of Education will give a third of the sum required, when two-thirds have been already raised; but it is difficult to collect subscriptions, or indeed to induce the squatters to listen to any plan for improving the condition of the small farmers, and every year which slips away and leaves these swarms of children in ignorance adds to the difficulty of training them. [Note: Since this was written, a school-house, also used as a church, has been built in this district by private subscription and Government aid. A clergyman, who lives some twenty-five miles away, rides over and holds service once a month.]
Letter XVI: A sailing excursion on Lake Coleridge.
Lake Coleridge, February 1867. A violent storm of wind and rain from the south-west keeps us all indoors to-day, and gives me time to write my letter for the Panama mail, which will be made up to-morrow. The post-office is ten miles off, and rejoices in the appropriate name of "Wind-whistle;" it stands at the mouth of a deep mountain gorge, and there never was such a temple of the winds.
This bad weather comes after a long spell of lovely bright summer days, and is very welcome to fill up the failing creeks in the lower ranges of hills. I must tell you how much we have been enjoying our visit here. F—— knows this part of the country well, but it is quite new to me, and a great contrast to the other scenery I have described to you We had long talked of paying Mr. C. H—— a visit at his bachelor cottage on his station far back among the high ranges of hills, but no time was fixed, so I was rather taken by surprise when last week he drove up to Broomielaw in a light American waggon with a pair of stout horses, and announced that he had come to take us to his place next day. There was no reason against this plan, and we agreed at once; the next morning saw us on the road, after an early breakfast. We had to drive about thirty-five miles round, whereas it would have been only twenty miles riding across the hills; but our kind host thought that it would be much more comfortable for me to be able to take a carpet-bag in the carriage instead of the usual system of saddle-bags one is obliged to adopt travelling on horseback. We made our first stage at the ever-hospitable station of the C——'s, on the Horarata, but we could not remain to luncheon, as they wished, having to push on further; and, as it turned out, it was most fortunate we took advantage of the first part of the day to get over the ground between us and our destination, for the gentle breeze which had been blowing since we started gradually freshened into a tremendous "nor'-wester," right in our teeth all the rest of our way. The poor horses bent their heads as low as possible and pulled bravely at their collars, up hill the whole time. Among the mountains the wind rushed with redoubled fury down the narrow gorges, and became icily cold as we neared the snowy ranges. It was impossible to see the hills for the thick mist, though I knew we must have a magnificent view before us. We took refuge for an hour just to rest the horses, at Windwhistle, and I certainly expected the house to come down whilst we were there. I can hardly tell you anything of the rest of the drive, for I was really frightened at my first experience of a "howling nor'-wester" out of doors, and Mr. H—— made me sit down at the bottom of the carriage and heaped over me all the cloaks and shawls we had brought. It was delightful to find ourselves under shelter at last in a pretty bright snug room, with lots of books and arm-chairs, and a blazing fire; this, you must remember, in midsummer.