Lady Barker
Station Life in New Zealand
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4057664588746
Table of Contents
Letter I: Two months at sea—Melbourne.
Letter II: Sight-seeing in Melbourne.
Letter III: On to New Zealand.
Letter IV: First introduction to "Station life."
Letter VI: Society.—houses and servants.
Letter VII: A young colonist.—the town and its neighbourhood.
Letter VIII: Pleasant days at Ilam.
Letter IX: Death in our new home—New Zealand children.
Letter XI: Housekeeping, and other matters.
Letter XII: My first expedition.
Letter XIII: Bachelor hospitality.—a gale on shore.
Letter XIV: A Christmas picnic, and other doings.
Letter XV: Everyday station life.
Letter XVI: A sailing excursion on Lake Coleridge.
Letter XVII: My first and last experience of "camping out."
Letter XVIII: A journey "down south."
Letter XIX: A Christening gathering.—the fate of Dick.
Letter XX: the New Zealand snowstorm of 1867.
Letter XXI: Wild cattle hunting in the Kowai Bush.
Letter XXII: The exceeding joy of "burning."
Letter XXIII: Concerning a great flood.
Letter XXIV: My only fall from horseback.
Letter XXV: How We lost our horses and had to walk home.
Preface.
These letters, their writer is aware, justly incur the reproach of egotism and triviality; at the same time she did not see how this was to be avoided, without lessening their value as the exact account of a lady's experience of the brighter and less practical side of colonization. They are published as no guide or handbook for "the intending emigrant;" that person has already a literature to himself, and will scarcely find here so much as a single statistic. They simply record the expeditions, adventures, and emergencies diversifying the daily life of the wife of a New Zealand sheep-farmer; and, as each was written while the novelty and excitement of the scenes it describes were fresh upon her, they may succeed in giving here in England an adequate impression of the delight and freedom of an existence so far removed from our own highly-wrought civilization: not failing in this, the writer will gladly bear the burden of any critical rebuke the letters deserve. One thing she hopes will plainly appear—that, however hard it was to part, by the width of the whole earth, from dear friends and spots scarcely less dear, yet she soon found in that new country new friends and a new home; costing her in their turn almost as many parting regrets as the old.
F. N. B.
Letter I: Two months at sea—Melbourne.
Port Phillip Hotel, Melbourne. September 22d, 1865. … . Now I must give you an account of our voyage: it has been a very quick one for the immense distance traversed, sometimes under canvas, but generally steaming. We saw no land between the Lizard and Cape Otway light—that is, for fifty-seven days: and oh, the monotony of that time!—the monotony of it! Our decks were so crowded that we divided our walking hours, in order that each set of passengers might have space to move about; for if every one had taken it into their heads to exercise themselves at the same time, we could hardly have exceeded the fisherman's definition of a walk, "two steps and overboard." I am ashamed to say I was more or less ill all the way, but, fortunately, F—— was not, and I rejoiced at this from the most selfish motives, as he was able to take care of me. I find that sea-sickness develops the worst part of one's character with startling rapidity, and, as far as I am concerned, I look back with self-abasement upon my callous indifference to the sufferings of others, and apathetic absorption in my individual misery.
Until we had fairly embarked, the well-meaning but ignorant among our friends constantly assured us, with an air of conviction as to the truth and wisdom of their words, that we were going at the very best season of the year; but as soon as we could gather the opinions of those in authority on board, it gradually leaked out that we really had fallen upon quite a wrong time for such a voyage, for we very soon found ourselves in the tropics during their hottest month (early in August), and after having been nearly roasted for three weeks, we plunged abruptly into mid-winter, or at all events very early spring, off the Cape of Good Hope, and went through a season of bitterly cold weather, with three heavy gales. I pitied the poor sailors from the bottom of my heart, at their work all night on decks slippery with ice, and pulling at ropes so frozen that it was almost impossible